Thornton Abbey: a series of letters on religious subjects

Front matter

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Preface

THE author of the following work was the late Mr. John Satchel, of Kettering. It is with pleasure I express not only my approbation of its leading sentiments, but the regard I feel for the memory of my friend.

I was not intimately acquainted with him till within a few years of his death : but during that period I saw in him much to esteem. To serious cheerfulness, frankness, kindness, and generosity, were added a lively imagination, a fertile invention, and a certain spring of soul, which would not suffer him to live inactive. Whatever his hands found him to do, he did it with his might.

Having observed that much evil was conveyed to the rising generation by the enchanting works of fiction, it was his wash to convey truth an4 godliness through that medium. His turn of mind was adapted to this manner of writing. His characters, though fictitious, were to him real. He would sorrow in their sorrows, rejoice in their joys, and frequently bedew his papers with tears. Being a close observer of human nature, he has exhibited a faithful representation of human life.

In his youth he w r as much attached to Mr. Hervetj, and sometimes went to Weston-Favel to hear him. After this an intimate friendship subsisted about twenty years between hirn and Mr. Abraham Maddock, an evangelical iv

clergyman at Kettering, which continued till the death of the latter in 1785. Considering this, it may seem rather extraordinary that he should be so decidedly averse to religious establishments : but his dislike was not to persons, but things.

He approved of many things in Glas and Sandeman, but greatly disliked their controversial bitterness, and the scorn with which they treated persons whom he considered as great and good men, however in some things they might have erred. I have heard him say, " If you read Edzvards on the Affections, you will find the greatest part of what is valuable in Sandeman, without any thing of his spirit." He also remarked, that many of the followers of Glas and Sandeman were men of a dissipated life, and feared that some of them were very little short of deists. His remarks on some of the peculiarities of Sandeman may be seen in letter xli. The substance of that letter was some years since sent to a friend in Edinburgh, who, taking it for a real conversation, printed it under the title of Serious Considerations addressed to Glasites : and other Congregational Separatists from the Church of Scotland,

The present work is offered to the public, partly by the request of the author's friends, and partly as a tribute of filial affection. That the divine blessing may attend it, is the prayer of the readers well-wisher,

ANDREW FULLER.

London, 1807.

THORNTON ABBEY.

Mr. JAMES NEVILLE, a gentleman descended from a long train of ancestors, who had constantly adhered to the Church of Rome, after making the grand tour of Europe, returned to his native country. His father, who was a widower, having died in his absence, he determined to spend the remainder of his days in the enjoyment of a domestic life ; for which purpose he chose to occupy the family seat, a large Gothic building which was situated at Thornton, a village in the neighbourhood of Castle-Hampton.

Mr. Neville, being a comely, well-bred gentleman, and very rich, found little difficulty in obtaining a wife. A friend of his about twenty miles distant, had a ward that was an heiress, who also was a member of the church of Rome : they soon became agreeable to each other, and were united in the bonds of wedlock. In the course of four years they were blessed with three fine children ; William, who was the eldest, so named after his grandfather, Maria, and Eusebia. Mr. Neville having the misfortune to lose a most tender and accomplished wife at the birth of this last child, did all in his power to perpetuate her memory, by calling it by her name.

Very little occurred for several years worthy of relation. Mr. Neville chiefly employed himself in forming the minds of his children. He oft observed, that the many apostaeies, as he termed them, from the church of Rome, owed their origin to the want of early instruction ; and that the minds of youth uncultivated, may be compared to lands neglected by the husbandman, which receive all the seeds that are scattered at random by the winds. He

A 2 seemed indeed to have it only at heart, that his children might inherit his religion as well as his estate, and that what he was pleased to call the Catholic Apostolic faith, might be transmitted to his latest posterity. He remembered with thankfulness the care which his parents had taken of his education; so that in a land filled with heresies, and every day multiplying their number, he had never once swerved from the sentiments which they had taught him.

The great affection he had for his children, made him determine not to marry again. My dear children, he would often say, I do but live for you : your happiness is the utmost bound of my wishes. Whenever the weather permitted, he used to walk with them in his gardens, or in the fields, and point out the wisdom of God in the works of creation, and his goodness in providing for all his creatures. At other times he would extol the uniformity of the church of Rome, contrasting it with the divisions and subdivisions of heretics. He w r ould also repeatedly ask their sentiments on every subject which he thought within the compass of their knowledge, and would reward those of them with books or money, who he judged had given the most pertinent answers. This was such a spur to the emulation of the young gentleman and his sisters, that they were constantly racking their invention to outvie each other ; and by this method there was not a sentiment of their father's which they did not so thoroughly imbibe and digest, as to make it their own.

