THE DAY AFTER THE SEVENTH NIGHT…

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—

“’Tis religion that can give Sweetest pleasures while we live; ’Tis religion can supply Solid comfort when we die.”

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:

“Jesus, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow thee; Friendless, poor, despised, forsaken, Thou from hence my all shall be. And whilst thou shalt smile upon me, God of wisdom, love, and might, Foes may hate, and friends disown me, Show thy face, and all is bright. Man may trouble and distress me, ’Twill but drive me to thy breast; Life with trials hard may press me, Heaven will bring me sweeter rest. Oh, ’tis not in grief to harm me, While thy love is left to me! Oh, ’twere not in joy to charm me, Were that joy unmixed with thee!”

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:

“Children of the living God, Take the stranger to your heart—Let me dwell in your abode, Never more from you to part.

“Can you love me? Will you help me? Help me on my way to God—Can you love me? Will you help me? Help me keep his precious word.”

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:

“Yes, come, thou blessed of the Lord, No stranger art thou now—We welcome thee with warm accord, Our friend and sister thou.

“The hand of fellowship, the heart Of love we offer thee; Leaving the world, thou dost but part With lies and vanity.

“In weal or woe, in joy or care, Thy portion shall be ours; Christians their mutual burdens bear, They lend their mutual powers.”

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.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

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.’

“And as a prohibition may be fairly inferred from the command, so it may also from the examples. Among all the multitudes who came to John and were baptized of him in Jordan, there was not a single infant. John required repentance and faith in the coming Messiah as an indispensable prerequisite. He taught them that the Father’s faith would not avail in this new dispensation. ‘Think not to say unto yourselves, we have Abraham for our father; but bring forth for yourselves fruits suitable to repentance.’

“Those who were baptized by Jesus and his disciples, were also adult believers, for the Pharisees heard that Jesus made and baptized more disciples than John. He made disciples before he baptized them. Of the three thousand mentioned as added to the church upon the day of Pentecost, there was not one infant, nor did they bring an infant with them. Of the five thousand, a few days after, there was not one who was not an adult believer. They were men and women. Of the great multitude who believed and were baptized in Samaria when Philip preached, there was not a single little child. The Evangelist expressly classes them all under two heads, ‘both men and women.’ And nowhere, in a single case, is there even an intimation that there was a child baptized, nor is any one ever reproved for the neglect to have it done. Now if this does not absolutely exclude them by example, I do not see what force there is in example. I reply to your argument, therefore, first, by proving that even if infants had not been expressly excluded, there would not be the slightest warrant for their baptism; and, second, by showing that they were absolutely excluded, both by Christ’s command and the practice of the early Christians.”

“Then,” said Mr. Johnson, “you are unwilling to believe that ‘baptism has come in the room of circumcision,’ as I have been accustomed to inform my people every time an infant has been baptized in my church for twenty years.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Johnson—not at all. I am very willing to believe it—I may almost say, I am very desirous to believe it. All I ask is that you will give the slightest Scripture proof of it. You are too good a Protestant to ask me to take your word for it, or even the often repeated assertions of all the clergy in the land. Give me one text of Scripture to prove it, and I am as ready and willing to believe as even yourself can wish.”

“You know,” replied Mr. Johnson, “that we teach that baptism is instituted by Christ—that it is a seal of the righteousness of faith, and that the seed of the faithful have no less a right to this ordinance under the Gospel than the seed of Abraham to circumcision under the Old Testament.”

“Oh, yes—I know you teach this. I have heard and read it a hundred times: and I have no doubt most of our people think you have Scripture to show for it. It is not enough, however, for me to know that you teach it; I want that you should show me where the Lord Jesus teaches it, or where he authorizes you to teach it. Where is it said or even intimated ‘that the seed of the faithful have no less a right to this ordinance under the Gospel than the seed of Abraham to circumcision under the Old Testament?’ If it is in the Bible, you can show it. If I read correctly, the seed of Abraham had a right, or rather were in duty bound to circumcise their male children at eight days old, because God expressly commanded it—to give the children of believers the same right to baptism would therefore require an express commandment that they should be baptized. But you know full well there is no such command. I have heard a great deal of, to me, unintelligible jargon about ‘federal holiness,’ and ‘covenant holiness,’ and the ‘covenant of circumcision,’ and the ‘Abrahamic covenant,’ etc., etc. There may be a great deal of sense and Scripture in it, but I can’t understand it. I want a plain Scriptural statement of the facts. You say that baptism came in the room of circumcision. Show me where the Word says so. Show me any thing like it.”

“If you will take the Confession of Faith,” replied the Doctor of Divinity, “and turn to the 147th page, you will see the texts upon which this doctrine rests.”

“Well, here is a copy. Let us find them. This is coming to the point. If any text is mentioned or referred to which gives to the infant children of believers the same claim to baptism that the descendants of Abraham had to circumcision, or even intimates that baptism has come in the room of circumcision, I am satisfied. This is all I want.”

The book was handed to the pastor, who found the page, 147, and read as follows: “Gen. xvii. 7, 9, with Gal. iii. 9—‘And I will establish my covenant between me and thee, and thy seed after thee, in their generations, for an everlasting covenant; to be a God unto thee, and to thy seed after thee. And God said unto Abraham, thou shalt keep my covenant therefore, thou, and thy seed after thee, in their generations.’”

“Stop a minute,” said the Professor. “Let me turn to the place in the Bible. We will understand it better to read it in its connection. Here it is, Gen. xvii. 7⁠–⁠9. Why did they leave out the 8th verse—‘And I will give unto thee, and to thy seed after thee, the land wherein thou art a stranger; all the land of Canaan, for an everlasting possession; and I will be their God’? This makes it all very plain. God agreed with Abraham that he would give his seed the land of Canaan for a possession forever; and as a condition, on the other part, he required (see 10th verse) that every man child should be circumcised. I can understand all that; but what has it to do with baptism or Christianity? No more than the carrying of the bones of Joseph out of Egypt.”

“Oh, yes it has, Professor Jones, for we read in Gal. iii. 9—”

“Stop a minute, till I find the place. Now—but let me read it; I will begin at the 6th verse: ‘Even as Abraham believed God, and it was counted unto him for righteousness. Know ye, therefore, that they which are of faith, the same are the children of Abraham. And the Scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the heathen through faith, preached before the Gospel unto Abraham, saying, In thee shall all nations be blessed.’ And now comes your proof-text—‘So then they which be of faith, are blessed with faithful [believing] Abraham.’ Now, I think I can understand this; but for the life of me I can’t see one word about baptism in it, or of circumcision either. There is no more allusion to either, than there is to the lifting up of the brazen serpent in the wilderness, or the giving of the law on Sinai, or the falling down of the walls of Jericho. Abraham believed God. So Christians believe. Abraham was blessed for his faith. It was counted to him for righteousness. So we, who believe, are also blessed with believing Abraham; and that is all. There is surely no infant baptism here. What is the next?”

“It is Romans iv. 11, 12: ‘And he received the sign of circumcision, a seal of the righteousness of the faith which he had, being uncircumcised; that he might be the father of all them that believe, though they be not circumcised,’ etc.”

“I have it here,” said the Professor, as he found the chapter; “and to understand the sense, I see it will be necessary to begin at the first of the chapter. Paul is proving that justification is by faith, and not by works. So he says even Abraham believed (third verse), and it was counted [or reckoned] unto him for righteousness; and in the tenth verse, he asks, how was it reckoned? before he was circumcised or after? It was before. He had the faith, and he received the sign of circumcision as a seal of the righteousness of faith. And the Apostle goes on to argue, that if faith was counted to him for righteousness, while he was yet uncircumcised, so it will be counted for righteousness to all who believe in Christ, even though they should not be circumcised. But what has all this to do with baptism? The subject is never mentioned or alluded to. The sentiment is the same which is expressed in Galatians—Abraham believed, and believing, he was blessed. So Christians, believing as he did, will like him be blessed; and thus all believers may be counted as his children in faith. The only allusion to circumcision here, is made to show that it had nothing at all to do with the blessedness of faith. To baptism there is no allusion at all. If you will satisfy me that baptism has come in the room of circumcision, so that the law of circumcision was transferred to baptism, you must give me something better than this; and if there were any thing better, the Confession of Faith would have quoted or referred to it. I take it for granted, therefore, that these are the strongest proof-texts you can present. And if they prove any thing at all, that has any bearing whatever upon the point at issue, it is that all the members of a Christian church must of necessity be professed believers. The seed of Abraham enjoyed certain blessings (the possession of Canaan) in virtue of circumcision, but the righteousness of faith pertained to Abraham, as he was _un_circumcised, and now belongs to those who are his children, not by circumcision, or by any thing that came in the room of it, but by the same faith which he exercised. Those who believe, and only those, are to be partakers of the blessing. Christianity is a personal, individual, and not a hereditary religion. In the New Dispensation, every man stands on his own foundation, and is responsible for himself to God.”

“I do not see,” replied the President, “why you should think it necessary to have any Scripture to prove a familiar and notorious fact. It is well known that circumcision was the initiatory ordinance of the Jewish Church, and we all agree that baptism is the initiatory ordinance into the Christian church. Of course, then, it takes the place of the other. It bears the same relation to the Christian, that the other did to the Jewish Church. It is the door of entrance. Now, the church of God is, and has been in every age, substantially the same, although existing under different names; and consequently, the character of the persons admitted to membership must have been the same. These persons among the Jews were admitted by circumcision, and among Christians by baptism. They were the infant children of church members among them; and so, of course, they must be among us. We don’t need any express text to prove this, for it is self-evident from the general tenor of the whole Word.”

“Your argument,” replied Professor Jones, “is simply this: Infants were members of the Jewish Church; and, as the church of God is always substantially the same, they must be members of the Christian church. The door of entrance is changed, but there is no change in the character of the persons who are to enter it.”

“Yes, that is precisely what I mean, Whatever other changes were made, there was no change in the membership.”

“Then,” said the Professor, “you mean precisely what is certainly not true. Jesus Christ, when he commanded the new door to be opened, commanded also that different persons should enter it. To the Jews he said, bring in your male children and servants at eight days old. To Christians he says, bring all who believe in the blessed Gospel which I send you to preach. If he made the one change, he just as clearly made the other. Believers—as Mr. Johnson and I have seen in our examination of the word—he plainly commands to be baptized; but he commands no others, and no others ever were baptized in all the history which the New Testament records. Neither is it true that Christianity is substantially the same as Judaism. It was one of the most earnest labors of Paul to explain and enforce the difference. This difference was substantial—it was fundamental—it was constitutional. The other was a religion of works; this is one of faith. That was one of outward forms; this of inward affections. That consisted of the whole Jewish nation, both the evil and good; this is confined to the truly converted. That was a national establishment, and this an assembly of true believers, from which all are to be excluded but the pious in heart and the holy in life. This substantial and fundamental change, we, as Presbyterians, recognize in fact, though we deny it in theory. We say that infants are church members, but we do not, in this: country, treat them as such; we do not address them as such; we do not, in fact, consider them as such. You, in your preaching, are continually urging the baptized children who have come to years of discretion, ‘to come out from the world;’ and when they are converted, you urge them to join the church. It is true that, by the Confession of Faith (p. 504), you are required to inform them ‘that it is their duty and their privilege to come to the Lord’s Supper,’ whether they give evidence of conversion or not, provided only that they are intelligent and moral. But you never do it; and half our members would not believe that we have any such rule. In other countries, however, this is done. Our theory is carried out into practice, and the church is filled with unconverted men and women. This is the legitimate result of infant church-membership.”

