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The Coach stopped iu busy Fleet Street, where I felt
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Pack 27.
the '
HAPPY TRANSFORMATION;
ORf
THE HISTOUY
or
A LONDON APPRENTICE:
AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE.
With a preface,
BY W. H. PE ARCE,
hissionart from calcdtta.
FIFTH EDITION.
i should be glad if my notice of this little work—* The Happy.Trani
formation'—should induce numbers of young men to purchase and read it*"
Ret j. a. James's *'Foríng-Jlfon/ror» Home."
NEW YORK :
PUBLISHED BY LEWIS COLBY & CO.
122 Nassau Street.
1848.
At the suggestion of the worthy- author of tht
following narrative, who anticipated that state¬
ments entirely anon3nnous might he regarded
with suspicion, I beg to assure the reader, that
he may rely upon those in this volume as in
every particular strictly correct. From a knowl-
» ^
edge of the writer's character, acquured by an
intimate friendship of many years, I may^also
record my decided testimony, that as to both his
principles and conduct, "old things are passed
away, and all things are become new." Like
some among the Corinthians, who before their
conversion had indulged in gross transgres¬
sions, he is now "washed," he is "sanctified,"
he is "justified, in the name of the Lord Jesus,
iv PREFACE.
and by the Spirit of our God."* Manifesting a
cordial hatred of the sins in which he once de¬
lighted, and an ever-burning desire for the glory
of that God whose commandments he formerly
grievously transgressed, he has, in a distant
clime, for many .years, prosecuted with exem¬
plary diligence the work of bringing souls to
Christ. A change, so blessed as it regards him¬
self, and so important to the welfare of others,
may well be designated a " Happy Transforma¬
tion."
The work is especially intended for the bene¬
fit of young persons, about Jo enter on, or al¬
ready engaged in, the pursuits of business in
cities and large towns. This interesting class
of society are in peculiar danger, from the prin¬
ciples and «example of their associates ; and
therefore need such a memento, to guard them
against» their peculiar temptations, and assist
them in maintaining that elevated line of pious
integrity, which if they once pass, the descent to
open and daring transgression becomes lament-
* 1 Cor. vi. 11.
PREFACE. V
ably easy. The faithful narrative of one who
entered on the voyage of life with flattering
prospects, but who, neglecting his celestial chart,
made "shipwreck of faith and a good con¬
science," may excite the salutary caution of those
who are beginning a similar career j while his
happy escape, though with peril and loss, when
with renewed solicitude he applied himself to the
examination of the heavenly directory, may en
courage others in their return to the forsaken
course of rectitude and piety.
But it is not young persons only who may
derive advantage from this little volume. It con¬
veys an important lesson to all who have the
charge of them. It particularly aflbrds encour¬
agement to parents, in regard to persevering
efforts for the salvation of their offspring. The
reader wiU perceive, on the perusal of the narra¬
tive, that the writer never entirely lost the recol¬
lection of his-mother's piety; and that, after a
long course of wilful transgression, the remem¬
brance of her holy example and anxious concern
for his salvation, was one great means of briug-
1*
VI
PREFACE.
ing him back ta God.* From such instances
every Christian mother may well be encouraged
to persevere in prayerful efforts for the conversion
of her children, under the happy persuasion,
that if, in his infinite wisdom, it should not please
God to grant her the blessed result she antici¬
pates during her life-time, yet that, after her
* Similar examples of the divine blessing on parental
instruction present themselves almost daily. In illustra¬
tion of this the writer may mention, that he has just re¬
ceived a letter, referring with gratitude to the case of an
interesting individual, the son of a pious mother, now de¬
ceased. He had grown up, during the life of his mother,
^ithout piety, and had at last proceeded to India an irre¬
ligious young man ; but he has lately been awakened
there, and is now an active, devoted Christian. In rela¬
tion to this fact, his sister properly remarks, " How mys¬
terious are the ways of God! That my dear brother
should leave this land of light and knowledge, and go into
the land of darkness and heathenism, and there have re¬
vealed to him the glorious light of the ever-blessed gospel,
may well excite our wonder." She then traces the happy
effect to the divine blessing on parental efibrt ; and re¬
marks, that " in this case the Lord has answered the
prayers of his dear departed mother" who had laboured
most earnestly for the salvation of her son, and had died
in the happy persuasion that, in his abundant mercy, God
would eventually bring him to repentance.
PREFACE. Vii
death, the objects of her solicitude may reap
unspeakable benefits from her example, exhorta¬
tions, and prayers. In order to give activity,
perseverance, and judicious direction to such
efforts, "Maternal Associations" appear to de¬
serve the warm support of pious mothers.
This little work also suggests an important
lesson to schoolmasters, merchants, tradesmen,
and other heads of families. How many such
are there who, like some mentioned in the fol¬
lowing pages, take little care of the moral habits,
and none whatever of the spiritual interests, of
their juvenile inmates. They, probably, feel it
a duty to supply them with wholesome food, and
by every wise precaution to shield them from
disease and death ; but they take no care that
they have the scriptures and pious books in their
possession, and attend the faithful ministry of the
word of God, and are kept from associating with
giddy and vicious companions ; by which means
alone can it be expected that they will be fed
with the bread of life, and be preserved from the
contagion of sin, and the pains of everlasting
viii
PREFACE.
death. Alas! through such culpable neglect
how many souls are lost for ever 1 How differ¬
ent would it be, were a contrary course generally
adopted! If every person having young chil¬
dren under his charge were to furnish them (if
not previously supplied) with the scriptures, and
urge upon them the duty of seriously perusing
them ; were kindly to present them with an in¬
teresting volume of Christian biography, or some
practical work of Baxter, Doddridge, Pike, or
others, and entreat them to read them ; were to
secure their attendance at some place of worship
where they would hear the gospel faithfully
preached; and, in addition to all, were in pri¬
vate affectionately to converse and pray with the
youths committed to their care,* how blessed
* On this subject the writer may be allowed to speak
with earnestness, having himself derived essential benefit
from the private exhortations and prayers of the pious
friends under whose care, when a youth, it was his happi¬
ness to be placed ; and having since met with numerous
instances, both in England and India, of solid conversion
from such benevolent efihrts. Only two days ago he
heard an excellent minister mention the case of a pious
PREFACE. ix
would be the results ! How vast the addition to
our churches at home ! how greatly enlarged the
number of labourers abroad !
The narrative is also adapted for usefulness to
persons of every age, and in the most varied cir¬
cumstances. It exhibits in striking colours the
unsatisfactory nature and the bitter consequences,
even in this life, of what are falsely called " the
pleasures" of youth ; illustrates that peace " which
passeth all understanding,"—that "joy unspeak¬
able and full of glory,"—which the cordial re¬
ception of the gospel message communicates j
displays the efficacy of divine grace in cleansing
the soul, however depraved; and supplies the
youth, desirous to consecrate his life to missionary work,
with whom he had lately had a pleasing interview. The
minister stated, that when he asked the young man as to
the time when he first decided for God, the youth gave
this interesting reply ;—" When my master first prayed
with me in private" His employer, it should be remark¬
ed, is an active partner in one of the most busy establish¬
ments in London : yet had he secured time, in this and
other ways, to seek the salvation of his apprentices. Oh
that every pious master would listen to the admonition
" Go thou, and do likewise i"
X
PREFACE.
assurance, that pardoning mercy may be obtain¬
ed by the transgressor, whenever with peniten¬
tial grief he seeks it through the blessed Media¬
tor.
Praying that the divine blessing may accom¬
pany the perusal of the work, so that, like the
memoir of Bunyan, Newton, and others, it may
produce in the case of many readers the delight¬
ful change experienced by the author, I now
commit it to the candid perusal of the Christian
public.
W. H. PEARCE.
Denmark Hill, Feb. 10t¿, 1838.
TUR
HAPPY TRANSFORMATION.
CHAPTER I.
For a number of years the subject of these
letters has pressed with an almost intolerable
weight upon my mind, and humiliating as
must be the communication of the facts they
relate, (so humiliating and heart-rending,
that I have not been able to reveal them in
detail to my bosom friend,) yet I feel it to be
a duty I owe to society, and I can enjoy no
rest until I have discharged it. I have felt
this duty to be more imperative, from the fact
of my having introduced some of these par¬
ticulars into a public discourse,* being made
useful to two or three young men, who were
* See this disecarse at the end of the veíame
12 THE HAPPY
in circumstances similar to those in which I
was placed.
I could not indeed consent to publish my
own shame, were it not for a hope of thereby
snatching some unfortunate youth from de¬
struction ; or at least, of warning the inno¬
cent of the path of danger, and exciting him
to a pious watchfulness over his conduct. I
am well aware, that many enter into life
with similar prospects to myself ; the hope of
their parents, and the admiration of their
friends, their path seems strewed with flow¬
ers, and the smiles of prosperity brighten
their day ; but soon, alas ! through the temp¬
tations which every where surround them,
and particularly those temptations which
abound in every large city, many a promis¬
ing youth, from being the joy of his parents,
becomes their greatest sorrow, and he himself,
instead of obtaining the reward of industry,
beiX)mes the victim of depravity, dishonesty,
and disgrace.
TRANSFORMATION. 13
Should I be so happy as to persuade some
mistaken youth to pause in his career of folly,
—to take "warning by one who knows what
it is by painfiil experience "to possess the sins
of his youth,"—it will be some compensation
for my former injury to society, and cause a
smile of thankfulness to mingle with my tears
of penitence. Yes, my friend, if we would
look up with an unblushing face in manhood,
we must preserve our youth unsullied; for
however flowery may be its entrance^ the
way of transgressors is hard. If ever the
wild, depraved youth become the subject of
serious repentance, he will know that sin is
purchased at a painful rate, and that it fixes
a sting in his heart which will rankle and fes¬
ter there till he sinks into the grave. It is of
very little consequence whether our sins may
be known to others or not ; they are known
to ourselves and to God ; and the effect of se¬
cret sins upon the conscience is perhaps even
more dreadful than of those which are known.
2
14 THE HAPPY
I could fill many pages in pleading with
young persons on this subject, writing every
word with a tear, and accompanying every
expression with a sigh. But I must com¬
mence my little history, and as it may have
some bearing upon my future life, 1 shall
mention in this chapter two or three circum¬
stances of my childhood, with what I can
recollect of my feelings at the time.
My native home is in Kent, and my pa¬
rents held what is called the middle rank of
life. I had four brothers who grew up to
years of maturity ; two others, with two sis¬
ters, died in their infancy or childhood. To
one of these sisters I was tenderly attached,
and have often in riper years looked back on
her very interesting character with a sigh.
Although I was aflfected by her removal af¬
ter she died, yet I perfectly recollect, after
kissing her for the last time, and while she
was dying, 1 stole out of the house to play
with a party of rude boys : so wayward is
TRANSFORMATION. 15
the heart of youth. About the same time, a
series of deaths occurred in my family, which
had a tendency to check my thoughtless
gaiety of disposition, and ever after threw a
shade of melancholy over my character.
I was about five years of age when, be¬
sides the deaths of four children in my father's
family, I lost, within two years my grandfa¬
ther, an uncle, an aunt, and two cousins, all
Uving but a stone's throw from our house.
One of my cousins was a very promising
youth of sixteen, and was burned to death by
fire-works, of which he had a considerable
quantity in his pockets, when a thoughtless
boy set them on fire. This shocking death
made a great impression upon me, and upon
the whole community of my native town.
Perhaps I was the more afiected on this occa¬
sion, as I had not long before escaped being
scalded to death. The servant, a careless
girl, had brought me down stairs, and placed
me naked on a carpet before the parlour fire.
16 THE HAPPY
The tea-kettle full of boiling water for break¬
fast was placed on the stove, and by sonae
means she upset it all over me. My cries
alarmed my father, who had been confined
to his bed with rheumatism, unable to move
hand or foot, for a long time ; my screaming,
however, and the alarm of the servant induced
him to make an extraordinary exertion for
my relief, and the remarkable eflfect was, that
from that instant, he recovered gradually
from his rheumatism. I was in a dreadful
plight, being sadly scalded, particularly my
legs and the lower parts of my body ; and I
retain the marks of this sad accident until
this day.
A few years after this event, I met with
another, not less dangerous. There was a-
grand review of the Kentish Volunteers in the
neighbourhood, and of course I must, with
some of my youthful associates, go to see the
soldiers. There was a great deal of firing on
the occasion, and the powder used by the mil-
TRANSFORMATION. 17
tary was conveyed in small casks. One of
the officers, wishing to make a seat for the
accommodation of some ladies, took two of
these casks, in which there was a considera¬
ble quantity of loose powder and broken car¬
tridges, and turned them bottom upwards,
placing a plank across them. The powder
was scattered on the ground, at the foot of a
large fir tree. An unlucky schoolfellow joined
me in the idea, that this powder would make
a rare blaze, if we could only manage to set
it on fire ; and we had not to wait long for
an opportunity of accomplishing our mischief,
for the ladies were scarcely gone when a sol¬
dier came out of the ranks, and fired off his
piece, to free it from a quantity of paper.
We watched an opportunity, and applied the
hghted paper to the powder.. In a moment
there was an alarming explosion ; several of
the bystanders were much injured, btit my¬
self and school-fellow were the principal suffer
ers. Certainly we were in a lamentable con-
2*
18 . THE HAPPY
dition: my white hat was changed into a
brown one, the fur being all singed off ; my
frill was burnt from my neck ; my hair and
eyebrows gone, and my face and neck sadly
scorched. My companion fared still worse.
As for the fir-tree, that was all in a blaze. I
remember the adjutant leading me down be¬
fore the regiment, to ascertain if I could see ;
but I could not, and was taken home quite
blind, which sadly frightened my poor mother.
It was, however soon ascertained that I was
not mortally injured, though much hurt. I
soon recovered my sight, but was in great
pain for a long time. My companion did not
escape so well ; he lay in a very dreadful state
for many months, without the least probabil¬
ity of recovery. But by the blessing of God
he was at length restored, although I think
he was confined for nearly a twelvemonth
I do not remember tliat any serious impres¬
sions were excited by these gracious deliver¬
ances at the time, though I have since fte-
TRANSFORMATION 19
quently looked back to these and other passa¬
ges of my life with emotions of gratitude.
When I was about nine years of age, my
mother, to whom I was tenderly attached,
used to take me with her occasionally to the
Methodist Chapel. Though it is probable
that I had no distinct perception of what was
said, yet my passions were moved, and I
have often sat bathed in tears. For this ten¬
derness of mind I have had occasion to be
thankful ; but we must not mistake the ex¬
citement of the passions for the improvement
of the heart, or suppose that the one neces¬
sarily follows the other. Painful experience
shows that it is not the case. The sentiment¬
al reader may sob over a tale of fiction, while
he is utterly insensible to the cry of real dis¬
tress. The abandoned profligate, when in the
church or the theatre, may weep over repre¬
sentations of the evil of vice, while, he never
drops a tear of penitence over his own trans¬
gressions. I have reason, however, to believe
20 THE HAPPY
that my mother was the subject of real piety,
and that her early endeavours to impress upon
my heart the truths of the Bible, were the oc¬
casions of my first serious impressions, after a
long course of sin.
transformation.
21
CHAPTER IL
In order to trace the principal circum¬
stances of my life, I must claim the reader's
indulgence towards another statement relating
to my childhood, before I enter upon the more
open scenes of life. " Childhood and youth,"
observes the wise man, "^are vanity;" and
whose life does not afford a comment upon
the text? At least I can testify that such
was mine. When I was about ten years of
age, my father opened a public house, a situ¬
ation by no means favourable to rehgious in¬
struction ; and I soon became initiated into
all the wickedness and folly of a country inn.