Their education was intrusted to a priest who resided in the family. He was a native of Florence, and had accompanied Mr. Neville in his travels. This gentleman was well acquainted with the classics, and w r as of a temper kind and obliging. In a word, Antonio Albino, (for that was his name,) by his engaging manners had secured the respect of the family, and the entire confidence and affection of his pupils.

Master Neville was a lover of learning, and possessed a retentive memory ; so that at the age of fifteen, to Greek and Latin he had . added French and Italian, with some knowledge of the Hebrew : all these he acquired without thinking that learning was a burden.

Mr. Neville was also very happy in his daughters, Maria, who was the eldest, w.as gay, lively, and of a ready wit, and might have been termed pretty before she had the small-pox ; but that dreadful disease robbed her of a beauty, which perhaps she thought too highly of. Eusebia was of a modest, meek, and engaging temper. She was rather tall for her age, but exactly proportioned ; which, together with a fine open countenance, regular features, and a delicate complexion, made her the envy of her sex. These endowments are too often overvalued. Beauty is many times the gift of Providence to the proudest, vainest, silliest people. This momentary excellence leads such persons to value and adorn the casket, while they neglect the jewel. They do not consider that it is the mind only which constitutes the perfection of our nature ; that exterior advantages are enjoyed by us in common with the brute creation ; and that in many of them we are far outstripped by the savages of the desert.

Mr. Neville was constantly watchful to guard his daughters against the errors too common to their sex. My children, he would say, a noble building requires sumptuous furniture : yet I have seen many ladies with agreeable persons, whose minds and bodies have been the greatest contrast. How are we chagrined when we find these pretty things to be mere outside. Such may make many conquests, but they can retain those only who are as empty as themselves. Whereas if a woman have but a moderate share of this outside varnish, yet if we per* ceive her to be modest, discreet, humble, and caurteous, we are agreeably disappointed. A wise man judges such a one to be a proper friend and companion for life ; fit to be the mistress of a family, and likely to sow the seeds of piety and virtue in the tender minds of her offspring. Such a woman is a blessing to mankind in general, and especially to the rising generation ; children generallykeeping that bent which is given them in their childhood.

Thus did he take every opportunity of conversing with them on the most important subjects ; and the visible improvement which they made in knowledge and obedience showed that his labour was not in vain. The feuds and animosities too common among children brought up together, were scarcely known in this family ; and if at anytime peevishness took place of affability, a glance of the father's eye was sufficient to restore the former tranquillity. He had indeed the art of being obeyed as implicitly as an eastern monarch, at the same time that he ruled with the greatest moderation and sweetness.

Notwithstanding Mr. Neviile was of the Romish communion, he was every where well received, and his acquaintance was courted by the neighbouring gentry. He had an agreeable turn for conversation, and was of a ready wit : yet he never, by indulging the self-sufficient sneer, or the cutting repartee, gave pain to the meanest person ; nor could he patiently hear others make use of that cruel liberty ; justly observing, that he who can laugh at hearing a man abused, would find equal reason for mirth if he were to see him thrown into the dirt ; and that nothing can be baser than this malevolent disposition, since the best characters, and the most sacred things, may be distorted by false wit, and rendered the subjects of ridicule,

He was easy of access to the poorest persons of his village, who ever found him ready to commiserate their distresses, and to relieve their wants. He judged that nothing was better calculated to bring them within the pale of the church than those arguments to their senses, which the very dullest were capable of understanding : and the event proved that he made a just estimate of human nature.

When alone with his children, he would oft deplore the miseries that were brought upon this nation by its schism from the church of Rome. When men, he would say, once get out of the high road into crooked paths, it is no wonder they should quarrel about which is the right way, since they are all wrong-. If the church of Rome be not the only true universal church of Christ, where are we to look for it ? Let common sense judge. Had Christ no church before Luther ? If he had, where did it exist, if the chuch of Rome were not that church ? What was the origin of this schism, which has had its reward in the divided state of all those who have been out of the pale of the church ever since ? It was the lust of an impious king ; and the covetousness of court sycophants, who with longing eyes beheld the possessions of the church, which they were willing to plunder under any pretext. The same reason keeps their descendants from returning to its bosom. They are unwilling to restore their ili-gotten gain. From such causes what better effects could be expected ?

