Domestic Portraiture

by Legh Richmond, 1834

(With remarks by Edward Bickersteth)

The successful application of Christian principle in the education of a family, exemplified in the memoirs of three of the deceased children of the Legh Richmond.

It may be thought that a transition from seclusion to an active life, and from the habits of a retired village to the busy haunts of men, is more safe when gradual than when sudden; and that as young people must sooner or later be connected with the world that lies in wickedness, it would be better to accustom their minds by degrees to a contact which will be afterwards unavoidable. A Christian parent will, however, feel extremely jealous of the modern practice of exposing youth to a prurient knowledge of evil, of removing parental superintendence at too early an age, and of allowing an unrestrained freedom of association, which appears to me, as it did to Mr. Richmond—to be attended with great danger.

The effect of the present habits are but too obvious—premature and indiscriminate fellowship, and the relaxation of former discipline, has generated a race of rebels whose chief distinction seems to be a contempt for authority, and a rash and arrogant pretension to superiority, very unfitting their years or station. It is far better to train up a child in the ways of God—than in the maxims of the world—to be more intent on securing for him an entrance into eternal life, than, with a hope of present advantage, to hazard the salvation of his immortal soul. I would apologize (if apology be necessary), for dwelling on details which may appear too trifling for notice—but the Christian parent, who can duly estimate the 'potency of little things,' may collect from them some useful hints for the regulation of his own family, and with this view I insert them.

Mr. Richmond was an early riser, and he endeavored to inspire the same activity into the minds of his children. He used to read with them in his study, at as early an hour as six o'clock in the morning; and as occasions arose, prayed with them in succession—he was very attentive to their regularity, neatness, and good manners, and he endeavored to make the conversation at table useful and improving. Sometimes he proposed a subject for discussion, and when he perceived youthful spirits rising to excess, he would throw in a remark to check the exuberance. No one aimed more constantly to restrain the evils of the tongue in his family; if ever a comment was made which would hurt another, his uneasiness was apparent. Slander in any shape was distasteful to him, and he was sure to say something in the way of allowance or excuse. Indeed Mr. Richmond particularly excelled in controversial powers—with a fund of good humor, he abounded in anecdote, and having a large acquaintance with science of every kind, he never failed to entertain; while with a soul ever intent on the glory of God, and the best interests of his fellow-creatures, he was under no temptation to sacrifice the useful to the amusing.

Table talk is seldom regarded with a proper sense of its importance. Servants are often on the watch to catch something for circulation, and to retail among themselves the opinions which their masters have expressed in their presence. The general strain of social fellowship ought therefore to be regulated with a view to their improvement. Children are apt to trifle, and relate all they have heard without discrimination, and they need an adult to guide and give a tone to their conversation; this my excellent friend accomplished in a manner the most felicitous—he allowed and even encouraged perfect freedom and ease; yet everyone felt that there was an eye and an ear over everything.

Innumerable harms arise to children from too close an intimacy with domestic servants; a foundation is often laid, here, for opinions and habits difficult to be afterwards eradicated—not only are coarse and vulgar tastes imbibed—but vices of an appalling character are learned, in the stable or the kitchen, where ready instruments are frequently found to concur in deceiving a parent, or gratifying some bad propensity in the minds of children. It was a point of importance in Mr. Richmond's mind, that no wicked person should dwell beneath his roof; his domestic servants, as far as practicable, were selected from people of godly principles, and they became warmly attached to his family. Yet, even under these circumstances, he forbade all unnecessary fellowship—there are doubtless many faithful servants, worthy of our esteem and confidence—but as a general rule, intimacies of this kind are productive of evil, and no good can arise from too close a connection between our children and dependents.

Mr. Richmond provided each child with a separate sleeping-room, thus securing a comfortable place of retirement and devotion. These little sanctuaries were always accessible to himself; he often visited them to leave a note on the table; for while at home, as well as when abroad, he kept up a correspondence with his family, which he used to call his Home Mission; and to these notes he requested a reply. I have heard him explain his reasons for so singular a method of instruction; he used to say, "I feel an insurmountable backwardness to close personal conversation with my children—when I begin they are silent, and it is not long before I also feel tongue-tied. Yet I cannot be easy without ascertaining the effect of my instructions, and hence I have been driven to use my pen, because I could not open my lips." Mr. Richmond is not the only father who has felt and yielded to this dilemma, without adopting his ingenious remedy for a weakness not uncommon—yet not the less to be lamented.

I am, however, disposed to estimate this home-correspondence more highly than a direct personal appeal. Conversation, (if it is not a contradiction so to speak,) is apt to be all on one side; but a communication by letter admits of freedom and reflection, and if a reply is expected, obliges an interchange of sentiments. It also teaches young people to think and compose.

When circumstances required a longer letter—as when a fault needed correction, or a removal from the family was about to take place—when preparation for a religious ordinance was required, or the choice of a profession to be made—on such occasions Mr. Richmond was diffuse, earnest, particular; at other times his little notes contained only an affectionate suggestion of a text for meditation, or a hint to improve some event. He seemed anxious that his children should have a subject, to use his own phrase, "on the stocks," and a habit of always employing their minds and making the best use of the hours which usually run to waste—the moments and interstices of time. He used to say, "an idle moment is Satan's opportunity."