Up to this period, my conscience does not ac¬
cuse me of many open transgressions ; but
now I soon became excessively depraved. I
look back on this part of my life with shame
22
THE HAPPY
and confusion of face. It would answer no
good purpose to detail various acts of wicked¬
ness; one circumstance will be enough to
show the state of my heart. Having been
dissapointed in a favourite pursuit, I deter¬
mined to drown myself, and for this purpose
was actually running across a meadow to¬
wards a large pond. It is true that I felt my
courage cool as I ran, but I fear that shame
would have induced me to commit the shock¬
ing deed. My father, however, ascertained
my design, and took a shorter cut, with a
whip in his hand. This obliged me to re¬
treat. But the representation I received of
my conduct effectually cured me of this trick.
Being fond of rambling in the woods, fishing,
&c., I met with many hair-breadth escapes ;
and, indeed, when I reflect on the dangers to
which the young are generally exposed, I
cannot but feel that a peculiar providence is
exercised towards them.
Happily for me, about my thirteenth year,
TRANSFORMATION. 23
tny father was obliged tó leave his inn. My
much-loved mother was attacked by a cancer
in her breast, which prevented her attending
to the duties of her family, and the state of
the times was so bad, that, added to the loss
of my mother's invaluable attention, my fa¬
ther had enough to do to extricate himself
from his difficulties. This, however, he hon¬
ourably effected, and I once more found my¬
self in private life. Soon after this, my dear
mother began to decline rapidly. She sus¬
tained a painful but necessary operation with
amazing fortitude, but gradually sank into
the grave. I was the only one at home ca¬
pable of sympathising with her iu her sor¬
rows ; and as my affection towards her was
of the most tender kind, her approaching end
affected me exceedingly. Her dying injunc¬
tions sank deep into my heart; but it was
love to hcj^ not* to goodness, that gave them
weight. She died, and left me disconsolate,
in my fourteenth year. I could not weep;
24 THE HAPPY
in vain I secreted myself in the garden, and
tried to force tears from my eyes : my sorrow
was too deep. I remember, that after follow,
ing her to the grave, I retired to my chamber,
and throwing myself on my knees, recollected
her with prayers and tears.
From that time I became more punctual m
what I called " saying my prayers indeed,
I dared not lie down in bed without doing so.
I believe no one ever understood my charac¬
ter but my mother. Though I could not re¬
sist sin, yet I loved better things. From a
child, I was the subject of pensive feehngs
and strong sensibihties. Had any one then
taken me by the hand, I should probably
have escaped much of ray subsequent misery.
But I was alone, and despised the general
pursuits of my companions.* Frequently did
I love to steal away into the meadows, and be¬
neath some shady tree lie and gaze upon the
broad face of nature, till I wept over the im-
ilges my romantic mind called up. Every
TRANSFORMATION. 25
thing that occurred to me seemed an exception
to the common lot of man, and weighed heav¬
ier upon my spirit than upon others. Hence
I became shy of my fellows, and in the deep
solitude of my heart ruminated upon the
passing events of life.
Before, however, I had reached my fifteenth
year, a letter came from my brother J ,
then in London, apprenticed to a draper, re¬
questing me to engage in a similar business.
The letter found me ill in bed, my constitu¬
tion being at that time very delicate. It was,
however, received very joyfully ; for my pros¬
pects were becoming very gloomy at home,
and I felt that the young people of my ac¬
quaintance were exceedingly depraved. Not¬
withstanding my illness, though it was Friday
when the letter was received, and it was ne¬
cessary I should be in London on the Monday
following, I made an effort, and got out into
the fields. The air revived me, and on Mon¬
day I was enabled to take my place in the
3
26 THE HAPPY
coach for London. I shall not soon forget the
feelings which agitated my mind on that oc¬
casion. The scenery in Kent is exceedingly
picturesque, and some of the views, as we
passed over the hills, were enchanting. A
fine October morning gave additional charms
to the grandeur of autumn, which could hard¬
ly fail to tinge my mind with melancholy. I
ruminated long and pensively on the past, the
present, and the unfathomable future. X
viewed the present moment, as a crisis in my
life, pregnant with important consequences.
My thoughts carried me through all the fluc¬
tuating vicissitudes of life. I deemed it not
improbable that I might become a traveller
to distant chmes, and experience that che¬
quered fortune to which adventurers are ex¬
posed. Those feelings were renewed, and
partly realised about nine years afterwards,
when I took the same journey in my way to
India. I continued in this reverie till we drew
near London, when I was aroused from my
TRANSFORMATION. 27
dream by the confused noise of carts, coaches,
and passengers of all descriptions. The
motley group hastening hither and thither,
arrested my attention, and I soon began to
inquire respecting the various objects which
presented themselves at every step. The
coach stopped in busy Fleet-street, where I felt
myself alone amidst thousands. The noise
and bustle confounded me, and I felt no
very favourable predilection for the scene of
my future exploits.
After partaking of a slight repast at the
inn (for my heart was too full to allow of my
eating much) we set off" for the residence of
my future employer. After traversing many
streets we stopped at the house w^e were in
search of. Here I found Mr. , an active
man of business, seated in the counting-house,
and his wife, a thin-faced, sharp-nosed, little
woman, who eyed me through her spectacles
as though she would look me through. I
suppose she thought my sickly apperance did
28
THE HAPPY
not promise much for a house of business, in
a great city. However, Mr. asked me
kindly what I could do, which raised my spir¬
its a little ; for I needed encouragement after
his wife's scrutinising glance. I replied, 'fl
don't know, Sir ; but I am wñling to do the
best I can." " Well spoke, my lad," was the
reply ; " we will soon see what your are made
of," and I was immediately set to work. I
did not much relish some of the jobs upon
which I was desired to try my hand, but as I
was determined to succeed if possible, I sub¬
mitted to what I then thought my degrada¬
tion, though the employment certainly was to
my advantage. My health and strength soon
returned, and as I wished to please, I began
to be a little better thought of than my ap¬
pearance at first promised. I have since be-
<'■* ine persuaded, that a willing mind and per¬
severing disposition will find their way
through almost every difficulty.
During this period of my life, up to my ar-
TRANSFORMATION. 29
rival in London, I had a considerable venera¬
tion for religion and religious habits, though
I knew nothing of myself as a sinner, or the
way of salvation hy Jesus Christ. I went
regularly to church, and occasionally to the
meeting-house, and repeated my formal pray¬
ers morning and night ; but it was from feel¬
ings of fear more than love, and hence I rather
felt it a burden than any thing else. As a
schoolboy I was successful, having arrived at
the highest post ; and though I could not be
said to rank with the good boys, yet I had
enough of seriousness in my general deport¬
ment to be selected to pronounce the collects
morning and evening, and repeat the Lord's
prayer before the assembled school.
I was now, however, entering upon a course
where pounds, shillings, and pence were the
greatest charm that earth could afford. To
get money was esteëmed the oiily end of hfe ;
and God, and the soul, and an eternity, either
of blessedness or of woe, were entirely forgot-
3*
30
THE HAPPY
ten. I was ambitious, vain, and sentimental.
I drank into the general spirit of the house,
and it was the noblest object of my ambition
to become a wealthy tradesman.
" Alas ! by nature how depraved ;
How prone to every ill !
Our lives to Satan how enslaved ;
How obstinate our will !
We live estranged afar from God,
And love the distance well ;
With haste we run the dangerous road
That leads to death and bell.
We walk in honour's gaudy show.
Or dig for golden ore,
Or folly's giddy maze pursue :—
Then die, and are no more.
Sad is their state who seek no more
Than such a world can give ;
Wretched they are, and blind, and poor.
And dying whilst they live.
Oh, teach us. Lord, to prize the way
That leads to joys on high ;
There glory grows without decay.
And pleasures never die."
TRANSFORMATION.
31
CHAPTER m.
I AM now about to enter upon that part of
my little narration in which it will be seen
that " the way of the wicked seduceth him,"
and that misery attends the steps of those
who leave the paths of uprightness to walk
in the ways of darkness. After about a
month's probation, my master wrote to my
father, expressing his satisfaction with me,
and proposing a liberal salary for my services,
to be augmented gradually as I should deserve
it. The proposal was of course acceded to,
and 1 was thus, before my fifteenth year, ini¬
tiated into the arts and mysteries of a wool¬
len-draper ; a situation, indeed, which some
of the wealthiest and most influential citizens
of London had filled before me. My situation
was a laborious one, but I filled it for some
32 THE HAPPY
time with credit and respect. I often review
this commencement of life, and feel per¬
suaded that if I had rnaintained my integrity
of conduct, and cherished the views I then
entertained, I should have risen to respect,
and in aU probability to opulence. Often
when toiling hard through the day, and trav¬
elling from one end of London to the other,
ready to sink with fatigue, perhaps from six
o'clock in the morning to ten or eleven o'clock
at night, I have been cheerful and happy
from the consideration that I was in the path
of honest industry, and that 1 should one day
reap a reward. I felt ambitious of being able
to soothe the declining years of my father, and
do something for his comfort when he was
unable to provide for himself ; for at this pe
riod his prospects were by no means flatter
ing, at least as far as I was acquainted with
his aflairs. These feelings warmed my heart
while I was honest, virtuous, and happy;
but the time was too near at hand when dif-
TRANSFORMATION.
33
feront feelings were to occupy my mind, and
conscious rectitude was to take its long fare¬
well.
Tn my master's house there were three
young men employed besides myself. One
of them, a gay, respectable youth, was a great
favourite with my employer. He was my
bedfellow : of course this led to intimacy, and
from him I received the first disposition to ex¬
travagance and dress, which laid the founda¬
tion of my ruin. He was extremely prodigal
in his habits, but from the respectability of
his connexions no suspicion was excited that
his supplies were not equal to his expenses.
By him I became gradually familiarised to
scenes of pleasure and dissipation, which soon
exceeded my means to support ; but I never
%
dreamed of having recourse to dishonest means
to meet expensive indulgences. I soon found
that I should be involved in great difficulties,
and began to withdraw fiom his company,
and associated as much as possible with my
34 THE HAPPY
brother and a cousin of mine in the citj, es¬
pecially the latter.
A circumstance, however, soon occurred
which threw the forbidden fruit in my way,
and my integrity could not resist the tempta¬
tion. After being about two years in my
situation, I was sent, on one occasion, with a
parcel to a gentleman, for which I was to re¬
ceive the money, about £2. Such parts of
the business had often fallen to my lot. On
this occasion, however, in the hurry of busi¬
ness, without the least dishonesty of intention,
I forgot to give the money to my employer,
and did not discover the note in my pocket
for some time afterwards—several weeks at
least. I was much alarmed at the circum¬
stance, and knew not how to act. I was
#
afraid to mention the matter to any one ; and
if I put it in the money drawer, I thought
that most hkely inquiry would be made
where it came from without an indorsement,
while if 1 indorsed it the matter would be
TRANSFORMATION. 35
plain. I determined to let the note remain
where it was in the old trowsers' pocket, and
if no inquiry was made, at length to appropri
ate it to myself. Thus I fell into the snare
of Satan, and as the money never was in¬
quired after, I at Iciagth fought against con¬
science, and thus laid myself open to aU the
assaults of the great enemy of souls. Alas ! I
must confess that my treacherous heart was
now too well disposed for him to work upon.
It may not be improper to trace the exer¬
cises of my mind through this period, until I
sold myself to work iniquity ; and this I will
do as my memory wiU now serve me. It will
be recollected that when I left my paternal
roof, I possessed some feelings of veneration
for the great Author of my being, and had
been trained up to fear his holy name.
These feelings I carried with me to London,
strengthened by the advice of my father and
the pious example of my brother. I did not
possess any proper knowledge of the relation
36
THE HAPPY
ill which I stood to God as a sinner, and my
need of redeeming grace. All ray religion
consisted in a fear of drawing down God's
displeasure, and an idea that it was ray duty
to pray to him morning and night. This I
attended to for some time. At first I used to
kneel unobserved behind the bed ; but by de¬
grees I neglected this from shame and idle¬
ness, and used to mutter over my prayers in
bed. Sometimes I dropped to sleep in the
midst of them, and at other times never at¬
tempted to say them at all ; and this course I
continued some years, according as ray con¬
science was more or less alarmed. But this
I can testify, that as soon as I neglected
prayer, my fear of God began to decline, and
my reverence for his name and house decreas¬
ed. I have always considered this circum¬
stance as the first step to ruin; and happy
shall 1 be if any, who may be disposed to act
the same part, should consider and take the
alarm before they restrain prayer on their
TRANSFORMATION. 37
knees before God. Well has a pious writer
remarked, with reference to prayer, " If neg¬
lected once, another and another excuse will
arise for neglecting it again and again; a
chain with one link brokeri no longer binds,
and a habit of duty once broken may cease
to be a habit." Such I have found it, and
such doubtless have many others. True, my
prayers were not of much value as a spiritual
offering ; but they certainly kept up an awe
of God in the mind, and were a restraint upon
me in committing flagrant crimes.
As soon as I lost my fear of God, my mind
was in a fit state to join my gay companion
in many of his Sunday parties and schemes
of dissipation. Glad, indeed, we were, if we
could manage to cheat our employer out of
going once to church on a Sunday as he re¬
quired us to do; and we pretty frequently
effected our purpose. I cannot here forbear
one reflection on the exceeding remissness of
merchants and shopkeepers with respect to
4
38
THE HAPPY
their young men. They often treat them
with the kindness and respect to which they
ar2 entitled ; but there is a strange want of
investisration into their moral habits, not to
a '
say their religious ones. When young men,
who are for the most part dependent on their
income, indulge in expensive habits and pleas¬
ures, alarm ought to be excited. It is certain
they must have some unlawful way of sup¬
porting their extravagance, or else they are
running into debt ; and either of these cases
must produce dangerous consequences. My
employer generally spent the Sunday out of
town, and the senior shopmen had their way
of spending the day, so that the junior assist¬
ants were generally left at home with the
female servants. I am not aware that during
the whole time of being engaged in business,
1 was ever asked by my employers a single
question as to my moral or religious habits.
But to return to the narrative. My dash¬
ing shopmate and I visited most of the favour-
TRANSFORMATION. 39
lté scenes of dissipation, such as Hyde Park,
and St. James's, or drove a few miles out of
town for the day. My income did not allow
of my going his length, but by contrivance,
assisted by my line of business, I was enabled
to maintain a genteel appearance. Though
I could not accompany my companion, I now
loved to follow him as closely as I could ; and
when he became entirely out of my reach, I
left his company and associated with my
brother and cousin. The company of the
former, however, soon became irksome to me,
and Henry, as I shall henceforth call my
cousin, joined me in shaking it off. My
cousin and I were of kindred hearts, but my
brother could not enter into our views; be¬
sides, he was two years older than myself,
and his disposition being of an arbitrary na¬
ture, his presence was a check upon our
pleasures.
40
THE HAPPY
CHAPTER IV.