0 my children, it is your highest honour that you are descended from ancestors, who, in this divided, distracted land, have uninterruptedly kept the faith. Transmit it, my dear offspring, to your posterity, as I have done to you. Could I think the contrary, it would be despair and death to me. You will meet with many opponents, who will speak evil of those things which they understand not ; but

1 flatter myself you are able to defend yourselves against any common adversary.

At a small distance from his house was a wilderness through which were cut many mazy walks, bordered on each side with » great variety of flowering shrubs and evergreens, and shaded by lofty oaks, limes ; and chesnuts. Here Mr. Neville delighted to walk in the summer months with Ms children ; for he seemed to enjoy nothing without them.

One day, after they had been sometime in this cool retreat, conversing about indifferent matters, My children, said he, do you meet with no rebuffs, or foolish pity on account of your religion ? I ask this, because I know the world, and that part of it especially where Providence has fixed our lot.

I assure you, Sir, replied Maria, those who have hitherto encountered us have had little reason to boast of any advantage they have gained. The truth is, religion seems to be no part of the business of the polite world ; and the poor too frequently follow the example of the rich. It has been rare that any other argument has been used than ridicule, which, in the opinion of too many, is the test of truth. Persons, however, of this character, have learned to laugh at religion in general : it is no wonder therefore that ours does not escape their derision.

My children, said he, I believe what you say, that your opponents have gained no advantage over you ; since, as Shakspeare says, Thrice is he arm\l ivho has his quar~ rel just. With regard to ridicule's being the test of truth, nothing is more false. The time is coming, when the laughter of those who assert it will be turned into mourning ; and when the righteous Judge will say to them, Behold, ye despisers, and wonder, and perish. It was foretold, that there should come, in the last day, scoffers, walking after their own lusts ; which prophecy is abundantly verified. These men talk of honesty, moral rectitude, and the fitness of things; but their practice is too frequently the reverse. The two great springs of human action are fear and hope : these being once broken or ob-, structed, every part of our moral conduct is inevitably disordered. The best of the heathens* such as Socrates, Plato, Tully, Seneca, and many others, so far as u -.y were influenced to lead a virtuous Ufe 7 were actuated by a faint hope of immortalitv. I wish these mockers were only to be found among those who have left the Catholic church ; but it is to be lamented, that these tares of infidelity have taken such deep root in the world, and have spread so far and .wide, that many, too many of them, have sprung up among ourselves.

Pray, Sir, said Eusebia, of the many sectaries who are divided from the Catholic church, which do you think the worst ?

My dear, replied he, of the many withered branches you see upon the ground, which do you think the worst ?

Alas 1 these heretical sectaries have all rent the seamless coat of Christ, and destroyed that uniformity which was the glory of the church for many ages. Instead of being, as formerly, under the bishop of Rome as the common bond of union, every one believes and does that which is right in his own eyes. If, however, I were to give the preference to any, it would be to the church of England. Her bishops dare not deny the uninterrupted succession in the see of Rome : their own ordination would be invalid, even in their own esteem, if they were to do this. But behold their inconsistency. Although they confess that ours is a true church, and consequently never re-ordain any priest who goes from us to them ; yet they have violently rent themselves from this true church, and are, therefore, as I before said, only to be considered as in the same state with these withered branches and as lying under the fearful curse of St. Peter's successors. If they should say in their own defence, that there are some things among us which need reformation, we acknowledge it. All good men have prayed for the perfection, as well as for the peace of the church ; but this perfection they have found easier to be desired than attained. When that violent schism took place in the time of Luther, they called it the Reformation ; but if you would know what kind of reformation it was, you need only look at the lives of the reformed. Where will you find among them those alms-deeds and acts of hospitality, that voluntary poverty, that renunciation of the world, and that mortification of the body, which are to be met with among us ?

All these things, said Maria, are so obvious, that it is a matter of wonder with me, that they who abandoned our communion should continue to make any profession of Christianity. I conceive the guilt would have been very little more, if they had renounced the name as well as the thing.

Yet so blind are they, replied he, to their own imperfections, that every different sect of heretics thinks itself only to be right ; and they are such consummate deceive'rs, that many in thy time, of whom I hoped better things, have forsaken the flock of Christ to follow these blind guides. O my children ! that you may be guarded against every error, is the summit of my wishes : and be assured, that a failure in this point would make me abhor and detest you : I should think the roof accursed under which you dwelt, and the earth polluted on which you trod, nor would I ever see you more. I thus speak, because I would arm you on the right hand and on the left.

The young ladies thanked their father for his tender care of them ; and told him, that if they should ever be so far lost to a sense of their duty and of their interest, as to become heretics, they desired him to show them no favour.