The reader may expect a specimen or two of those short notes, which, as I have already observed, were conveyed by himself and left on the table in his children's rooms, with a request for a reply within a limited time. These replies formed the subjects of his prayers on their behalf.

Dear K,
Your text today shall be, "the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses from all sin." No sin is too great to be pardoned; but then the soul must seek, believe, and experience this mercy. There is infinite value in the blood of Christ—but the believer alone enjoys the privilege. "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall be saved." Jesus is the way, and the truth, and the life. My dear child, what could we lost sinners do, if it were not for his atoning merit? Seek and you shall find. Lose no time; Christ waits to be gracious, carry your heart and all its feelings to him in prayer; and when you have told him all your needs, pray for your affectionate Father,

 

My Dearest F,
As I trust that it is your own and my wish, that your mind should be seriously and affectionately directed towards the greatest of all external privileges, the Lord's Supper, I wish you to answer me in writing, these two questions:

What are your views of the nature, design, and privilege, of this sacrament? and what are the real feelings of your heart at this time respecting it? This communication is, and shall be, quite confidential between you and your affectionate Father.

P. S. I trust the first Sunday in October may unite us at the feast of love."

My dear L,
I leave these few lines with you, in the hope that you will reply to them while I am at Cambridge. You must write, therefore, not later than by Tuesday's post. I do from my heart desire to know whether you do or do not, feel a concern about your soul's salvation. Has the affecting thought, 'I must live forever in heaven or hell,' suitably impressed your mind? This black border may remind you of your dear departed brother—but does his memory live in your heart for good?

It is time that you seriously reflected on eternity, and the value of your soul. You are a sinner, and without a gracious Savior—you must eternally perish. Do you pray, in Christ's name, and that earnestly, for the pardon of your sins? May I hope that you are a penitent? Do you think of your departed brother's last words to you, and of all that he so earnestly recommended to your serious attention? Have you written down his dying words, as I desired you? Be not afraid to open your mind to me. Let us have an unreserved fellowship with each other. Put away childish things—imitate your brother's love of learning—but especially his love of the Bible, and his constancy in the exercises of devotion. Oh! comfort your father's heart, by truly turning to God, and seeking his salvation; and may God bless you forever and ever—which is the fervent prayer of your affectionate parent,

My dear child,
I am pleased, much pleased with your letter, the more so as it contains some expressions, which inspire a hope that you are beginning to think and feel seriously about your soul's salvation. While I cannot but be most tenderly affected by the loss of my two elder sons, endeared to me by a thousand recollections, I become the more concerned for the welfare of those children whom God spares to me. For the last year I have gone through great trials, and my health has suffered more than any are aware of; but in the midst of all my sorrows, the inexpressible goodness of God has been most manifest, and I trust my afflictions have been blessed to many. Many a rose has sprung up, around the cold grave of my dear Willy, and they still blossom, and I trust will continue to blossom, until they are transplanted from the spiritual garden of our home, into the paradise of God. But can I be otherwise than anxious that my dear K should add a flower to my domestic and parochial shrubbery?

Are you to reach your sixteenth year, and not internally, as well as externally, prove yourself a partaker of the grace of God? I trust not. True religion is not a matter of mere externals, or even of morals. It is the spiritual application of divine truth to the heart, producing that devotedness to God, which distinguishes the true from the nominal Christian. But when, how, and where does this begin? It is not until you have deep, humbling, sincere, and serious thoughts about yourself, and the favor of God. Not until then, by a kind of holy violence, will you feel constrained to flee to Christ, as the only refuge from the wrath to come! Not until prayer becomes fervent, and the study of God's Word a delight; not until every other consideration yields to that infinitely important inquiry, "What must I do to be saved?" Not until the light, trifling, and thoughtless person is converted, through grace—into the serious, conscientious, and believing state of the real child of God. Is this the case with you?

I speak as a Christian father and minister. What are your views on these important subjects? I wish my child to be deeply in earnest; life flies apace, the period of the tomb advances quickly. I have four children in eternity—it is true that eight more still continue with me on earth—but how long will they be here? Which of them may next be taken from me? I think on these things with deep solemnity. You tremble at the thought of a school examination—but what is this compared to the examination before the judgment-seat of God! Go, then, as a sinner to Christ. He sends none empty away. In him and him alone, there is a rich provision for all who come to him. But let this coming include a surrender of all you are, and all you have, to the Lord of grace and glory. Be contented with nothing short of reality in religion.

"Whence come I?—memory cannot say;
What am I?—knowledge will not show;
Bound where?—ah! away—away—
Far as eternity can go;
Your love to win, your wrath to flee,
Oh God! yourself my helper be.
Farewell, dear child, and believe me,
Your truly loving Father,

Discipline is a subject of great importance in the education of a family. Offences must needs come, and the foolishness which is bound up in the heart of a child will reveal itself in acts of disobedience both to God and a parent. How this is to be met, controlled, and subdued, has occasioned a difference of opinion between wise and good men. It is agreed that authority must be maintained, and that all which is sinful and injurious to a child's welfare, must be firmly corrected. But it is not easy to avoid the two extremes of harshness—and a weak fondness; to be firm—yet mild; to do nothing from anger, from partiality or caprice—to preserve composure under circumstances of provocation.

