Theodosia Ernest; or The Heroine of Faith. (continued 5)

“How can you, Mr. Johnson, I was ready to say how dare you, as a minister of the Gospel of truth, even pretend that there is any doubt about the case at all? Could little infants in their mothers’ arms ‘receive the Holy Ghost,’ and ‘speak with tongues,’ and ‘magnify God,’ as these are said to have done in the 44th and 46th verses! The persons, and the only persons, who were commanded to be baptized, were those who spake with tongues and magnified God. And it was on this evidence, and only on this evidence, that ‘God had granted repentance unto the Gentiles,’ that they were admitted to baptism at all. He who could see a probable infant baptism in this, might see it just as well, it seems to me, in the baptism of the three thousand who received the word with gladness, on the day of Pentecost; or the five thousand who received it a few days after; or in the case of the Samaritans, who believed in the Gospel preached by Philip. If they heard, repented, and believed, these did all that and more, for they received the miraculous influences of the Holy Ghost before their baptism; whereas the others received them after it, when they received them at all. These did all that those did, and moreover spake with tongues, and ‘magnified God,’ and yet you talk about their being unconscious infants.”

“Oh, well,” said the pastor, “you have no need to become so eloquently indignant. I said I was willing to pass by this case. I will admit that it is not even a probable instance, if that will satisfy you. We shall find certain ones enough, so we can afford to be liberal in this. You will not be able, I trust, to dispose so easily of the next, which is the baptism of Lydia, Acts xvi. 15—‘And of her household;’ which, as a matter of course, would have some children in it.”

“I do not see how Lydia’s household should necessarily have children in it. I am acquainted with several households in this town that have no infants in them. You have none in yours. You have children, but none too young to repent and believe, make credible profession of their faith, and lead a Christian life; and if you should all be convinced, in the revival which I believe God is now beginning to send upon our little Baptist church, that you have never been baptized—and should all give us satisfactory evidence of true piety—we would gladly do for you just what Paul did for Lydia. We would baptize you and your household; but you would not insist that we had baptized any unconscious babe.”

“But, Mr. Courtney, you must admit the principle that the ‘household was baptized on the faith of its head.’ Lydia believed, and she and her household were baptized. Now, whether they were large or small, they must have been baptized on their mother’s faith.”

“No, Mr. Johnson; it is that principle which I especially condemn and deny. What I say is this—No one under the Gospel is to be baptized, or to be regarded as in any sense a member of Christ’s church, or to enjoy any of the privileges of that church, who has not first repented and believed for himself, and in his own proper person: and if you will show me any case where any one, either old or young, male or female, bond or free, adult or infant, was by the Apostles baptized, who had not first given evidence of his repentance, faith, and conversion, then I admit you have gained your point. I grant that Simon Magus was baptized while yet unconverted but not before he professed to be, and gave such evidence as was satisfactory at the time. For Luke says Simon also believed and was baptized. Now Lydia was baptized and her household was baptized; but there is no evidence that her household were children. There is no proof even that she was married, or ever had been. She may or may not have had a husband; she may or may not have had children; she may have been a widow, or she may have been an old maid. The record says not a word on these points. It only says that her name was Lydia—that she came from a distant city, called Thyatira—that she was engaged in the business of selling purple, which we know, from other sources, was a very respectable and profitable employment. We learn, also, that she was keeping house, and living in such a comfortable way that she could afford to give the Apostle and his companions a home at her house during their stay. It appears also that she had a family (oikos), but whether they were children or servants, or both, is not declared; but one thing is certain, whether they were her offspring or servants, they were grown men, for in the end of this same chapter (verse 40) we read that as soon as Paul and Silas were liberated they returned to the house of Lydia and saw the brethren and comforted them. They were therefore men, who could be comforted, and not little children. They were also believers, for otherwise they would not be called brethren.

“Hence the celebrated commentator, Dr. Adam Clarke, very properly remarks: ‘She attended unto the things.’ ‘She believed them and received them as the doctrines of God, and in this faith she was joined by her whole family, and in it they were all baptized.’ And again— ‘The first members of the church of Christ, at this place, were Lydia and her family, and the next in all probability were the jailer and his family.’

“So far, therefore, from being certain or even probable that the household of Lydia were infants, it is placed past all doubt by the Scripture itself, that they were men and brethren, who believed and were baptized; for though their faith is not specially mentioned, yet it is necessarily implied by the calling of them brethren.”

“But is it certain, Mr. Courtney, that these brethren were the same who composed Lydia’s family? Might they not have come in there merely to meet the Apostle?”

“No, Mr. Johnson; Lydia and her family were the only converts until the Apostle was arrested and thrown into prison. While there, the jailer and his family were converted, and these two families were all the followers of Christ—all the brethren that were in the place. But those at the jailer’s house Paul and Silas had just left, when they came to Lydia’s house, and saw and comforted the brethren there.”

“I think, Mr. Johnson,” said Professor Jones, “that we may as well let this case go. We can afford to do it, as we have so many others. And it evidently, so far from aiding us, testifies directly against us. The same difficulties cannot exist in that of the jailer and his family, recorded in the same chapter. I have always heard that referred to as a most undoubted example.”

“Yes,” said the pastor. “The jailer was a man in the prime of life, as is evident from the impulsive character of his behavior. He drew his sword, called for a light, and he sprang in, which indicates that he was a man of activity and energy. Now such a man would be almost certain, if he had a family at all, to have among them some little children. I consider, therefore, that this is an unquestionable case. The evidence amounts almost to an absolute demonstration.”

“It is a great pity,” said Mr. Courtney, “to spoil such a beautiful and perfect demonstration; and if we had time, I would spare it for a few minutes, that we might at our leisure admire its beauty and its ingenuity. But as we probably have several other places to examine, we cannot afford to trifle over this. You read, in verse 33, that ‘he was baptized, he and all his, straightway.’ Now you say that ‘all his’ must include one or more infants. I only reply, that if so, they were infants who could hear the preaching of the gospel, and could believe it and rejoice in God. For, verse 32, Paul preached to him and all his. And, in verse 34, he rejoiced, believing in God, with all his house. Now, there is not in the record the slightest intimation that there was a child on the premises. There was a family, but whether of adults or children, servants or relations, is not said; but it is said, that they all heard the Word, all believed, and all rejoiced, just as certainly as they were all baptized. There is the same testimony of the hearing, believing, and rejoicing as of the baptism. The Baptists will baptize all the children in town, if they will come to them believing and rejoicing in God—not, however, on their parents’ faith, but on their own. Your next case is in the 18th chapter, is it not?”

“Yes,” said the pastor (glancing at the Concordance which he still held in his hand), “and the 8th verse. ‘And Crispus, the chief ruler of the synagogue, believed on the Lord, with all his house. And many of the Corinthians hearing, believed, and were baptized.’”

“Does it not say that their children were baptized with them on the faith of their parents?”

“I read the whole text,” replied the pastor, gruffly.

“Then you must consider it a very remarkable text,” said Mr. Courtney, “for it declares that among these many Corinthians, there was not a man or woman who had an unconverted child; for if there had been one, it would, if Paul had taught as you do, have been brought up for baptism. These early Christians were strange people. There were three thousand of them at one time, five thousand a few days after in Jerusalem, a great multitude in Samaria, and many more here in Corinth—all childless; for it is incredible that if they had children, and had been instructed that ‘it was their duty and their privilege’ to have them baptized, that some of them would not have done it. Nay, all of them must have done it, or have stood in open disobedience to the requirements of the Gospel. We read of their believing, of their rejoicing, of their breaking of bread, of their assembling for worship, of their ministering to the saints—but never a word of their bringing their little children to be baptized. They evidently did not obey this command, if any such command was given them. And there is never an intimation of any reproof of such inexcusable disobedience.”

“I must say, Mr. Courtney,” rejoined the pastor, “that you are the most unreasonable man I ever tried to argue with. I have given you, at least, two plain and unquestionable instances in which the families were baptized with the parents, and yet you say that out of these eight or ten thousand converts, there is not one who had his children baptized. To use an expression of your own, I do not see how you can dare thus to trifle with the Word of God!”

“I know, Mr. Johnson, that you gave us cases where families were baptized, and you can give us more; but you have not shown that these families contained a single infant child, and that is the point on which the whole argument turns. I reply to you in the language of you own Pedobaptist historian, the celebrated and acute Neander: ‘We cannot prove that the Apostles ordained infant baptism, from those places where the baptism of a whole family is mentioned, as in Acts xvi. 33; 1 Cor. i. 16. We can draw no such conclusion, because the inquiry is still to be made whether they were in these families any children of such an age that they were not capable of any intelligent reception of Christianity, for this is the only point on which the case turns.’ Ch. Hist. p. 198.