In tlie last chapter, was detailed the way,
in which I sank under the influence of temp¬
tation, and gradually lost my reverence for
God and goodness. The present must con¬
tinue the account of my progress in sin and
its consequent misery. About the time spo¬
ken of in the former chapter, my employer,
Mr. , retired from business, and was suc¬
ceeded by his senior shopman and a cousin
of his. They were both sons of pious men,
and manifested much more regard for religion
than their predecessor. By this change in
the house, and the removal of one young
man who was above me, I was advanced
both in rank and salary ; but my passion
for gaiety and dissipation increased in propor-
TRANSFORM ^TION• 41
tien. As for my companion, he now knew
no bounds to his extravagance ; but his ap¬
parently open, generous conduct prevented
any suspicion resting upon him. He at
length removed, and entered into partnership
with another persoú in a different business.
His removal, however, led to the detection of
an extensive system of fraud which he had
long been carrying on. While he was in the
house he managed, by false entries and forg¬
ing the signature of the firm, to escape detec¬
tion ; but he was no sooner gone than matters
came to light. It appeared that, besides be¬
ing greatly in debt, he had robbed the firm
of several hundred pounds, which he had
spent in debauchery and gambling. It was
by very great interest that he escaped the
hands of justice, and return^ with shame
and disgrace to his afflicted family. Oh, how
heart-rending was the scene when his sorrow¬
ing but respectable father came up to Lon¬
don, and begged with tearful eyes and clasped
4*
42 THE HAPPY
hands for the forgiveness of his son. It
shook me to the very, centre, and I thought I
would avoid the least deviation from the path
of rectitude all my future life. But, alas ! I
knew not the strength of temptation and the
weakness of my own resolutions, and I had
no wish to seek for strength from that Being
who alone can bestow it. I was, indeed,
strongly suspected and accused of a participa¬
tion in the guilt of this young man, but I re¬
pelled the charge with indignation ; and
whether my companion confessed to my in¬
nocence, I do not know, but I was acquitted
of the charge. Indeed I was perfectly inno¬
cent with respect to him, and as much sur¬
prised as any body when his guilt was dis¬
covered ; but I was not innocent of other
crimes of a Comparatively trifling nature.
What a wretched house must ours have been,
for very soon another young man was detect¬
ed in dishonest practices, and was immediately
dismissed. This also led to a warning for
TRANSFORMATION. 43
me to quit ; for my employers were now de¬
termined to clear the house, and liave. a fresh
set of young men, of religious principles.
This they partly accomplished, but I still
remained for twelve months longer ; a proof
that they acquitted me of any connexion with
those who had been detected in crime
At the end of this time I was engaged in
another house, more to my pecuniary advan¬
tage, though in other respects exceedingly
disagreeable to me. It was much better,
however, than I deserved; for here also I
committed breaches of confidence, though I
escaped detection. My employer and I could
not agree ; and my former employers, missing
my services, made me an overture to return,
which I accordingly accepted. I was only
six weeks in my new situation. My restora¬
tion to my former situation was very gratify¬
ing, as it convinced me that all suspicion was
wiped away, and that my services had been
acceptable. My prospects were now bright-
41 THE HAPPY
ening again, and another opportunity of estab¬
lishing my reputation, and of making my
way in the world, was afforded. My employ¬
ers treated me with great kindness, and my
knowledge of the business and of their con
nexions was very respectable ; but, alas ! my
unhappy predilection for gaiety and gallantry
overpowered my better judgment, and I con¬
tinued a willing, though truly miserable slave
to every species of sin.
My employers now felt the necessity of a
closer attention to the moral and religious
habits of their assistants. Two young men,
of pious principles, were engaged, and family
worship was introduced. It was expected
that we should be regular attendants at
church or chapel, and observe more propriety
and regularity in our habits than formerly
I could not rehsh these "pious doings but
was obliged, in some degree, to conform. My
employers (as their predecessor had done)
generously offered to pay for a seat in any
TRANSFORMATION.
45
place of worship I chose ; and I at first sat
under the ministry of the Rev. J. H. Stewart,
of Percy Chapel. I heard the gospel preached
there, hut still was quite ignorant of religion.
I subsequently sat under the ministry of the
Rev. J. R. Pitman, in London-street Chapel,
Fitzroy-square ; but not a gleam of light en¬
tered into my dark mind. I remember my
passions being moved under the impressive
discourses of the latter minister ; but I never
received a single correct notion of the obliga¬
tions of religion. The fault was not in the
preacher, but in the hearer. The religious
habits, however, introduced into the house
were very galling to me. My conscience al¬
ready tormented me dreadfully, so that I could
not sin with half the pleasure I did formerly ;
and yet I had no resolution to forsake it. I
did, indeed, attend divine service oftener than
I had done before, and made some resolutions
of amendment ; but these generally vanished
before dinner v/as concluded on the sabbath.
46 THE HAPPY
and I became a prey to the first temptation
that presented itself.
About this time a circumstance occurred
which a good deal afiected me. The sister
of my cousin Henry, and, indeed, several
members of that family, became professors of
religion. She, however, appeared the most
remarkable convert to me, as I knew her for¬
merly to have been a gay, thoughtless girl :
but she had felt the value of a Saviour's love,
and sought her happiness in him. Soon after
this, while wiping a picture she made a small
wound in her finger with a rusty nail. It
was scarcely perceptible at first, and of course
was not regarded ; but it mortified, and, in a
few days, occasioned her death. The even¬
ing previous to her decease I accompanied
my brother and cousin to this house of mourn¬
ing, when there were some solemn remarks
made upon the importance of religion. I
have no distinct recollection of what was said ;
but those remarks, in conjunction with the af-
TRANSFORMATION. 47
flicting scene, affected me a good deal ; still
I was much more affected and surprised by
what followed. The family knew more of
my brother than I did, and consequently j-e-
quested him to read and pray with us before
we parted. He first read a chapter in St.
John, I think it was the 14th, very solemn¬
ly; and then he knelt by the bedside and
prayed, first for the dying sufferer, and then
for the company, in so fluent and affecting a
way that every heart was moved. I had no
conception that religion could have inspired
him with such sentiments—such tenderness
and solemnity ; and I returned, wondering at
him, and much more at myself, that I should
be so far behind him.
I was prevailed upon, after this, to accom¬
pany one and another to several places of
worship ; but I derived no benefit, and gradu¬
ally sank deeper and deeper into sin. My
cousin and I had formed some connexions in
the city, which led us to others ; and, by do-
48
THE HAPPY
grees, we had gathered a set of low associates,
which helped us on very rapidly in the way
to destruction. Little did my employers know
how I spent my sabbath afternoons and even¬
ings ; and I took good care that my own
family should only see the fair side of my
conduct. But I have said enough on this
subject.
transformation.
49
CHAPTER V.
It is the voice of inspiration which assures
us that "sin, when it is finished, bringeth
forth death;" and what frequent confirma¬
tion of this truth does the daily history of our
species afford 1 It will be the object of this
chapter to show how near the writer was to
falling a victim to his .own depravity. May
it speak with a warning voice to those who
are running, with headlong speed, the down¬
ward road to destruction !
By the time I had reached my eighteenth
or nineteenth year, I had become familiar
with almost every species of vice, which I
could practise without detection, and the state
of my mind was deplorably wretched. I
knew very well that I was running a dangei-
5
50 THE HAPPV
ous course, but I had no resolution to forsake
it. I had always cherished a tender recollec¬
tion of iny dear mother, and now ray affection
fur her revived. I used to think she was in
heaven, looking down, with the deepest sor¬
row, on her wretched, sinful son, travelling
post haste to ruin. This reflection was, for a
long time, more useful to me than any thing
I remember. When I was asleep I was
haunted with the most horrible dreams ; and
several times I fancied that the devil was
come to take me away, so that I was bathed
in perspiration from fear. By day I often
stood, or sat, for an hour together, apparently
looking at some object intently, though I saw
nothing but my guilty conscience ; and I was,
in fact, almost driven out of my senses. In
one of these fits of wretchedness, when con¬
science had been tormenting me, as 1 found
all my resolutions to amend in vain, and as I
could not forsake my depraved, though agree¬
able companions, in the utmost horror of mind
Stop, stop, rash youth ! Flee to India Youmay yet regain youi
character and be useful"—London Apprentick, Page 51.
TRANSFORMATION. 51
I determined to end my existence. It was on
a Sunday afternoon : there was no one in
the house but myself and a female servant,
and I thought it was an excellent opportu¬
nity. I had meditated on the scheme for
some time past; I therefore retired to my
chamber to commit the horrid deed. I took
out my razor, stretched forth my hand, and,
at the moment I was contemplating the awful
stroke, a voÄe seemed to arrest my attention.
It unnerved my arm, and I trembled with as¬
tonishment. I know not how to describe my
feelings, or the impression made upon my
mind ; but it seemed like an address from a
second person, exclaiming, " Stop, stop, rash
youth ! Flee to India ; you may yet regain
your character, and be useful and I imme¬
diately reflected that I might get a situation
as a clerk, or schoolmaster, or something of
this kind, in a foreign land. It is probable
this impression was connected with the return
of a brother of one of the partners from India,
52 THE HAPPY
and who was either gone or going out again ;
but I dare not say that there was nothing more
than my own thoughts in this business ; and
to it I attribute that I am now alive, and in
India. I felt a wish to save others from con¬
sequences like those to which my'own deprav¬
ity had exposed me, though I had no know¬
ledge of religion to guide me. I do not know
that I had, at that time, the least idea of
what missionaries were, though i had proba¬
bly heard of them ; as just then there was in
London a good deal doing respecting mis¬
sions, and the partners were sons of pious
people connected with these things.
However, immediately after this suggestion
to my mind, I dressed myself, and without
saying a word to any one, I posted off to a
distant relation connected with shipping inter¬
ests ; but, unfortunately for my purpose, he
was not at home. I then went down to the
East and West India Docks to try and find a
ship in which I could escape, being willing to
TRANSFORMATION. 53
go for a captain's clerk, or even a common
soldier, if any one would give me a passage.
But I had never seen a ship in my life, and
was totally ignorant of the way to apply for a
situation in a vessel, and consequently could
not effect my purpose. I rambled about in a
melancholy mood till evening drew on, when
I found myself in the neighbourhood of my
cousin. Almost without a motive I knocked
at the door, when it was immediately opened
by two or three of my dissipated companions.
Ashamed to appear " done up," I made an
effort and shook off my melancholy, and im¬
mediately joined the party. The glass moved
round more freely than usual, and I soon re¬
gained my old character of one who would
never come in second. After having our pas¬
sions excited by the inebriating bottle, we
sallied forth to commit mischief. That even¬
ing gave another impetus to my depravity,
and I sank deeper into iniquity. From this
time conscience seems to have ceased its oper-
6*
54 THE HAPPT
ations, and I drank in iniquity like water.
Unfaithfulness to my employers, hatred of re¬
ligion, drunkenness, and debauchery, were
among the catalogue of sins, which disgraced
this period of my life.
My kind, though severe brother, I appre¬
hend, was afraid for me, and exerted his au¬
thority to control me ; but his company was
now become intolerable, and I sought to
avoid it. I recollect that one sabbath evening
when I called upon him, perhaps half intoxi
cated, he insisted, in very authoritative lan¬
guage, that I should stay with him. This ex¬
cited my anger against him, especially as two
or three others were present ; and on reaching
home 1 wrote him a note, telling him, in the
most ungracious terms, that until he chose to
make some apology for the insult he had
offered me, I wished to have nothing more to
do with him. The next day he returned my
note in an envelope, saying that he supposed
in cooler moments I should act differently. I
TRANSFORMATION. 55
felt that ae had acted generously, but could
not brook his domineering disposition. Such
a course appeared ill-judged with a youth of
my habits, and 1 think so even now. Let
others, who would save a poor thoughtless
youth from the paths of destruction, beware
of mortifying his pride. Few things have a
greater tendency to call forth the bad passions
of the mind, and render our efforts fruitless.
With this remark I would unite another. Let
professors of rebgion be exceedingly on their
guard, lest they should afford the slightest
ground to suppose that what they condemn in
theory, they would really like to indulge in
practice, if it could be done without detection.
Sinners have eagle eyes, and they are always
ready to suppose these things. Such, in fact,
was my opinion, in common with that of my
companions, respecting my brother, though I
never could get any proof of the justice of
such a suspicion.
It is probable I should not have been soon
56 THE HAPPY
reconciled to my brother, had not my father
just at this time arrived in London. He
wished me to accompany him to the city, and,
previously to consulting me, had obtained
liberty for me from my employers. I had,
therefore, no excuse, and was obliged either
to accompany him, or let him know that I
and my brother were at variance ; a circum¬
stance, which I knew would deeply affect him.
Besides, there was danger of my brother's let¬
ting him know more of my character than I
wished. Well may we say, on reviewing
this chapter, that " the way of transgressors
is hard." What was there in the paths of
vice to compensate for the misery to which
they conducted me 1 or " what fruit had I in
those things, whereof I am now ashamed ?"
Involved in pecuniary embarrassments, dis¬
eased in body, and distressed in mind, how
miserable was my state ! And if we look be¬
yond the grave to that awful eternity, into
which I had so nearly plunged, unprepared.
TRANSFORMATION. 57
what but everlasting anguish, and weeping,
and wailing, and gnashing of teeth awaited
me ! May all who read this statement ever
escape such wretchedness as I felt.
58
THE HAPPY
CHAPTER VL
Soon after the painful events just alluded
to, I determined on leaving the house, where
I had been so long. The religious habits in¬
troduced, and the engagement of a pious
shopman to take the lead, who, I thought, was
much inferior in his knowledge of the busi¬
ness to myself, added to my growing deprav¬
ity, induced me to wish for a situation, where
I could be more at liberty. I was not with¬
out friends, and a most respectable gentlemen
procured me an advantageous post, and
pledged himself for my integrity and ability ;
but, alas ! I ill repaid his confidence and kind¬
ness. The way to preferment was again
laid open to me, and I might easily have se¬
cured the advantages presented. But I was
TRANSFORMATION. 59
too deep in sin to extricate myself : and un¬
happily the liberty I received, and the en¬
couragement to sin, which the habits of my
new employers afforded, tended to plunge me
deeper into iniquity. Religion was treated
with neglect, and often with ridicule, and its
opposites encouraged, by all, from the highest
to the lowest, in the establishment. It may
perhaps afford a sufficient view of the princi¬
pal in the firm, when I say, that on the day
of my engaging with him, he observed, " I
don't like so much of the God Almighty in
my young men ; I had rather see them show
a little more of the devil !" This, though it
shocked my better feelings, was well suited to
my habits, and, under such fostering care, I
grew fast in sin. I was introduced by my
superiors to scenes of gaiety and dissipation,
which I only wanted opportunity before to
enjoy. My employer thought that he was
conferring a benefit upon me, by taking me to
a tavern and enrolling my name in harmonic,
60 THE HAPPY
that is, in drinking and singing societies.
There our sabbaths were generally days of
feasting, and as soon as twelve o'clock at
night arrived, we were glad to commence
singing all kinds of trash. 1 suppose the
laws prevented our beginning before. It was
now that the tavern, the theatre, the brothel,
and the ball-room, became my nightly haunts,
while my sabbaths were spent in scenes of
extravagance quite beyond my means. On
these days I joined my cousin in the hired
tilbury, or saddle-horses for the day, and
spent my Sundays pretty often a short dis¬
tance from town. About this time, too, we
formed connnexions that led us into expen¬
sive habits, which, though respectable in
themselves, were the occasion of a great deal
that was not so on our part. Young men,
who had no income but their salaries, could
not honestly support horses, and gigs, and
dinnerings, and expensive dressing, and
many other things : and our friends, instead
TRANSFORMATION. 61
of speaking of us as " dashing youths, a little
wild to be sure," ought to have instituted a
strict scrutiny into our means of supporting
this dash. I do not mean to say that their
not doing so was any excuse for our conduct ;
but it was blind partiality on their part, not ju¬
dicious kindness. I am the more particular
in mentioning some of these things, because
I know that many parents and guardians are
remiss in this matter. They are too apt to
think, surely my son would not do so and so ;
but the human "heart is deceitful above
all things, and desperately wicked," and if
there be not real piety influencing it, there is
no security against any temptation that may
assail us. My friends little suspected the
way in which I spent my time, and they
would have deemed it an insult both to
themselves and to me, had any one insinua¬
ted what the fact really was.