I cannot undertake to decide whether physical chastisement is to be inflicted—or dispensed with. The Scripture warns us equally against severity—and undue leniency; not to provoke them to wrath—nor honor our children above God. On this point men must determine according to the dictates of their own consciences. So far I am satisfied, that there are few occasions when the rod is indispensably necessary, and none which will justify its use under the rufflings of a parent's temper—nor will the effect be beneficial, if a child does not at the time understand it to be a reluctant severity—giving more pain to the offended parent—than to the offender.

Force may be the easier way of settling a difference, and is probably often resorted to from a wish to escape the trouble and labor of more reasonable methods of eradicating evil from the child—but it seldom fails to excite sinful exasperation, and induce a brutish character; and the example on the part of the parent, is often found unfavorable to right dispositions in the other members of the family towards each other. Yet I am bound to admit, (as the result of my own observation,) that even severity is a less evil in its consequences, than a weak connivance at a child's misconduct.

The parent who never displeases his child at any time, must expect to reap the fruits of his own folly in the ruin of his offspring! Excessive indulgence seldom fails to bring a rebuke along with it. Mr. Richmond's method of discipline was peculiar to himself; partly the effect of his own unbounded tenderness and affection—but, in a great measure, of his deep and extraordinary piety. He could never be justly accused of a weak connivance at evil, for here he was resolute, firm and inflexible; yet he was never known to employ physical chastisement. Whatever may be thought of his treatment of offences, it was felt by every member of his family, that nothing could make him yield, or shake his resolution—no, not for a moment. He was alive to all that was wrong in principle or conduct, and he never ceased to remonstrate, or to employ means to reduce his child to obedience, and awaken in him a sense of error. But the chief way in which he marked his displeasure, was by those signs of extreme distress, which penetrated the heart of the delinquent, and softened rebellion into regret.

From the misconduct of his child, he seemed to reflect on himself—as the author of a corrupt being. He humbled himself before God, and in prayer sought help from above—while he kept the offender at a distance, or separated him from the society of his family, as one unworthy to share in their privileges and affections. No one of his children could long endure this exclusion, or bear with sullen indifference, a countenance winch silently expressed the deepest anguish. Perhaps there never was a family where the reign of love suffered less interruption.

The reader must form his own opinion of Mr. Richmond's mode of regulating his family. He must determine for himself, how far a discipline of this kind is worthy of imitation, or is suitable to his own circumstances. Where there exists the same consistency and unity of purpose, an equal desire to glorify God in all things, and a similar diligence in the education of a family—I feel confident that the divine blessing will crown with success, the exercise of this or any other discipline of a Christian parent.

Two or three other letters to his children, touching both on lively and on serious topics, will appropriately close this chapter.

My much loved F,
Yesterday there was a great storm, and the sea raged horribly. I saw many a vessel tossed about in all directions. I went down to the shore, and stood astounded amidst roaring waves, screaming sea-fowls, and whistling winds. Today all is calm, gentle, and inviting. Yesterday I saw the sublime; today the beautiful. I am writing at a window which commands the whole view. Somehow or other I am much amused with the appearance and conduct of a large flock of poultry, just now parading about on the lawn beneath me. There are five pea-fowls, six turkeys, twenty cocks and hens, and a solitary goose from Botany Bay. They walk and talk with much diversified gait and airs. The sober gravity of their pace, occasionally interrupted by a gobble, a jump, and a snap; the proud loftiness of the peacock, sometimes expressed in solemn silence, and sometimes by a very unmusical squall. The ruffling vibrations of the turkey-cock's feathers, with now and then a brisk advance towards his rival of the green; the social grouping of the cocks and hens, contrasted with the unsocial condition and march of the poor unpartnered goose, who grunts dismally, and sometimes turns up a doubtful sort of a side-look at me, as I sit at the window, as much as to say, "Who are you?" Sometimes a continued silence for a space, and then a sudden and universal cackling, as if they were all at once tickled or frightened, or in some way excited to garrulity. All this amuses me not a little.

There are also two noble watch-dogs; I wish they had been at the house when the robbers came. I feel much when at a distance from home—even minor sources of trouble harass and disturb me, when I am so far from you. Let us pray for faith and confidence in God alone. I think of going to Iona—it is sacred and classic ground. May every blessing attend my children!
So prays their affectionate father,

My own dear child,
On my return home, I found your letter, and hasten to give you a few lines in reply. I thought you long in writing, and welcomed your hand with much delight. Indeed, my child, you and I are not sufficiently intimate in pious fellowship and correspondence; we must become more so—and may God enable us. Let us walk and talk, and sit and talk more on these subjects than we have done. Time flies, events are uncertain, providences, health, and life are transient and mutable. I hope the ensuing winter will unite us closer than ever.