“I might retort by saying that you are exceedingly unreasonable in your mode of argumentation. You say that the Apostles baptized infants. I ask you to prove it. You reply by saying he baptized families. Now if there was never a family without infants, your argument would be complete. But your own family has no infants in it. It consists of two grown sons, a daughter nearly grown, and a servant. My family has no infants in it: it consists of myself, my wife, and my nephew, who assists me in my school. The family of our friend Mrs. Ernest has no infants in it. It consists of her daughter, Miss Theodosia, of her son Edwin, and her old servant, Aunt Chloe. All of whom are old enough to believe and rejoice in God, as the jailor’s family did. Should they all determine to obey the commandment of Jesus Christ and be baptized according to the Gospel order, you can say of her, as Luke does of the jailor and of Lydia—She was baptized, and her household. You see, therefore, that if you would make your argument worth a straw, you must go one step further, and prove that there was an infant in the families. It will not do to say that it is probable there was one. It is just as probable that there is one in yours, or mine, or Mrs. Ernest’s, yet you know there is none. You must, if you build an argument on the infant as being there, first prove that it was there. If you can’t do this, the judgment goes against you of course. I need not prove that it was not there. The burden of proof rests on you. If you go into court and claim property as the heir of a certain woman’s child, you must prove that there was such a child. If you should prove no more than that the woman was married and kept house, and had been heard to speak of her family, the court would laugh at you. That she was married, kept house, and had a family, you would be told, was not the slightest legal proof that she had a child. And this is the point on which your whole claim rests. Peter had a family, though so far as we are informed it consisted only of his wife and his wife’s mother. And so Crispus, the chief ruler of the synagogue, had a family: who they were, we do not know; whether children, grand- children, nephews, or servants. His father and mother, and the father and mother of his wife; his own brothers and sisters, or the brothers and sisters of his wife his clerks or apprentices, if they had lodged in his house and eaten of his table, would have been called—his family, his house; but whosoever they were, they ‘all believed on the Lord,’ and so were not unconscious infants.”

“Have we not some other case, Mr. Johnson?” inquired the Professor.

“There is only one other,” replied the pastor, “and that is that of the family of Stephanus, mentioned by Paul, 1 Cor. i. 16—‘I baptized also the household of Stephanus.’”

“And that need not detain us long,” said Mr. Courtney, “for your own Presbyterian Doctor of Divinity, McKnight, in his excellent Commentary, says, ‘The family of Stephanus seem all to have been adults when they were baptized; for they are said, chap. xvi. 15, to have devoted themselves to the ministry of the saints.’

“We have now examined all your ‘examples,’ and the infants are not yet discovered. Lydia’s family are called ‘brethren.’ The jailer’s family are said ‘to believe and rejoice in God.’ That of Crispus ‘believed in the Lord.’ And that of Stephanus ‘addicted themselves to the ministry of the saints.’ And, Cor. xvi. 16, the church is directed to ‘submit itself unto such.’ You have not only failed to prove that there were any infants, but I have proved (though by the rules of debate I was under no obligation to do so) that they were all adults, or at least old enough to hear, believe, obey, and rejoice in the Gospel. I leave it now for you to say yourselves, whether there is, in any of these instances, a single certain example of the baptism of an unconscious infant?”

Mr. Courtney paused, but neither of the others felt disposed to answer; after waiting a moment, he continued:

“But I am not willing to pass so readily from these passages. You are accustomed, Mr. Johnson, and so are all your ministers, to present these as proof-texts for infant baptism. You will probably go and do it again, though I pray that God may give you a better mind. They stand as proof- texts in your ‘Confession of Faith,’ and yet, in truth, neither they nor you have ever believed them to be such, or else you are more inconsistent in your conduct than sensible men are often found to be.”

“Why, sir, what do you mean? Do you intend to insinuate, sir, that we Presbyterian ministers teach as God’s truth what we do not believe?”

“I mean to say, Mr. Johnson, that you teach for God’s truth what you do not practice—and you know a good man’s practice ought to correspond to his belief. You teach that the families of believers are to be baptized on the faith of the head of the family. Out of the thousands and thousands of people who are recorded as having believed and been baptized, you find three or four instances in which a whole family believed, and were baptized at the same time, and they are mentioned as a certain man and his family. Now you say if these three or four families were baptized, all families of believers are entitled to baptism. This is what your argument amounts to, if it has any force at all. Now, in every one of these instances the whole family, every member of it, is said to have been baptized.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Johnson, “so much the better for our cause—so much the more likely that it included the infants.”

“It may be so much the better for your cause, but it is so much the worse for your consistency. You teach that all the family were included in these baptisms, but you do not baptize all the family. Are not my wife and my nephew members of my family? but you would not on my faith baptize either of them. Is not old Aunt Chloe a member of Mrs. Ernest’s family? yet you never have baptized her, or urged on Mrs. Ernest the duty of bringing her servant as well as her children. Are not children of ten or twelve, or fifteen or twenty years of age, as much members of the family as the baby is? If these passages prove that one member of the family may be baptized on the faith of the head, they prove equally that every other member may be; and your only consistent ground is that occupied by Mr. Barnes in his Notes on 1 Cor. i. 16—‘Household (oikon). the house, the family. The word comprises the whole family, including adults, domestics, slaves, and children.’ … ‘It was the custom doubtless for the Apostles to baptize the entire household, whatever might be the age, including domestics, slaves, and children. The head of a family gave up the entire household to God.’ If you and Dr. Barnes believe this, you ought to practice it. If Paul baptized all the children, and all the domestics, and all the slaves, and all the other members of the family, of whatever age, you ought to do it too. You are unworthy to have charge of a Christian church, if you do not, at least, attempt to do it. You ought to urge upon your members the ‘duty and privilege’ of bringing their slaves, where they have them— their men servants and their maidens—their domestics, male or female, ‘of whatever age,’ and all their children, whether infant or adult, to be baptized upon the faith of the head of the family. Nor do I see how you could well omit the wife, for although Dr. Barnes has not included her, she certainly belongs to the family as much as the ‘domestics.’ If they refuse to perform this duty, which was thus enjoined, as you believe, by the Apostles, you can not do less than call them to account for their neglect. If they will still prove obstinate, you must exclude them as disobedient to one of the ‘undoubted’ ordinances of the church of Christ. They are certainly under as much obligation to bring all as to bring the infants.”

“Yes,” said the pastor; “but where they have come to years of discretion, we think it best to leave them to come themselves, as an act of personal obedience.”

“But you have no right to leave them, even if you do think best. Lydia did not, according to your account of the matter, leave hers to come when they pleased. The jailer did not leave his—he brought them all straightway. If the head of the family is to have his household baptized, on the authority of these examples, he is not at liberty to leave them to come of themselves It is his bounden duty to exert all his authority as husband, father, and master, to bring his whole family at once to the baptismal basin; and it is your bounden duty, as a minister of Christ, if you believe such things, to urge the subject upon their attention. Call upon them for the immediate performance of their obligations; and it is the duty of the church to deal with those who neglect or refuse. But this you never have done. There are none of your ministers who do it; and I venture to say that Mr. Barnes himself has never done it. You never will do—you, none of you, dare to do it. Your own consciences would recoil from the introduction, in this way, of infidels, and blasphemers, and irreligious men and women, into the church of Christ, on the faith of their father or master. As you would be afraid to do it yourselves, you do not believe in your hearts that the Apostles did it. It is altogether inconsistent with every thing we know of their character, and the nature of the churches they established; and it would therefore be fair to infer that these families which were baptized were families of believers, even if they had not been called brethren in the case of Lydia, or said to believe and rejoice in God in the jailer’s—to speak with tongues and glorify God in that of Cornelius —to believe in the Lord Jesus in that of Crispus, and to give themselves to the Christian ministry in that of Stephanus.”

“I did not expect when we commenced,” replied Mr. Johnson, “to be able to convince you of your errors in regard to this subject. I have often observed that the more one reasons with a Baptist, the more firmly he fixes him in his baptistical notions. I have, therefore, had no desire for any such controversy as this. It was only to satisfy my friend and brother, Professor Jones, that I engaged in it at all—and I must now beg leave to decline any further argument upon the subject.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Johnson, if in the heat of debate I have made use of any expression that has seemed improper, or in any degree disrespectful to you. I did not intend to do so, and regret most sincerely if my feelings have led me to overstep the bounds of gentlemanly discussion.”