“I am very sorry,” rejoined the pastor, “to hear you talk in this way. I fear you are preparing great trouble for us, and are about to bring down terrible sorrow upon your own head and that of your family. I had hoped, for the honor of our beloved church, that you would have thought better of these things. We have, however, done our duty. The Session deputed us to reason the case with you, and endeavor to convince you of your errors; but we find that you will not be convinced. Let us hope, however, that you will consider further, and carefully weigh the unanswerable arguments which we have presented, and let them have their full influence upon your mind. There may be more dependent on it than you are aware of. I suppose it is not worth while to spend more time upon the subject; so we will bid you good-night.”

Professor Jones understood very well the ominous import of this parting address. He knew that his home, his employment, his all, depended on the will of a few men, some of whom would take pleasure in rendering his condition as wretched as possible, so soon as they had no further hope of binding him to themselves. And he knew, on the other hand, that those to whom he would go, had neither influence to aid him, or profitable employment to furnish him the means of support. As soon as the reverend committee had retired, he fell upon his knees, and offered up to God his thanks, that thus far he had not been tempted to deny his truth, or falsify the solemn convictions of his conscience. And then, in view of what he now began to feel would be inevitable, he prayed for strength to obey all the Master’s will, and trust God for the consequences:

“Oh, my God! I see before me nothing but trouble and sorrow. Want and affliction stare me in the face. Lord, give me strength to welcome them, or at least, firmly to endure them. Thou canst bring good out of evil. I commit my destiny into thy hands. I have trusted my immortal soul to thee; why may I not trust my body and my family? Thou hast promised to save the one and to provide for the others. Help my unbelief! I must go out like Abraham, not knowing whither I go. I look to thee, my Father in heaven, to open the way before me.”

As he was rising from his knees, the remark of Theodosia, as she came from the water with her face so full of heavenly joy, came back to his mind with tenfold force and beauty—“Uncle, dear uncle! it is blessed to obey! Can’t you give up all for Christ?”

“Yes, yes,” he unconsciously exclaimed, “I will—I do give up all. I will follow where duty leads, let the consequence be what it may. I will resign my professorship to-morrow. God will provide in some way for my wife and children.”

The conversation which we have recorded took place in his private study. On returning to his family room, he was delighted to find there his sister, Mrs. Ernest, and her daughter, and also, Mr. Courtney, who had called to have a little conversation with Theodosia, and finding they were about to start out, had accompanied them on their visit.

Mrs. Jones had been so anxious about the result of the conference with the committee, that she could not enjoy the society of her visitors, nor even exert herself successfully for their entertainment. She was, therefore, greatly relieved when her husband came in and took that task upon himself.

“I wish I had known that you and Theo. were here,” said he, “I would have turned the reverend committee who have just left me over to you.”

“I do not understand what you mean,” said Mr. Courtney.

“Only this. My brethren in the Church Session have learned that I do not any longer believe that sprinkling is baptism, or that any but believers are to be baptized. And they have deputized Dr. McNought and Pastor Johnson to endeavor to bring me back into a belief of their human traditions. Their main argument at this time was on the baptism of infants as founded on the usage of the Jews. Baptism, they said, has come in the room of circumcision; and as infants were circumcised, so infants must be baptized. What answer would you have made?”

“I would have said: Gentlemen, you do not yourselves believe that baptism came in the room of circumcision in any such sense that the same order of persons who were circumcised are to be baptized; or, if you believe it, you do not act out your faith. The law of circumcision included only males, but you baptize both males and females. The child, when it was possible, was to be circumcised at eight days old, but you baptize at any other time. The servants and the slaves, whether old or young, whether born in their house or bought with their money, were to be circumcised, but you never baptize them—but only the children. They were to be circumcised by the parents and not by the priest; but you require baptism to be done by the minister. If the law of circumcision is transferred to baptism in one particular (without any New Testament authority) it is equally transferred in all the others.

“Then I would have said further: Baptism could not come in the room of circumcision, because circumcision is still in force. No room was ever made for the second by taking away the first. The truth is simply this: God made a covenant or agreement with Abraham, when he was ninety-nine years old, in which he promised to his seed the land of Canaan. The token or memento of this contract was the circumcision of every male. This was the condition of their entering Canaan. This is now the condition of their restoration to it. The promise still stands. The Jews are still a separate people. This is their mark. By this they are yet to claim their inheritance. This is its object, and this the sum of its value. The covenant has not been revoked. It is still in force and its seal or token still remains.

“God made with Abraham another covenant some twenty-four years earlier, in which he promised him, among other things, ‘That in his seed should all the nations of the earth be blessed.’—Gen. xii. 3. This is what Paul refers to when he says, Gal. iii. 8—‘The Gospel was preached unto Abraham, and Abraham believed it.’ He trusted in the Christ to come, and so was, in a certain sense, a member of Christ’s church. So was Noah—so was Enoch—so were all who like Abraham believed God, and it was counted unto them for righteousness. They were not introduced into it by circumcision—nor was Abraham himself—for it was twenty-four years after he heard and believed the Gospel, before he was circumcised. He was a member of Christ’s mystical body, and an heir of the heavenly Canaan, without the seal of circumcision. By it he and his seed became the heirs of the earthly Canaan. This was its object, and no more. The blessings of the Gospel are to us, as to him, the result of personal faith. Thus, they who are of faith, are blessed with [believing] faithful Abraham; and thus far, and no further, this first-made covenant with Abraham extends to us. If we believe as he believed, we shall be blessed as he was blessed. This is all that any one can make out of all that is said of the relationship of the Patriarch and believers.

“I should have said to them further: Gentlemen, you call the Jewish nation the church of God, and tell us that the Christian church is the same under a different dispensation. But Christ calls that nation the world, in opposition to his church. The disciples to whom Christ spake, John xv. 19, were men in good and regular standing in the Jewish nation, which you call the church. Yet Christ says, I have chosen you out of the world—and therefore the world, that is, the Jewish nation, hateth you. Paul was not only a member, but an eminent member of this Jewish body; but he says that he was a persecutor of the CHURCH OF GOD. Nicodemus was a ‘master in Israel;’ but Christ told him he could not come into his church till he had been born again. The Jews needed conversion as much as any, before they could make any portion of the church of God. This church God set up for the first time when John began to preach. For the first time he organized a visible assembly of penitent, believing, holy persons. There were good men, pious, devoted men and women, among the Jews; but they were not gathered into a church. The Jewish nation had some religious privileges; but it was not in the Gospel sense a church. And when Christ established his church, he made the terms of membership such as were intended to preserve its purity and separation from all national politics. People were not to be born into it, but to enter it by faith and baptism. ‘He that believeth and is baptized.’ But by the introduction of infant baptism, the object of this arrangement is entirely defeated.”

“I have often thought,” said Theodosia, “since my attention has been directed to the subject, what disastrous consequences must follow if the theory of Pedobaptism were fully carried out, and infants actually recognized and treated as members of the visible church.”

“If you would fully realize what the consequences would be, you have only to go to those States of Europe where this is actually done. You will see men who blaspheme their Maker on the way to church, go and partake of the Holy Supper. You will see them leave the church where they have so partaken, and openly resort to the ball room, the horse race, the drinking saloon, the gambling house, the cock pit, and even to the very lowest and vilest haunts of dissipation. They are members of the church. They were made such at eight days old. When they could say the catechism they were confirmed, and informed, according to the directions of the Presbyterian Confession of Faith, that ‘it is their duty and their privilege to come to the Lord’s table.’ To be baptized in infancy and confirmed in childhood, are all that is needful to church membership. That faith required by the Gospel, they laugh at. They call those who profess to know any thing about it in their own experience, deluded enthusiasts. They know no more of religion than its external ceremonies. They have the form of godliness, but deny the power. Such was the Presbyterian Church to which Dr. Carson preached in the North of Ireland. ‘In the general disregard of religion,’ says his biographer, ‘the people of his charge were not behind their neighbors. Horse races, cock fights, and other forms of sinful diversion were frequent, and were numerously attended even by professing Christians. The soul of this pious servant of God was deeply grieved. He knew well the heaven-born excellence of Christianity, and clearly understood what should be the fruits of the Spirit, but he beheld around him only the works of the devil. He rode into the throng that crowded the race-course, and saw there the members of his own church flying in every direction to escape his sight.’ … ‘His church was composed of worldly people, whom neither force nor persuasion could bring into subjection to the Laws of Christ.’ In Germany and some other European States, every body is in the church. Every body is recognized as a church member. Thieves, gamblers, drunkards, and prostitutes are members of the church. There is no such thing as the world. The church has swallowed it up. It has taken all the infidelity, all the atheism, all the blasphemy, all the vice, and all the depravity of the world into its own bosom. This is the natural and necessary result of receiving all the infants as church members. The church has ceased to be the body of Christ, and has become a loathsome mass of hypocrisy and vice. There may be in it some few good and pious believers in Jesus. There are in it many upright, and honorable, and moral citizens: but these, as church members, are not at all to be distinguished from the basest profligates that issue forth from the recking stews of infamy. They have all alike been baptized in infancy and confirmed in childhood, without any profession of conversion to God—most of them denying the necessity of any such change, and all sit down alike to the same table of the Lord.”

“Surely, Mr. Courtney, you do not mean to speak thus of the Protestant churches of Europe! I know it is true in regard to the Catholics; but since the Reformation, it cannot be true of any others.”

“Yes, Mrs. Jones, I mean to say this of the Protestant churches, wherever they have become national churches, and by the process of infant baptism have absorbed the whole population. It is necessarily true of any church which receives its members in this way. It would be true in this country, if you Presbyterians, and the Episcopalians, and Lutherans, and Methodists could by any means accomplish what you all so earnestly are laboring to attain—viz.: to induce all the people to have their children baptized.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Courtney. You must have conceived a terribly mistaken idea of what we are all aiming at. We desire, I trust, as much as the Baptists themselves, to keep our churches pure, and are as strict in our terms of membership and as rigid in our discipline as you are. We want our churches to consist, as they now do, of godly people, and would not for a day permit such as you have mentioned to remain in our communion.”

“I know it, Mrs. Jones; but in order to do this you are obliged continually to repudiate your own acts, and deny in practice what you teach in theory. I was speaking of what the result must be, provided you could induce all the people to have their infants baptized, and should then recognize these baptized ones as church members in fact, as you do in theory.

“Listen one minute, and I will satisfy you that what I say is strictly true. You teach that, as circumcision was the door of entrance into the Jewish Church, so baptism is the door of entrance into the church of Christ. If so, all who are baptized are church members. Now, you Presbyterians say all the children of believing parents must be baptized. In your churches you baptize all the children of those parents who have been baptized. The Episcopalians baptize any child for whom proper sponsors will stand. The Methodists will baptize all the children, with or without believing parents. Now, if you could succeed (as by sermons, books, tracts, and newspapers you are all striving to do) in convincing all the people that you are right, and prevail upon them to bring all their children, and have them thus initiated into the church of Christ—I ask you of whom, in the next generation, would the church consist? It would be composed of these infants, then grown to manhood. If that generation be like the present, or the past, it will consist mostly of unregenerate men and women. A few will be converted—many will be moral—most will be wicked, and many will be most vile. They will all, however, have entered into the church of Jesus Christ by the door of baptism, and will every one be members of Christ’s visible kingdom.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Courtney; we would exclude the wicked and unworthy by process of discipline.”