Winter is my domestic delight; your heart is with me in this feeling. I much regret that circumstances have prevented your traveling with me this year—but I hope next summer will be more propitious. When I return, we will read and talk over together such scenes as we mutually love, and you shall hear of my interesting journey to Staffa and Iona. Nature, grace, history, antiquity, compassion, taste, and twenty more subjects and affections all meet there.

Read the life of Mrs. Isabella Graham of New York, Mr. M'S. aunt. It will show you the sort of piety of Mr M. and his family, all of whom are valuable characters.

What a terrible storm you had! The Lord rides in the storm! He can create—and he destroy! I hope you do not forget him in the midst of agreeable society. The care of a soul, its natural departures from God, its proneness to make idols of the creature, and the extreme narrowness of the strait gate—are subjects for our deep meditation. Alas! how many among our respectable and moral friends and acquaintances are still in an unconverted state, strangers to the real experience of heart conversion, and unacquainted with the love of Christ! Carelessness and insensibility ruin more souls than deliberate acts of resolute iniquity! You have need to be jealous over your own soul—and to watch and pray that you enter not into temptation. Real piety is a very different thing from mere morality, outward profession, educational propriety, and orderly conduct. Yet without genuine piety—none can enter the kingdom of God. Where a deep sense of guilt and depravity does not exist—all else is but an empty formality. It is much easier to acknowledge this as a doctrine, than to feel and act upon it as a truth. I want my children to be living commentaries on my sermons and principles. I long to see them adorning the gospel of Christ in all things, and that from the inner man of the heart.

I have no objection to Mr J's being liberal and hospitable. I only lament that among the lower classes, dancing and debauchery are nearly synonymous, and therefore I must absent myself from such celebrations.

So poor dear S. W. is dead. To what trials are the best Christians for a time given up. Frequently, during periods of delirium, the most holy have appeared the most wicked in thought and action. But of her Christianity I cannot have a doubt,

Oh! how time flies! Generation follows generation, like waves on the sea—but where shall we drift to at last? Much, much, very much is needed to secure a safe entrance into the eternal harbor of peace and safety. All other subjects sink into insignificance, when compared with this. How foolish, how wicked are we in this matter!

Farewell, my beloved daughter! Much of my domestic comfort depends on you; love your father, for indeed he loves you. When and while you can—be a prop to Ms feelings and spirits. The period is now arrived when I look for the harvest of filial fellowship, of which I sowed the seeds with such concern in your infancy and childhood. May every blessing be with you, in time and eternity. Seven times a day I pray, and say, 'God bless my dear wife—God bless my dear children—God bless my dear parishioners—and God bless my own immortal soul.'
This comes from the heart of your loving Father,

Extract of a letter to his daughter F.
I saw A__M__ last week. She is like no one else—it is a little Paradise to be where she is! Simplicity, fluency, devotedness, natural talent, and gracious acquirements at the age of eighty-four, concentrate a kind of glory, playing around her head and heart.

Mr.— has left. There are great lamentations—but I think I see the hand of God in it; there is always danger when the minister, rather than the Master, is the object of delight; for such religion will soon decay and dissipate. One thing, my child, is most certain, that a great deal more than commonly manifests itself among the generality of rich and cultured professors, is necessary to adorn, if not constitute, real, vital, saving religion. The manners, the opinions, the luxuries, the indolence, the trifling, the waste of time and talents, the low standard, the fastidiousness, the pride, and many more etceteras—stand solemnly in the way of pious attainment and progress. Hence it is that in so many instances, the religion of the poor cottage so much outstrips that of the mansion; and that we derive so much more benefit from fellowship with the really sincere Christians among the poor, than among the too refined, showy, luxurious, and dubious professors of the higher classes. Thank God, however, there are some, though few—yet delightful, specimens of piety among the rich. The 'gate' is not too narrow for some of the 'camels.'

And now allow me, with a heart full of love and esteem for my dearly beloved daughter, to ask whether you have considered the subject of my last letter. Do you not see, on mature examination of your own heart, that religion has not done all that it ought to have done in this respect for my dearest child; has not something of discontent been mingled with the lawful exercise of affection; has not Christ been in some degree robbed of his love and duty in your heart of late? I entreat my dear child to take this frank—but affectionate reproof in good part.

I love you so dearly, that I want to see you holy, happy, and heavenly! True, deep, and sincere piety will alone induce a right frame of heart. Not the fretful, weariedness of this world—but the mind reconciled to all the dealings of the Lord, because they are His, and that for both worlds.

I gave a historical, antiquarian, ecclesiastical, picturesque, and religious lecture on Iona and Staffa, to about one hundred and fifty ladies and gentlemen, in the school-room at Olney last Wednesday. I spoke for two hours and a half. I produced fifty illustrative pictures, and all my pebbles and other specimens. I did the same at Emberton. All expressed satisfaction.
Your affectionate father,

December, 1824.
I think, dearest daughter, that the plan which I suggested will be best for your return home. Here, all is quiet, comfortable, and uniform in our daily course, without many striking events to diversify it by day or by night; unless it be that the younger bairns are rather noisy by day, and the cats in the garden outrageously so by night. Mamma is detained at Bath, by the lingering and precarious state of Mrs. C. Willy is not materially better. My dear, my much-loved boy! No one will ever know what anguish I have inwardly undergone on his account since last May. I have no reason to doubt that his mind is in a good state—but I think its exercises are somewhat too dependant on the fluctuations of his body. I entreat you, when restored to his companionship, to second every wish of my heart in promoting serious, devotional, and determinate piety and occupation of heart. I sometimes fear that his mind is too playful, too comparatively careless, in the midst of carefulness. He is an invalid of too precarious a class to trifle, or to be trifled with. Watch over his besetting infirmities, and aim, without appearing to intend it, to correct them.