At Barnwell, a village about four miles distant, lived a gentleman, whose name was Mr. Robert Barnwell. He was the son of a Jamaica planter, and was born in that island, where he resided with his father till he was in the twenty-fifth year of his age, except only five years that he had lived in England, whither his father had sent him, -when he was a boy, to be educated.

Mr. Barnwell had risen from very small beginnings, his first occupation in Jamaica being that of a menial servant to a planter ; who, perceiving him to be industrious, on leaving the island made him overseer of his plantation : after which, by a train of favourable circumstances, he at length arrived to considerable opulence.

When the old gentleman arrived in England with his soiv, he waited a long while before he could please hinv self in a purchase ; for being a man who looked a great way before him, lie thought that in process of time some of his family might be ennobled. He determined, therefore, to buy an estate, where the name of the village belonging to it was sonorous, and of considerable length, that it might serve for a title. He was a man of such refined taste in this respect, that he would have thought five hundred or a thousand pounds well bestowed in an additional syllable. After long waiting in vain, fortune favoured him, as he termed it, in a way he never expected. The village and lordship of Barnwell were to be disposed of, to pay a debt of honour contracted at Newmarket. He became a purchaser without hesitation ; for notwithstanding there %vas at least a syllable too little in the name, yet as it was the same with his own, he justly thought that it would give his family an air of antiquity. He would say sometimes to those with whoiti he was intimate, (for what is uppermost will come out some time or other,) Now, does not Giles Barnwell, Esq. of Barnwell, sound very well? And when they answered in the affirmative, which truth, as well as good manners obliged them to do, — .Yes, he would say, but Lord Barnwell, of Barnwell, would sound much better ; and who knows but some of my posterity may come to that honour, if I do not ? And even if I myself should be ennobled, as strange things as that happen almost every day. The old gentleman's foible was, with little reason, made the subject of ridicule by the wits of that time ; since the vain pursuits of mankind in general, are tit best but of equal importance. If he appeared more culpable than his neighbours, it was only owing to his being more sincere. Had they been as open, they would have been equally exposed to the shafts of satire.

He now employed his time in building an elegant seat near the church, and in walling and planting a garden. He had almost completed his design, and was promising himself the peaceable enjoyment of the fruits of his labours for many years to come, when having drank pretty freely the preceding evening, in the company of several neighbouring gentlemen, who had come to visit him, he was found dead in bed, having been seized, as was supposed, by an apoplectic fit.

Mr. Robert Barnwell, his only surviving child, had not been in the enjoyment of his patrimony above a year, before he married a young lady whose name was Chauncey. She was the sister of Mrs. Worthington, the wife of Mr. Worthington, a West-India merchant, at whose house he resided when he was in London. Mr. Barnwell h^d four

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children, three of whom died in their infancy. Miranda, the youngest, who was the only one that lived to years of maturity, was so named at the earnest desire of her mother, because Miranda was the name of an imaginary character in a book of devotion which Mrs. Barnwell had read with great pleasure. This lady died of a consumption, when her daughter was in her thirteenth year. She was a pious gentlewoman, and had taken much pains to instill the principles of religion into the tender mind of her child, A more than ordinary vivacity and liveliness of temper, together with a turn for company and amusements, caused her to profit but little from her mother's instruction ; but she was the darling of her father, who thought he saw every part of his own image impressed on his daughter.

Mr. Barnwell was of the church of England, but thought it the duty of every person to remain where he was brought up. He looked upon dissenters, whom he termed sectaries, as a wrongheaded people : however, their continuing of the same sentiments with their parents he considered rather as their misfortune than as their fault. But with regard to those runagates, as he called them, who left the established church, he thought them beneath contempt ; and would sometimes say, and even swear, that if "he had been brought up a Turk or a Jew, he would not: have changed his religion. He would observe, that it was of no importance what a man believed, but that practice was every thing, and would often quote those lines of Pope,

For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight ; His can't be wrong, whose life is in the right.

Of all the productions of the press, none pleased Mr. Barnwell better than the drama. Here, he would say, we see the world in miniature, and find virtue and vice painted in their proper colours. He was -also fond of promoting the representation of plays among the young persons in his neighbourhood ; for he considered the stage as the properest place to form the manners of youth. He observed that there they gained a graceful attitude, an easy carriage, a becoming confidence, and a just pronunciation.

Miss Barnwell needed no incitement to things of this kind, as they were quite agreeable to the natural bent of her inclination. Yet, in the midst of all these pursuits, she received many checks from conscience, which, like an unwelcome visitant, would be oft intruding. The divine maxims which had been early inculcated by her pious mother, would frequently furbish matter for conviction, At such times she made many resolutions, that God should have some part at least of her time and affections. These promises being made through constraint, it is needless t® say that they were very badly kept.