“Who would exercise discipline, Mrs. Jones? This would be a body of unregenerate men. They would have no love to Christ or his cause. The power of discipline is in their own hands. If they exclude all that do not give evidence of piety, they will exclude themselves. They will do no such thing. They may exclude the openly and scandalously vicious, for the reputation of their denomination, while there are several sects striving for the supremacy; but if (as in those countries I spoke of) any one sect could swallow up the rest, and by connection with the State become the national religion, then a man would hold his right to the Lord’s Supper, and all the privileges of the church, by about the same tenure that he held his right to vote or to exercise any other privilege of citizenship.”

“But if this is so, Mr. Courtney, why don’t we see at least some illustrations of the principle among us now? Why are not our churches now filled with unconverted men and women?”

“Simply because you don’t act out your principles. Your churches are filled with unbelievers, but you refuse to recognize them. You daily repudiate your own acts, and continually falsify your own theory. You baptize infants, and you say you do it to introduce them into the church of Christ. But you don’t believe it. You never treat them as church members. You give them none of the privileges of church members. You don’t count them in the list of your church members. They do not regard themselves as church members. They do not claim or enjoy any of the privileges of membership. They do not exercise the discipline of the church on others, nor are they considered subjects for its discipline. They are practically as separate from the church as the children of an infidel or a Hottentot. It is thus, and only thus, that you retain any degree of purity in your actual membership. Your church consists in fact, of believers, and not, as your book says, of ‘believers and their children.’ You thus obviate one of the evils of infant baptism, by a virtual repudiation of the act and regarding it in practice as a nullity. Mrs. Ernest does not look upon her son Edwin as a member of the church. She did not consider you a member, Miss Theodosia, till about a year ago, when you professed your faith in Christ, and as they all expressed it, ‘joined the church.’ How could you be said to join it, if up to that time you had not been considered as separate from it? The baptized children are urged, like others, to come out from the world, and to unite with the people of God, when they have believed in Christ; and those who have thus believed, and made themselves a public profession of their faith, you count as members; and to them and them alone you give the privileges of members. And this simple fact, that you are obliged to treat the baptized infants, when they grow up, as though they had not been baptized at all, in order to preserve the spirituality and purity of the church, is of itself sufficient proof that your celebrated historian, Neander, tells the truth when he says ‘It is certain that Christ did not ordain infant baptism.’”

“Well, Mr. Courtney,” replied Professor Jones, “is there any other argument you would have urged upon the attention of my reverend visitors, had you been present?”

“Yes, sir. I would have said further: Gentlemen, if you found infant baptism on Jewish circumcision; if you declare, that the Christian and the Jewish Church are the same, but only under different dispensations; and that because infants were circumcised in the old, infants must be baptized in the new, how can you get rid of the necessity for a national church? The Jewish Church was a national church: it united Church and State. The Christian is the same, and it must consequently be a national establishment too. We must unite the Church and State. For this, every Christian should strive. Of this union, where it exists, no Christian should complain; for there is certainly as much Scriptural authority for it as there is for infant baptism. And further, gentlemen, you must receive and recognize not merely three orders of the ministry, like the Episcopalians; not merely deacons, priests, and bishops, but also a grand and supreme ruler of them all, similar to the Pope. The Jewish polity had its common priests, its chief priests—who controlled certain numbers of the others—and its High Priest, who was above them all. So, to correspond, there should be the Presbyters, the Bishops, and the Archbishops, if not the Pope. This has quite as much, and the same sort of Scriptural authority as infant baptism. To this, they would have replied, by saying, that the constitution of the Christian church is to be found in the New Testament, and that we learn what its officers were, by seeing what ones were ordered or recognized by Christ and the Apostles; and they neither commanded nor recognized but one order of ministers. This is good logic, I do not object to it. But I ask if the membership of the Christian church is not designated in the New Testament even more clearly than its officers? If baptism is the door of entrance, show me a single instance where any one is permitted, much less commanded, to enter in upon the faith of any but himself. Show me any instance in which an infant was received, or ordered to be received; any in which one was recognized as a church member, or even where there was the slightest allusion to him as such. They cannot find one; and so, upon their own principles, must take the whole paraphernalia of Episcopacy, and Church and State, or give up infant baptism.”

“But, Mr. Courtney, as you say that among us Presbyterians in this country, infant baptism is a mere nullity, as we don’t count the baptized as church members, or give up the discipline of the church into their hands; as they have, in fact, no more to do with the church than other people, and cannot, therefore, injure its standing or diminish its spirituality, what harm can it do to baptize infants?”

“What harm! Alas! madam, I am incompetent to tell the thousandth part of the harm that it has done, is doing, and will continue to do so long as it is practiced. Pardon me, if I decline attempting to answer your question.”

“Well then, if you can’t tell what harm it does, why do you talk so much against it?”

“I can’t tell! Oh, yes, but I can tell. I can tell so much that you would not have the patience to hear. I can tell such things of it, that you would almost think it impolite to mention. And that is, in truth, the reason why I felt disposed to decline a proper reply to your question. If I should speak of this act, which you perform as a religious duty, as I think it deserves, I should characterize it as a heinous sin, an act of daring rebellion against God; and this you would think scarcely becoming in me as your guest. If I should tell you all the harm I know of infant baptism, instead of convincing, I should probably make you angry. You have been so long accustomed to look upon it as something sacred and holy, that you could hardly avoid feeling indignant at hearing what I, after careful and prayerful study of the subject, have come to think of it.”

“I don’t see how you could say much worse things about it than you have already; but I assure you that I will keep my temper, let you say what you may. So you may consider yourself as having full license to say to me in my own house, any thing that you would feel at liberty to say to me or any one any where else.”

“Yes,” rejoined Mrs. Ernest, “do go on and tell us all you think about it. I have some curiosity to understand just what you Baptists do think of us Presbyterians. I know you have a very mean opinion of us, but I would like to know just how mean it is.”

“Go on, Courtney; you have the ladies’ curiosity excited now, and you will be obliged to gratify it. If you don’t tell what you think, they will imagine it is something very horrible indeed. For myself, I am satisfied now that it is a thing not commanded, and therefore I would not practice it; but I don’t see what great harm there is in it. It is a simple ceremony, and if not required, a very useless one; but I don’t see who is hurt by it. We are, however, all of us prepared now to hear hard things from the Baptists. We don’t look for any thing else.”

“I should be very sorry to believe that Baptists were accustomed to say hard things of their opponents, whatever they may feel it their duty to say to them. Mrs. Ernest thinks I have a very mean opinion of Presbyterians. She is utterly mistaken. Many of the best and most earnest-hearted children of God whom I have ever known are Presbyterians. I not only esteem them highly, I love them dearly. I love them not only as Individuals, but as Christians. I count them my brethren and my sisters in the Lord; but at the same time, I think they have been educated in error, and are in some things most grossly deceived. They are to that extent wrong in their faith, and wrong in their practice. The more I love them, the more I would rejoice to set them right. I hate error and wrong in them as in others. I oppose it; I reason against it; I denounce it in them as well as in others. It is not their persons, but their opinions that I war against. In most cases, I do not even esteem them less for holding these erroneous opinions; for I know they are sincere and conscientious. They have been deceived by those who have instructed them. They have never had the truth laid fairly before their minds. Early education, denominational attachments, and prejudices have enveloped their intellects in such a cloud, that it is hard for the clear light of Scripture truth to find its way into their hearts. I was as honest and sincere when I believed that sprinkling was baptism, and that infants were to be baptized, as I am now. So was Miss Theodosia. Nor were we suddenly convinced that we were wrong. The light shone in little by little. What was at first a doubt, became a certainty by patient investigation. It is not long since I said, as you do—infant baptism is not commanded. It is not authorized by the Word of God, but still it is only a useless ceremony. Let those who will, engage in it. No good is done; but yet it does no harm. Since that time, I have studied the subject more carefully. The more I looked at it, the more fearful it appeared. And I am now fully convinced, that he who baptizes an infant in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, is guilty of a most enormous sin in the sight of God! And this is not less true because good men have done it, and are doing it still. Good men have often been ignorantly guilty of most enormous crimes. That excellent and holy man of God, Rev. John Newton, was for years after his conversion engaged in the slave trade. It was then considered a reputable and righteous business. Many good men of the past generation were engaged in the manufacture and sale of intoxicating drinks. It was then considered a legitimate and Christian calling. No good man will engage in it now. Their ignorance was their excuse. God forgave them as he did Paul for persecuting his people—because he did it ignorantly, and verily thought he was doing God service. His conscientious sincerity did not, however, make the act a righteous one. The deed was still one of terrible wickedness and daring impiety. So I say of those who practice infant baptism; so I would say to them if I could. They may be good men. Some of them are good men—earnest, warm-hearted, devoted Christians; but they are ignorantly sinning against God. It may not be becoming in me to reprove men older, and better, and more useful than myself; but surely I may entreat them, as my brethren and fathers, to do ‘no more so wickedly.’”

“But what is there so wicked about it, Mr. Courtney?”

“Much every way. In the first place, if you will excuse me for talking so plainly, infant baptism, as practiced by Presbyterians in this country, is a continually repeated falsehood!

“You say that ‘baptism is a sacrament of the New Testament, ordained by Jesus Christ, not only for the solemn admission of the party baptized into the visible church, but also to be unto him a sign and seal of the covenant of grace, of his ingrafting into Christ, of regeneration, of remission of sins, and of his giving up unto God, through Jesus Christ, to walk in newness of life.’—Con. of Faith, p. 144.

“Now, this is either true or false. If it is true, then the person baptized is admitted into the visible church of Christ. You say it is true, and that you do thus admit him; but, at the same time, if I point you to one of these members thus received in infancy, staggering from the grog-shop, and ask you if he is a member, you tell me—No. You would be ashamed to think that such a wretch had any connection with your church. Is his father a member? Yes, one of the best men in the church. Did he have his children baptized? Yes, I suppose he did. Has this man ever been excluded? No, you reply, he never joined the church. He grew up a wild and reckless boy, and has always been a vicious, dissipated man. He was never in the church; nobody ever thought of such a thing. There is an amiable young lady, moral, irreproachable in her character; but she makes no pretensions to religion—she is perfectly indifferent to it. Is she a member of your church? Oh, no; our members are all spiritual-minded Christians. She has never even expressed a conviction of sin, or even the slightest desire to join the church. Why do you ask if she is a member? Simply because I remember when she was baptized. Does not baptism admit persons into the visible church? Yes; but we never consider them as members till they make a profession of religion and join the church again. Then your baptism is a solemn falsehood, for it does not admit into the church at all.

“But now, if you take the other horn of the dilemma, and say we do admit them—then I reply, you are guilty of introducing into the church of Christ wicked and unregenerate men and women. If you recognize them as members, and treat them as members, you at once destroy the distinction between the church and the world. The church no longer is Christ’s kingdom. It is no more a body of his people. It consists, in part at least, of the wicked and profligate descendants of his people.