Many people, God be praised, appear at this time to be under serious impressions, and the Lord's work in this parish is evidently advancing. I earnestly wish to see it so under my own roof, as well as in my neighbors' cottages. Yes, my own beloved child, I wish to witness more positive, decided, unequivocal demonstrations of it in your own heart! Beware of substituting mere sentimentalism for vital godly experience; and any, however subtle, species of idolatry—for the simple, sincere, childlike love of Jesus—Jesus, the sinner's refuge!—Jesus the sinner's friend!—Jesus, the sinner's companion!

Beware of the fascinating but dangerous tribe of novel writers, fictionists, story-tellers, and dramatists, whose writings steal away the heart from God, secretly poison the spring of pious devotion, create false standards of judgment and rob God of his honor. Never let the false light of literary genius—beguile you into the swamps and puddles of immorality, much less of infidelity. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked—who can know it?" Ten thousand thieves and robbers within, are continually defrauding God of our best affections; they assume imposing attitudes, array themselves in false attire, speak flattering words, 'prophecy smooth things,' delude the imagination and darken the soul. 'Watch and pray, that you enter not into temptation.'

Always keep a searching experimental book in private reading, to accompany the study and daily reading of the Word of God. Beware of trifling and mere gossiping conversation, even with religious friends—the afore-named thieves and robbers are never more active than under the plausible guise of a pleasant but unprofitable fellowship with those whom, on good grounds, we esteem. 'The time is short,' should be written on everyone, and everything we see.

Dear Charlotte Buchanan is now gone to the rest that remains for the people of God. Do you not now feel, that had you anticipated so speedy a bereavement, many a thought would have been cherished, many a word uttered, many a conversation held, more congenial with the idea of her early flight from time to eternity, from the visible to the invisible world? But you know not who may go next. If, then, while health may still bloom on the cheek, so much consideration is due—how much more so, when sickness and anticipated decay warn us, that those we love may not long be with us.

I deeply feel that our general standard of social and domestic religion is too low. It does not sufficiently partake of the more simple and pure vitality of the poor man's piety. The cottage outstrips the drawing-room, in the genuine characteristics of the gospel efficacy. The religion of the one is more like wine—that of the other, wine and water in various degrees of mixture. There is not only to be found in the religious world, a solid, substantial, consistent, and devoted character—but there is also what may be termed a pretty cultured sort of evangelism, which too well combines with the luxurious ease and serving of the world, and the flesh—not to say of the devil also. But such kind of religion will not prepare the soul for sickness, death, and eternity; or will, at best, leave it a prey to the most fearful doubts, or, still more to be feared, the delusions of false peace. The way that leads to eternal life is much more narrow than many of our modern professors are aware of—the gate is too straight to allow all their trifling, and self-will, and worldliness, and carnal-mindedness, to press through it.

The gospel is a system of self-denial; its dictates teach us to strip ourselves, that we may clothe others; they leave us hungry, that we may have wherewith to feed others; and send us barefooted among the thorns of the world, rather than silver-shod, with mincing steps to walk at our ease among its snares. When our Lord was asked, 'Are there few that shall be saved?' he answered neither yes nor no; but said, 'Strive to enter in at the straight gate,' and this word 'strive,' might be translated, 'agonize.' Beware of belonging to that class, which Hannah More ingeniously calls 'the borderers.' Choose whom you will serve, and take care not to prefer Baal. Ask yourself every night, what portion of the past day have I given to God, to Christ, to devotion, to improvement, to benevolent exertion, to effectual growth in grace? Weep for the deficiencies you therein discover, and pray for pardon and brighter progress.

From my heart I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year when it comes. James explains 'merry.' (James 5:13) so does our Lord, (Luke 15:24.) May such merry-makings be ours. Our love to all. Tell Mr. M to write to Wilberforce. I want correspondents who will do him good, and not trifle. I am to preach two missionary sermons at Cambridge on the thirteenth. Farewell, my beloved daughter; come quickly here, and be assured how truly I am,
Your faithful loving father,
 

January 6, 1825.
My dear daughter,
Your letter is just such as I wish you often and often again to repeat. Let your heart be confidential, and you will ever find mine responsive to it. May no trifles ever wean your affections from the unspeakably important subjects of eternity. Idols are bewitching, dangerous things, and steal away the heart from God. The most lawful things may become idols—by fixing an unlawful degree of affection upon them.