Among other scenes of dissipation with
which I was familiar were Vauxhall and
6
62 THE HAPPY
several dancing assemblies. As I slept in
the house with some of the principals of the
establishment, I was obliged to make use of
many contrivances to gratify this propensity
for dancing ; and I too frequently managed to
effect my purpose. In these nocturnal revel¬
ries I met with many young men in similar
circumstances, and there is too much reason
to suppose that they were obliged to resort to
dishonest means to supply the necessary
funds. Should these letters ever meet the
eye of any young man engaged in similar
scenes of dissipation, let me entreat him, by
all that is connected with his present and
everlasting welfare, to consider what he
is doing. If you, my reader, have, in such
circumstances, hitherto preserved your integ¬
rity, you will not preserve it long. You know
that nothing can be done, in such courses,
without money ; and the more you have, the
more you will require. You are in the high¬
way to ruin ; and without some entire change
TRANSFORMATION. 63
in your character, you must be undone. I
am afraid to depict, in proper colours, what
you know is the state of things. O, listen to
the voice of God, and turn away at once from
the snares of the devil ! What multitudes
has the " convivial board" undone ! Drunk¬
enness opens the floodgates of vice. No man
can answer for what he does, if he is a di unk-
ard. The theatre has undone its thousands,
and who has ever found any good there ? I
have seen much of theatres, and know them
to be, without exception, the veriest hot-beds
of vice. The theatre teach morality ! Never.
Never did a rogue*become honest, or a prosti¬
tute become chaste, by visiting a theatre;
but, by the morality of the theatre, how
many who were honest have become the vic¬
tims of depravity ! how many who were
chaste have lost their chastity ! No, young
man, if you would ever become respectable,
pious, and useful to society, never enter a
theatre,—much less frequent it; it is en-
64 THE HAPPY
chanted ground, where snares are set to en¬
trap the heart of youth. The ball-room may
be less objectionable ; but there is much con¬
nected with that exceedingly unfavourable to
virtue. No Christian, who wishes to grow
in holiness, can be found there.
Clubs, and various societies, which arc
formed at taverns, are another source of much
immorality. When young men get together,
and their passions are excited by wine and
singing, there is no knowing to what lengths
they wiU go. I was connected with several
that were thought by ourselves very respecta¬
ble and select ; and, if the public character of
some of those, who constituted these parties,
were the standard, they might be called re¬
spectable; but they have a wretched ten¬
dency, and lead on to things much worse.
As a specimen of the eflFects of these private
clubs, I will relate the occurrences of one
evening, in which I was a party. A number
of friends had formed a httle society at a
TRANSFORMATXON. 65
tavern: they were all young men of in¬
fluence in the city, and in that respect re¬
spectable. After spending the evening as
usual in drinking, and singing a few songs,
we broke up about eleven o'clock. Three of
us got into a hackney coach ; and then wick¬
edly amused ourselves by throwing the poor
coachman's cushions out of the windows. It
was dark, and of course they were lost.
When, however, we had rode as far as we
chose, we suddenly opened the coach door,
jumped out, and ran away. The coachman
had, of course, to descend from his box ; and
this aflbrded a suflBcient time for us to make
off". It was not that we wanted to cheat the
man of his money, but it suited our mischiev¬
ous state of mind ; and we should have been
ashamed of so cruel an action in more sober
moments. As it was, the poor man lost his
cushions and his fare; and I, as we were
running along, laughing at the joke, came in
contact with a pump, which knocked me
5*
66 THE HAPPY
backwards, and made ß dangerous contusion
on my head, from which I suffered for a long
time. This may be regarded by some as a
comparatively innocent adventure ; though I
should hope that no young man of respecta¬
bility, much less of piety, would choose to
expose himself to such disgraceful scenes as
this.
I continued with my new employers for
about two years, gradually filling up the
measure of my iniquities. Conscience did,
indeed, sometimes make me tremble qt my¬
self; but her admonitions were feebler than
formerly, and not so frequently given. I had
now learned to sin with a high hand, and
pursued my course of iniquity till it plunged
me into a gaol, covered with shame and dis¬
grace ; but I must reserve an account of this
melancholy termination of my course for
another chapter.
transformation.
67
CHAPTER VI.
It may easily be conceived whither such a
course of vice as I have portrayed must have
led ; and that, having once broken through
my integrity, such habits would soon render
it necessary to " add iniquity unto iniquity."
Just so I found it ; and I commenced a sys¬
tem of dishonesty and breach of confidence
towards my employers, which might have ter¬
minated in an ignominious death. At first, a
few shillings, at convenient and far distant
opportunities, sufficed, or, rather, was as
much as I dared to take ; but, at length I
proceeded to pounds. I could not, however,
be happy under such circumstances ; and I
plainly saw that ruin would ensue : I was
therefore anxious to leave my engagement,
and enter upon some course of business,
68 THE HAPPY
where I should be less exposed to temptation,
or where I could make use of only my own
property. I had made several attempts to ef¬
fect my purpose, and should probably have
succeeded ; but, in the meantime, suspicion
fell upon me. A snare was laid by one of
the firm, and 1 fell into it. Oh, what words
can express my horror, when, on one Satur¬
day morning, my employer called me into his
parlour, and charged me with robbery. I de¬
nied the charge : he persisted, and begged
me to confess, threatening to send for an
officer if I did not. I was confounded, and
could not confess, though I wished to do so.
He produced ray signature for money, which
I had not accounted for : I still equivocated.
My brother, who had latejy engaged in the
same house, was called in. Oh, who can
describe his agony ! He conjured me to con¬
fess my guilt, if guilty ; but, while I hesitated,
or rather attempted to explain, ,the pohce
officer arrived. My drawers and boxes were
TRANSFORMATION. 69
examined, and several suspicious circum¬
stances appeared. I was given up to the offi¬
cer, who led me off to Union Hall, and placed
me in the prisoner's box, with several of the
lowest blackguards London could produce.
Alas ! what a situation was I in ! Over¬
whelmed with shame, I sank down on the
box, and hid myself among these wretches
by sitting on the floor. At length my name
was called out, and my charge read over to
me in open court. The magistrate, however,
advised me to make no reply. This, I bo-
iieve, was at the instigation of my employer
and brother, who wished to avoid pushing
matters to an extremity with me. I was
then taken away by the officer, fastened by
handcuffs to a dirty-looking fellow, and thrust
into a dark hole. The business of the day
at length closed at the office, a cart drew up
for the criminals, and myself, with about a
dozen others, were thrust into it, handcuffed,
and tied together by a long cord. In this
70 THE HAPPY
way we were conducted to Horsemonger-
lane prison. Here ray appearance raade ray
wretchedness the greater, for the dandyism of
ray person afforded the prisoners fair ground
for their scurrilous wit. On arriving at the
prison, I was ordered, in a savage voice, to
pull off ray boot, which was replaced by a
heavy iron. In vain I remonstrated ; all the
reply I could get was, "People don't come
here for their good behaviour." My person
was strictly searched, and ray watch, money,
and every thing valuable was taken from rae,
so that I was left without a farthing to help
myself. Thus, in the middle of winter, the
day before Christmas day, which I had anti¬
cipated spending with some gay friends in
the country, was 1 thrust into a cold prison ;
a stone cell was my sleeping room, a wooden
block was ray bedstead, and a little poor thin
covering was all I had to wrap myself up
in. By day I was called to mix with about
thirty abandoned sinners, in a small, dirty
TRANSFORMATION.
71
apartment, in my division of the prison ; and
by night, was loiked, bolted, and barred in
my solitary cell. Our food consisted of bread
and water, with now and then a little soup,
supplied by the charity of some benevolent
people in the neighbourhood. My legs were
galled with the heavy iron, and my distracted
mind much more galled by a sense of my
shame and guilt.
Oh, what a scene does a common prison
present ! And how much fitted is such a
place to harden the inmates in crime, and to
turn even the well-disposed into consummate
villains. Here every thing wicked and abom¬
inable is laughed at. The man who mani¬
fests any remorse is bantered and ridiculed,
till he is glad to shake it off, and sear his
conscience. If any one seemed disposed to
plead guilty of his charge, he was. taunted
with, "Oh! you are going to tell God Al¬
mighty's truth, are you ?" Plans of villany
are talked over ; the different means of dis-
72 THE HAPPY
posing of stolen property are pointed out;
technical language is taught for every pur¬
pose; and, in short, an introduction is af¬
forded to every vice the devil can wish his
votaries to engage in. I was at first disgusted
and dismayed, but matters of convenience
induced me to try and forget myself, and de¬
scend to the base level of the wicked throng.
I joined them in several of their low revelries,
and forced myself into a sort of complacence
of their conduct.
I could not see how my case was likely to
terminate. I knew that if my employers
were inexorable, it might lead to very serious
consequences. At the same time a hope of
acquittal presented itself. I knew that there
was a flaw in the indictment, as I was charg¬
ed with having secreted a sovereign, whereas
the goods sold amounted to about fifteen or
sixteen shillings, and I had given the change
from my own pocket : and my excuse was,
that I had kept the sovereign in order to set-
TRANSFORMATION. 73
tie at night, as was often our practice, and so
secure the silver 1 had given in change. No
one could have disproved this statement, and
it served to keep me from despair. I know
not whether tlife circumstance would have
saved me or not, if brought to the trial ; hap¬
pily, I had not to ascertain this point.
It was no small addition to the mortifica¬
tion that I endured, that all my papers, let¬
ters, &c., fell into the hands of my employers
and brother. Many letters which I had rea¬
son to be ashamed of for their licentiousness
of expression, and many assignations, tavern
bills, &c., helped to make out my history.
My companions, also, who were ignorant of
any dishonesty on my part, would now, I
supposed, shun me ; and I should, even if I
escaped, be every where despised. I at first
thought I should be left to suffer alone, and
my country friends know nothing of my dis¬
grace : but here also I was disappointed ; for
a lad from my native town saw and knew
7
74 THE HAPPY
me, and carried the news of my imprisonment
down among my friends. I was confounded
and astonished at what I had done ; but my
severest exercises of mind referred to the an¬
guish that I knew I shouU bring upon the
mind of my aged father. I felt that I should
bring down his " grey hairs with sorrow to
the grave." My nights were to me intolera¬
ble. I was then left alone in my gloom, to
review the past, and feel the upbraidings of
ray guilty conscience. I would gladly have
escaped ; but I had now no wish to lay vio¬
lent hands on myself. I was determined not
to add to my load of crime, but to submit to
whatever might come upon me.
In the meantime my companions and
friends behaved with real kindness to me;
and I was so suspectible of feeling, that any
little expression of tenderness affected me to
tears. Several that I thought would have
stood aloof visited me, brought me food and
money, did what they could to encourage me.
TRANSFORMATION. 75
But my brother was my best friend. He
urged me to make a faithful statement of my
trespasses, without any reference to the effects
it might produce ; and told me that my late
employers would say nothing of their inten¬
tions respecting me, till I made a full and
open confession. My brother urged me prin¬
cipally to think of my sins against God, and
seek his forgiveness ; and at length furnished
me with paper and pen to write my con¬
fession. It was a hard task. I had hopes
of escaping without doing it, and I feared
after all it would be brought as evidence
against me. Besides, it was quite opposed to
the practice of regular established rogues,
many of whom I had heard tell how they
had escaped from the most glaring convictions
by an obstinate perseverance in not saying
any thing to convict themselves. However, I
was now in a better state of mind. I deter¬
mined to write out my statement, regardless
of the consequences, and I did so.
76
THE HAPPY
CHAPTER VIII.
I MUST now endeavour to tell you some¬
thing more of the secrets of my prison house,
and the way of my hberation. It was in this
prison I received the first dawn of light upon
my benighted mind, and was led to see some¬
thing of my own depravity. It was the cus¬
tom of the prison to have Divine service early
on the sabbath morning, when all the prison¬
ers were obliged to attend in the prison chap¬
el ; of course myself among the rest. Happi¬
ly, the preacher was himself enlightened, and
understood the worth of souls. His sermon
was on the birth of Christ. I have no recol¬
lection, however, of what hé said on that sub¬
ject ; but one sentence entered my mind, and
kept working there for some time afterwards.
TRANSFORMATION. 77
It was to this effect ; turning to the prisoners
who had been convicted of capital crimes he
said, " You behold here men whose guilt may
make mankind to tremble; but remember,
you have each of you the same principles of
depravity in your hearts, which would, with¬
out some restraint from a kind Providence,
lead you to commit the same crimes." I
cannot say that these were the exact words
of the preacher, but it was the sentiment, and
I felt its justice. Indeed, it darted like a ray
of light into my mind, and I saw at once
where my depravity would lead me. This,
however, was all I knew ; but I determined
that I would avoid my sinful courses in
future. In the meantime my statement to
my employers wrought favourably. My af¬
flicted .parent had been up to London, and
was probably subjected to great humihation
in interceding for me ; and the plea was ef-
fectuaL After about ten days' incarceration
in this sink of iniquity, I (in company with
7*
78 THE HAPPY
my miserable fellow-prisoners) was brought
again to the police office in- the same way as
we were committed to prison ; and after wait¬
ing about half an hour in the dungeon, my
chains were knocked off, and in company
with my brother I left the office, once more
to breathe the fresh air of liberty.
It may be proper to observe, that my em¬
ployers had more money in hand of my sal
ary than I ever defrauded them of, and that
they were far too backward in pa3Ùng the
salarie^of their j^oung men. I had always
an unaccountable aversion to a«k for any
part of my salary ; and I think it probable
that if they had paid me quarterlj', or at any
other regular period, without subjecting me to
what was so great a humiliation, to ask for it,
I should never have injured them in this way.
I do not say this to exculpate myself from
guilt, but to afford a hint, which may, per¬
haps, be useful to those who have young men
their employ.
TRANSFORMATION. 79
After my liberation, I retired with my
brother to an inn, in order to wait for the
coach to my native town ; and my brother
was to accompany me. This was an ad¬
ditional mortification. I would much rather
have remained in London, where I could
have passed in the crowd, than to have sub¬
jected myself to the gaze and scandal of a
country town. However the latter was in¬
sisted upon, and in my broken state of heart
I agreed to accompany my brother. He was
obliged to leave me for two or three "hours, to
make the necessary arrangements for our
journey, and I had time to reflect upon what
was my situation. I was strongly tempted
not to go with him, but to embrace the pres¬
ent opportunity of making my escape, and
set off to some part of the country, where I
should be unknown. I did go to visit an old
companion, and it took up so much time that,
when I returned, the coach was waiting for
me, and my brother began to fear I had
80 THE HAPPY
avoided him. However, I had pledged my
word, and was determined to endure the con¬
sequence. Yet my spirit was much broken.
The journey was an extremely wet one, and
all my clothes had been taken from me ; yet
I could not bear to take the smallest part of
my brother's coat. I remember that I felt it
was but of httle consequence my being ex¬
posed to the wet and cold ; I deserved it all.