“But you say, further, that baptism is to the baptized ‘a sign and a seal of his ingrafting into Christ’—‘of his regeneration’—and of ‘remission of his sins,’ etc. Now this is true or it is false. You say it is true. A mother brings her babe to have it sprinkled. It is a beautiful child, and she verily thinks she is doing God service—and is, herself, a lovely object, as she stands there with the infant in her arms. But now I ask you, Is that child ‘regenerated’? Is he a ‘branch ingrafted into Christ’? Are all his ‘sins forgiven’? In other words, is he a believer in Jesus Christ? You say—No, it is absurd to think of such a thing. Then, I reply, your baptism is a falsehood—for it is designed to signify and seal these things, which, in this subject, do not and cannot exist. To a believer in Christ, baptism has all this significancy; but to an unconscious babe it can have none at all. There is not, in fact, in your minds, the slightest suspicion that the child is born again and ingrafted into Christ; and yet you say to the world, that this ordinance is designed to signify and seal the fact that such is actually the case.

“Is it no harm thus, in the house of God, as a religious act, and in the very name of Jesus, to proclaim such practical falsehoods to the world?”

“I declare, I had never thought of it in that light before. Have you any other charge to make against it?”

“Yes; I say, in the next place, that the baptism of an infant is an act of high-handed rebellion against the Son of God.”

Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Ernest both lifted up their hands in utter astonishment. The former looked at him as though she expected to see him drop down dead after making what seemed to her such an impious announcement.

“That is the most astounding statement,” said the Professor. “But I know you would not make it, unless you thought you had the evidence to sustain it.”

“What!” said Mrs. Jones, “The evidence to prove that it is wicked!—positively wicked! to baptize a child; an act of rebellion!—high-handed rebellion! Well, I will try to be quiet, just to see what the man can say. Go on, Mr. Courtney; we are all attention.”

“Yes,” resumed Mr. C., “I have said it; and I will prove that it is not only rebellion, but rebellion attended with such circumstances as mark it with a character of peculiar malignancy. Not only a sin, but a terrible sin; most flagrant in itself, and most terrific in its consequences to the church and to the world.”

“Really,” said Mrs. Jones, “I am curious to know how you will make it out.”

“You know,” said Mr. C., “that you Presbyterians are accustomed to count some requirements of Christ as essential, and some as non-essential—or, at least, less essential than others. Now when Christ came into the world, one great object, if not the great object of his mission, was to establish his visible church. He set it up himself. He instructed his disciples carefully in the nature of its laws, and especially those organic or constitutional laws which lie at the very foundation of the whole superstructure. To these laws especially he must have attached great importance. Willful disobedience to these fundamental rules, which regulated and fixed the very nature of the visible kingdom he established, must have been regarded by him as a rebellion of no common order. Now the most important of these fundamental rules was that which fixed the terms of membership in his kingdom. This lay at the foundation of the whole business. The character, the influence, the prosperity of his new kingdom, must depend upon the character of the persons of whom it was composed. Now the Jewish kingdom, though it had in it much of good, and was a beautiful type of better things to come, yet it had included more of the evil than the good. In it the wicked dwelt in the land, and the righteous were among them. But now Christ was organizing not a temporal, but a spiritual kingdom. His dominion was to be one of interior rule—by the power of love. The subjects of this kingdom were to be converted men and women, who loved God and lived to his glory. No one could belong to it, as he told Nicodemus, who had not been born again. This was his church. It was designed to be a permanent and living illustration of the power and the purity of his religion. The members of this church were to be his living epistles, known and read of all, describing the nature and results of his religion in their hearts and lives. No fact is more clearly evident than this. The church is not only commanded to be holy—exhorted to be holy—but it is said to be holy, and addressed as though it was thus holy. It is always and everywhere regarded as a body of professedly converted men and women. As many as were baptized into Christ had put on Christ. They were those who trusted in Christ. They walked by faith. They lived, but not they—it was Christ that lived in them. They had been sinners, but were called to be saints, and now had an inheritance among them that were sanctified. They were a peculiar people, zealous of good works. Not of the world, not like the world, for Christ had chosen them out of the world. Such was the church as he established it, and such he intended it should continue to the end of time. Now to secure to it this character, he determined that none should be admitted into it but those who repented of sin, and believed on him with saving faith. The door of entrance into this church was by the ordinance of baptism. Consequently, when any one repented and believed, and gave evidence that he was born again, he was to be baptized, and henceforth counted among his people. The very nature of the church, and the object of its establishment, required that no others should ever be admitted. How then, I ask, can he look without abhorrence and indignation upon that act, in which a minister of this church—claiming to act by his authority—subverts the very foundation of his church, changes its nature, and defeats the very object of its establishment, by introducing into it, knowingly and willfully, persons who are confessedly not penitents, not believers, not regenerate, but the children of wrath even as others.

“If baptism converted them—if by the act itself they were regenerated—there would be some excuse for this course; but no one of you will pretend to believe that it has any such influence. You know that a baptized child grows up a sinner, just as his unbaptized brother does. Doctors of Divinity talk about such things; but no man or woman of common sense believes that the sprinkling of a little water on a baby’s face changes its heart, and makes it a new creature in Christ Jesus. If it is introduced by this act into Christ’s visible church, it comes in a sinner, as it is born; it comes in an unconverted, impenitent, and unbelieving sinner—just such a sinner as Christ forbade his ministers ever to introduce. And now what is the consequence? Let us look at the history of the church. It is enough to make one who loves Jesus and his cause weep tears of blood, to see what have been the results of this rebellious departure from the instructions of the Master. For the first two or three hundred years the church remained what Christ intended. It was a body of professed believers. All history accords to its members a character of singular uprightness and purity. It was a light shining in darkness. But when infants, instead of converts, began to be introduced, its whole character was changed. Its spirituality was gone. Its very ministers were worldly men, contending for wealth, and place, and power. In the course of a few generations, it had, like the national churches of Europe of the present day, swallowed up the world. All the villainy and depravity of the land was in the church, or in that establishment that called itself the church of Jesus Christ. No Pagan, not even the tiger-hearted Nero himself, was so cruel in his persecution of the Christians, as this body of baptized infants became when it grew up to manhood, and was invested with the power to kill. Nothing which the most infernal hatred could suggest, and the most diabolical ingenuity could invent, was thought too hard for these baptized ones to inflict upon those who professed faith in Christ, yet would not conform to their newly introduced rites and ceremonies. The most bitter and relentless persecution was directed especially against those who denied infant baptism. This has continued through every age. It has not been confined to the Roman Catholics. It has been practiced by all the so-called churches _that received infant members _(your own included) whenever and wherever they have been able to obtain the power. The world has been deluged with the blood of the saints, shed by these members of the church, whom men, professing to be his ministers, have, in his name, though against his authority, introduced in their infancy. Now I say, the act which thus subverts the very nature of the church of Christ, and leads to such terrific consequences, is no common sin. Such perversion of the very fundamental law of his church is no common rebellion. It is a great and terrible crime. It has led to great and terrible results even in the present world. Its consequences, even here, have been so terrific, that our very hearts shudder but to think of them; what they may be in the eternal world, we cannot conceive.

“But I will go further. I said ‘the baptism of an infant was a sin—an act of high-handed rebellion against God.’ I have proved it. I will now say even more than this. Infant baptism is impious—it is an act of sacrilege.”

“Be careful, Mr. Courtney, be careful|” exclaimed Mrs. Jones. “This is a solemn subject. You should not thoughtlessly make use of words which convey such horrible impressions.”

“I am careful, Mrs. Jones. I have chosen these words deliberately, because they are the only words that will fully express my meaning. I mean to say that it is impious for a professed minister of Jesus Christ to stand up in the presence of the world, and in HIS name, and by HIS authority, perform, as a solemn and sacred ordinance of HIS religion, an act which HE NEVER COMMANDED OR AUTHORIZED! I regard it as a fixed fact, that there is no such commandment or authority. We have been searching for it carefully; we cannot find it. It is not in the book. And now the question comes up—‘Even if it be not commanded, what harm is there in it?’ This is the question we are endeavoring to answer. I say, If God has not commanded it or authorized it, then to perform it as an ordinance of HIS religion, in HIS name, and by HIS professed authority, is an act of impious sacrilege! It can be nothing less. I know your preachers do not so intend it; I know that they would shudder at the very thought. They verily believe they have the authority. They do it ignorantly, as Paul persecuted the church. But though their ignorance may, in a degree, excuse their conduct, it does not change the nature of the act. And for one who has studied the subject, who has looked for the authority and failed to find it, as we have, for such a one thus, in the name of God, to do what God has not required, must require a degree of temerity which I trust few of the professed ministers of Christ possess.”

“I declare, Mr. Courtney, it fills me with a sort of horror to hear you talk. I am almost sorry I insisted on your saying any thing about this subject. I don’t and can’t believe that what you say is true. And yet I shall never be able again to see an infant baptized without a feeling of terror.”

“But why can’t you believe that I tell the truth? Have I not proved every position by the Word of God?”

“Oh, as to that, any body can prove almost any thing they please by the Scriptures. Unitarians, and Universalists, and Methodists, and Episcopalians, and all sorts of people, find plenty of proof in the Bible for all they teach.”

“Then how are God’s people to know what he requires of them?”:

“Well, I don’t see as we can know with any certainty. I have been raised a Presbyterian, and taught that they were right; and I believe I had as soon risk my soul on their faith as any other. I don’t see as I need to give myself much trouble about it.”

“You do not deny, Mrs. Jones, that you ought to obey God rather than man, and that the Scriptures are a perfect and infallible rule of faith and practice?”

“Oh, no, I grant that; but the difficulty is, that I can’t understand just what they teach. If I could know what they require, I must believe and do it. But Mr. Johnson tells me one thing, and you tell me another, and the Methodist tells me another; and between you all, I don’t know really what I must believe or do.”

“I will tell you, then. God will hold you responsible for your own faith and practice. You are not, therefore, to rely on me, or the Methodists, or on Mr. Johnson, but you are to go to the Bible for yourself. If there is any command to baptize infants there, you can find it, and you can read and understand it as well as a Doctor of Divinity. Do not take for granted that what they say or what I say is true, but search the Scriptures for yourself. Make use of all the helps you can, but don’t let any one convince you that any doctrine is taught, or any practice required, by the Word, till you can see it in the Word. You will not find the teachings of the Scriptures to be either doubtful or contradictory when you go to them, and are willing to believe and practice just what they teach. Doctors of Divinity may contradict each other and themselves, but God’s Word is not a book of doubtful oracles. It speaks plainly; it speaks decidedly; and it speaks always the same thing. Try it yourself with reference to this subject. Your pastor tells you that he has authority in the New Testament to baptize infants. Ask him to show it to you. If it is there, he can find it. You can see it as well as he can. He will, perhaps, refer you to the commission, Go baptize, etc.; but you will say, this is only a commission to baptize believers. It does not say a word about believers and their children, but only about believers. He will then remind you that Jesus said, Suffer the little ones to come unto me, etc. You will reply, they did not come to be baptized, but to be prayed for: ‘And he laid his hands on them, and departed.’ This is good authority to pray for children, and to devote them to God by faith, and seek his blessing on them, but none for baptizing them. He will then remind you that Peter says, ‘the promise is to you and to your children.’ You will reply, this is a promise of the ‘gift of the Holy Ghost,’ not of baptism; and, moreover, it is limited to those ‘whom the Lord our God shall call;’ and God does not call unconscious babes. He will then tell you, that ‘the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the believing husband, etc.: else were your children unclean, but now are they holy.’ To this, your good sense would reply, that there is here not a word about baptism; and if the child is to be baptized because it is holy, so ought the infidel husband and the infidel wife, for they are also sanctified or holy. He will then seek to find some example. He will tell you, that there were a number of families baptized, and it is almost certain there must have been infant children in some of them. You turn to each place, and find that they who were baptized are the same who are said to have heard the Word, believed in God, rejoiced in God, spake with tongues, glorified God, ministered to the saints, and, in the case of Lydia’s family, are called brethren. Finding neither precept nor example in the New Testament, he will turn to the Old, and tell you about the covenant with Abraham, the seal of which was circumcision, and was applied to the children. Now, he will say, this covenant includes Christians too; for Paul says, All that believe are the children of believing Abraham. And if his children by nature were circumcised, his children by faith must be baptized. To this you will reply, true, his children by faith are to be baptized, but who are they? Paul says, they are believers, not the infant offspring of believers. You will say, further, the Jewish infants were circumcised because God expressly commanded it to be done. But God never commanded Christians to baptize their infants. On the contrary, he directed only the penitent, the believing, the regenerate, to be baptized, which expressly excludes infants; and not a single infant ever was baptized during the period of which we have the history in the Scriptures. He has nothing more to offer. This is the substance and the sum of what he calls Scriptural authority. Dare you now, with this light in your mind, consider the baptism of an infant an ordinance of God? I say, then, try it for yourself. Search the Scriptures, as the Bereans did, and see if these things are so. I do not ask you to take my word for one solitary fact or circumstance. Go to the Book. Go not to cavil, but to learn. Go not to twist an argument out of it, but to ascertain your duty. Study it; pray over it. Don’t rest till your mind is satisfied. If you can’t find infant baptism in the Word, you may take it for granted it is not there, even though all the Doctors of Divinity in Christendom assert the contrary. If you do find it, bring the Book, and show it to us benighted Baptists, and we will practice it; for we do earnestly desire, if we know our own hearts, to ‘do whatever Christ commands us.’ If you find it, it will be your duty to bring it to our notice; for in that case we are in most woeful error. If you are right, we are most fearfully wrong. If God has commanded us to baptize our infants, we are living in open and avowed rebellion. But we desire to obey; and if you will show us our error, so far from growing angry, we will thank you for the care that you show for our good.”