“Oh, I do not,” resumed the pastor, “decline further disputation on that ground; though I might, I think, fairly complain of some of your expressions. I merely do not wish to continue a discussion which is not likely to result in any good.”

“Permit me to suggest,” said Professor Jones, “that if we leave off here we acknowledge ourselves to be completely routed, for it is certain that we have not yet been able to produce a single undoubted precept or example of infant baptism from the Scriptures. But since such men as Woods, and Wall, and Stewart, and Coleman, and Neander, concede this, and yet are the firm advocates of the baptism of infants, there must be some other ground on which it can be sustained.”

“That is true, sir,” replied the pastor. “And I have purposely reserved our strongest argument for the last. But I am sure it will have no influence on Mr. Courtney, nor any other Baptist.”

“But, Mr. Johnson, it may have some effect on me. And I hope you will do us the favor to present it for my benefit.”

“We will not have time to-night,” replied the other, “and for the present at least I am tired of the subject. Perhaps you will hear something at church to-morrow that will satisfy your mind.” And with this intimation the Rev. gentleman took his leave, and the parties separated.

The Day After the Seventh Night.

Theodosia is baptized according to the commandment, and the example of the Lord Jesus Christ.

The Day After the Seventh Night.

We left Theodosia in that most distressful condition, in which duty, struggling with inclination, distracts and rends the mind with agonizing efforts to decide one way or the other.

With her this was not a slight or momentary strife. It was the terrible agony of one who struggles for his very life. Dearer to her than life was Mr. Percy’s love; it was her first love; it was her only love; it was a pure and holy love; it had been sanctioned by her mother’s fond approval; it had been sanctified by their formal espousals; the day had been set for the consummation of their happiness; she had fully given up her whole heart to it; it was the great, controlling, soul-absorbing passion of her being; all the hopes of life were centered here. To tear such love from out the heart, was to rend the heart itself. Yet she felt it must be done; and God gave her strength to do it. All day long, as we said, she had crouched at her mother’s side, or followed her like her shadow. She seemed to feel that something terrible impended over her, and that she was safer in her mother’s presence. Not one word was spoken by either of them on the one subject which occupied the minds of both. Mrs. Ernest observed that, as the day advanced, her daughter’s face became more natural in its expression. The lines of agony began to disappear. The eyes no longer looked so strange and restless; nor did they turn to her, as in the morning, with that beseeching gaze of agony which almost broke her heart. But still, she noticed that her lips often moved, though she uttered no word; and when she spoke to her about the business of the household, it was some time before she answered, and then slowly, and often in such a way as to show that she had not fully comprehended her meaning. Her mind was evidently far away.

About three o’clock she laid down her worsted, and taking up the Testament which lay upon her work table, turned to the fourteenth chapter of Luke, and read: “If any man come to me and hate not his father and mother, and wife and children, and brethren and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple; and whosoever doth not bear his cross and come after me, cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it, lest haply after he hath laid the foundation and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, saying, This man began to build, but was not able to finish. Or what king going to make war against another king, sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able, with ten thousand, to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand? or else, while yet the other is a great way off he sendeth an ambassage, and desireth conditions of peace. So likewise whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.”

“Mother,” said she, looking up, and speaking as though her mother had known what she was reading, “you will not make it necessary for me to forsake you too?”

“Why, what do you mean, my daughter?”

“Jesus says here, that if I do not forsake all for him, I cannot be his disciple.”

“Yes, my child, but that has nothing to do with baptism. It means that you must give up all to be religious.”

“To be religious, mother, is to obey Jesus Christ. ‘If ye love me,’ he says, ‘keep my commandments.’ One of the plainest and most positive of those commandments is, ‘Believe and be baptized.’ Baptism is commanded as much as faith. It makes, indeed, a part of the same command. I trust I have believed; but I have never been baptized. Even if the sprinkling which I received in my childhood had been baptism, it was no act of mine. I have not obeyed: I—must—do—it!” She pronounced these last four words slowly, with a slight pause between each of them, as though each cost her heart a pang to speak it, and yet it must be said.

“Well, my child, if you must, you must.”

“But, mother, you will not forbid me? You will not make it needful to disobey you as well as to—” But she could not finish the sentence, and left her mother to guess her meaning.

“No, my dear child, I will not absolutely forbid you. You know what I think about these things. Baptism is not essential to salvation, and I had much rather you would remain where you are. I cannot bear to see you sacrifice all your prospects in life for a mere whim, for I don’t see but what one baptism is just as good as another. And if you were not in such distress, I would certainly oppose you, but I see it would do no good; and though it will mortify and distress me, I will not forbid you. And if you are determined to do it at all hazards, and it will relieve you of a single pang, I give you my consent.”

“Thank you, mother! You do not know what a load you have taken off my heart.” And she buried her face in her mother’s lap, and wept aloud for several minutes. Then she arose, wiped her eyes, and went into her own room and closed the door.

Shall we invisibly follow her there; see her on her bended knees pour out her soul to God; hear her cry for help with those inarticulate groanings which the Apostle speaks of; see the resolve take form and substance in her heart; see her arise with that same strange calmness which we observed after she had prayed the day she came up from witnessing the baptism in the river; see her open her little writing- desk, and select a sheet of paper; take her pen and write, “My Dear Mr. Percy;” then pause, lay down her pen, cover her face with her hands, pressing upon her eye balls, as if to shut out some terrible vision, while a strong convulsive shudder quivers through her frame? It is past; she uncovers her face; looks up beseechingly to heaven; composes herself; takes up her pen, and writes as follows:

“I received yours on Friday evening. To say that its contents gave me very great pain, would but feebly express the truth. I was not only distressed, but most grievously disappointed; for I had supposed you were as sincere and earnest in your desire to know and do your whole duty in regard to this subject as I was myself. Your letter undeceived me. I do not complain of it. I am thankful for your expressions of interest in my welfare, and of affection for myself. I will not deny that I had no higher ambition, so far as this world is concerned, than to secure your approbation. But I cannot, even to please you, venture to disobey my Saviour, I intend to be baptized to- morrow. I am aware, after what you have said, that by doing so, I shall not only ‘mortify and distress’ you, but I shall renounce all claim to your love. When you return, therefore, I shall be to you but as one dead. I pray you so to consider me; it will be better for us both. And if you will spare me farther pain, I do entreat you never to solicit a renewal of our engagement. It will not give you as much pain to read this as it does me to write it; but I have weighed it well. I say every word deliberately, though sorrowfully. I will not cease to pray for you. And will you not sometimes pray for her who was your

“Theodosia.”

This letter she folded, enclosed, sealed, and directed to Mr. Percy’s lodging place, and called the old servant, Aunt Chloe, and directed her to take and leave it there.

This done, she returned to her mother with something almost like a smile of joy upon her face. The peace of God was in her heart; and if she was not happy, she was no longer wretched. With a low, but calm and almost cheerful voice, she told her mother what she had done, and asked her to make suitable preparation for her baptism. At night she sent a line to Uncle Jones, requesting him, if he could, to be present; and another to Mr. Courtney, announcing her intention to ask for baptism. She spent most of the time in her own room, alone, until the hour of rest, and then slept sweetly till morning. When she awoke, her first thought was expressed in the language of the Psalmist—“I laid me down and slept; and I awoke again, for the Lord preserved me.” She felt now that she was, in a peculiar sense, in the care of God. She had given all, and had obtained all. She had given up self, and obtained Jesus in all his fullness, and God in all his boundless power and love. Jesus was her Saviour; God was her God. Yes, the mighty Maker of the worlds, the omnipotent Ruler of the Universe, was not only her God, but her Father. She felt this morning that she might ask what she would. And yet such was the overwhelming conviction in her heart, that her loving Saviour and her kind Father knew so infinitely better than herself what she most needed, and what would be really best, that she could only pray: “‘Thy will be done;’ I leave it all with thee. Do what thou seest best. Give joy or sorrow; give comfort or affliction; give life or death. Thou knowest best—thou dost all things well. I trust myself— my soul and body; my happiness here and hereafter; all I am, all I have; all I feared, all I hoped for—I give all up to thee. Thou only art my portion now; and I am thine—all thine; I delight to do thy will, oh, my Beloved. I have now no other love but thee, my Saviour, my Father, my Friend. Thou art my all. Jesus is mine, and I am his. What can I want beside? Blessed Saviour, may I never leave thee—may I never grieve thee any more. Lord, thou knowest all things. Thou knowest that I love thee. Yes, I love thee, and I will keep all thy commandments. Show me thy ways. Thou shalt guide me by thy counsels, and afterward receive me into thy glory. Yes, me—even me—poor, lost, rebellious sinner that I am. Thou wilt love me freely. Thou wilt save me through thine own infinite mercy. Mercy, all mercy. Not for works of righteousness which we have done, but of his own mercy, he saves us. Jesus, I thank thee. Oh, make me love thee more.”