But I could not consent that he should suffer
any thing more on m)'^ account.
My reception at home was a very affecting
one. It was night when we arrived. My
mother-in-law fell on my neck, and kissed
me ; and my father uttered some affecting ex¬
pressions of welcome to his house once more.
This kindness was too much for me, and I
could neither look at them, nor speak to
them that night. A thousand times did I re¬
proach myself for having wounded such
minds, and a thousand times did I re¬
solve to seek to deserv^e their affection in
My MüCher-in-law tell on my neck and kiased me, ami my
Father uttered some atlecting' expressions of welcome to his
house once more."—London Apprentice, Page 80,
TRANSFORMATION. 81
future. Theii tenderness towards me was
exceedingly judicious. Had they treated me
harshly, or upbraided me with my conduct, I
should assuredly have left them, and perhaps
have become an abandoned wretch ; but they
scarcely ever mentioned the past to me, and
I tried to become worthy of the kindness with
which they treated me.
My parents had of late paid more attention
than formerly to real religion, and I accompa¬
nied them in their regular attendance upon
divine worship, at a chapel where the gospel
was faithfully proclaimed ; but I did not re¬
ceive any further light into the obligations of
Christianity for some time. Circumstances,
at length, induced our family to attend at the
Baptist chapel in the town, and there the word
came home to my conscience with treihendous
power. I absolutely trembled under the rep
resentations, the Bible exhibits, of the de¬
pravity and guilt of man, and seemed to
think every threatening directed expressly
82 THE HAPPY
to me. For some time I thought my friends
had informed Mr. H., the preacher, of my
character, and instructed him to direct his ad¬
dress particularly to me ; and this filled me
with vexation and shame. However, tlris
idea was quite unfounded, and I have met
with many instances since, of the word of
God being thus " quick and powerful." My
heart, at length, began to give wa)^, and I be¬
came the subject of real repentance. I no
longer was sorry that my, sins were found
out, but that I ever committed them j and
loathed that depravity of my nature which had
thus led me into gross transgression against
both God and man. I was frequently pricked
to the heart, and knew not how to avoid dis¬
covering my feelings. My eyes were fre¬
quently »filled with tears of sorrow and re¬
pentance, which I endeavoured carefully to
conceal by a variety of means. I was not,
however, unobserved by some in the chapel,
and one person, in particular, sought for an
TRANSFORMATION. 83
opportunity of speaking to me. Oh ! how
grateful I felt for the notice he took of me !
And when he once took me by the hand, with
some kind observation, it went to my heart.
A few months before I should have despised
him heartily, and felt very reluctant to " de¬
grade myself" by shaking hands with him ;
but now I felt truly grateful for his attention
and useful observations. I cannot help think¬
ing there is a great deficiency in Christains,
with respect to those who appear to listen to
the word with seriousness, and manifest some
expressions of repentance. From my own
experience, I am persuaded they might ren
der an essential service to Christianity, by a
kind, judicious notice of such characters ; and
perhaps in many instances kindle the spark
of penitence into a flame, which through neg
lect is left to die away. I was extremely
ignorant of the way of peace, and any picus
Christian might have afforded me information
which would probably have led me much
84 THE HAPPY
eooner to the Saviour of sinners. In the
midst of my trouble I was never entirely des¬
titute of a hope of pardon. A confused no¬
tion that there was mercy for penitents en¬
couraged me, and kept me from despair,
though I knew not where to look or in what
way to expect salvatioa
transformation.
85
CHAPTER IX.
These religious impressions were neither
transitory nor inefficacious. I began to see
myself in a proper light, and to abhor the
course, I had been so long pursuing. My
principal desires now referred to my spiritual
interests. I felt my sins as an intolerable
burden, too heavy for me to bear ; and began
to cry out to the living God for deliverance.
1 regularly atteiided every means of grace,
and sought the Lord earnestly in prayer. On
one sabbath evening I waited to observe the
administration of the ordinance of the Lord's
supper ; and, while the minister was break¬
ing the bread, and pouring out the wine, I
obtained such a clear discovery of the way
of salvation, through the atoning sacrifice
8
86 THE HAPPY
and death of Jesus, as delighted 'and aston¬
ished me. I saw at once that there was par¬
don, rich and free, proclaimed through the
dying love of Christ to the vilest of transgres¬
sors. I felt myself admitted all at once into
a new world ; every thing around me assumed
a fresh appearance ; every flower looked love¬
lier, the stars seemed to shine brighter, and a
cheering smile of benevolence appeared spread
over the whole creation. These were days
of exquisite joy. T frequently retired to the
fields, when oppressed by temptation, and be¬
sought the Lord that he would take me from
the world rather than allow me to fall into
sin. Nevertheless, I did fall several times, be¬
fore I was established, during the first twelve
months of my religious existence. I thus
learned to feel, that if left to myself I was
helpless as infancy, and all my resolutions
were as broken reeds, not to be depended on.
Blessed be my gracious God, I have not been
allowed to bring any public blot upon my
TRANSFORMATION.
87
profession ^ince, though I have had sad ex¬
perience that " the heart is deceitful above all
things, and desperately wicked." My religion
made me a new creature, to the astonishment
of those who had known me in my days of
folly. It completely changed all the habits,
pursuits, and practices of my life. I had
scarcely any thing of my former character
left. My foppish, foolish dress was soon re¬
duced to moderation, and I felt the most per¬
fect distaste to all my former sources of pleas¬
ure. As I had a good deal of leisure, I took
great delight in visiting the sick and misera¬
ble poor ; and a benevolent society, connected
with the chapel, appointed me one of the dis¬
tributors of their bounty. These visits were
exceedingly useful to me : they brought down
my pride; showed me the emptiness of all
things beneath the skies, without a hope of
everlasting life ; and often brought me into
scenes, where the value of real godliness, and
88 THE HAPPY
the evils of neglecting it, were seen in all their
importance.
I now began to wish for a union with the
church, but dared not speak to any one on the
subject. I was afraid of my unworthiness,
and apprehensive of disgracing my profession.
At length, however, the minister took an op¬
portunity of asking me my thoughts on the
subject, and satisfied me that the church were
more concerned to know what their members
are, than what they have been. But various
difficulties presented themselves. In addition
to other objections, I had a wish towards the
ministry, and conceived that my joining this
society would be throwing me entirely out of
the way of gratifying ray desire. I however
determined to obey the command of God, and
to trust in him for the consequences. I did
so, and being satisfied as to my duty, was
soon afterwards baptized, and became a mem¬
ber. This event, which, as I thought, stood
most in the way of accomplishing my wishes.
TRANSFORMATION. 89
tended directly to promote them. A friend
engaged me to go into the country to an ob¬
scure village, and endeavour to preach the
good news of salvation to a few well-disposed
country people. I went, and repeated my at¬
tempts two or three times, though with great
fear and trembling. About the same time
my pastor was taken suddenly ill on a Satur¬
day, and there was no opportunity of obtain¬
ing a supply for the sabbath services. The
church met, and determined that I should he
requested to preach to them in the morning.
There was no alternative. I must comply,
or the chapel be shut up. I did try, and, af¬
ter the service, was cheered by the kind appro¬
bation of my pastor, who had heard my ad¬
dress ; otherwise I felt sadly overcome. I was
obliged to repeat my exertions in the after¬
noon, and managed, though with much mor¬
tification to my own feelings, to get through
a very short service. From that time to this,
8*
90 THE HAPPY
I have, in weakness and trembling, in much
imperfection—
" Proclaimed to wretched sinners round,
What a dear Saviour I have found."
My introduction into the ministry was very
gradual. First I became a teacher in the
sabbath school ; then I began to address the
children, at the close of the service; subse¬
quently, to conduct prayer-meetings ; then to
preach in the country villages ; and, finally,
to assist my pastor in the chapel. The latter
event was one of great surprise to my friends,
particularly my father and mother, and it
would be difficult to describe their feelings,
when, as they entered the chapel the first sab¬
bath I officiated, they beheld their son in the
pulpit. They were too much affected to re¬
main in the congregation, and retired into the
vestry.
About this time a missionary society's re¬
port was put into my hands, in which (here
TRANSFORMATION.
91
was an invitation to young men, desirous of
engaging in the mission to the East Indies,
to apply to the secretary for information.
This was like an electrifying shock to my
soul. My thoughts recurred immediately to
the circumstance related in the fifth chapter.
I felt that I was devoted to India, and from
that moment determined upon complying, in
some way or other, with what I thought, and
now think, a call in providence. I commu¬
nicated my views to my friend and pastor.
He discouraged me, urging that I might be
more useful at home. But I was determined,
and he promised to write to the Secretary.
Still he delayed. At lenth, a missionary
meeting was held at my native town, and the
Secretary was then spoken to, and I was de¬
sired to offer myself, by letter, to the society.
I did so, and after twelve months' probation,
and a course of instruction in theology, &c.,
was accepted for the East Indies.
It was now that I saw the wisdom of a
92
THE HAPPY
kind providence, in preventing some matrimo¬
nial engagements into which, at former pe¬
riods, I was almost ready to plunge, an event,
which would probably have embittered my re¬
maining days, and retarded my plans of use¬
fulness. A wife, however, every way quahfied
to be a helpmate for me, was provided, and,
in due time, we together left the land of our
fathers, to make known among the Hindoos
the unsearchable riches of Christ. I need not
continue my narrative further. You knqw
pretty well the subsequent history of my life,
that "having received help of God, I have
continued until this day, testifying to all men
repentance toward God, and faith in our
Lord Jesus Christ." As expressive of the sub¬
stance of my ministry, 1 may subjoin a verse of
the admirable Cowper, with a slight alteration
" E'er since by faith I saw the stream
Christ's flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die."
TRANSFORMATION.
THE PRODIGAL'S PRAYER.
Great God, when urging on my way
To death and misery,
With love immense, unsought, unwished.
Thou didst ' remember me.'
And when, beneath thy threatening law,
T sank despairingly.
With one kind glance of pard'ning grace.
Thou didst ' remember me.'
When busy memory calls to mind
My past iniquity.
Then show me Christ for sinners died,
0 then ' remember me.'
When on my mourning, burdened soul.
My sins lie heavily.
Thy mercy speak, new strength impart.
In love ' remember me.'
When fierce temptations hem me round.
And ills, I cannot flee,
O then thy gracious aid impart !
Again ' remember me.'
And w|jen before thy awful bar
1 stand so tremblingly.
Then own the purchase of thy blood,
Yes, then ' remember me.'
A
WARNING VOICE FOR THE YOUNG,
or, thr ways of sin shown to bx both seductive
amd dangerous:
AN ADDRESS,
founded on
' The way of the wicked sedaceth them.**—Piov. ziL 26.
My DEAR YOUNG FrIENDS,
It is with feelings of intense interest that I
enter upon this service. I feel the responsibil¬
ity of my situation almost to despondency,
and I am persuaded that if you could know
the deep concern 1 now feel for your welfare,
many a heart in this assembly would listen to
me with the most serious and impartial atten¬
tion. I feel that it is probable I am address¬
ing you for the last time, and that on your
reception or rejection of the advice I have
now to offer, your present and everlasting
happiness may be suspended. Need you
A WARNING VOICE FOR THE YOUNG. 95
wonder, then, that I am tremblingly alive to
the issue of this service, and that I am anxious
at the outset to bespeak your favourable re¬
gard ?
Happiness, present and everlasting happi¬
ness ! you will exclaim ; why this is the ob¬
ject of our desires—this is the golden prize
for which we all contend—and however di¬
versified our attempts, we all believe ourselves
in the way of securing it. I am aware, my
friends, that this is the case ; but the voice of
eternal truth reminds us, "the way of the
wicked seduceth them that, however prom¬
ising may be the flowery paths of sin, they
conduct not to happiness, but to woe ; and
that all who expect. to find true pleasure in
wickedness will be grievously disappointed.
But, probably, many of you may make an
objection, or, at least, draw a hasty conclusion
from the words of my text, which, it is neces¬
sary, I should immediately obviate. You will
suppose, that the term wicked is not applicable
96 A "WARNING VOICE
to you. I trust, indeed, that there are few in
this company, to whom, in its grossest sense,
it is applicable. I trust there are few here,
who rank with the adulterer, the drunkard,
the swearer, and the profane. Yet you must
be told, that notwithstanding this, though you
may be moral in your deportment, amiable in
your temper, generous in your disposition, and
honest in your conduct, yet in His sight, who
looketh on the heart, you may still rank with
the wicked. Wherever we look, through the
whole book of God, we find but two classes of
characters described ; the righteous and the
wicked ; the sinner and the saint ; the child
of God and the child of wrath ; the wise and
the foolish ; the saved and the lost. There is
no middle class. If, therefore, we are not
re^ly and truly the subjects of vital godliness,
we must, in God's judgment, rank with the
wicked.
It is, however, the way of the wicked that
we have to notice on this occasion; and if
POR THE YOUNG. 97
can but ascertain what that is, we shall be
enabled more easily to decide whether or not
we are walking in that way. The way of
the wicked, my young friends, is a broad high¬
way. It branches out into a variety of paths,
differing considerably as to external appear¬
ances, but aU really of the same tendency ;
all leading downward to destruction ; and,
alas ! we must add in scripture words, " many
there be which go in thereat."
We may instance among tjpese different
paths, the way of the neglecter of religion ;
the way of the worldling; the way of the
openly wicked ; and the way of the scorner
and'the infidel. Happy, thrice happy, the
youth, who is not found travelling in one or
the other of these wretched paths. But alas !
it is a painful fact, that all men are, from their
earliest infancy, more or less disposed to that
course of conduct, which is properly termed
wicked. " Behold," says the psalmist, " I
was shapen in iniouity, and in sin did my
9
98 A WARNING VOICE
mother conceive me." As soon eis we are
born we go astray and speak lies; and we
must, through every subsequent period of our
progress, adopt the humiliating confession,
that " we have erred and strayed from God's
ways like lost sheep we " have all sinned
and come short of the glory of God." Let
us briefly notice some of the different paths
in which sinners walk.
1. The way of the neglecter of religion.
We place this first, because it generally leads
to all evil ; it is the path which deludes more
souls to destruction than all the other ways of
sin put together. In this way, God is for¬
gotten, the Saviour's love is slighted, th^ sab¬
bath and all its privileges abused, and the im¬
mortal soul left to perish in sin. In this way
are walking the gay, ambitious youth, and
the vain, thoughtless girl, who although they
know and feel something of the solemnities of
Heaven and Hell, salvation and eternity, still
drown the voice of conscience hy some delii-
FOR THE YOUNG. ■99
ttive procrastinating resolution of future re¬
pentance and reformation. "Let us," say
they in their hearts, " let us enjoy a little
longer the gaieties and pleasures of youth,
and, in more mature years, we will think
Rbout religion."
In this way the man of business neglects
his eternal interests : he blunts the arrows of
conviction by his worldly spirit, and the
promise of seeking his eternal welfare, when
he has secured his temporal ; as though he
were likely to secure his objeA better without
his heavenly Father's blessing than with it.
Thus the embarrassed put off repentance till
their affairs are arranged ; the poor, till their
families are grown up ; the rich, till nature is
worn down to the dregs of life ; the sick and
aged, long accustomed to procrastinate, still
dream on, even to the brink of the grave;
and all delay till death comes and bears them
away. Alas ! how do the early graves and
dying reproaches of multitudes warn men of
100 A WARNING VOICE
this folly ! How do they urge the gracious
call of the Almighty, " Wilt thou not from
this time cry unto me, My Father, thou art
the guide of my youth ? "
2. Another way in which multitudes throng
to destruction is, the way of the worldling.