“There is much in what you have said,” replied Professor Jones, “that strikes me with amazement. I cannot deny, that infant baptism is in opposition to the Word of God; but yet, I have never conceived of it as the terrible thing you have represented it. I see, however, that it must be even so. If it does not introduce people into the church, it is a falsehood on its very face; for this is what it pretends to do. If it does introduce them, then it evidently subverts the very foundation of the church, as a body of believers. And if God has not commanded or authorized it, it must, indeed, be impious to do it in his name, as though he had. I cannot deny this; but you made some statements concerning the results of its introduction, which I do not feel disposed to receive solely on your assertion.”

“My dear sir, I don’t desire you to receive any thing on my assertion. What I do not prove, I beg you will consider as though I did not say. I don’t intend to make any assertion, that I cannot sustain by the very best of testimony.”

“You said that infant baptism was not introduced in the time of the first Christians, nor until several hundred years after Christ. And that all churches, both Protestant and Catholic, who had embraced it, had persecuted the saints whenever and wherever they possessed the power. All this is quite at variance with what I have always regarded as the truth. I do not deny that it is so, but I cannot believe it without the evidence.”

Mr. Courtney glanced at the clock, as he replied:

“It is now near bedtime. We will not have time to-night; but at any time you may suggest, I will convince you that I did not speak without reason. I will prove to you, by the testimony of the ancient Fathers, by the testimony of your own most eminent historians and divines, that what I said is strictly and entirely true. I will show you, that infant baptism was introduced in the same way, and by the same sort of authority, that pouring and sprinkling were—only that it began at a somewhat earlier day. I will show you, too, what were the consequences to the true believers, who refused to sanction the innovation—how they were driven out to dwell in caves and dens of the earth—how they were tortured and tormented—hunted like wild beasts; and that not a few hundreds, or thousands, but millions have gained a martyr’s crown—slain for the testimony of Jesus; not by Pagans; not by infidels; not by the people of the world; but by the members of the (so-called) churches of Jesus Christ, made members in their infancy by this ‘blessed’ ordinance of infant baptism. Where shall we meet?”

“Oh, come back here,” said Mrs. Jones. “I begin to feel a sort of fearful interest in your strange teachings; something—if you will pardon the comparison—like I would expect to feel in the dying speech of some outlawed wretch, denouncing, on the very scaffold, all that good men hold dear and sacred. I do not mean any disrespect, but I cannot think of any thing else which will so well describe my emotions. I shudder while you talk, to think that you should dare to speak of one of the most beautiful and holy rites of our religion as of a deadly sin; and yet I want to hear all that you have to say. Sister Ernest and Theodosia will come over with you again to-morrow night.”

“So be it, then. We will meet here to-morrow night.”

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

THE NINTH NIGHT’S STUDY

Of the time and manner in which the baptism of infants was substituted by men for the baptism of believers, which Christ commanded.

Ninth Night’s Study.

There was no one of the company that assembled at the Professor’s house on Tuesday evening, to continue this discussion, who looked so anxiously for the time of meeting, as did Mrs. Jones. The idea that an act which she had always regarded as one of the most beautiful and holy of all the rites pertaining to our holy religion, was really no part of that religion, but in fact directly opposed to it, and forbidden by it, had haunted her mind continually ever since the last night’s conversation. She had awakened her husband at midnight, to tell him that she should ever after be afraid to see an infant child baptized—and all the day she had been anxiously looking at the arguments of Mr. Courtney, as she called them up one after another in her memory, but could see no fallacy in the reasoning, though it led to what she considered such fearful conclusions. One reflection, however, gave her some comfort. Infant baptism could not be a sin, otherwise good men could not have practiced it. She was sure, therefore, that there must be some defect in his reasoning, though she could not see it.

And when they had come together, she began the conversation by asking Mr. Courtney if he had not said that he regarded Presbyterian and other Pedobaptist ministers as good and pious men?

“Certainly; I said that I knew some such. Men of God, whom I love as my brethren in the Gospel. And I know personally of no one among them whom I would be willing to condemn as being a worse man than myself.”

“But how can you say that, Mr. Courtney, when you know that they all practice infant baptism, and teach others to do so, which you say is not only a sin, but a most grievous sin: not only sin, but impious sacrilege? It seems to me you are the most inconsistent man I ever heard talk.”

“Will you permit me, madam, to answer your question by asking several others? Were Luther and Calvin and the Reformers good and holy men?”

“Of course they were, Mr. Courtney. No one has ever doubted that.”

“Was Archbishop Cranmer, who suffered martyrdom for his religion, under Mary of England, a good and holy man?”

“Certainly; he must have been.”

“Were our Puritan Fathers, who settled New England, good and holy men, deserving our reverential and affectionate remembrance for their Christian principle, which led them to sacrifice all for a conscience void of offense?”

“Most assuredly they were; but what has that to do with my question?”

“You will see, madam, when I have asked one more. Is it not a great and fearful sin to persecute and take the lives of men for their religious faith?”

“Of course it is; and no good man will do it.”

“And yet, madam, our Pilgrim Fathers persecuted the Quakers and the Baptists, and condemned them to banishment and death. Cranmer, before he was burnt, had been very officious and energetic in bringing Baptists to the stake. (See Neal’s History of the Puritans). Calvin procured the condemnation of Servetus for his religion, and Luther urged the princes of his country to persecute those who could not conform to his opinions. You see, therefore, that good and pious men may be led by their very piety (under mistaken notions of duty), to do things which are most fearfully wrong and sinful. Paul verily thought he was doing God service when he killed the followers of Jesus; but his mistake did not make the action right. It was still a most awful sin. He did it ignorantly, and God forgave him. So he will forgive your Pedobaptist brethren who in their ignorance imagine they are obeying him in baptizing little children into his church. But the act is sinful, terribly sinful, nevertheless. You are to take God’s Word, not the example of those whom you consider holy men, as your standard of right.”

“If I did not misunderstand you,” said Uncle Jones, “you told us last night, that infant baptism was utterly unknown in the time of the first Christians. Now this is altogether at variance with what our ministers have always taught us to believe. I am sure that they have labored sedulously to make the impression on our minds, that from the very times of the Apostles till about six hundred years ago, no one had ever questioned that infants should be baptized. I am sure that I have been told again and again, from the pulpit and in private conversation, that it was the united testimony of all the Fathers that infant baptism was received from the Apostles, and that we not only have no account of the time and manner of its introduction, but no history of any period of the church when it was not universally received and practiced.”

“Very likely,” replied Mr. Courtney. “Doctors of Divinity often deal in just such sweeping assertions. The same men who assure you that the New Testament abounds with proof of infant baptism, though no man living or dead has ever been able to show for it a single precept or example, can well afford to make just such statements about history. And I say to them in this, as in the other case, If there be any record of infant baptism in the first ages of the church, you can show it, and I can see it. Your mere assertions are not worth a straw—bring in your proof.”

“But have they no such proof?” asked Mrs. Jones. “Surely the ministers of our church are as good and as truthful as those of any church, and would not make such assertions without good and sufficient authority.”

“I will answer your question, madam, by referring you to the writings of some of the most eminent ecclesiastical historians, who were Pedobaptists, like yourselves, but who would not stoop to falsify history to promote the interests of a creed. Let me ask your attention, and yours especially, Professor Jones, to the testimony of a very remarkable class of these witnesses. Soon after the Reformation, a project was set on foot by the Pedobaptist Protestants of Germany, to collect and embody in a permanent form all the known and reliable facts in the history of the early Christian churches. A great number of the most learned and eminent men of Europe engaged in the work. They had access to all the stores of ancient learning, and were fully competent to explore and appropriate them. Lutheran princes and powerful nobles were patrons of the work, and neither money nor labor was spared to make it a faithful picture of the ancient churches. It proposed to give the history of each century by itself; and as it was published at Magdeburg, its authors are commonly called the ‘Magdeburg Centuriators.’ It was executed with great care, and has ever since its publication been regarded as one of the most faithful and accurate records of early church history. Now, I want you to remember that there was not a single Baptist among these men; and then observe their language, which is as follows: ‘They [the Apostles] baptized only the adult or aged, whether Jews or Gentiles, whereof we have instances in Acts ii., viii., x., xvi., and xix. chapters. As to the baptism of infants we have no example. As to the manner of baptizing, it was by dipping or plunging into the water, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, according to the allusions contained in the 6th of Romans and the 2d of Colossians.’ Thus they speak of the first century; and of the second century they say: ‘It does not appear from any approved authors that there was any change or variation from the former century in regard to baptism.’

“The learned and acute Erasmus, writing about the same time, says, in his Notes on the 6th of Romans: ‘It is nowhere expressed in the apostolic writings that they baptized children.’

“John Calvin, the founder of your Presbyterian Church, says: ‘It is nowhere expressed by the Evangelists that any one infant was baptized.’

“Ludovicus Vives, a name of high historical authority, says: ‘None of old was wont to be baptized but in grown age, and who desired it, and understood what it was.’

“Dr. Taylor, of the Church of England, says: ‘It is against the perpetual analogy of Christ’s doctrine to baptize infants; for besides that, Christ never gave any precept to baptize them, nor ever himself or his Apostles (that did appear) did baptize any of them. All that he or his Apostles said concerning it, requires the previous dispositions of baptism, of which infants are not capable.’—Liber. Proph., p. 289.