With such incoherent ejaculations of trust, and praise, and prayer, she rose, and prepared for church.

It was strange how the news had got abroad, yet it had spread like wild- fire through the town that Miss Theodosia Ernest would that morning apply for baptism. At an early hour the school-house was crowded to its utmost capacity, and before the services commenced, even the windows and the doors, and every place was occupied from which one could hope to catch a glimpse at what was going on within, or hear a word of what was said.

The church bells began to ring. Mrs. Ernest had all the morning been distracted between affection for her lovely child, which prompted her to go to the school-house, and pride, which urged her to go and sit in her own pew as though nothing had happened. Curiosity to see and hear what Theodosia would do and say, and what sort of people these Baptists were, joined with affection in pleading for the school-house; and a sort of indefinite dread of what Mr. Johnson might say, came to the help of pride. And, it may be, there was something like a mistaken sense of religious duty which spake on that side also. However this may be, the first few strokes of the costly and solemn-sounding bell which had been accustomed to call her to church, seemed suddenly to decide her.

“I want you to understand, Theodosia,” said she, “that though I do not forbid, yet I do not altogether approve of what you are about to do, and I cannot sanction any such proceedings by my presence. I don’t know what Mr. Johnson would think of me, if I should forsake our own dear church to wander about after these new comers.”

This was a new disappointment to the sensitive child. She had greatly relied on her mother’s presence to sustain her in the untried scenes through which she was about to pass. She had also hoped that Uncle Jones would call and go with her, but he had not come, and she was alone. Yet she was not alone, for she looked up as her mother was speaking, and in her heart said again, “Not my will, but thine be done!”—And the Spirit replied, “Fear not, for I am with thee; and be not dismayed, for I am thy God!” “When my father and my mother forsake me the Lord will take me up.”

I do not say that she felt no natural misgivings, no modest shrinking from going alone into a house filled with strangers, with the consciousness that every eye was on her, and every heart full of curiosity to see how she would look, what she would do, and what she would say; but she thought much less of this than my reader would naturally suppose. The peace of God was in her heart, and it gave to her mind and her manner a quiet yet determined calmness, and a collectedness of thought and perfect self-possession which was surprising even to herself.

She set out therefore alone; for Edwin had not returned from Sabbath- school. Two or three times the mother turned and looked after her as she went, and wished she could consistently, and without displeasing Mr. Johnson, have gone with the dear child.

Mr. Courtney had taken it for granted that Uncle Jones or some of the family would accompany her, and when he saw her coming by herself, he hastened to meet her, and conducted her to a seat.

The preacher was not the same who had been there before, but a stranger who had providentially been sent to fill his place. He was a man about forty years of age, rather below than above the ordinary size; his complexion dark, his hair slightly silvered with gray, and the top of his head almost bald. His eyes, and indeed the whole expression of his face, were somewhat peculiar. He seemed to have been long in feeble health, and his face was marked with lines of suffering. Its habitual expression was one of sad and sorrowful resignation. The casual observer saw in it no evidence of lofty genius, or of even extraordinary talent—and yet he was an extraordinary man. Though he had but slight acquaintance with the technicalities of logic, he was a clear and powerful reasoner. Though he knew little of the scholastic theories of theology, he was wonderfully familiar with the teachings of Jesus and the Apostles. Though he professed no acquaintance with the metaphysical subtleties of mental philosophy, he knew full well how to convince the understanding and move upon the hearts of his hearers. He was not familiar with the ancient classics, yet his style was pure and strong, and not entirely void of elegance. His tones and gestures were not formed by any rules of oratory, yet he was sometimes very eloquent. When he first rose, there was a slight rusticity in his manner, and something in his dress which for a single moment struck Theodosia unpleasantly; but there was, also, such an air of trusting meekness, that this impression was removed almost as soon as made. His text was John xv. 14—“Ye are my friends if ye do whatsoever I command you.” And the main object of his sermon was to show the vast difference which there is between the so-called obedience which springs from hope, or grows up from fear, and the willing and true obedience of the Gospel which is produced by love. It was a deep, heart-searching discourse, and must have left on every attentive bearer’s mind the sad conviction that genuine Gospel obedience is much more rare than is commonly imagined. We cannot follow him through all his argument; but we may not omit one portion of it. “The obedience of love,” said he, “makes no division of Christ’s commandments into essential and non-essential. ‘Ye are my friends if ye do whatever I command you,’ whether you think it important or not. We know that we love him when we have respect unto all his commandments. The obedience of hope says, how much must I do to be permitted to enter heaven? The obedience of fear asks, what may I omit to do, and yet escape from hell? The obedience of love simply inquires, ‘Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?’ It does not ask, what must I do? but what can I do to show my love for Jesus? It does not ask how far I can venture to disobey, and keep my hope of heaven? How far off can I follow Jesus, and yet not be disowned of him? Oh, never, never! He who will obey Christ no farther than he may fancy is essential to salvation, has never obeyed him at all. Love of self, not love of Christ, is his controlling motive. He is striving not to please his Saviour but to secure his own personal happiness. Love teaches a different way. Love delights to do his will. Love delights to do all his will. Love never asks, what is essential to salvation? but what did Jesus Christ command? Love never asks, how little may I do? but how much can I do? If he commands, that is reason enough. He is no loving child who will obey his father only in those things which he must do, or be disowned and disinherited. He is no loving child who will do all he dare to grieve a doting parent whom he believes will pardon all, and love him though he grieves him. He who truly loves him will obey his slightest desires as well as his most peremptory commands. He who truly loves will study to know all his will, and in his very heart delight to do it—not to avoid disinheritance—not to secure his estate—not to enjoy his father’s bounty, either present or prospective—but simply because the father wishes, asks it, or commands it.

“And yet men call themselves obedient children of God, while they refuse to do what he commands, because he does not add to the command a promise of heaven or a threatening of hell. Oh, it is terrible to think how fearful will be their disappointment! Obeying only to secure salvation is itself sufficient proof that they have not obeyed unto salvation. Omitting all but what they think essential to salvation is of itself sufficient proof that they have omitted all that is essential to salvation. The faith of the Gospel works by love, and love is obedient to all his commandments, so far as it is able to know and to do them. When, therefore, Christ Jesus gives a plain command, as that to ‘believe and be baptized,’ love will not be content merely to believe. It will do both. It will do whatever Christ commands, and he who stops because there is no penalty of hell fire attached to the last, as there is to the first part of the command, is no friend to Jesus. He does not obey from love to Jesus, but from love to self. And further, the obedience of love takes the command as it is given. It obeys in the same order that Christ requires. It not only does the very acts which he commands, but does them in that very way that he requires them to be done. If Christ commands first to believe and then, when thus prepared, to be baptized, the obedience of love will never venture to reverse Christ’s order. It will not seek to be first baptized and then believe. And as the command requires personal obedience, it will never seek to substitute obedience rendered by another. Christ commands you yourselves in your own right, and for yourselves, to believe, and then to be baptized. It may be you have not done either. Oh, what a fearful state! Not to have even begun to obey! It may be you have believed, but are fancying that an act done by your parents, and your pastor, without your knowledge or consent, and which they called baptism, has released you from the obligation to obey yourself. But do not mistake. The religion of Christ is a personal religion. The obedience it requires is an intelligent and personal obedience. You must be baptized for yourself. It must be an act of your own. He that believeth and is baptized, shall be saved. The one is to be your own act as much as the other. But this command you have never even tried to obey. You have never made the slightest effort. Oh, if you love Jesus, will you not at least try to obey all his commandments?