One reason of the difficulties with which you meet on the subject of prayer may be, the not sufficiently looking by faith unto Christ. Essential as prayer is, both as a privilege, an evidence—an instrument of good, and a source of every blessing; yet it is only the intercessory prayer of Christ, which can render our prayers acceptable and efficacious, and it is only by lively faith in the great Intercessor, that we can obtain a heart to pray. Thus faith and prayer act in a kind of circle in our minds, and each produces, (experimentally) and is produced, by the aid of the other.

I am glad you like Mr. Bickersteth's little book on prayer—all his publications are good. There are many books, as well as general conversations, about religious matters, which, after all do not bring home true religion to the heart. Religious gossiping is a deceitful thing, and deceives many. How many professors of religion will utter twenty flippant remarks, pro or con, upon a preacher, where only one person will lay his remarks to heart. How many look more to the vessel—than to the excellency of the treasure contained in it. Some people cannot relish their tea or coffee, unless served in a delicate cup, with a pretty pattern and a gilt edge.

Let poor dear Charlotte Buchanan's sudden call from time to eternity, warn us how needful it is to 'die daily;' not to trifle with our souls, when eternity may be so near; nor to boast of the morrow, when we know not what a day may bring forth.

I rejoice to find your recent meditations have opened to your conscience besetting infirmities. Press forward my child; let them not gain an ascendency. Beware of mere sentimentalism, of satire, of fastidiousness, towards people and things. Beware of bigotry and prejudice, of procrastination, of the love of fictions, of dangerous though fascinating poets, etc. I wish you, my love, to attach yourself to visiting the sick, and conversing usefully with the poor; to the instruction of poor children; to religious correspondence and conversation, with a few sincere friends; and particularly strive to commence and continue spiritual conversation with our dear Willy.

I lately watched the young moon declining in the western sky—it shone sweetly. Sometimes a cloud shot across the disk—sometimes a floating mist partially obscured it, alternately it was bright again; it sometimes silvered the edge of the very cloud that hid it from sight. At length the lower horn touched the horizon; then the upper horn, and then it wholly disappeared. Venus remained to cheer the gloom. I said to myself, 'There is the decline of my beloved boy, and there is the star of hope.'
Your affectionate father,

 

London, June 25, 1825.
Dear F. and dear H.,
Between the evening and morning services of this day, I have a leisure hour, in which I feel as if I would like to sit down and talk with you two. I miss our early morning exercises much, and this for the present must be the substitute on my part. I have nothing very particular to recount, only that I have been to a few places, where I was last summer with my beloved Wilberforce, and I have indulged the silent tear, as I retraced incidents never again to recur. At some places, where my friends remember his visits and conversations, I am asked, 'How he is?' with interest in their manner; and I have to tell how he has taken his flight to another and better world; and it affects me greatly so to do. I know not how it is with me, in regard to that dear boy's loss—but I talk less, and think more than ever about him.

The two weeks preceding, and the one following his death, are indelibly engraved on my heart's recollections, and sometimes overpower me, in a way of which none of you have any real idea. Sometimes my mind is strengthened—but at others weakened by these reflections. I am sometimes comforted, at others terrified by these exercises of mind. It is my weakness, my fault, my misfortune, that I cannot express more of my mind and feelings to you both.

Dear, dear H! you are now become the prop and stay of my declining years—think much of the station in which God has placed you. My first-born is a distant wanderer, and God knows when or whether I shall see him again on earth. My second boy is taken from me, you are my third—but now my first. Be such to your two younger brothers, particularly to L; he needs your constant superintending care—watch over him; do not leave him to seek unprofitable associates; cherish the little germ of hope which God has planted in my bosom concerning him; let your example influence, and your kind attentions encourage him in every good way; and think much of your own soul.

Beware of declensions—remember the last words of dear Wilberforce—live up to his advice. How my heart yearns over you and all your prospects; "What are you? What are you to be, my beloved child?" Write to me freely.

And my F also; are you as much alive to spiritual things, as when you hastened to the dying bed of dear Willy—as when you wept over his coffin? My child, dread all decays, and may the flame of spiritual piety never grow dim amidst the mists of unworthier speculations. Visit the cottages—forsake not the poor, for your father's sake.

I have been this morning where you might least have expected to find me; but I went not from curiosity—but from a conscientious wish to know and judge for myself—to the Roman Catholic Chapel in Moorfield, to hear high mass. I was astonished at the decorations, and the gorgeous dresses of the bishop and priests; charmed with the exquisite beauty of the music; disgusted at the ceremonial mummery of the service; and unconvinced by the bishop's eloquent sermon in defense of transubstantiation. It was all deception, delusion, and collusion. The service lasted near four hours. I bless God more than ever for true Protestantism. I shall hear the Messiah performed tomorrow. Such music I love; it lifts my soul to heaven. I am sick and disgusted with common light modern songs—they are unfit for Christians. Oh! what music is my Willy enjoying in heaven. Shall we all enjoy it with him? The question often sinks me in the dust. My dear, my most dear children! press forward to the prize of the mark of our high calling in Christ Jesus. There is an immense gulf to be passed. Who is sufficient for these things?

Say many kind and pastoral things for me to my dear people at Turvey. Truly I have them in my heart. My children—I kiss you from a distance; believe how much and how entirely I love you.