We can scarcely find language sufiiciently
strong to describe the danger arising from
this source. The apostle Paul, when writ¬
ing to the Ephesians, says, "You hath he
quickened, who were dead in trespasses and
sins ; wherein «n time past ye walked ac¬
cording to the course of this world, according
to the prince of the power of the air, the
spirit that now worketh in the children of dis¬
obedience." Here, we see, the way of those,
who walk according to the course of this
world, is described as the way of disobedi¬
ence; as the way, in which Satan is their
guide, and where they walk according to his
pleasure ! Satan deludes his wretched vota¬
ries, as he would fain have deluded the Son
POR THE YOÜNGf. 101
of God ; " AU these things wiU I give thee,"
he said, " if thou wilt fall down and worship
me." Thus, in fact, all who reject serious,
heartfelt piety for the pleasures and enjoy¬
ments of the world, turn their backs on God
and worship Satan. '-For, whosoever will
be a friend of the world is the enemy of God."
Let me entreat you, young friends, beware of
its vain, ensnaring pleasures ; its false, delu¬
sive customs. There is no sin more insidious
than the love of the world. It winds its way
into the heart, and leads the soul from God,
much sooner than many are aware. The
profane and immoral may be brought to see
the enormity of their sin ; but how difiicult
is it to convince a worldly-minded, outwardly
moral man of his alienation of heart from
God ! You may be, apparently, all that is
moral and right in your outward conduct,
and yet, because the world, in some alluring
form, has your hearts, all is wrong. " For
if any man love the world, the love of the
9*
102 A WARNING VOICE
Father is not in him." In this way how
many, who once bid fair for heaven, have
made shipwreck of all their brilliant prospects !
Young reader, beware of the way of the
world. Take heed, lest you are deluded by it
far beyond what you intended; lest, while
careful about many things, you altogether lose
sight of the one thing needful, the salvation
of your souls.
3. "We shall next notice briefly the way of
the openly wicked. In this disgraceful path
treads the drunkard, the swearer, the sabbath-
breaker, the liar, and the debauchee ; a cata¬
logue, enough to shock the feelings of every
youth, not lost to common decency and re¬
spectability. Yet, alas ! what multitudes are
found, who practise one or the other of these
awful crimes ; and that, not merely in the
lowest ranks of life, but among our young
men of fashion and of credit ! Have I before
me this evening one such character in embryo,
some young sinner just trembling over the
POR THE YOUNG.
103
verge of this awful pit? Oh, I would most
affectionately beseech him to pause in his
career of folly. As you value all that is dear
for time and eternity, pause, I beseech you,
and consider whither your course will tend.
Your steps " take hold on hell, leading down
to the chambers of death."
Perhaps half of the unhappy wretches, who
forfeit their hves to the outraged laws of their
country, can trace their first step, in the road
to ruin, to breaking the sabbath of the Lord.
Perhaps more than half of the miserable vic¬
tims of seduction, who throng our streets, can
date their first deviation from the path of vir¬
tue, to that Lord's day evening when they
absented themselves from the house of God.
They little thought, in either case, whither
their course would tend ; but sabbath-break¬
ing opens the gate to every vice. At first,
perhaps, nothing more is intended than a
pleasant walk; then, by degrees, the party
of pleasure is formed, and the tea-gardens, or
104 A WARNING VOICE
the park, or some scene of sabbath profana¬
tion must be visited. Then comes the re¬
freshment at the tavern; and so by degrees
the habit of drinking is acquired, and at
last, behold the confirmed drunkard ! Those
who can surround the drinking-board, and
indulge ,in habits of intoxication, will not
long retain their honour, their integrity, or
their virtue. It is a damning sin, and opens
the flood-gates of vice to every temptation.
It naturally tends to lying, for a man full of
liquor is generally a man full of words, and
so prepared to say any thing or every thing,
however false and absurd. To lying, swear¬
ing is generally added, being thought an al¬
most indispensable requisite ; indeed, a liar
will seldom refuse an oath in confirmation of
his assertion : and this will gradually induce
such a habit of profaneness, that the man
will be quite unconscious to himself when he
practises it. Need I add, that he, who goes
thus far in vice, is prepared to go farther?
FOR THE YOUNG.
105
The mind that is corrupted by drunkenness
and profanity, will soon add to the list adul¬
tery or fornication. But who shall depict, in
proper colours, the debauchee and the sedu¬
cer ? Horrible monsters ! how wretched their
conduct and their end ! It is an awful sin,
that slays two souls at once, and spreads a
moral pestilence which perhaps extends to
numbers. I must not dwell on this destruc¬
tive sin on this occasion. I can only beseech
you, young men, young women, to watch,
with the greatest vigilance, against the first
temptation to impurity, and to flee from those
snares, from those scenes, from that company,
which would lead you astray, as you would
flee from the sweeping pestilence or the burst¬
ing volcano. Stay not to parley with the ad¬
versary ; if you pause for an instant, you are
undone.
4.1 must now briefly glance at the way of
the scorner and the infidel. I place this last,
because it is to this that the former sins nat-
t06 A WARNING VOICE
urally tend. When habits of sin have been
formed, and the fruits of disobedience become
sweet to the depraved taste, then the sinner
looks about for some scheme by which he
may go on in sin with impunity. His con¬
science tells him, every now and then, that
if the Bible be true he is a lost man ; he is
hastening fast the downward way to death.
It becomes, therefore, essential to his desper¬
ate course of pleasure to disbelieve the Bible ;
it is against Aim, and therefore he is against
it ; this is the root of his infidelity. He
knows that salvation is not to be had without
thorough reformation, and to this he is indis¬
posed. He, therefore, like some prodigal heir,
mortgages his hopes of eternity for the de¬
structive pleasures of sin. His infidel creed
leaves his mind in such obscurity, respecting
his obligations to God and man, that, as it
brings no troublesome restraints, it leads to no
painful convictions of conscience, till at length,
not liking to retain God in his knowledge,
POR THE YOUNG. 107
God gives him over to a reprobate mind, to
do those things which are not convenient.
Then he assumes the scorner's chair, laughs
at religion and a judgment to come, and pours
contempt upon his Maker, and all, who bear
his image. He fancies himsèlf a man of su¬
perior intellect and discernment, and pities
those, who are silly and weak enough to be-
heve the Bible. Thus, drunk with the pride
of his deluded mind, he reels into the awful
snare, which the god of this world has spread
for him.
But, alas ! the day of judgment is fast has¬
tening on, and the man of scorn wiU find it a
dreadful exchange, when his laughs and
sneers are turned into weeping, and wailing,
and gnashing of teeth. Then he must giVe
^n account of that wit, which was employed
in sport at truth, mockery at sin, and blas¬
phemy against God. Then the boasting in-
fidei, who "fluttered away, like some gay
butterfly on the wing, in the pride of dress
108 A WARNING VOICE
and dissipation ; who shifted the scene to sin¿s
of debauchery and intrigue, and at last took
refuge from an accusing conscience in athe¬
ism, or the forlorn hope of annihilation, will
find that hell is no painted fire, and the wrath
of God no impotent menace."
Such, my young friends, are the principal
branches of this broad way that leadeth to
destruction. In one or other of these ways
every child of Adam would wander, if left to
himself. In these ways multitudes are at this
moment travelling down to hell. If this be
not your case, be assured, it is not from your
own natural goodness or love of virtue : for,
unless restrained by the grace and providence
of God, there is not a young man or young
woman before me, whose corrupt hearts would
not impel them to commit any and every sin,
that ever disgraced mankind. Our text says,
" the way of the wicked seduceth them," that
is, it deceives them ; it lures them on to de¬
struction by misrepresentation, and gradually
POR THE YOUNG. 109
draws them on from sin to sin' till it conducts
them from sin-to its awful punishment. To
this part of our subject we are, in the second
place, to direct your attention : " The way of
the wicked seduceth them."
II. To seduce, we have already observed,
is to deceive by misrepresentation ; usually
by flattering assurances of impunity on the
one side, and of advantage on the other. So
the falijfii^earted villain betrays the young
woman from' the paths of peace and virtue,
oy assurances of inviolable attachment ; by
promises of marriage, and security from infa¬
my and shame ; by holding up flattering pros¬
pects of happiness and prosperity: but no
sooner are his purposes accomplished, than he
flings aside his victim as a ruined, worthless
thing, and leaves her to experience the full
and bitter fruits of the truth of our text. So
also the devil betrays the sinner in the way
of wickedness. Thus he betrayed Eve at the
first. God had expressly commanded our
10
110 A WARNIîTG VOICE
first parents not to touch the forbidden fruit,
declaring that in the day they did so they
should surely die ; but Satan asserted directly
the contrary, and assured them, that so far
from this being the case, they should become
as gods, knowing good and evil. Eve was
already in the way of the wicked in listening
to these blasphemous suggestions, and that
way soon seduced her. First she looked at
the fruit, and began to think abo\*» it *, and
'• when she saw that it was good for food, and
pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired
to make one wise," all God's prohibitions were
disregarded, and " she took of the fruit, and
did eat ; and gave also to her husband, and
he did eat." This scheme of Satan's is acted
over and over again every day with the same
success; hence sinners are said to be "led
captive by the devil at his will."
Let us notice, a little more particularly, how
the way of the wicked seduces them.
1. It seduces or deceives them by promis-
FOR THE YOUNG.
Ill
ing them some advantage of pleasure or profit
in the ways of sin. This generally lies at
the foundation of acts of disobedience, as
though we could be happier by ofiending
God than by seeking to please him. This
was what deceived our first parents : "Ye
shall be as gods." Yet how absurd is the
supposition, that we can secure happiness in
the way which God has forbidden.
It is a most rebellious and wicked thought
to suppose that God has tied us down to a
certain course of conduct to make us misera¬
ble, and shut us out of pleasures of which he
envies us the enjoyment. One would thirik
so base a thought would at once flash convic¬
tion on our consciences, and show us that it
is the offspring of hell. Depend upon it, my
young friends, that the blessed God has done
much more for your happiness than any one
else ; and that the ways of wisdom are ways
of pleasantness, and all her paths are paths
112 A WARNING VOICE
of present and eternal peace. Yet the way
of the wicked thus seduces mankind.
Again, the way of the wicked seduces them,
by promising that they shall sin with impu¬
nity. "Ye shall not surely die," says Satan ;
and our wicked hearts cherish the fatal lie.
" Tush," says the sinner, " God shall not see."
Or he thinks within himself that God will
not call him to an account, or that he shall
repent by and by : or else, perhaps, he cher¬
ishes the hope that God will not fulfil his
word, and that he will not really carry his
awful threatenings into execution ; and thus
he gradually sinks into the regions of infidel¬
ity. Now I appeal to you, my youthful
readers, if some such thoughts as these do not
fill your hearts, and plunge you into sin.
You begin to suppose, as the devil would have
you, that God is a hard master. Then yotr
begin to think thus: "Surely he will not
punish me for this : or, I will repent by and
by, and leave these things; or, at least, I
FOR THE YOUNG. 113
shall manage to escape somehow or other."
Any thing of a confused excuse does to si¬
lence conscience, while "the way of the
wicked seduces them."
Now, I beg you to consider well that word,
" seduceth them that is, it is a growing
evil. Men and women do not become des¬
perate sinners all at one ; but the way of sin,
when they once yield to it, gradually allures
them on. At first, perhaps, their hearts smote
them dreadfully, and they resolved to sin no
more ; but the next temptation drew them
into sin again, and their hearts smote them
less this time. So they went on sinning and
sinning, till their hearts became insensible as
steel, conscience troubled them no more, and
they sinned with a high hand ; or, as Job
says, "they drank in iniquity like water."
This is the dangerous quality of sin,—its ten¬
dency to harden the heart, and drag men on
fi-oin sin to sin, till it drags them from sin to
judgment, and from judgment down to hell.
10*
114 A WARNING VOICE
Well then might the apostle exhort us, " Take
heed lest any of you be hardened through the
deceitiulness of sin." This is its nature, to
harden and deceive, and so lead us, by de¬
grees, to eternal ruin.
III. Now let us briefly notice what it is to
which "the way of the wicked seduceth
them." This is, my young friends, a very
awful part of our subject, yet it is necessary
that I should bring it plainly to your notice ;
and oh, that you may all seriously lay it to
heart, and reflect to what it is sin will reduce
you, unless you speedily turn from it.
1. The way of the wicked seduces them
till it is too late to repent. This is what few
sinners dream of. As we have already ob¬
served, most of them flatter themselves with a
hope of future reformation and repentance,
and the very idea has a tendency to acceler¬
ate their progress in sin. If they could be
made to see the real tendency of their con¬
duct to harden their hearts against future rfr-
FOR THE YOUNG. 116
pentance, and how it closes the door of hope
against them, they would shudder with hor¬
ror; and yet a moment's serious reflection
would show them, that this is the natural
tendency of their conduct. By every step
that we take from heaven, our return to God
is rendered still more diflScult. If our hearts
are unwilling to yield to God's gracious calls
to-day, is it likely they will be more wilUng
when they are more hardened in sin to-mor¬
row ? Does not the observation of those best
acquainted with the subject abundantly man¬
ifest, that very few of those who, have passed
the meridian of life, are led to repent and turn
to God, and that very seldom indeed is an
aged man or woman converted and saved ?
Oh, beware, then, my young friends, lest you
should be seduced till you have neither will
nor power given you to turn and be saved.
God's day of grace, though it be long, has its
close ; there is a point at which mercy turns
to vengeance. Oh, beware, lest, deceived by
116 A WARNING VOICE
sin, all your future hopes of repentance
should be cut short by an untimely death, or
a hardened heart.
2. Sin very frequently reduces its votaries
to ruin and misery even in this world. Alas !
alas! what proof have we of this on every
side 1 Behold the many broken hearts, and
ruined fortunes, and diseased bodies, and
wretched objects that fill our streets, our hos¬
pitals, our prisons, and I may add, in many
cases, our houses-, yet all these are the ruin¬
ous consequences of sin. The way of the
wicked thus seduced them, till they were fill
ed with the fruit of their own doings. Look
at yonder poor, wretched young woman ; see
her sinking under the sad efiects of her miser¬
able life, worn down by disease, infamy, and
poverty. Ah ! little did she think, when she
first left the paths of chastity, whither her
course would tend. Remember that she once
was as virtuous as any one before me, but the
way of the wicked seduced her. Perhaps the
POR THE YOUNG. 117
commencement of her fall waa some feeling
of pride in a fashionable dress, or handsome
person ; or perhaps it was some wanton glance,
either given or received, without any appre¬
hension of the consequence : but this was her
first step on the road to ruin, in the way of
the wicked, and soon she found that "the way
of the wicked seduceth them."
I once knew a young man, who set out in
life, the hope of his parents, and the admira¬
tion of his friends. He was loved and re¬
spected by his employers, and the way to ad¬
vancement, if not to wealth and honour, was
plain before him. His address and qualifica¬
tions commanded respect wherever he went,
and all felt a pleasure in being connected with
him. But he gradually fell into misery and
disgrace. He first contracted a fondness for
dress and display. This led him to other ex¬
travagances, and eventually into the society
of dissipated characters of both sexes. His
expenditure soon became too large for his in-
118 A WARNING yOICE
come, and he had recourse, first to gambling,
and then to the embezzlement of his employ¬
ers' property. At length he was detected in
forging the signature of the firm to a bill.