“One thought more. The obedience of love does what he commands. ‘Ye are my friends, if ye do whatever I command’—not what others may put in the place of it—not what you may fancy would do as well. You are not to ‘teach for doctrines the commandments of men.’ Jesus is the sole Lawgiver of his church. His commandments, given in person or by those who spake as they were moved by his Holy Spirit, we must obey. If he was immersed in Jordan, then John’s baptism was immersion. If John’s baptism was immersion, then the baptism administered by Jesus and his disciples was immersion; for John says, Jesus went into a certain place, and there he tarried and baptized. And John also was baptizing in Ænon at the same time. And the Pharisees heard how that Jesus made and baptized more disciples than John. Whatever one did the other did. It was the same thing, because it is called in the same connection by the same name. And if Jesus and John immersed, it was immersion that he commanded. Yet men have done away with what he commanded, and substituted sprinkling in its place. To believe and be sprinkled, therefore, is not to do whatever he commands, but to teach and practice for his commands the doctrines of men; and of those who do such things he says, ‘In vain do they worship me.’ Don’t call me bigoted for reminding you of this. They are not my words, but the words of Jesus Christ. It is he who says it; and I believe that he means just what he says. Popes and cardinals, bishops and priests, have met in solemn conclave and changed the ordinance of Jesus. They have substituted the sprinkling of infants for the immersion of believers. This was ordained by Christ, and that by anti-Christ. Yet there are many professed believers, men who would be grieved if I should intimate that they did not love the Saviour—who in his name and as his ordinance practice these commandments of men. The very time and place when and where these changes were thus made by popes and councils is recorded by themselves. They claim to have authority as the vicegerents of Christ on earth to make such changes. But the obedience of love will never recognize their rule. It obeys Jesus Christ. It does whatever he commands. And whenever professed religious teachers, whether Catholic or Protestant, teach other commandments as a substitute for his—it rejects them with disdain.”

After the sermon, he came down from the little platform which had been erected for his convenience, and announced the church as ready to receive applicants for membership—requesting if there were any present who desired to unite with it, that they would come forward while the brethren sang a hymn, and take a seat allotted for that purpose.

The brethren immediately commenced singing the hymn—

Before they had completed the first couplet, Theodosia arose and walked to the appointed seat. And when they had finished, the minister asked her to give to the church some account of her religious experience, that they might be able to judge of the nature of her faith and hope.

My reader, who is familiar with her strength of mind, firmness of purpose, clearness of conception, and habitual command of the most appropriate language, can form little conception of the surprise which was excited, as much by her manner as her words. She did not wait to be questioned, and simply answer yes or no, as is customary on such occasions; but modestly arose and turned her face to the audience, and began to relate in a low, but still in a perfectly audible voice, her experience of grace before she made any profession of religion. The house was still as death. Every eye was fixed, every ear attentive to even the slightest modulation of her voice. After describing, in her modest and simple, yet most impressive style, her conviction and conversion, she paused a moment, as if to think of the propriety of saying what was yet upon her mind.

“And why,” inquired the minister, who was ignorant of her history, “did you not then unite with the people of God?”

“At that time,” she continued, “I had rarely been in any other but a Presbyterian house of worship. I regarded Presbyterians as the true church of Christ. Perhaps I would not be going too far if I should say, that I regarded them as the only true church, or at least as the only church that was not involved in some most important error of doctrine or practice—it was my mother’s church;” and her voice faltered, and eyes filled with tears, as she said it. “It was the church in which God’s truth had been made effectual to my conversion. I had no shadow of a doubt that it was the church, if not the only church, and with them I did unite. Nor, until last Sabbath, did I ever have a doubt that I was right in doing so. Last Sabbath, you will recollect, one of your number was baptized. I had the curiosity to go to the river. As I saw her plunged beneath the water, the thought impressed itself upon my mind, if that’s baptism, I have never been baptized; for whatever baptism may be, it must always be the same—‘One Lord, one faith, one baptism.’ I went home and commenced a careful and thorough investigation of the subject. I found that it was immersion, and not sprinkling, that Jesus commanded. It was this which he himself; as our Example, submitted to in the river of Jordan. It was this which his disciples practiced in his life. I was this which he commanded after his death. It was this, therefore, which he required of me. I have not yet obeyed him, but I desire ‘to do whatever he commands me.’ Mine is, I humbly trust, the ‘obedience of love.’ I have come here to-day, and it is the first time in my life that I have ever been in a Baptist Church. I have come to ask you to baptize me, if you think me worthy, according to the commandment of the Lord Jesus.”

“Why, this is wonderful!” exclaimed the minister, as she resumed her seat.

“It is the Lord’s doing,” rejoined Mr. Courtney, “and it is wonderful in our eyes.”

“Brethren, what will we do in regard to this application?”

“I move,” said one, “that she be baptized, and received into the fellowship of the church.”

This was, of course, unanimously determined on.

“When will you be baptized, my sister?” inquired the minister.

“As soon as it may suit your convenience, sir. I am ready now.”

“Then after prayer we will at once proceed to the water’s side. Let us pray.”

They kneeled, and offered up a short and fervent prayer that God would own the ordinance about to be administered in his name—bless her who was to be its recipient—fill her with the comforts of the Gospel— make her a faithful and useful Christian, and at death receive her into his heavenly kingdom.

When Satan finds that he cannot prevent the performance of a religious duty, he often strives to render its performance as distressing as he can. Theodosia had not yet left the house before she began to be assailed by the most terrible temptations. First came the magnificent church, with its soft light, its cushioned pews, its richly carpeted aisles, its tasteful and costly pulpit, its deep-toned organ, and its well-trained choir, which had all her life been the accompaniments of her public devotions. And she could not but contrast their rich, luxurious elegance and comfort, with the rough platform, the naked, dirty floor, the hard benches, and harsh, unskillful voices which had surrounded her to-day. In that splendid church she saw her mother weeping over her daughter’s apostasy—her brother showing no interest in her fate—her uncle, whom she loved as a father, and upon whose approbation she had confidently relied, yet he had not come near her, though she had earnestly requested his presence—her pastor, who had taught her in childhood, and prayed over her at her conversion —and there was yet another, whom she now scarcely dared to think of. They were all there—all happy, all united. She only was a poor outcast from all—yes, yes, from all she loved. With her own rash hand she had cut the ties which bound her to her kindred and her friends. She had left all the elegance so congenial to her delicacy and refinement of taste. She had left all the affection so necessary to the very life of her fond, clinging, loving heart, and here she stood alone among these strangers, whom she felt instinctively, with one or two exceptions, had scarcely a sentiment or taste in common with her own. Then, as she was walking to the river, they passed the very spot where she and Mr. Percy stood on the previous Sabbath; and in a single moment, what visions of affluence and ease, of elegant social enjoyment, of domestic bliss—all the happiness of the loved and loving wife, extending down through many long and blissful years—came vividly before her mind. She could see nothing else. She forgot for a moment where she was, and why she came there. She walked on unconsciously. Unconsciously she took the offered arm of the minister as he came to conduct her into the river. The touch of the water recalled her to herself. She paused, and suddenly withdrew her arm, clasped her hands together, and looked up to heaven, and so stood for some moments, lost in silent prayer. Those who could see her face, observed the expression of distress and terror (which they attributed to a natural timidity at entering the water) suddenly gave place to one of joy and confidence as she again placed her arm within the minister’s and walked on. Jesus had heard her prayer—“Oh, Lord, save me! Give me strength to make all this sacrifice for thee! Thou art my Saviour. Thou hast commanded this. I do it in obedience to thee. Oh, leave me not. Help, Lord—I have no other helper—thou art now my all.” And as she prayed, the visions of earthly bliss vanished from before her, and she saw Jesus stretched upon the cross in dying agony, and he seemed to say, “I bore all this for thee.” And she thought of the words of the Apostle—“He died for us.” And as she walked along, she remembered what Jesus said—“Blessed are ye when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach you, and shall cast out your name as evil, for the Son of man’s sake. Rejoice ye in that day, and leap for joy—for your reward is great in Heaven.” “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren or sisters, or father or mother, or wife or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundred fold, and shall inherit everlasting life.”

So fully was her mind occupied with this delightful thought, that she felt no further anxiety, and not the slightest fear. And as she was lifted from the liquid grave, she could not help exclaiming in an audible voice, “Jesus, I thank thee!” And then, as they turned toward the shore, such a gleam of heavenly peace and holy joy illumined her beautiful face, that several of the brethren and sisters who stood upon the bank, simultaneously exclaimed, “Blessed be the name of the Lord!”