P. S.—Monday. I am just returned from hearing the Messiah. In the two grand choruses, I thought I could hear my Willy's voice, and it quite overcame me. Past, present, and future, mingled in strange and affecting combination. These feelings are sometimes too much for your poor father.

It may easily be conceived with what concern, Mr. Richmond's would contemplate the removal of his boys from the paternal roof, when their age would render it unavoidable. The difficulty of placing young people in suitable situations is greatly increased in the present day, by the numbers who are pressing into every trade and profession, and by the modern practice of excluding youths from the master's family; a practice which may conduce to the comfort and convenience of the latter—but which necessarily exposes the clerk and the apprentice to the worst temptations. Mr. Richmond knew perhaps less than many other parents how to place out his children to advantage. He was not wise for this, world, and though few had fairer opportunities, or friends more able to advise and help him—he shrunk from availing himself of these advantages, to a degree which we cannot approve, while we respect his delicacy and paramount regard to the honor of religion.

He was not the ablest Counselor under such circumstances, except indeed on one point—that the welfare of the soul should be the governing principle in the selection of a profession. He gave an unbounded liberty of choice to his children, with one exception, an exception which it is difficult to imagine would not equally be made by every Christian parent. The profession of a military soldier, if not in itself unlawful, is so irreconcilable with the spirit of a peaceable religion; and a life of comparative idleness, or of activity amidst the horrors of destruction, is so repugnant to the principles and feelings of a disciple, whose master came not to destroy—but to save men's lives, that a right-minded man can scarcely be supposed to admit a preference for it.

People of undoubted piety have been discovered in soldier camps, as well as in the peaceful fields—but it has generally been found that their knowledge of God was subsequent to their choice of their profession. The Christian under an actual engagement in a service, may decide "to abide in the calling wherein he is called," and honor God in his vocation; but this is a widely different determination from a choice made with the knowledge of peace and love in Christ Jesus.

One of those events which often inspire a preference for a soldier's life, I mean the show of military parade, excited this inclination in Mr. Richmond's younger son. To this choice Mr. Richmond expressed his dissent in the strongest terms. "Anything but this," said he, "anything but this—the very mention of a military life fills me with horror; I cannot bear to think of a child of mine engaging in scenes of bloodshed and destruction. No consideration on earth could extort my consent. It would make me really miserable!"

The following letter to his daughter F is the best transcript of his thoughts and feelings on this subject.

I grant, dearest F, you may charge me with the same thing in which you have often been culpable; I have no very good reason to assign for delay, and therefore will rather take my share of blame, than furnish you with a bad argument, or a bad example, as to the duty of letter writing. I rejoice in your account of Turvey, a spot that is always in my mind's eye, when not in my sight. No succession of time or circumstance has weaned, or ever can wean, my heart from the domestic village.

There is a young triumvirate increasingly endeared to me, one in heaven and two on earth, and their names shall be recorded together—Wilberforce, Henry, and C. Dear boys! born in the same village, companions in the same school, partners in the same recreations, friends in every social pursuit, and dare I say—heirs of the same glory? United by the ties of the same grace on earth, may they share the same felicity in heaven. I am glad that your meditations have been, of late, deep and important. Pray that they may continue so. Life is short; eternity is at hand; banish, therefore, all needless reserve, banish levity, banish dullness, be much with Christ in prayer.

There is something lacking among us—as to really improving and spiritual conversation—too much worldly bustle, too much regard to passing events, too much consequent alienation from the one, the only thing needful. Without inquiring who is the most in fault, let each of us strive to resist the evil and cleave to the good.

When I think of my boys and C, I bless God for village seclusion, and greatly rejoice that they have been kept at a comparative distance from the evil communications which corrupt good manners. The world, even in its apparently harmless form, is a terrible snare to the young and untaught mind. I before gave you my opinion on Sunday evening walks, I have often earnestly denounced them to the people, and need not add a word to you on this head.

There is a subject which often hangs heavily on my heart—I mean my poor dear T's inclination for a military life. Hating war as I do from my very heart; convinced as I am of the inconsistency of it with real Christianity; and looking on the profession of a soldier as irreconcilable with the principles of the gospel—I would mourn greatly if one of my boys chose so cruel, and, generally speaking, so profligate a line of life. I could never consent to it on conscientious grounds, and therefore wish this bias for the profession of a soldier, to be discouraged. I dislike and oppose it with my whole heart!

May God, the God of peace, bless you, my much loved F—Give a Christian message of pastoral love to my dear flock; I often think and pray for them. Love to the boys. You know well how truly and sincerely I am,
Your affectionate father,

The strongest desire Mr. Richmond ever expressed with respect to his children was, that they might devote themselves to the service of the sanctuary. "I have no concern," he used to say, "about their temporal provision; God will take care of that; but I would rejoice to see every one of my boys actively and usefully engaged in the church of God." His son H chose the sacred profession, to which his father consented; but the necessity of his removal to the university haunted him like a specter. He passed many anxious days and sleepless nights in anticipation of the event; and at times he seemed to be in the deepest trouble—he talked and wrote continually about the possible consequences of it. The subject seemed to absorb his thoughts and depress his spirits, "What if my boy should fall a victim to associations which have blasted the fairest hopes of many a Christian parent. He may do without learning—but he is ruined body and soul if he be not wise unto salvation."