“Dr. Mosheim, who is universally known and regarded as high Pedobaptist authority, says, in his Ecclesiastical History of the first century: ‘No persons were admitted to baptism but such as had been previously instructed into the principal points of Christianity, and had also given satisfactory proof of pious dispositions and upright intentions.’ Of the second century he says: ‘The sacrament of baptism was, during this century, administered publicly twice a year at the festivals of Easter and Whitsuntide. The persons to be baptized, after they had repeated the creed, confessed and renounced their sins, particularly the devil and his pompous allurements, were immersed under water, and received into Christ’s kingdom by a solemn invocation.’ Of course they were not unconscious infants.

“Neander, another of your own historians, who has a world-wide reputation, says expressly: ‘Baptism was administered at first only to adults, as men were accustomed to conceive of baptism and faith as strictly connected. We have all reason for not deriving infant baptism from Apostolic institution, and the recognition of it (which followed somewhat later) as an Apostolical tradition, serves to confirm this hypothesis.’

“Coleman, another of your own writers, and a citizen of our own country, says: ‘Though the necessity of infant baptism was asserted in Africa and Egypt in the beginning of the third century, it was even to the end of the fourth by no means generally observed, least of all in the Eastern Church, and it finally became a general ecclesiastical institution in the age of Augustine,’ which you know was at the beginning of the fifth century.

“Now tell me what sort of consciences your ministers must have when they assert, in the face of such testimony as this, from their own most eminent historians, that infants were always considered right subjects for baptism! But this is not all. We have positive proof that Constantine and Gregory, and a great multitude of eminent men whose history is recorded, and who are known to have been born of Christian parents and reared in Christian communities, were yet not baptized till they had made their profession of faith in mature years—while there is not on record a single, solitary instance of the baptism of a child till the year of our Lord three hundred and seventy, and that was the son of the Emperor Vallens, which was thought to be dying, and was baptized by the command of his majesty, who swore he would not be contradicted; and moreover, this was not a little infant, but a boy of six years old.—See Robinson’s Hist.

“Now, if in the face of this testimony they say that infant baptism was practiced, let them show the proof. Let them bring a single case. Let them prove their own most eminent ecclesiastical historians to be false witnesses, and we will attach all due importance to their statements.”

“But, surely, Mr. Courtney,” replied Mrs. Ernest, “our ministers cannot be acquainted with these testimonies.”

“It is their own fault then,” said he. “These books are in their libraries—they quote them on other subjects—and if they do not know what they teach on this, it is because they willfully close their eyes to the light in order that they may remain in ignorance.”

“You say,” rejoined Theodosia, “that these writers, who make such concessions, are Pedobaptists. They were members of churches which baptize infants by sprinkling. They were themselves baptized by sprinkling in their infancy; and yet they state, in most express terms, that it was not so commanded by Christ—it was not so ordained by the Apostles—and nothing of the sort was practiced by the first Christians, nor for several hundred years. How, then, could they conscientiously remain even for a day in their church connection? I cannot understand what sort of consciences such men have.”

“Nor can I, Miss Ernest, but I will let them speak for themselves. The learned Curcellæus is one of them, and he says: ‘Infant baptism was not known in the world the first two centuries after Christ. In the third and fourth it was approved by few; but at length, in the fifth, it began to obtain in divers places; and therefore,’ he continues, ‘we Pedobaptists observe this rite indeed as an ancient custom, but not as an Apostolic institution. The custom of baptizing infants did not begin before the third century after Christ, and there appears not the least footstep of it for the first two centuries.’ Or if you prefer a more recent exposition of their reasons, take Kitto’s Cyclopædia of Biblical Literature, a standard Pedobaptist theological work, and turn to page 287, vol. 2.”

“I have the book on the table here,” said Uncle Jones. “Here, Theo., find the place and read. Here it is.”

“‘Infant baptism was established neither by Christ nor his Apostles. In all places where we find the necessity of baptism notified, either in a dogmatic or historical point of view, it is evident that it was only meant for those who were capable of comprehending the word preached, and of being converted to Christ by an act of their own will.

“‘A pretty sure testimony of its non-existence in the days of the Apostles, may be inferred from 1 Cor. vii. 14, since Paul would certainly have referred to the baptism of infants for their holiness; but even in later days, several teachers of the church, such as Tertullian (De Bapt.) and others, reject this custom. Indeed, his church in general (that of North Africa) adhered longer than others to the primitive regulations. Even when the baptism of infants was already theoretically derived from the Apostles, its practice was, nevertheless, for a long time confined to a mature age.’

“Did you not say that the author of this work was a Pedobaptist, Mr. Courtney?”

“Certainly I did. It was prepared by a number of very learned and eminent Pedobaptist divines, and is regarded by Pedobaptists as a standard theological work.”

“Well, I must say, that Pedobaptist theological writers are strange people,” replied Theodosia, “but I will read on:—‘In support of a contrary opinion the advocates [of infant baptism] in former ages (now hardly any) used to appeal to Matt. xix. 14, Suffer little children, etc.; but their strongest argument in its favor is the regulation of baptizing all the members of a household or family, 1 Cor. xvi. 17; Acts viii. 8; xvi. 33; but in none of these instances has it been proved that there were little children among them. And even supposing that there were, there was no necessity for excluding them from baptism in plain words, since such exclusion was understood as a matter of course.’

“Surely, Mr. Courtney, the man is a Baptist!”

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Courtney; “read on. You will come to his strong reasons presently.” She read on:

“‘Many circumstances conspired early to introduce infant baptism. The confusion between the outward and inward conditions of baptism, and the magical effect that was attributed to it; confusion of thought about the visible and the invisible church; condemning all those who did not belong to the former; the doctrine of the natural corruption of man so closely connected with the preceding; and finally the desire of distinguishing Christian children from the Jewish and heathen, and of commending them more effectually to the care of the Christian community—all these circumstances, and many more, have contributed to the introduction of infant baptism at a very early period.’”

“Now we will come to his reasons. He has told us that it is not in the Scriptures; that it was not ordained by Christ; that it was not known to the Apostles; that it was the offspring of that error which attributed a magical influence to baptism, and to the mistaken idea that no one could be saved without it—together with numerous other circumstances; and now read on, if you please, and learn the reasons why he, notwithstanding all this, is a Pedobaptist.”

“‘But, on the other hand, the baptism of children is not at all at variance with the principles of the Christian religion, after what has been observed on the separation of regeneration and baptism; for since it cannot be determined when the former begins (the real test of its existence being only in the holiness continued to the end of a man’s life), the fittest point of baptism is evidently the beginning of life.’ ‘Nevertheless, the profession of faith is still needed to complete it. Confirmation, or some equivalent observance, is therefore a very important consummation. The fides infantium [faith of infants] is an absurd assumption of which the Scriptures know nothing.’ ‘On the other hand, the baptized child is strongly recommended to the community and to the Spirit of God dwelling therein, becoming the careful object of the education and holy influence of the church: 1 Cor. vii. 14, Nature and experience therefore teach us to retain the baptism of infants now that it is introduced.’”

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Jones, “I always feel a much greater interest in children that have been baptized. It is such a blessed privilege to bring our little ones to God, and dedicate them to him in the presence of all his people.”

“For my part,” replied Mr. Courtney, “I greatly prefer Christ and his Apostles, to ‘nature and experience,’ as my teachers in religion. It is, indeed, a blessed privilege to be allowed to dedicate our children to God; and for doing this, we have full authority in the Word of God. We are to dedicate them by faith and prayer, and bring them up for him. But, let me say to you, in the language of Dr. Dwight, one of the most eminent ministers of your own church: ‘Nothing is a privilege, in the religious sense, but what God has made such; and he has made nothing such, except in his own way and on his own terms. Baptism is a privilege when administered and received in the manner appointed by him, but in no other. When this ordinance is received in any other manner, it is plainly no obedience to any command of his, and therefore has no promise—and, let me add, no encouragement to hope for a blessing.’”—Dwight’s Sermons, vol. iv. p. 343.

“I am almost afraid,” said Uncle Jones, “that you will think me captious; but I cannot yet feel quite satisfied about this matter. You have, indeed, shown very clearly, that many very eminent historians and standard writers, who, it is well known to all the world, were. Pedobaptists, have conceded—and, indeed, have in some sense proved—that infant baptism did not originate till the third century, or later. But yet, it seems to me that I have seen quotations from the early fathers themselves, which proved that baptism of infants had been recently practiced from the very first. Has there not been recently discovered some ancient manuscript, which throws light upon this subject? I am sure I have heard some rumor of such a thing.”

“You are not at all mistaken,” replied Mr. Courtney. “A manuscript of Hyppolytus was found, in 1842, in an Armenian convent on Mount Athos, in Turkey, by Minoides Minas, a Greek scholar of celebrity, who was employed at the time by M. Villeman to search for ancient books and manuscripts. This work has been carefully examined by many eminent critics and scholars, and there is now no doubt that it is genuine. Mr. Bunsen, a very noted Pedobaptist scholar, has made it the basis of a book on the early churches, in the preparation of which he consulted also the ancient canons and constitutions.”

“But pray tell us who was Hippolytus?”

“He was the pastor or bishop of the church at Pontus, near the mouth of the Tiber, in Italy, and had been a pupil of Iræneus. He lived in the early part of the third century, and probably wrote the work in question about two hundred and twenty-five or two hundred and thirty years after Christ.”

“Well, what is his testimony about baptism?”

“He says: ‘We in our days never defended the baptism of children, which in my day had only begun to be practiced in some regions, unless it were as an exception and innovation. The baptism of infants we did not know.’ And Mr. Bunsen, his translator and editor, adds (vol. iii. p. 180): ‘Pedobaptism, in the more modern sense—meaning thereby baptism of new-born infants, with the vicarious promises of parents or other sponsors—was utterly unknown to the early church, not only down to the end of the second century, but indeed to the middle of the third.’”

“But,” asked Mrs. Jones, “is there nothing at all in the early fathers in favor of infant baptism?”

“Not one word, madam, for the first two centuries—not even an allusion to it. It had not yet been invented. They had never heard of it; nor, so far as we can judge from their writings, had they so much as thought of it.

“CLEMENS, who is counted among the first, and is said to have been a companion of Paul, says: ‘They are right subjects of baptism, who have passed through an examination and instruction.’

“IGNATIUS, of the same age, who is said to have been a disciple of John, and to have seen and talked with Peter and Paul, says: ‘Baptism ought to be accompanied with faith, love, and patience, after preaching.’ The other writers of this century were Clement of Rome, Polycarp, Hermes, and Barnabas (?); but it is admitted by those who have searched for it most diligently, that not one word about infant baptism is to be found in any of their works. So also in the second century, Dr. F. A. Cox, as quoted by Orchard, says: ‘Justin Martyr, Athenagoras, Theophilus of Antioch, Tatian, Minucian, Felix, Iræneus, and Clement of Alexandria, constitute the Christian writers of this second century; who, so far from directly speaking of infant baptism, never once utter a syllable upon the subject.’

“CLEMENT says, indeed: ‘The baptized ought to be children in malice, but not in understanding; even such children who, as the children of God, have put off the old man with the garments of wickedness, and have put on the new man.’ These are the only children he speaks of as having a right to baptism.”

“You mention Iræneus,” said Uncle Jones. “If I do not forget, I have heard him quoted as authority for infant baptism.”