“Yes,” she exclaimed, “blessed be his holy name!” And suddenly she stopped, and with a voice which was naturally sweet and powerful, and had been carefully cultivated, and now was rendered deeper and more expressive by intensity of feeling, she commenced singing:

The effect upon the audience was electrical. Tears streamed from every face; many sobbed and wept aloud. Among these was a voice which instantly fixed her attention. She looked up among the assembly, and was surprised to see that it had increased since she started into the water to a great multitude. The congregations from several other churches had hurried to the river as soon as they were dismissed from their several places of meeting. Foremost among the crowd stood Uncle Jones, with her mother on one side, and Edwin on the other. It was she that she heard; for when she saw her daughter standing thus alone, and heard her sing, “Friendless, poor, despised, forsaken,” she lifted up her voice and wept. Nor did she weep alone. Strong men, who were not professors of religion, and who were thought to care for none of these things, stood and gazed at that sweet face, all radiant with the love of Jesus, as though it had been the face of an angel; and as they looked, the big tears chased each other down their unconscious cheeks. The brethren and sisters of the church wept; old men and mothers in Israel wept. Young men and maidens wept. But Theodosia heard none, saw none but her mother. As she came to the water’s edge, that mother rushed down to meet her, and clasped her closely to her heart. The brothers and sisters of the church, who were approaching to give her the hand of fellowship, stood respectfully aside.

“Oh, mother, do you—can you forgive me?”

“Don’t talk so, my child; I have never blamed you. You have done your duty; you have done right. You have obeyed your Saviour—he will bless you. I wish I had the courage to follow your example.”

“God bless you for those words, my mother! Oh! how full of joy my heart is. He maketh my cup run over. Surely goodness and mercy hath followed me all the days of my life. Uncle, dear uncle, it is blessed to obey. Can’t you give up all for Christ?

“Mr. Courtney, I thank you for your teachings. Now I know I am baptized. I have now done just what Jesus commanded. I have left all and followed him; and, blessed be his name, I have already that peace which passeth understanding.” And as the brethren and sisters came crowding round to welcome her into the communion of the church on earth, she sang again with that sweet, soul-thrilling voice, to which the intensity of her feelings and utter self-abandonment gave tenfold power:

While singing, she continued to give her hand to one after another as they came up; and as she finished the strain, a sister standing by sang:

The minister pronounced the benediction, and they led her up the bank, and then each went his way rejoicing.

Uncle Jones went home and dined with Mrs. Ernest. When Theodosia had changed her dress, and returned to the parlor, he went up and took her hand as she came in, saying, “My dear Theo., why did you not tell me you were going to be baptized to-day? I would have gladly gone with you to your meeting.”

“Then you did not mean to cast me off?” said she, her eyes filling with tears. “I thought you too had forsaken me. I sent you a line last night, entreating you to be present—but you did not come!”

“I did not get it, nor did I know, till after church, that you intended any such thing to-day. I missed you from your accustomed seat, and inquired of your mother as soon as the meeting was dismissed, and learned that you had gone to be baptized. We hurried to the river, and fortunately were just in time to see you go into the water.”

“Oh, uncle! I am so glad. I thought that you, and mother, and all who loved me, so disapproved of what I was about to do, that you would none of you be present. God is already giving me back my friends.”

There was preaching again at three o’clock,—and as the school-house could not hold half the people, it was thought best to adjourn to the court house. At night the court house was filled to overflowing, and the preacher requested those who were concerned about their souls’ salvation, and desired the prayers of the people of God, to take a seat in front of the congregation. More than a dozen came forward at once, among whom were several who had been a long time professors of religion, and some were members of the Baptist Church. On inquiry, these professors stated that they had been trying to get to heaven, and with this object in view had endeavored to lead in some degree religious lives. They had gone to church, partaken of the Supper, sometimes prayed, or tried to pray—but took no pleasure in religion; and from what they heard in the morning, were convinced that whatever obedience they had shown was the obedience of fear, or hope, and not of love. For if they could have got to heaven without religion, they would have willingly dispensed with it. They had abstained from open sin, because they knew that those who lived in open sin would surely be lost. They had endeavored to perform certain duties, because they considered the attempt (at least) to do such duties to be essential to salvation. What they did not think thus essential, had little weight upon their conscience. Now they saw that they had been fearfully deceived, and desired to seek for the obedience of love—not the obedience which seeks to merit heaven, and continually looks for its reward—but that which receives all mercies as the free gift of God in Christ, and yet longs, and strives, and prays to do all his commandments, because it thus and only thus can exercise, exhibit, and gratify the love of God that fills the heart.

The minister did not try to give them back their hopes, and make them think that they had no occasion for alarm. He knew full well that Christ will say to many, “Depart from me, I never knew you,” who here on earth called him Lord, Lord, and professed to be his disciples. He greatly feared that there were thousands and thousands who had a respectable standing in the church of Christ, who never asked, with the converted Paul, “Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” But only with the yet unconverted jailer, “What must I do to be saved?” This last he knew was most important, but it was not enough. It was a needful and common preparation for religion, but it was not religion. It might lead to seek for faith, but it is not the result of saving faith, for that works by love—and through Love purifies the heart—and through Love brings forth good works in the life. He was convinced, moreover, that it was infinitely better for many of God’s true children to suffer temporary anxiety and alarm, than for one false professor to be confirmed in his delusive hope.

It was determined at the close of this meeting, to appoint one for Monday night, and probably continue to have preaching every night during the week. Whether they did so, and what was the result, we will learn hereafter. It is time for us now to return to our study, which at the close of the Seventh Night (the attentive reader will perhaps remember) was about the Scriptural authority, or rather about the utter want of all Scriptural authority for infant baptism.

The Eighth Night’s Study.

New characters and new arguments.

Infant baptism is virtually forbidden in the Word of God.

The covenant of circumcision furnishes no ground of defence for infant baptism.

Eighth Night’s Study.

The Reverend Mr. Johnson had, early in the preceding week, commenced the preparation of a discourse, which was intended, at once and forever, to put an end to any further defection among his flock. He was a fine declaimer, and was, in the pulpit, accustomed at times to deal in the bitterest denunciation of those who differed from his party in their religious opinions and practices. He had more power of sarcasm than of reason, and hence, found it easier to denounce the opinions of others than to defend his own. His discourse upon the Sabbath through which we have just passed, was that which we saw him preparing at the commencement of our Third Night’s Study. It was designed to be a scornful, bitter, and withering denunciation of all those weak minded and credulous, or fanatical, persons who, in this day of light, and surrounded by such advantages as were possessed by his congregation, could be by any means induced to wander away from the sacred pale of Presbyterianism. We will not trouble the reader with even a synopsis of this remarkable sermon. It had been prepared with evident labor and care, and it was delivered with great energy and feeling. Under other circumstances, it might have produced the effect that its author intended, which was to deter any other persons from any investigation of the subject of baptism, or indeed any other religious subject, except for the purpose of confirming their faith in the doctrines in which they had been instructed from their childhood. To have fully answered his purpose, he should have preached it at least a week sooner. Now, it was universally understood to be expressly aimed at certain individuals, whom it was well known had been investigating the subject of baptism, and might possibly be considering the propriety, or rather the conscientious necessity, of a change of church relationship. Many a glance was turned, during its delivery, to the seats occupied by Uncle Jones and Mrs. Ernest. The latter felt that it was an uncalled-for abuse of her absent child, whom she knew had been impelled to the course she had taken by the sternest and most distressing conviction of indispensable duty; and though she wept as she listened, her tears were tears of mortification and anger. That sermon did more to destroy her faith in Pastor Johnson, and her affection for her church, than all the anti-Presbyterian arguments she had ever heard. So also it did more to fix the attention of the congregation upon the work which was going on among the Baptists, than any thing which they could have done or said. Many were willing to go and learn at the Baptist meetings what those terrible and seducing doctrines were which could so excite the ire of their venerable shepherd.

After preaching, he gave notice that a meeting of the Session would be held at three o’clock, at the parsonage, to attend to some business of importance, and gave a special invitation to the resident ministers (by whom he meant the President of the college, and those of the professors who were also preachers) to meet with them.

Neither Uncle Jones nor Mrs. Ernest said any thing of this ominous announcement to Theodosia, for both had some indistinct conception that the business to be done related to her case.

Uncle Jones, as one of the ruling elders, and a member of the Session, felt it his duty to be present. He was a little after the time, however; and when he arrived, he found that they had already entered upon the discussion of the business on hand. There was an awkward pause in the conversation when he came in, until the pastor remarked that the matter which they were considering might be an unpleasant one to him; and if so, there would be a quorum present should he think best to retire.