She was about nineteen years of age, when, as she was looking over her mother's library, she accidentally took down a quarto Bible, and, opening it, found a quarter of a sjieet of paper pinned to one of the leaves, which her mother had written, as appeared by the date, but two days before her death. It contained the following words :

Miranda, my dear child, the child of many prayers ! I am going into the presence of my dear Redeemer, where I have no doubt but I shall meet with a happy reception, as in him only has been my confidence. But alas, my love, I fear I am taking a long, an everlasting farewell of you and your poor father. A great and impassable gulf must forever separate us, unless God in his mercy should cause you, my dear child, to make this book your bosom friend, your daily companion. The words which it contains arc fhe words of God. Pray over every sentence. Here only can you learn what he is ; what you are ; what you are papable of being in this world, through his word and Spirit ; and what both the righteous and the wicked will be during a long eternity. Farewell.

Upon reading this paper, Miss Barnwell shed floods of tears. The dread that her dear mother's words should prove prophetical, and that she should indeed never see her any more, made a deep impression on her mind ; and $he made many vows and resolutions, that for the future she would be a new creature, and entirely devoted to €*od and to his service. She appointed set times for prayer, and for reading the Scriptures, earnestly imploring the Majesty of heaven and earth to second her good endeavours. But notwithstanding all her vigilance, she discovered so many defects in herself, arising either from the omission of duty, the commission of sin, or that propensity which she had to vain company and trifling amusements, that her heart frequently sank tmder the burden* She was loath to go backward ; yet numberless disappointments and broken resolutions made her despair of getting forward. Instead of the ways of God being an easy yoke, and a light burden, she thought them the hardest yoke* and the heaviest burden.

An elderly gentleman, named Clifford, frequently visited at the house of Mr. Barnwell. He was a person who seemed to aim at being taken notice of in the world, by pretending to doubt of every thing ; and though, according to his ow T n sentiments, he had no certainty of being right yet no one could appear fonder of gaining proselytes. The design of his pretended doubtings being to discredit divine revelation, he would take every opportunity to affirm, that Moses and the Prophets, together with Christ and his Apostles, were impostors. Yea, upon occasion, this doubter could demonstrate, that a miracle had not been wrought since the creation of the world, if by the way it were created, which was also matter of doubt with him.

It was the misfortune of Miss Barnwell to fall into the hands of this doubting, positive gentleman. He took an opportunity to give the conversation a religious turn, and began with showing, that every religion had its origin in the invention of some legislator, or priest, or both ; and that Christianity was an engine of the state. He then endeavoured to prove, that men of liberal sentiments had always looked upon these things with contempt, they being only calculated for the meridian of the vulgar. What, cried he, do you think of the speaking of Balaam's ass ; or ©f Samson's throwing down a temple by mere strength j fcrofhis carrying, the gates of Gaza? Miss Barnwell replied that she had not sufficiently considered those things to be able to defend them. She soon, however, retired to her closet, when the poison which had been poured into her ear began to operate. She fully assented to the doctrine of her new teacher, and furnished herself with the following additional proof of there being no reality in rer ligion. I have, said she to herself, both fasted, prayed, and watched, and taken every method to become religious, and all to no purpose ; for while I have been engaged in this fruitless toil, I have resembled the fabled Sisyphus, who was condemned to roll a stone up hill, which continuallyreturned upon him.

How glad was this young lady to be loosed from those restraints and fears, which she now thought were only fit to intimidate the vulgar. Like a deer escaped from the huntsman, she determined once more to mix with the herd, and to enjoy her former pleasures and her ease again. She made the tiial : pleasure and a round of dissipation w T ere the only objects of her pursuit: but she soon discovered that this plaister would not cover the sore. At many times she would cry out, O what a wretch am I ! Without a God ; without hope of immortality ! My utmost wish is to die like a beast, without the poor expectation of living one thousandth part so happily I If I had the wealth of the Indies in my possession, I would part with it all to be a snake or a toad 1 At other times she would reflect that she must now either openly avow herself to be an infidel, or put on the mask of hypocrisy, and pretend to be what she was not, which last me could not bear to think of. I must never, she would say, alter my condition, nor impose such a wretch on any man for a wife. Besides, how, or in what manner, could I instruct my children ? I am all doubt and uncertainty. If there be a God, I have no knowledge of him. I neither know for what end I came into the world* nor what will become of me when I go out of it.