Such acute distress may appear to some—a sort of excess worry. It is true, feelings of this order require control—but allowance should be made for the overflowings of parental concern, and the dread of a transition and revolution of habits not without danger, and affording just grounds of apprehension. There are occasions in which it is difficult to preserve the mind in due balance; and when not to feel deeply, implies a culpable indifference to the interests of eternity, or at least a very low estimate of their paramount importance. Mr. Richmond, as will appear from subsequent events, was standing on the verge of eternity; his health and spirits had been greatly shattered by the severe family trials through which he had lately been made to pass; and his feelings on all subjects connected with religion were wrought up to a pitch of acuteness, which rendered unnecessary contact with the world almost insupportable. There need seldom, however, be any dread of a glow of feeling that "would consume us." It is much more to be deplored, that men can contemplate the "exceeding weight of things which are eternal," with so little emotion, and waste their chief energies on those which endure only for a season, and then flee away forever.

With respect to our Universities, I am not disposed to join in the unmeasured and ignorant chiding with which they have been assailed by their enemies, and even by those who owe much of their eminence in society to the advantages derived from them. It is easy to blame—but difficult to improve. Plausible theories may be suggested, and the crude hand of reform, may proceed to experiments, which are often mischievous, and always uncertain in their outcome. The question is not, what is desirable—but what is practical. How little is to be expected from attempting too much, is observable in the strictness of statutes, which descend even to absurd minutiae, compared with the feeble discipline, which corrupt beings will allow to be enforced. It is indeed devoutly to be wished, that a more vigilant superintendence were exercised over the private habits of the young men as to the facility of contracting debts, and of admission into college after the closing of the gates; that something more of the spirit of religion were infused into its forms; that less were left to the discretion of "the mad age;" and that the authority and duty of the tutor should not be confined to the hours of lecture.

Desirable as are such improvements in college discipline, I am not prepared to show how they can be made, unless the minds of men were more deeply impressed with the true end of education—the training a soul for eternity. I shall not indulge in idle declamation against evils which I may lament—but cannot cure. The dangers incident to inexperienced youth at the university, are confessedly great—but they attach to all situations of their early career, and are not peculiar to their residence amid these noble monuments of ancient piety and munificence. Yet a Christian parent, in matriculating his son at college, will feel increasing responsibility to commend him to the Spirit of God for protection and guidance; and to use every precaution against the evil influence to which he may be exposed from the corrupt examples of contemporaries, or the too great liberty allowed to himself. I would suggest the inestimable advantages to be obtained from the help and superintendence of a private tutor—of such an age to be a companion, and of talents and piety sufficient to make him a useful guide. Such a one, entrusted with authority to direct his pupil's conduct and studies, would secure everything within human means, which an anxious parent could desire.

The last production of Mr. Richmond's pen was a paper of warnings and instructions for his son. This paper was found on his table after his death, and was evidently the result of his dying meditations. I deeply regret that it has been lost, and that I cannot gratify the reader by the valuable hints which it might have suggested.

In surveying the variety of circumstances and details connected with Mr. Richmond's plan of education, it seems to me that two points may be added with advantage.

It has often been lamented that children and young people receive so little benefit from public instruction. Mr. Richmond did indeed teach his children to pray and read the Scriptures; and he wrote a form of prayer for the use of each of them; until they were able to approach a mercy-seat with the expression of their own thoughts and desires. They had the benefit of his family exercises and conversations, and he kept his eye on their behavior at church—but this is not all that is needful; they should be frequently examined as to what they hear, and be required to give an account of every sermon; receiving reproof or commendation as they appear to have been negligent or attentive.

It is important also to accustom children to separate a part of their pocket-money for charitable purposes, and to act in their sympathy with the necessitous, on plan and system. Mr. Richmond's was himself hospitable and benevolent; he contributed largely from his slender means, to the needs of his poor parishioners, and he inculcated on his family, the duty of unremitting attention to distress of every kind. But children should be trained to seek out proper objects, and learn to relieve them from their own means, and by the sacrifice of their own gratifications. What portion of our goods ought to be separated for the poor, is not determined in the Scriptures; the only definite rule there laid down, is, "According as God has prospered him—so let every man give as he is disposed in his heart." Children, as well as grown people, should be allowed opportunity to exercise discretion, and evidence the sincerity of principle—we cannot prescribe any fixed amount, which must vary according to the circumstances of different people; still, however, this labor of love ought to be regulated by some definite principle.

From the foregoing detail of Mr. Richmond's laborious and conscientious care of his family, it is natural to ask—what was the result? Delicacy and propriety forbid me to speak of the children now living, though I might there appeal to facts which confirm the truth of that gracious promise, "Train up a child in the way in which he should go—and when he is old he shall not depart from it."

I shall, however, now endeavor to fulfill Mr. Richmond's own intentions, by recording the deaths of his children, who died in the faith, and are gone to their rest and peace in Christ Jesus.