“If your business relates in any way to my niece,” said the Professor, “I prefer to witness all you have to say or do.”

“We were indeed speaking of her,” said the pastor; “and though it gives me pain to say it, I have felt it my duty, also, to make some mention of your own case, as of one aiding and abetting error in another, if not yourself entertaining opinions which are inconsistent with your obligations as a ruling elder in the church.”

There was a slight flush passed over the manly face of Professor Jones, as the pastor, with evident reluctance, thus gave him to understand that one object of the meeting was to inflict the discipline of the church upon his recreant niece, and another to take steps to depose him from the eldership; but he answered very calmly:

“Don’t let my coming in interrupt your order of business. You will take up one case at a time. I will be present when you take action on that of Miss Ernest. When you are ready to consider mine, I will retire.”

“We understand,” said the pastor, “that Miss Ernest, while her name was still standing as a member upon our record, has gone to a Baptist society, solicited immersion, and has actually been immersed by a Baptist preacher. By this act, she has undoubtedly severed all connection with our church, and must of necessity be excluded from our communion. The only question is whether we are bound to make the usual citation to appear and answer to the charge.”

“There can be no doubt,” replied Professor Jones, “that we are bound, according to our rules, to give the ten days’ notice of citation, with a copy of the charges preferred against the accused. But, in this case, I will take it upon myself to answer for my niece, that she would prefer the quickest and the simplest mode of excision. She has no wish for farther connection with us. She regards herself as already separated from our communion, and will probably make no answer or defence to any charges not affecting her moral or Christian character, which you may think fit to bring against her.”

After some consultation, it was decided that it would not be proper to dispense with any of the stipulated formalities of the rules of discipline; and consequently, all that could at this time be done, was to take order that a copy of the charges preferred against her, the names of the witnesses by whom they were to be established, and a citation to appear and answer ten days thereafter, should be issued and served upon Miss Theodosia Ernest. A committee, consisting of the pastor and clerk, was appointed to carry these measures into execution.

“You are now done with Miss Ernest’s case for the present,” said Professor Jones, “and I will retire, that you may feel perfect freedom in speaking about mine.”

“Oh, no,” said the President of the College, the Rev. T. J. McNought, D.D., LL.D., who was present on the invitation of the pastor. “We were merely speaking of what it might be necessary to do in a case such as our brother Johnson conceived yours would eventually become, should you continue to progress in the direction in which he imagines you have started.”

“Brethren,” replied the Professor, “let us not misunderstand each other. You know me well. I am a plain, blunt man. I will have no concealment on this subject. My niece has carefully studied the Word of God, which our standards declare ‘is the only rule of faith and practice.’ I assisted her in the investigation. We both came to the conclusion, as I think every right- minded man must do, that the baptism commanded and spoken of in the New Testament, is neither sprinkling nor pouring, but dipping, or, as it is commonly called, immersion. This I now firmly believe. This I am ready to prove from the Holy Word to you or any one else who feels inclined to inquire into the matter. I will prove it by the very meaning of the word baptize. I will prove it by a reference to the places selected for baptism. By the going down into the water, and the coming up out of the water, said to have preceded and followed baptism. I will prove it by the nature of the allusions to baptism, as a bath, as a planting, and a burial. I will prove by the testimony of the Fathers, that it was for centuries the only baptism, and by the testimony of our own ablest writers—such as Wall and Stuart, Neander and Colman —that it continued to be the common baptism for more than thirteen hundred years, even in the Roman Catholic Church, and the churches derived from her, and still continues the only baptism in the Eastern churches. I will show you the very time and place when and where the change was made by authority of the Pope and his council. I will show you when and how the new practice was introduced into England and into this country. I will show you this, not in Baptist books. These facts do not rest on Baptist testimony, but on that of our own historians and divines. You know, President McNought, that what I say is true; and Mr. Johnson knows it, too, or might know it, if he would look at the evidence in his possession. Now, if to believe these things on such testimony makes one a heretic, I wish you distinctly to understand that I am decidedly heretical. Though I assure you, on my honor as a man and a Christian, that I am ready and willing to see and to acknowledge my error, if any one of you can point it out. On the subject of infant baptism, I am not fully convinced. I am satisfied, as any one can easily be who will make a critical examination of the Scriptures, with this object in view, that there is neither express commandment nor example to justify the baptism of any but believers, to be found in the Word of God. Pastor Johnson and myself have together searched diligently to find either the precept or the example, and he, as well as I, was compelled to grant that it is not there. But Woods and Stuart, and others of our most eminent divines, while they have granted this, still contend for infant baptism. There must, therefore, be some other Scriptural ground on which it rests. I will be thankful to any one among you who can point it out.”

There was a moment’s pause. The Session were not prepared for such a confession of his faith and no one knew what to reply.

“I will now retire,” continued he. “You have the case before you, and can adopt such measures as you may think best.”

After he had gone, “I told you,” said the pastor, “that he had become a Baptist in all but the name. I don’t believe his niece would ever have left us, but for his encouragement and that of her mother.”

“They must have felt,” said Colonel White (the lay member whom we have had occasion to mention once before), “they must have felt to-day, if they had any feeling left. I would not have been in their places for the best farm in the country. It made my very ears tingle to hear how you belabored them. But it don’t seem to have done him the slightest good. I doubt if there is but one argument that can be brought to bear upon him, and that is the same that so easily convinced my young friend, Esquire Percy.”

“What is that?” inquired President McNought.

“It is the argumentum ad pocketum. I have heard from doctors that the pocket nerve was the most sensitive nerve in the whole body. Convince a man that his bread and meat depend upon a correct belief, and he is very apt to believe correctly. This may not be always true of a woman, but I have never known this argument, when prudently and skillfully presented, to fail of convincing a man. You may appoint a committee to confer with brother Jones, and endeavor to convince him of his errors. It is, perhaps, essential that you should; for this will give him a pleasant and honorable opportunity of recalling his heretical expressions, or at least, of explaining them away. But before you do this, let me intimate to him that the Board of Trustees (of whom you know I have the honor to be the President) will greatly dislike to dispense with his valuable services in the college—but that it is a Presbyterian college; and however much they may esteem him as a man, and value him as a teacher, yet we can retain no one whose orthodoxy is openly doubtful. Believe me, brethren, you will then find him much more pliable, and ready to be convinced that he is wrong.”

“You may try it,” said the pastor, “but I don’t believe you will succeed. I know him better than you do. He has always been one of the most conscientious men I ever knew. He will act as he believes.”

“No doubt of it,” rejoined the speculating elder. “He will act as he believes; but he will believe that it is wrong to make any change in his church relations, or to meddle any farther with the subject of baptism, unless it is in the defence of our opinions. Professor Jones is a poor man. It is not generally known, but it is true, that he has for several years greatly assisted in the support of Mrs. Ernest and her children. He has thus lived fully up to his income. He has now a growing family. He expects to provide for them out of his yearly salary. It is all he can do. Take away this; turn him out of the house he now occupies, rent free; let him feel that he stands suddenly not only destitute, but without employment and friendship—and he is something more or less than man, if he can look upon his helpless wife and children and refuse to hear to reason.”.

The Session appointed the pastor and the Rev. T. J. McNought, D.D., LL.D., as a committee to see and labor with their brother Jones, and endeavor to convince him of his errors, especially in regard to infant baptism, as on this point he seemed likely to be most accessible, and then adjourned to meet again at the call of the pastor.

Colonel White considered himself a committee of one to make matters easy for the committee of two. Early in the day, on Monday, he called at the house of Professor Jones, at an hour when he knew he was absent, for he felt the necessity of all the assistance he could obtain, and relied upon Mrs. Jones and the children as his most efficient allies.

“Is the Professor in this morning, Mrs. Jones?”

“Not just now, sir. He has a recitation at this time. He will be in in half an hour. Take a seat, colonel.”

“No, I thank you, madam. I called to see Professor Jones about some important business. I will meet him at the college. There is a matter afloat, which I fear is going greatly to injure him in his future prospects, and I merely called, as a friend, to suggest some plan by which the ruin—for ruin I fear it will be—may be averted.”

“Why, Colonel White, what can you mean?” asked the lady, in just that tone of distress and alarm which he desired to hear.