He was arrested by the arm of the law, and
it was by the utmost exertions and supplica¬
tions of his venerable father and friends, that
he was saved from an untimely end. Ah !
how shocking was the scene, when his aged
parent was reduced to plead with tears for his
ruined, unhappy son ! How blighted his
fondest hopes and prospects, and how hiimili-
ating the circumstances of his once respecta¬
ble and respected boy ! Little did the youth
imagine what was the tendency of his first
inclination to gaiety and dissipation ; but the
way of the wicked seduced him.
Need I refer the reader to the foregoing
narrative ? Let him read it, and remember
that he, who now admonishes him, has experi¬
enced the bitter truth of the text before us.
Thus the way of the wicked seduces to
POR THE YOUNG.
119
present ruin and misery in unnumbered in¬
stances. It dissipates our property, ruins our
health, blasts our reputation in the eyes of all
good men, and it is well if it does not bring
us to prison and an ignominious death. But
its consequences as to the future are more
awful still, and far more certain. We must
not enter upon this overwhelming subject.
Let us, each one for himself, draw aside the
veil which separates us from the eternal world,
and behold the weeping, and wailing, and
gnashing of teeth, attendant on a life of sin
and impenitence. liet us listen to the self-
accusations and bitter reproaches of the de¬
luded victims of sin, and meditate on the
certainty of the awful declaration, that " The
wicked shall be turned into hell, with all the
nations that forget God."
IV. But having now ascertained to what
it is the way of the wicked seduces them, let
us notice from what it seduces them.
1. It seduces them from all true happiness
120 A WAKNING VOICE
and peace of mind. Sinners bluster a great
deal about their freedom from the restraints
of religion, and say what jovial, happy fellows
they are ; and the more wicked they are, the
louder they boast : but it is a vain boast. In
almost every instance, this is downright hypoc¬
risy or self-delusion. Witness their deathbed
confessions, or the acknowledgments of their
once brave companions in sin. They will
tell us, that while they ranked with the
bravest and foremost in sinful pleasure, they
were truly miserable at heart, and would have
preferred being a dog, or a horse, in order to
escape from the accusaj,ions of a guilty con¬
science.
It cannot be that God wDl thus surrender
his dominion over the human heart; and
though we may harden ourselves against him,
yet depend upon it we shall never prosper.
There is no solid bliss to be had without
peace with God, through our Lord Jesus
Christ. Then, there will be peace within and
FOR THE YOUNG.
121
peace without; a peace which ' the world
can neither give nor take away."
2. Again, the way of the wicked seduces
them from the honour and esteem of their
fellow-men. This is the case universally.
Even our companions in sin do not honour
us, do not esteem us. They unite with us in
schemes of pleasure and wickedness, because
they cannot do without us ; but there is no
confidence placed in us, no admiration of our
character, and no esteem for it. This they
transfer to those whose practices they oppose
and abuse. We soon find out where their
real esteem lies, when they have any business
that requires honour, confidence, and integrity
to accomplish it. How much more, then,
must it seduce them from the honour and es¬
teem of all good men, the only characters
whose honour and esteem are worth possess¬
ing?
But what shall I say of the sad havoc
which wicked practices make in the hearts
11
122 A WARNING VOICE
and esteem of our relatives and friends?
Alas ! let the broken hearts, and premature
grey hairs of many a tender parent, and
many a bereaved friend, declare what words
cannot do. How many a young woman,
who would, but for sin, have been the honour
of her family, the solace of the domestic circle,
and the support of a mother's declining years,
has, through the seductive ways of wicked¬
ness, made her family blush to own her name,
has brought her affectionate mother with sor¬
row to the grave, and made herself the object
of scorn and reproach to a deceiving world '
How many a young man, who should have
been a father to his family, have crowned his
parents' hopes with joy, and been an honour
to the name he bore, has heaped contumely
and misery on his father's house, dissipated
its hopes of support, and caused his venerable
parents to bow down their heads with shame
and sorrow, tiU they found a refuge from their
troubles in the grave. Oh that this were but
FOR THE YOUNG.
123
a fiction of the imagination ; but, alas ! I
know by painful experience, it is heart-rend¬
ing truth.
3. " The way of the wicked seduceth them"
from that dignified tone of moral feeling, that
purity and chastity of imagination, which is
the privilege of early piety. I introduce this
observation, because there is a very general
supposition, that a reformation, arising from
real conversion to God in after life, virill put
us in possession of all those spiritual advan¬
tages which the Christian enjoys who has
been devoted to God from his youth. Alas !
this is far from being true ; he who now ad¬
dresses you understands, in a most bitter
sense, what it is to " possess the iniquities of
his youth." I believe that no after conver¬
sion, and scarcely any attainments in religion,
will be sufiicient to restore the soul to that
moral digntiy and purity of conception, which
it is the privilege of the pious youth to attain.
Though our former sins be abhorred and bit-
124 A WARNING VOICE
terly lamented, yet they force themselves upon
our attention in our most solemn services,
and obtrude upon our most secret retirements.
They will pollute the imagination with the
most abominable conceptions, and cause us to
walk softly all our days in the bitterness of
our soul. No tears of sorrow can wash out
these stains. No hopes of purity and bliss
beyond the grave can bribe memory to forego
her tenacious hold of the past. Nothing, no¬
thing, my young friends, can compensate for
the loss of early, consistent piety. If you
have not this, although God should be gra¬
cious to you in more advanced life, and snatch
you from destruction, depend upon it, you will
bitterly mourn over those past transgiessions,
which you cannot erase from your memory.
4. But I must observe, lastly, that the way
of the wicked seduces them from future hap¬
piness. Yes, this is the end of them, that
leave the paths of uprightness, to walk in the
ways of wickedness. Great as are the evils
FOR THE YOUNG. 125
to which sin subjects us in time, 3'et tliey are
trifling, indeed, when compared with its awful
consequences for ever. Yet those conse¬
quences are inevitable to him who goeth on
still in his wickedness. There is an eternal,
an inseparable connexion between a life of
sin, a death of horror, a judgment issuing in
condemnation, and an eternity of misery !
As the. way of the wicked seduces its votaries
from Christ and holiness in time, it leaves
them destitute of happiness for ever. This
is the only scene of probation, and our con¬
duct and company now will stamp our char¬
acter for ever. There is no day of grace,
no season of reformation, no offers of mercy,
beyond the grave ; consequently, heaven and
heavenly blessedness, when once lost, are lost
for ever. Ah ! how wide the extremes be¬
tween a smiling Saviour, a pardoning God, a
crown of glory, the society of holy angels, and
spirits of just men made perfect, an eternity
of joy and praise,—and a frowning Judge, an
11*
126 A WARNING VOICE
angry God. the lake which burneth with fire
and brimstone, the society of the devils and
the damnedj and everlasting weeping, and
wailing, and gnashing of teeth. Yet from
the enjoyments of the one to the endurance
of the other, " the way of the wicked sedu-
ceth them." Beware, young friends, lest the
way and the end of the wicked be yours.
Allow me, before I bid you farewell, to of¬
fer a few concluding observations by way of
advice.
. If you would avoid the end of the wick¬
ed, see to it that you avoid the way. The
one cannot be done without the other. Lis¬
ten to the dictates of infinite wisdom ; how
the advice I now offer you is repeated and re¬
doubled in your ears. " Enter not into the
path of the wicked, and go not in the way
of evil men. Avoid it, pass not by it, turn
from it, and pass away. Turn not to the
right hand oat to the left : remove thy fort;
POR THE YOUNG. 127
from evil."* Few things are more destruc¬
tive than bad company. We cannot remain
in it for any time without being contaminated.
Man is a social being, and he insensibly as¬
similates himself to the company he keeps.
So generally is this the case, that it has be¬
come a proverb, " Tell me a man's company,
and I will tell you what he is." The youth
with good moral habits would start with indig¬
nation at the idea of keeping low company.
Let him, however, beware ; " the way of the
wicked seduceth them." It is wonderful how
fast the human character degenerates; and
how, by imperceptible degrees, the high-mind¬
ed youth finds himself reduced to the low level
of the»abandoned throng. No man is to be
despised for not standing high in the ranks
of life as it respects property, education, or
influence; but every man, whatever be his
standing in other respects, is to be shunned
whenever his conduct is calculated to betray
* Prov. ¡V. 14, 15, 27
128 A WARNING VOICE
US into sin. Indeed the more accomplished,
wealthy, or influential he is, the more he is to
be dreaded, and, if possible, avoided. " I
am," said the psalmist, " a companion of all
them that fear thee and these are the only
safe companions. Without the fear of God
in the heart, there is no security that we shall
not fall by any and every temptation that
tnay assail us. Let, then, the friends of God
and godliness be our friends. "The com¬
pany of the righteous," says the Hindoo prov¬
erb, " is the ship which conveys us safely over
the tremendous sea of life."
2. In order to avoid being led astray by the
error of the wicked, consider well for what
purpose you were created and placed in this
state of probation. Was it not that you
might serve God, and through the grace and
mercy offered you in Christ Jesus, be fitted
for that everlasting world of blessedness to
which the great God will so soon call all bis
ransomed family? But if we are to judge
POR THE YOUNG. 129
from the conduct of most young people, it
would seem as if a notion of the great end of
their being never entered their minds. They
pursue with avidity every trifling pleasure,
and are led to estimate all the pursuits and
engagements of life as they will tend to pro¬
mote their -present advantage ; but from
morning till night, from month to month, and
from year to year, not a serious thought of
their everlasting welfare engages their atten¬
tion. Alas ! my young friends, if this had
been all for which life was given, then Jesus
Christ would never have died for sinners;
then the bible would never have been re¬
vealed, and the invitations of divine love and
mercy would never have been made known.
But this is not all ; you have a soul to be
saved or lost, a heaven to win or lose, a God
to please or offend, a Saviour to embrace or
neglect, a judgment-seat to stand before, and
an account of all the deeds done in the body
to be faithfully delivered. Every one of you
130 A WARNING VOICE
has committed sin enough to sink you to hell ;
and you must, during the short season of
your probation, obtain the pardon of sin, or
be lost. You surely will not allow the way
of the wicked to seduce you from considering
these things ; from l etiring to your closets,
and instituting a strict inquiry as to what way
you have hitherto been travelling, and wheth¬
er you have in any degree answered the great
purpose of your existence. Will you not de¬
termine as to the way in which you shall
tread for the future, whether it shall be in the
way which leads to heaven or hell ?
To enable you to decide in the right way,
allow me to present you with two or three
considerations.
I have given you many reasons for a life
of early devotedness to God, in the course of
this address ; still there are many more.
1. It is the only safe way. You are every
moment liable to be called to the judgment-
seat of God. Look back upon your brief his-
FOR THE YOUNG.
131
tory. Think, short as it is, how many of the
companions of your youth have been sum¬
moned into eternity within that period, and
how can you assure yourself that your turn
will not be the next ? It has been remarked,
that where twenty die at sixty, sixty die at
twenty ; and it rhay be added, where one re¬
pents at sixty, sixty die impenitent. The
scriptures urge the present as the only safe
moment. "To-day, therefore, if you will
hear God's voice, harden not your hearts."
A young person once called upon an aged
man who was lying on a bed of sickness, and
fast hastening to the grave. The youth spoke
to him of the blessed Saviour and the pre¬
cious gospel. For a few moments he listened
with serious attention, then burst into a flood
of tears, and exclaimed, " Ah, my young
friend, had I thought on these things thirty or
forty years ago, what a happy man I might
have been ; but now," wringing his hands,
he said, " it is too late ; hell must be my por-
132 A WARNING VOICE
tion for ever." Perhaps, my young friends, if
you delay, such a wretched state may at last
be yours.
2. Another reason why I would urge you
to give your youth to God is, because it is
what you are bound to do by unspeakable
obligations. What has he not done for you,
my friends ! What blessings has he not
showered down upon your heads from the
cradle to the present moment ! what blessings
of home, of friends, of education, and, above
all, blessings of a spiritual nature ! He gave
his Son to bleed and die for you ; to shed his
blood to wash away your guilt :—and will
you not live to him? Shall his matchless
love to you at last reproach your ingratitude ?
Shall he at length drive you from his judg
ment throne, his awful sentence of condem¬
nation rendered more tremendous by the
piercing recollection of that grace which you
hved so long to scorn ?
3. Shall I add one other reason ? It is this,
FOR THE YOUNG. 133
that early and entire devotedness to God will
not only bring most happiness to your own
souls, but will make you the instruments of
conveying the same precious blessings to
others. We have seen how wretched wicked¬
ness makes its votaries, and how it spreads its
baneful influence to others ; but oh, how
blessed is a life of piety ! Earth presents
no sight so lovely as that of a pious youth
who while he is pressing on to heaven, scat¬
ters the blessings of benevolence and good¬
ness on others around him. The hearts of
his parents yearn with grateful delight as
they behold him from day to day; earth
smiles with the blessings of his exertions ;
and his judge at last pronounces, with regard
to him, " Well done." While he is on earth,
a thousand prayers ascend for his everlasting
blessedness ; and when he dies, a thousand
tears of love and gratitude bedew his grave.
Ijook at the lives of Abel, of Moses, of David,
of Samuel, of Daniel, and of Timothy, in an-
12
134 A WARNING VOICE
cient times ; and read the memoirs of Baxter
and Janeway, and Doddridge and Watts, and
Mart}^ and Pearce, and multitudes more in
our day, who early gave their hearts to God,
and have been honoured as instruments in
his hands of spreading the blessings of present
and eternal life to multitudes ; and then deter¬
mine for yourselves, whether a life of devoted
piety is not at once the path of psefulness and
happiness.
But I must now, my young friends, bid
you farewell ; and, as my last advice, beseech
you to choose the narrow path of piety and
peace. Seek now to have the great God as
your father and your friend, the gracious Sa¬
viour as your redeemer and your portion, the
Holy Spirit as your comforter and sanctifier,
the precious bible as your guide and adviser ;
and then, I am persuaded, heaven will be your
everlasting portion. May the Lord grant it,
for Christ's sake ! Amen.
POR THE YOUNG.
135
AN ALARM FOR THE CARELESS.
Oft in vain the voice of truth
Solemnly and loudly warns :
Thoughtlera, inexperienced youth,
Though it hears the warning, scorns
Called again, at length beware ;
Hear the Saviour's voice and live.
Lest he in his wrath should swear
He will no more warning give.
Youth, in fancy's glass, surveys
Life prolonged to distant years.
While the vast imagined space
Filled with sweets and joys appears
•
Awful disappointments soon
Overcloud the prospect gay :
Some, their sun goes down at noon,
Tom by death's strong hand away.
Sin has spread a curse around.
Poisoned all things here below :
Ah ! beware the enchanted ground !
Seek a Saviour's grace to know. ,
Pray that you may hear and feel
Ere the day of grace is past.
Lest your hearts grow hard as steel.
And this year should prove your last.
I
I
I
fflSS CHÜBBÜCE'S (NOW MES. JÜDSON,)
IPEA(D'ÍPI[(DAIL
(retised editions.)
CHARLES LINN, or How to Observe the Golden Rule
ALLEN LUCAS, The Self-made Man.
TBGE GREAT SECRET, or How to be Happy.