“I have no doubt of it. Those Doctors of Divinity who consider baptism and regeneration as all the same thing, have discovered in his writings the following sentence: ‘Christ passed through all ages of man, that he might save all by himself; all, I say, who are by him regenerated to God—infants, and little ones, and children, and youths, and persons advanced in years.’ Now, this is the only allusion which it is pretended that Iræneus makes to infant baptism; and some have had the temerity, not to say the dishonesty—since they themselves consider baptism and regeneration as the same thing, and because Iræneus, in some other place, uses regenerate in the sense of baptize—to strike out regenerated here and put in baptized, and then refer to Iræneus as having recognized infant baptism.”.

“I am sure,” said Theodosia, “that the cause must be a very weak one which requires such support, and they must be very weak advocates of any cause who could stoop to employ such arguments in its favor.”

“So also it is claimed by some, that Justin Martyr recognized the baptism of infants, when he says to some aged Christians that they had been the followers of Christ from their childhood; or, as these men read, from their infancy. But it is well known that, in those days, all minors—that is, all under twenty-five years of age, for that was considered the limit of manhood—were often called children, and even infants. And we read of some instances of persons becoming bishops while they were infants—that is, before they came of age; and of many persons being led to martyrdom while they were infants, and making earnest profession of the faith which they felt in their hearts, and sealed with their blood. The Baptists will baptize as many such infants as desire to enter into the church of Jesus Christ. But you will not accuse us, on that account, of practicing the baptism of unconscious babes;[3] and these mentioned by Justin Martyr, are not said to have been baptized in infancy, but to have followed Christ from their infancy. It is not till the beginning of the third century that we find the very first certain allusion to the baptism of children; and these were not babes, but little boys and girls old enough to ask for baptism, though yet too young to understand its import.

“By this time, salvation and baptism had begun to be regarded as inseparable, and loving parents began to inquire anxiously, What will become of our children if they die unbaptized? To this, the answer commonly given was, that they must be lost. Why not, then, baptize, and so secure their salvation? It seems that a certain wealthy lady, named Quintilla, who was probably a mother, and felt this very natural anxiety about her little ones, had come to the conclusion that if they asked for baptism, they ought to have it, whether they gave evidence of conversion or not; and she wrote a letter to Tertullian, the bishop of the church at Carthage, to get his sanction to this novel doctrine. The answer of Tertullian to this letter has been preserved, and contains the first undoubted allusion to the baptism of children which is recorded in the annals of church history.”

“If infant baptism had been a universal custom, as is pretended by some,” said Theodosia, “there never could have been any occasion for Quintilla to write to Tertullian on the subject, for children would have been baptized, as a matter of course, whether they asked for it or not.”

“Very true; and Tertullian would have replied to her, that it had always been the practice of the church to baptize the little darlings, and she need not even wait for them to ask for it; but he did no such thing. ‘Those who administer baptism,’ he says, ‘know very well that it is not to be rashly given.’ The good lady evidently thought that it was enough if the children could ask for it, and had quoted the Scripture, ‘Give to him that asketh.’ To this, Tertullian says: ‘What! give to him that asketh! Every one hath a right to it as to a thing of alms! Nay! say, rather, give not that which is holy to the dogs; cast not your pearls before swine; lay hands suddenly on no man; be not partaker of other men’s sins.’ It would seem that she had referred to the cases of the Eunuch and of Paul, as having received the ordinance as soon as they asked for it. And to this, Tertullian replies: ‘If Philip baptized the Eunuch on the spot, let us remember that it was done under the immediate direction of the Lord.’ The Eunuch was a believer of the Scripture; the instruction given by Philip was seasonable; the one preached, the other perceived the Lord Jesus, and believed on him. Water was at hand, and the Apostle, having finished the affair, was caught away. But you say, Paul was baptized instantly. True, because Judas, at whose house he was, instantly knew that he was a vessel of mercy. The condescension of God may confer his favors as he pleases, but our wishes may mislead ourselves and others.

“This lady seems to have referred, as you do, to the words of Jesus, ‘Suffer little children,’ etc. And to this, Tertullian says, as Baptists do now: ‘The Lord does indeed say forbid them not to come unto me; and let them come while they are growing up; let them come and learn, and let them be instructed when they come; and when they understand Christianity, let them profess themselves Christians.’

“In another of his works, Tertullian says: ‘Adults are the only proper subjects of baptism, because fasting, confession of sins, prayer, profession, renouncing the devil and his works, are required of the baptized.’

“It is evident, Therefore, that at this time, the beginning of the third century, the baptism of children had just begun to be spoken of.

“Now, strange as it may seem to you, your Doctors of Divinity are accustomed to base the strongest of all their historical arguments on this letter of Tertullian to Quintilla.”

“How is that possible?”

“They say, infant baptism must have existed, or Tertullian would not have opposed it. If it existed then, it must have existed from the first, because we have no history of its introduction, and no account of any previous opposition to it. And it is incredible that it could have been introduced without opposition.”

“And what answer,” said Mrs. Jones, “can you make to such reasoning as that?”

“We simply say that it did not exist before. That this is the first proposal to introduce it, and that it was opposed.”

“Very satisfactory, I declare! But what evidence have you that this was the first?”

“The best evidence that is possible: It is the first on record. If the advocates of infant baptism say there was any previous one, let them produce it. But we might put our defence on different ground. We might admit that infant baptism was at the beginning of the third century a generally received and recognized custom of the churches, and yet it would not follow, by any means, that it was received from the Apostles or had any Divine authority.

“You do not believe that the Episcopal and Catholic rite of confirmation is of Divine authority, and yet it can be traced back as far as infant baptism. You do not believe that there is any Divine authority for signing the baptized with the sign of the cross, yet Tertullian distinctly recognizes this as an existing custom in his day. So he does the giving of the newly baptized a mixture of milk and honey, and anointing them with holy oil. The doctrine of baptismal regeneration and of purgatory both date back to or before this early day, as do the observance of some of the feast days and fast days, and a vast amount of the most absurd and silly mummery of the Romish Church.

“The first we read of these fooleries, they were already in the churches; they had, so far as we know, never been opposed; they were there long before we find any trace of infant baptism there, and yet who of you will dare to say, on these grounds, that Christ and his Apostles ordained that candidates for baptism should be divested of their clothing—should have salt put in their hands—should be daubed with the priest’s spittle—clothed in white on coming out of the water—signed with the sign of the cross—anointed with chrism—walk from the water with a lighted taper in their hands, etc., etc.

“The truth is, the simplicity of the Gospel was corrupted even in the Apostles’ days; and it was not the least onerous of their labors to prevent and correct unauthorized additions to and modifications of their teachings. The simple fact, therefore, that we find any doctrine or any practice in the churches at an early day, is no evidence at all that it was received either from Christ or his Apostles. The Scriptures are our only guide. This you as Protestants admit, and by this you are precluded from all recourse to ‘the traditions of the first Christians,’ in regard to infant baptism, or any thing else concerning the doctrines and ordinances of our religion. So that it is nothing to you nor to me if infant baptism had existed before Tertullian’s time. We have shown, however, that so far from being a general practice before that time, it then was for the first time proposed, and it required all the third and most of the fourth to secure it any considerable foothold in the churches, and that it did not become established as an ecclesiastical institution till the time of Augustine, in the early part of the fifth century.

“It is true, as you may read in almost every writer on baptism, that Cyprian, who was the successor of Tertullian in the church at Carthage, received a letter from one Fidus, of whom nothing more is known than that he wrote such a letter, asking how soon after birth it might be proper to baptize. This was about forty years after Tertullian wrote to Quintilla on the subject. Cyprian, it seems, did not feel quite able to decide this momentous question, and called a council of sixty-seven of his brother bishops of North Africa, who gave it as their opinion that the ‘Grace of God should not be withheld from any son of man, and that a child might be kissed with the kiss of charity as a brother, so soon as it is born.’ This was in the year A.D. 257. It was this same Cyprian who gave it as his opinion that water poured about a person in bed (if he was sick and could not be immersed) would answer in the place of baptism.”

“What was the effect of this decree of the African Council?”

“It seems to have had none. It is likely that it relieved the doubts of Fidus; and infants were probably baptized in Africa to some limited extent, but we have no record of any such baptisms. One hundred years after this, Dr. Wall, the Pedobaptist historian, says complaints were common that mothers could not be prevailed on to put their children into the water at baptism. More than one hundred and twenty years after this, Gregory, the Bishop of Constantinople, gave his opinion on the baptism of infants or babes. These are his words: ‘But some say, what is your opinion of infants who are not capable of judging either of the grace of baptism or of the damage sustained by the want of it? Shall we baptize them too? By all means, if there be any apparent danger; for it were better they were sanctified without knowing it, than that they should die without being sealed and initiated. As for others, I give my opinion, that when they are three years of age or thereabouts (for then they are able to hear and answer some of the mystical words; and although they do not fully understand, they may receive impressions), they may be sanctified, both soul and body, by the great mystery of initiation.’

“But neither the decree of Cyprian’s sixty-seven bishops, nor the opinion of Gregory himself, seem to have convinced the common people; for in the next generation—at the beginning of the fifth century—the priests and bishops who had espoused the new practice, which they doubtless found profitable to their own purses, if not to the souls of the little water-made Christians, found it needful to meet in solemn council, and pass another decree, declaring that ‘Infants ought to be baptized for the remission of sins, and that all who denied this doctrine should be accursed.’

“Previous to this, great multitudes of believers, grieved and disgusted with the corruptions and innovations which had crept into the so-called Catholic Church, had withdrawn, and formed separate societies of their own. From the arguments and the decrees which were designed to bring these heretics back into the bosom of Mother Church, it appears that they were, in some particulars, very much like our Baptist Churches.

“The Catholic bishop, Augustin, represents them as asking, ‘What good the sacrament of Christ’s baptism could do unconscious infants?’

“And to this question he replies, ‘That in regard to that matter, it is piously and truly believed that the faith of those by whom the child is presented, profits the child’ But as this reasoning did not prove sufficiently convincing, another council was called, which decreed, ‘That it was their will that whosoever denies that little children by baptism are freed from perdition and eternally saved, that they be accursed.’ And this decision being affirmed and sanctioned by the Pope, in 417, we may from that time consider infant baptism and baptismal salvation as established doctrines of that body which historians are accustomed to call the Church. But the decree, with its appended curse, proved insufficient to convince the stubborn-hearted Baptists. They refused to baptize their children, and they disowned the baptism of the Catholics by refusing to receive them into their communities till they had been baptized by themselves. This the Catholics called rebaptism, or Anabaptism; hence the name of Anabaptists, which has been applied to us almost to the present day. For these great crimes, the Catholics turned against them the strong arm of the secular power. They procured a decree of the Emperor, that not only those who rebaptized, but those who received the ordinance at their hands, should be put to death. ‘By this law,’ says Gibbon, ‘three hundred bishops, and several thousand of the inferior clergy, were torn from their churches, stripped of their ecclesiastical possessions, and banished to the Islands.’ From this day down to the present, in every country where Pedobaptists have had the power, our brethren have been the subjects of bitter and unrelenting persecution. We can trace them through the pages of history by the light of the fires that consumed them, and by the rivers of blood which they have shed in testimony of their faith. Millions and millions of these slaughtered saints are standing now with those who were beheaded for the testimony of Jesus; slain not by their pagan foes, but by their so-called Christian brethren!—by people whom your writers call ‘the Church,’ and whose history you record as the history of the Church!!!