“Oh,” said he, taking a chair, and sitting down where he could look right into her face, “it may be nothing after all. Indeed, I don’t really believe it will amount to any thing; but still, there is, I fear, some danger that he will lose his situation in the college. There is a rumor abroad, you know, that he is about to become a Baptist—or, at least, that he has a little tendency that way; and there are some of the trustees who are disposed to be very particular about such things—too much so, as I may say. Now, for myself, I am disposed to be liberal; and I shall do what I can—in fact, I may say I have done what I could—to influence their action. You know I have always been in favor of Professor Jones. I know him to be a worthy man, and a very superior instructor; and I know he has the confidence—the implicit confidence, as I may say—of the whole community. And what if he does entertain some heterodox opinions about a matter not essential to salvation? says I. Why, he is a good man, and that is enough for me. But you know, Mrs. Jones, people don’t all think alike; and I am dubious about what the trustees may take a fancy to do. But I can’t stay,” continued he, rising, and going toward the door. “I could not do less, as a neighbor, than just to call and tell you my fears. I will try to meet Professor Jones himself, and consult with him about what is to be done.”

He sallied out, and about the time that Professor Jones was starting for home, placed himself in the way as he came from the college building.

“I am sorry,” said he, “brother Jones, that our pastor used such expressions as he did yesterday. I don’t wonder that you became excited; I could not have borne it half as well as you did. But I am afraid you dropped some expressions that will injure you with the trustees. Some of them have been talking with me this morning. They say that you as good as declared yourself a Baptist, and they don’t see what further use a Presbyterian college has for your services. But I said, wait a while. Jones is a man of impulse. His feelings were touched yesterday, and he said more than he intended. He is as much a Presbyterian as I am. He will be all right in a week. I took the liberty to say thus much for you. I have always been your friend, and I mean to stand by you through thick and thin, so long as I can be of any service to you. I don’t advise you to conceal or falsify your opinions. I know you are incapable of doing that; but I merely suggest, since so much depends upon it—your own living, as I may say—that you will be a little more careful and prudent in your expression. Think what you please; but you are not obliged always to tell all you think. You understand? I felt bound to give you this little hint. There may be more in it than you are aware of.”

Such thoughts as these had already intruded into the Professor’s mind. His wife had several times suggested something of the kind. Till now, however, the danger had seemed distant and undefined. It was indeed a dark cloud, but it hung low on the far-off horizon; now, it lowered above his very head, and covered all the heavens with its blackness. Nothing but utter ruin stared him in the face. He walked along home, almost blinded by the rush of fearful thoughts. He sat down in silence to his dinner. His wife seemed even sadder and more distressed than he was. Scarcely had he begun to eat, when she inquired:

“Have you seen Colonel White this morning? he was here looking for you. I told you how it would be, when you first begun to meddle with this subject of baptism; but you could not be satisfied. And we are now to lose our pleasant home and all our means of support, and be turned out destitute upon the world, just because you would not listen to your wife, and let well enough alone.”

“Oh, not so bad as that I hope, my dear.”

“Well, I don’t know how any thing could be worse. Colonel White says the trustees are going to declare your professorship vacant, or something like it, because you have turned Baptist. And of course we must leave this house, which you know belongs to the college, though we have fitted it up for ourselves just as though it belonged to us. And you know you have never saved a dollar of your salary, though I am sure I never spent the half of it. I never could tell what became of it; and how we are going to live, I should like very much to know. If you depend on those ignorant and stingy Baptists for a support, any body can see we must come to starvation. They could not do much if they would, and they would not do any thing if they could. I’m sure I hate the day they came here, to disturb the peace and quiet of our town. They have brought nothing but trouble to me.”

“But, my dear wife, things may not turn out so badly after all. I did indeed see Colonel White, and he told me, as a friend, that some of the trustees are a little piqued at my entertaining opinions on this subject different from their own; but with his influence exerted in my favor, I hardly think I shall lose my situation, at least till I can make other arrangements.”

“His influence! Why, he is the very soul and body of the whole business. You don’t know that man as I do. He can’t impose on me with his soft words. I could see the evil intention in his eye while he was talking about it to me. As soon as he saw how much it distressed me, I could see it did his very heart good. He is the very man that is working your ruin. And all I wish is that you had not yourself placed in his hand the club to beat your brains out with. If I were you, I would go to the trustees myself, and set the matter right.”

“What can I say to them, my dear?”

“Say? Why tell them, that though it is true that you have given a little time to the investigation of this subject, you are as good a Presbyterian as any of them, and have no more thought of leaving the Presbyterian Church than President McNought himself. I know you love our church. I have often heard you say so. It was good enough for your father and mother to live in and die in. It was good enough for Timothy Dwight and Jonathan Edwards to live and die in. It is good enough for Pastor Johnson, President McNought, your brother professors, and all the most intelligent, and influential, and wealthy portion of the town, and I can’t see why it is not good enough for you.”

“If I were only sure it is the Church of Jesus Christ, that would be all I could ask,” he replied; “but I must consider further of this matter.”

“Yes, I see how it will be; you will consider and consider till the mischief is done and we are turned out of house and home. But I know it’s of no use to talk to you. You will just go on your own way. I only wish you may never be as sorry as I am that you ever saw a Baptist.”

Night came, and with it came the committee appointed by the Session—the reverend pastor and the reverend doctor. They had previously consulted and arranged their plan of argument. Mr. Johnson knew it would not be worth while to go again over the same ground through which they had already traveled. They had in vain searched the Scriptures to find a single precept or example to justify the baptism of infants. They concluded, therefore, they must make it out by inference.

“I understand,” said President McNought, “that you insist on some express precept or example for infant baptism, before you will receive it as a scriptural practice?”

“Oh, no,” said Professor Jones; “I am by no means particular about the character of the proof. I only ask for Scripture evidence that it was either required or practiced. You may find that evidence in any form you can. You can’t find the precept or example, that is certain. We have tried it. If you have any other testimony, let us hear it.”

“The truth is,” said the D.D., “there was no necessity for the precept or example. The case was so plain, that the early disciples could not help understanding their duty, so there was no need of commanding it.

“Children had always made a part of the Jewish Church, and unless there was something said to the contrary, they would of course be regarded as making a part of the Christian church. If, therefore, you cannot prove that they were absolutely excluded from the Christian church, it is most conclusively evident that they were received into it, though there should be no record of the fact.”

“To that,” said the Professor, “I might reply by saying that the baptism of infants, if required at all, is a positive institution of our religion, something essentially binding upon the Christian churches. And it is difficult for me to conceive how you can make out a positive obligation to perform a certain Christian duty in a church capacity, from the mere fact that not one word is said about it. Your argument amounts to this. The Jews circumcised their male infants at eight days old, because God had again and again positively and plainly commanded them to do so; therefore Christians should baptize all their infant children, both male and female, because the Lord has given no commandment on the subject, and further, because we cannot find the slightest allusion to any of the first Christians as having done or refused to do it, nor any intimation that any person was ever expected to do it. Such logic may be very conclusive to you, but I can never be convinced by it.

“But I think I may safely venture to take the very ground proposed by you, and prove that infants (according to your own language) were absolutely excluded, both by the commandments of the Saviour and the example of the early Christians. While looking in vain for any precept or example to justify the baptism of infants, we found enough both of precept and example to satisfy my mind, since I have come to reflect about it, that infant baptism is absolutely and clearly forbidden.

“It is forbidden in the commission itself. The command to baptize believers is a command not to baptize any but believers. The command to make disciples first and then baptize them, is a command not to baptize any who are not first made disciples. If I tell my servant to go and wash all the old sheep in my flock, it is equivalent to a prohibition to wash the little lambs. If I tell him to cut down all the dead trees in a grove, it is equivalent to a prohibition to cut any green and living ones—and if he should disobey me and cut the green ones also, I would not consider it a valid excuse, that I had last year, on another plantation, expressly ordered him to girdle both green and dry. So the command to baptize believers excludes all others; and as infants cannot believe, it excludes them from the very necessity of the case. Nor would I like to offer, for the violation of this command, such an excuse as this: Oh, Lord, I know that thou didst ordain only the baptism of disciples and believers—but as thou didst, under a former dispensation, expressly command children to be circumcised, I thought thou wouldst prefer to have them baptized under this, although thou didst omit to tell us so. Would he not reply, What right had you to make ordinances for me? If I commanded the Jews to circumcise their children, it was their duty to do it; and when I command Christians to baptize believers and disciples, it is their duty to do that. ‘Ye are my friends if ye do whatsoever I command you.’ ‘But in vain do you worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.’