Miss Chubbuck, the authoress, now Mrs. Judson, and
better known as "Fanny Forrester," never wrote a line
that was not pleasing and instructive. Combining thesç
two qualities in an eminent degree in her productions,
she has succeeded most admirably in winning her way to
the hearts of her readers, and securing a high and worthy
name in the temple of their praise. The work before us
is worthy of her gifted pen. It is just what its title rep¬
resents it to be—the history of Allen Lucas, who by dint
of his just views, honorable principies, and meritorious
conduct, won his way to fame and honor. It should be
read extensively.—Sat. Emporium.
Charles Linn ought to be read audibly in every family
once a year, for the benefit of both parents and children.
It is a little book with great thoughts, exhibiting a rare
knowledge of the human heart.—Baptist Register.
This book (Allen Lijcas,) possesses undeniable merit
The descriptive sketch with which it opens is of rare
finish. The characters, though hardly more than out¬
lines, are clearly discriminated. Then it is of good moral
tendency, and a safe book for the young reader.—2%«
Churchman.
THE
POWER OF ILLUSTRATION ;
AN ELEMENT OF SUCCESS IN
PREACHING AND TEACHING.
Br JOHN DOWLINa, D.D.
k
•' This is an admirable book, though small, and treats
of a highly important subject, which yet has never, so
far as we are aware, been handled before in a distinct
treatise. Would that there were some law to compel
eveiy candidate for the ministry to possess this httle
volume ! We imagine that there would be less com¬
plaint of the dullness of sermons."—Boston Recorder.
"We would recommend its cai-eful perusal, not only
to every clergyman and every Sabbath School teacher,
but to every public speaker. No one, we think, can
give it a reading without being convinced of its OTeat
advantage, not to say necessity, of illustration, in order to
ensure success in teaching or preaching.
' The writer attempts to—I. Explain the science of
illustration, and specify the principal classes of analogies
which it employs, with examples for the use of each.—
II. What is meant by the power of illustration, and
gives some directions for its successful cultivation and
improvement."—Alabama Baptist.
" Modifications have heen made for the general benefit,
and to adapt the principle to teachers of every gradation,
including especially those of the Sabbath School. The
author has done a good service, by furnishing the preg¬
nant hints and significant examples, which will raise
thought and incite to efibrt, to make the acquisition of
the power of illustration."—Christian Mirror.
" Dr. Dowling treats his subject con amore, and we
hope, for goodness' sake, he may succeed in convincing
a great many clergymen and other public speakers."
—Christian Inquirer.
" Every Minister of Jesus Christ's Gospel should be
possessed of this work. It is the most complete instruc¬
tor of parabolical elocution that we have ever studied.
The mechanical work of these welcomed volumes is
very neat and splendid."—Baptist Telegraph.
FOR BIBLE CLASSES.
ELEMENTS OF THEOLOGY ;
OR, the leading topics ok chri&tian theologv
PLAINLir AND scripturally set forth; with
the PRINCIPAL EVIDENCES of DIVINE REVELA¬
tion concisely stated.
WITH QUESTIONS,
FOR THE USE OF BIBLE CLASSE*^, SEMJNARIER OF LEARNING
AND FAMILIES.
By DANIEL HASOALL, A. M.
The plan of the work is thus stated V'j the author
1. After a concise proof of the existence ot üod from c reation, to se*
forth the evidences oí a Diviue Revelation contained in the Scriptures
of the Old and New Testaments.
2. The attributes of God, as delineated in the rerelations which he
has made of himself.
3. The primitive and present character of man.
4. The recovery of lost men.
6. The agency of crer.tures connecte 1 with'this recovery
6. What befaUs man at and after death.
These subjects are treated of in a series of brief essays, with ques
tlons at the close of each essay or chapter. The whole is comprised
in an ISmo of-iöü pages. The style oí the author is terse and suggcs
tive. He just touches upon tho leading thoughts in every subject
treated of—puts the reader upon tlie right train of thought—and then
leaves it for another.
The book is very readable, and interesting to the solitary inquirer
into the " elements" of religious truth ; but judging from the ques¬
tions, the author designed it mainly as a text-book for instrurlion.
Pastors -will hnd it a suitable book to put into the hands of any in
their charge, who may wish to form a class for the systematic study
of the groundwork of our religion ; and Prtceptors of jicadrmieit who
think that theological science should have a place among othei
sciences in the education of youth, will find this book better adapted
to their wants than anything which has been before publislied.
*' The author is a man of experience, soundness, piety, and learning
in the topics of which the present work treats. His successful aim
has been to give instruction in the most important branch of know¬
ledge—' the knowledge of God and of ourselves.*"
[Christian Reflector.
" Its use among the young will, with the divine blessing, contribute
to a sounder condition of our churches Topics relating to churcn
arder are omitted, and it may therefore be appropriately circulated
imoog all evangelical denominations."—N. Y. Recorder.
A PURE CHRISTIANITY
THE WORLD'S ONLY HOPE.
BY EBV. H. W. OtJSHMAN,
PASTOR OF THE BOWDOIN SQUARE CHURCH, BOBTOIT
A Practical and Standard Work.
The events, in the religious world, that marl
the present time, show that the day has com(
when the corruptions of Christianity must be deal
with faithfully, and Christianity itself must be vin
dicated from the surreptitious institutes and usage!
which have claimed its authority and assumed its
name.
" This little book is a desideratum—ought to be read b]
all classes. It is a most able, not to say masterly vindica'
tion of scriptural or primitive Christianity, both in refei'
ence to its spirit and its organization and ordinances."
[Baptist Record.
" There is in this work a forcible statement of some pre-
valent obstacles to the progress of pure religion wnict
ought to be imiverseJly studied. The author shows s
sagacious and penetrating mind in his view of the subject,
and a degree of boldness and outspoken honesty in setting
it forth, quite worthy of a follower of Roger WiUiams
We commend it to all who love religious freedom, ai
worth study and admiration."—New York Evangelist.
" It is severe against the errors of the age ; is written
with great vigor of style, and spiciness of illustration, and
tannot fail to awaken interest "—Baptist Advocate.
THE
SABBATH SCHOOL MINSTREL,
DESIGNED FOR SABBATH SCHOOLS, FAMILIES, AND
SOCIAL MEETINGS.
This collection of music and hymns has been made
with especial reference to the wants of the Sabbath
School. The style of the music is simple and devotional ;
and while it will gratify those somewhat advanced in the
science, it may he learned with facility by even the young¬
est scholar. The object has been to introduce as large a
number of appropriate hymns as possible, varying in
length and in measure ; and all adapted to the exer¬
cises of the Sabbath School, its Anniversaries, Cele
brations, &c.
13,000 copies have already been sold
" This is a very good selection of hymns and music for
Sabbath Schools and families. Both the poetry and melo
dies are among the best for juvenile use extant."
[Zion's Herald.
" With many of the tunes in this collection we are fami¬
liar, and take pleasure in saying they are good."
{Boston Miscellany.
" We have looked over it with care, and are highly
pleased with it. It is excellent, and admirably adapted
to the purpose for which it is intended. The thirteenth
thousand has already left the press, and we can recom¬
mend it with a good conscience, which is not the case in
regard to some of the books that are sent us for examina¬
tion." {Lutheran Observer.
" This little volume seems well adapted to advance the
knowledge and taste for music, and this is one of the great
We&ts of Sabbath Scnools."
J. T. Heasley
THE
SCKIPTURE TEXT-BOOK
AMD
TREASURY;
Forming a complete Index to the Doctrines, Duties, and
Instructions of the Sacred Volume.
It is designed to afford, assistance to Ministers, Sunday-
school Teachers, Tract Visiters, Authors in the composition
of religious works, and individuals of all classes in the study
of the Holy Scriptures. With fine Maps and Engravings.
In two parts. The first part, or Text-Book, relates to doc¬
trines, dutieí»; &c., forming a complete System of Theology.
The second part, or Treaswry, relates to nistory, geograpKy,
manners, customs, arts, <Ssc., forming a complete Bible ^c-
tionary. Thirty thousand copies sold in Great Britain in a
few months.
" Upon the first glance at this book, it struck us as little
more than a Concordance new vamped. But on a further
examination, we found it to be a work prepared with great
labour, and adapted to great utility. And it is in our view
eminently adapted to assist ministers, teachers and parents in
their work ; and indeed all who are desirous to enrich their
minds with the treasures of divine knowledge.
" It is hardly possible to conceive of an arrangement under
which can be shown the teachings of Scripture on a greater
number of subjects."—New England Puritan.
" It is ^mewhat on the plan of Gaston's collections, (for
which it is a good substitute,) but more compact and con¬
densed. Ministers, Sunday-school teachers, and all students
of the Bible, wiU find it a very useful work. '
[Christian Advocate.
" To Bible readers in general, but especially ministers, it
is uext in worth to the Bible itself."—Christian Messenger.
" Gaston's Collections has been generally regarded as a
standard work, and has been extensively useful to the minis¬
try and laity ; but with us, the Scripture Text-Book has the
preference. Every minister, Sabbath-school teacher, and
parent, who instructs his children in the Scriptures, should
not fail to procure the yrotk.— JVestern Star.
LEWI8 COLBY & CO.'s PUBLICATIONS.
THE JUDSON OFFERING.
Intended as a toïen of Christian Sympathy with the
Iiiving, and a Memento of Christian
Aflfeotion for the Bead.
BEV. JCHN BOWLIN&, A. M,
Author of " History of Romanism,'' Jte.
[Fifth Thonsand.]
This edition contains several additional articles, in
prose and verse, relative to the departure of Mr. and
Mrs. Jndson for Burmah.
Notices of ttie formet Hhtttons.
It is done up in fancy style, something after the fash¬
ion of the annuals ; and a handsome engraving, repre
seating " The Departure," faces the title. It is neat and
spirited, and we doubt not, will meet, as it deserves, an
extensive circulation. The fervent missionary spirit that
runs through its pages, renders it a valuable work for
the young; and we hope it will be selected by thou¬
sands as a holiday present, instead ef the expensive, but
less useful annuals, with which the shelves of the hook-
stores are plentifully supplied.—Christian Secretary.
Altogether, it will form an acceptable popular offering,
I and obtain a wide circulation. Considering the taste and {
perfection of the mechanical execution, the price is low. j
—Neie-Yorh Recorder. •
122 NASSAU-ST., NEW-YORK.
LEWIS COLBY & CO.'s PUBLICATIONS.
The volume before us is a colleiT jn of the effusions,
in poetry and prose, which have been called forth by the
arrival and presence of Dr. J udsun in this countiy ; to¬
gether with several pieces vritten expressly for this
work, and " Sketches of Missionary Life," by its editor,
compiising a brief, connected history of the leading
events in the missionary life of Judson. The editor,
with whose powers and talents as a writer, the readers
of the Watchman have, for sometime, been well ac¬
quainted, has performed a task which cannot fail to be
highly acceptable to the Christian public, and must have
been very grateful to his own feelings. His " sketches''
are very graphic and touching, and the whole arrange¬
ment of the volume displays sound sense, good taste,
literary skill, and a deep interest in his theme.—Chris-
tian Watchman.
We are happy to commend this volume, both for the j
beauty of its execution, and for the valuable and inter- ¡
esting matter it containsl. Christian parents, or others, (
who may wish to present a token of affection, will find a :
suitable one in this " Offering."—New-England Puritan.
The design of this work is to render the tribute, which
every Christian heart must feel, to the pious labors and
self-denial of Dr. Judson, who has been so long and
successfully engaged in missionary labors in Burmah.
It consists of various pieces of poetry and prose, chiefly
by the editor, of no little merit, and bearing upon the
missionary enterprise. It is very neatly printed.—New-
York Evangelist.
It is composed of missionary pieces, from the most
pious and gifted poetic and prose writers. The whole
breathes a riglit spirit ; and it is a happy thing that this
J occasion has been seized upon to give popularity and
j currency to reading of so pure and benevolent a charac-
1 ter.-—Boston Recorder.
122 NASSAU-ST
LEWIS colbt's publications.
THE LONDON APPRENTICE:
AN AXTTHENTIO NARRATIVE |
WITH A PREFACE.
BY W. H. PEAEOE,
Missionary from Calcutta.
" I should be glad if my notice of this little work—' The
Happy Transformation'—should induce numbers of young
men to purchase and read it."—Rev. J. A. James's " Young
Man from Home."
Nothing can be more suitaole for young men leaving
home, to engage in business. The work is especially in¬
tended for the benefit of young persons, about to enter on,
or already engaged in, the pursuit of business in cities and
large towns. The narrative is also adapted for usefulness
to persons of every age, and in the most varied circum¬
stances. It exhibits in striking colors the unsatisfactory
nature, and the bitter consequences, even in this life, of
what are falsely called " the pleasures" of youth; Em-
18mo. 31 cent'
THE WAY FOR A CHILD TO BE SAVED.
This entertaining book, which has already had a wide
circulation, can hardly fail of being a means of good to
every child that reads it. 18mo. 31 cents.
i 12a NASSAU-STREET, NEW-YORK.
XL -
LEWIS COLBï'S PUBLICATIONS. (
FACTS FOR BOYS,
SBI«ECTSD AND ABRANOFD
BY JOSEBH BELCHEE, Ó. D.
Handsomely bound in c 9th. cents.
Extra Gilt. -50 •'
FACTS FOR GIRLS.
«Y THE SAME AUTHOR,
And imiforin with the above.
These t/e very entertaining and useful books for chil¬
dren—inculcating religious Truth by interesting Facts,
Anecdotes, and Stories. It is just the kind of reading
which children like.
EVERY DAY DUTY;
SKETCHES OF CHILDISH CHAR-VCTER.
The Author, in this book, in plain and simple language,
enters into the sports and incidents of childhood, and
would show to children that they are always happiest
when doing right. Uniform with the above.
122 NASSAU-STREET, NEW-YORK.
r,
lewis Colby's publications.
FULLER AND WAYLAND ON SLAVERY
DOMESTIC SLAVERY
CONSIDERED AS A SCRIPTURAL INSTITUTION ;
In a Oorrespondence between the
REV. RICHARD FULLER. D. D.,
OF BEAÜFOHT, S. O.,
AND THS
PEV. FRANCIS WAYLAND, D. D.,
OF PROVIDENCE, R. I.
This is a standard text-book upon the subject
Let no one say, I have read enovgh on this sulj-^ct. It
fills a place never before occupied—a calm, candid, and
very able discussion of the subject in a Christian-like
manner. No one should be without it, as it will long be
a book of reference.
" This is the best specimen of controversial writing on
slavery, or any other subject, we have ever read. The
parties engaged in it are men of high distinction, and pre¬
eminently qualified for the task ; and the kind and Chris¬
tian spirit that pervades the entire work, is a beautiful
commentary on the power of the gospel. This discus¬
sion is complete, and whoever reads it need read nothing
more, to enable him to form a correct view of the subject
in question."—Lutheran Observer.
It is handsomely executed, and put at a low price. 50 |
cents—254 pages, 18mo.
\ 122 nassau-st , new-york. i
n : «
d b
VALUABLE
RELieiOÜS BOOKS,
for th£
FIRESIDE AND SABBATH SCHOOL
%
MISS CHUBBUOK'S, (now Mra Judson)
PRACTICAL STORIES.
REVISED EDITIONS.
THE GREAT SECRET,
Or How to be Happt.
FANNY ELMORE,
A becoijd part to the Great Secret.
CHARLES LINN,
Or How to Observe the Goujen Ruij5.
ALLEN LUCAS,
The Serf made Max.
I
I
823.6 H252
3 5556 006 990 303
823. 6
H252