“When this work of death commenced, they reproached Augustin (whom historians call a saint) with the death of their pastors, and told him that God would require at his hand the blood of these martyrs at the day of judgment. ‘Martyrs!’ he replied. ‘I know nothing about your martyrs. Martyrs indeed! Martyrs to the devil! There are no martyrs out of the church.’ We have not time to trace their history through the coming ages, under the different names which have been given them, as Donatists, Novatianists, Cathari or Puritans, Paulicians, Henricans, Petrobrusians, Mennonites, Albigenses, Waldenses, etc.; but let me suggest, if you desire to pursue the subject further, that you read Orchard’s History of the Foreign Baptists, which contains in a small space an immense amount of information concerning these persecuted and afflicted disciples of Jesus.”

“I do not think,” said Professor Jones, “that we need to spend further time upon this point now. I confess, for my own part, I am more than convinced. I only wonder that these facts are not more generally known.”

“They are public property,” replied Mr. Courtney, “and have long been known to Baptists; but your Pedobaptist friends will not read them or listen to them. And when we absolutely force them upon their attention, they take it for granted there must be some mistake about it, or else they would have heard them from their own ministers. But I agree with you that we have spent time enough in our present conversation; and as there is preaching at the court house to-night, suppose we adjourn to meet again to-morrow.”

“I hope you will meet here,” said Mrs. Jones, “for I have yet one very serious charge to offer against the Baptists.”

“Permit me, madam, to inquire what it is, that I may be better prepared to meet it.”

“It is your close communion. I am almost willing to admit that immersion is the only baptism, and that infants are not in the Scriptures required to be baptized—though even about these points there must be some mistake on your part, for our ministers are certainly as learned and as pious as yours, and yet they have always represented the facts as very different from the pictures you have drawn.”

“But you forget, Mrs. Jones, that it is by the testimony of your own historians and your own ministers that I have established these facts. I have scarcely quoted a single Baptist authority. The men who say that there is no precept or example of infant baptism in the Scriptures, are among the most learned and eminent of your own writers. The men who say that the very meaning of the word baptize is to immerse, and that it was immersion only which was for ages practiced by the church, are such men as McKnight and Chalmers, among the most eminent of your own Doctors of Divinity. The men who say that it is certain that infant baptism was not ordained by Christ or the Apostles, and was not introduced until after the second century, are such men as Neander, Coleman, and Kitto, among the most learned and eminent of your own ecclesiastical historians and Biblical critics. Such men would not say such things unless the truth compelled them.”

“That is very strange, Mr. Courtney; but I can’t deny that it is true: and I may be convinced that you are right in these things; but I am sure I never can be reconciled to your practice of restricted communion.”

“Don’t be so certain of that, madam. I have no doubt I shall be able to show you to-morrow that you Presbyterians are just as much restricted in your terms of communion as we are. The only difference between us is on the question, What is baptism? But it is now time to go to the meeting.”

They found the house already filled, and the services had commenced when they arrived. They had not been there long, when those who stood near the door saw a horseman ride up and dismount. It was Mr. Percy. My reader will remember that, after writing that letter to Theodosia, he had gone to another county to attend the Circuit Court. He reached the place on Sabbath morning, just before church time, and attended the Presbyterian meeting. At any other time he would probably have made the fatigue of his journey an excuse for remaining at his hotel; but he was very unhappy that morning, and hoped in church to find some remission of the feverish anxiety which preyed upon his mind. He could not feel satisfied that he had done right in leaving off the investigation of the subject of baptism himself, or in endeavoring to prevent Theodosia from acting out her conscientious convictions of duty. He had wished a hundred times, as he rode along, that he had never written that unfortunate letter. Yet he never suspected for a moment the influence it was destined to have upon his own matrimonial prospects. That Miss Ernest loved him most devotedly he was well assured; nor did the thought ever enter his mind, that either this or any other event was likely to break off their engagement, or even postpone their marriage. But when he remembered the earnestness of heart with which she regarded every question pertaining to religion, he felt that he must have occasioned great distress to her; and he bitterly reproached himself that he had permitted his selfishness so far to triumph over his affection.

He had at first congratulated himself that he had made to her such an appeal as she could not disregard, and consequently had secured the object which he had in view; but on reflection, he began to feel that he should esteem her more highly and love her more tenderly, if it should prove true that her religious principles were so strong and her sense of duty so predominant, that she would not listen even to the voice of love itself dissuading her from the path of right.

He began to hope that she would disregard his entreaties and do her duty. He wished he could return in time to tell her that he would not for the world put any restraint upon her conscience. He comforted himself by the thought that, if his letter had any effect, it would only be to postpone her decision until his return, when he determined to take all difficulties out of her way.

When he took his seat in the church, his heart and his mind were in another place. Could he but know what had been her decision—where she was sitting then—what she was doing! He rose when the congregation stood up to pray—he sat down when the preacher said amen, as did the others, but he heard no sentence of the prayer. They sang an old familiar hymn to an air which he had learned in childhood; he joined in the singing, but when it was done he could not have told what was the tune or the words. When the preacher announced his text, he started as from a dream, and as he repeated it: “To him who knoweth to do good and doeth it not, to him it is sin”—the Spirit at once applied it to his heart. He felt that this was precisely the case with himself. He had examined the meaning of Christ’s commandment. He was satisfied that he had not obeyed it. He knew that it was his duty to do what Christ commanded, but he had deliberately and willfully refused to do it; and what was worse, he had exerted all the influence which he possessed to induce Miss Ernest to do the same.

The main thoughts of the sermon were, First, that men are always inclined to find excuses for their wickedness.

Second, there is no excuse more frequently offered, or more implicitly relied upon, than ignorance.

Third, that although ignorance, when involuntary and unavoidable, may be plead in mitigation of one’s guilt, as Jesus taught us when he said that he who knew not his master’s will and did it not, should be beaten with few stripes—yet those who might learn their duty were doubly guilty. Their ignorance itself was sin; and those who knew and acknowledged their duty, and yet neglected or refused to do it, had not even the shadow of an excuse. Whatever doubt there might exist in any other case, their sinfulness was certain, and their guilt was fearful.

As the preacher dwelt upon this last thought, an expression of agony quivered in the muscles of Mr. Percy’s face, and the tears started in his eyes. He rested his head on the pew before him, and covered his face to avoid the observation of those about him; and as soon as the congregation was dismissed, hastened to his room at the hotel, and passed the rest of the day in most distressful reflections on his past conduct and present condition. Not this one sin alone, but hundreds of others, nay, more than he could count, came rushing back upon his memory. A lifetime of sin—sin against light, sin against love, sin against deep and plain convictions of duty; sins of his early boyhood, sins of his heyday youth, sins of mature manhood, all crowded around him and seemed to call down Heaven’s vengeance on his head. He tried to pray, like the poor publican, God be merciful to me a sinner. But his prayer seemed to be reflected back by the ceiling of the room. It had no messenger to bear it up to the throne. He felt that he was lost. His sin had found him out, and he had no Saviour. His hopes were all gone. He knew not what to do. Night came, and he sat there on the side of the bed, without a light, feeling that the darkness of the night was light in comparison with the darkness in his heart.

His agony of mind was so great that he could not think. He could only feel. He would kneel down to pray, but he had no words to utter. He could only groan in his spirit. He would rise up again and sit upon the side of the bed. Thus the night wore away. At last he threw himself upon the bed, and from mere exhaustion fell asleep. When he awoke in the morning, his head was throbbing with pain, and his eyes were red and swollen. He excused himself from breakfast, and had a cup of coffee sent to his room. He felt that he could not attend to the business of the court, and sent for a lawyer of his acquaintance, made over to him a minute of his cases, with instructions to have them postponed if possible, and if not to appear for him. He then tried to consider what he ought to do in regard to his own condition as a sinner before God. It was not so much the fear of punishment that distressed him, as an overwhelming sense of guilt! “Oh!” he exclaimed, again and again, “what a sinner! What a sinner I have been! What a sinner I am! Can there be mercy for a wretch like me! God have mercy on me a sinner.”

After some hours he ordered his horse, and started for home. He passed another night of horror on the way—excusing himself for his speedy return, by saying what was very true, “that he did not feel well.”

The second day, as he rode along, he found his heart going out more frequently in prayer, not so much for pardon as for deliverance from sin. He loathed himself for his vileness, and longed to be delivered from the power of sin. And he began to think of Jesus more and more as a Saviour from sin rather than from hell, until at length he found that he was looking to Jesus to save him from his sins. “Yes,” said he, “he came to save sinners—not the righteous, but sinners. And his name was called Jesus, because he saves his people from their sins. Will he not save me? But I am not one of his people. I am an outcast. I have betrayed him in the house of his friends. Can he, will he save me?” And the Spirit said, “Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. And whosoever cometh I will in nowise cast out.” “Surely,” he replied, “that includes my case. Blessed Jesus, save me. Save or I perish. Save, I cannot save myself. Save, I give myself into thy hands. Yes, I take thee for my Saviour. Thou wilt save me. Thou dost save me. Oh, precious, precious Saviour! Thou art indeed the Lord of my heart. Show me what thou wilt have me to do. I have nothing but sin, but thou hast all needful righteousness to plead for me. Be my intercessor. Be my Redeemer. Yes, thou wilt forgive—thou hast already pardoned. I trust my soul to thee, and I believe that thou art able and willing to keep it to the day of redemption.”

His distress was gone. He had found hope—he had found peace—he had found joy. He rode on home with a glad heart. What now had become of all his lofty aspirations for worldly fame and wealth. What did he care now for position in society, for professional reputation, for all indeed that but three days ago enlisted his desires. He counted them as less than vanity and nothing. One only question now filled all his heart, and that was “Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?”

He could understand now what Theodosia had meant when she talked so much about obedience to the Master’s will. It was with these feelings he rode into the town, ignorant of all that had transpired since he left—knowing nothing of the effect which his letter had produced on Theodosia; nothing of her baptism; nothing of the meeting which was in progress. He saw the light in the court house, and heard the singing—dismounted and approached the door—and learned that it was a Baptist meeting. Without further question he went in and sat down.

The sermon was on the importance of Christians professing Christ before the world. And at its close, the announcement was made that the church was ready to receive applications for membership—and candidates for admission were requested to take a designated seat while the brethren sang a hymn. They had scarcely commenced the second stanza when Professor Jones and Mr. Percy came from opposite sides of the room. Neither had been conscious that the other was in the house. Both their hearts were full, and who will wonder that when they met they rushed into each others’ arms, and wept upon each others’ necks!

Need I tell how Theodosia drew her heavy veil down over her face, and how her heart beat audibly while she listened for the words that should explain this mystery?

She was not kept long in suspense, Mr. Percy was the first to relate his experience of grace. He dated his conversion only a few hours back. “This very day,” said he, “for the first time I have been enabled to realize the pardon of my sins. I fancied some years ago that I had been converted, but am now convinced that I was self-deceived.” He then began at his early conviction of sin, and related the history of his connection with the Presbyterians—his recent examination of the subject of baptism. Though fully convinced that immersion was the only baptism, he had felt that it would be ruinous to his worldly prospects to change his church connections; and he told how it was that his sin had found him out in a distant town—what agony of mind he had endured for the past two days, and how it pleased God to speak peace to his soul as he was coming home. That he had seen the light in the court house, and learning that it was a Baptist meeting, had come in with the determination to ask for baptism.

I need not detain the reader by any account of the experience of grace which was related by Professor Jones. Nor need I attempt to describe the emotions of Theodosia, her mother, or Mrs. Jones, while this scene was passing. I will simply say that Uncle Jones and Mr. Percy, with some half a dozen others, were received, and Sabbath morning set as the time for their baptism.

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