FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 i3(SI 
 
 Sect 
 
 | EXPORT BOOKSELLERS 
 32. GAY STREET, 
 \ BATH' V- , 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 
 
 mtnntm w& mtmmm 
 
 OF 
 
 MARY FRANCES PRESTON. 
 
 £{)£ is noi b«ab, hat slwjjetb." 
 
 BELFAST: 
 
 MDCCCLXV. 
 
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 MEMORIAL. 
 
 "Weep not j she is not dead but sleepeth." — Luke v. 52. 
 
 The narrative connected with the few documents which 
 follow is very simple, and need be no other than equally 
 brief. Little more is required than to record that Mary 
 Frances Preston was born on October 15, 1844, and 
 died on the 16th May, 1865. 
 If it be, then, true of all that 
 
 " Brief life is here our portion " — 
 still more strikingly true is it of one thus early " cut down 
 like a flower." Her early morning had scarcely reached 
 Life's day-time when the place that knew her here knew her 
 no more : although, thanks to the infinite love and grace of 
 that God who is Love, those who sorrow beside this early 
 grave "sorrow not as those who have no hope," still so 
 mysteriously sharp and sudden was the sundering bctw r ccn 
 her who was thus taken and those who are left, that not only 
 all the support vouchsafed from above is needed to bear them 
 through this afflictive dispensation, but all the ministering aid 
 of Christian friendship is due, and should gladly be tendered 
 
2 MEMORIAL. 
 
 
 to mourners under such circumstances. It is therefore that 
 with entire readiness, though not without a deeply-felt pang 
 that I have undertaken, at the request of parents long known 
 and valued, to arrange and thus introduce to the few friends 
 for whom they arc intended the following " remains" of the 
 dear child in w r hose desk they were found, after her departure 
 from earth. A very few words will suffice for this purpose, 
 as, indeed, the documents speak for themselves. 
 
 I shall not trust myself to say anything respecting my 
 personal feelings, on this solemn and sad, though in the best 
 sense, privileged occasion. It w r as my privilege to admit, by 
 baptism, Mary Frances, in her infancy, to Christ's Chnrch. 
 I watched with that hopeful pleasure which Christ's Ministers 
 are allowed to enjoy, her opening years — saw T her, alas 
 prematurely! ripen into an intellectual girl, from a bright and 
 happy, and withal, most affectionate child. Opportunities 
 for mental culture not always, or often, met had been 
 afforded her, by kind and anxious Christian parents ; and all 
 their aspirations w T ere answered in her steady growth in 
 knowledge, as well as in grace. The health of a near relative 
 necessitated a residence on the Continent, and thus separated 
 her from the home which she so deeply loved, during the 
 Winter of last year, and the Spring of this. While on the 
 Continent, at Cannes, she was an attendant on the 
 ministry of the British Chaplain there, the Rev. Edward 
 L. Neville Rolfc, and it would appear that during that time 
 her impressions of Divine truth were much deepened and 
 
MEMORIAL. 3 
 
 realized. Mary Frances having been for some time affected 
 with dulness of hearing, and the kind Minister above named, 
 becoming acquainted with this fact, he not only took pains to 
 have her provided with a convenient seat, in the English Chapel, 
 w here she could hear his voice, while preaching, but was in the 
 habit of lending her his manuscript sermons afterwards. This 
 privilege she greatly prized, and proved her sense of it by 
 transcribing, in a very neat and legible hand, the entire of several 
 discourses heard under these circumstances. These were the 
 sermons which seemed most to lay hold on her memory, and 
 in more than one of them will be found thoughts w r hich now 
 render them peculiarly interesting to those who knew and 
 loved her. Indeed, on a survey and retrospect of the few 
 closing months of her brief career there can be no doubt 
 that the Good Shepherd thus drew aside from the thronged 
 pastures of His flock this lamb of His choice, in order that 
 she might the more plainly and believingly hear his voice. 
 Through the kind permission of Mr. Rolfe, these records of 
 his ministerial intercourse with her whom it was his privilege 
 thus, though at the time unconsciously, to aid for her passage 
 over Jordan, are here committed to the press. Their perusal 
 is intended for the friends who knew and loved her who thus 
 transcribed them, little thinking, it may be, at the time, the 
 use which was to be made of them. May it please the God 
 of all grace, who " moves in a mysterious way," to render 
 them useful to all of the limited circle to whom they thus 
 come! If only one of that circle — it may be of the young 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 and loving who knew Mary Frances — be impressed with 
 realizing thoughts of the great truths, thus embalmed in the 
 memory of a dear departed one, the effort of those who 
 present them will be more than repaid. 
 
 Together with the transcribed Sermon? will be found a 
 few specimens of versification, from the pen of Mary 
 Frances. These have been added chiefly for the gratification 
 of friends who would otherwise not see these early indications 
 of a talent which God had given her, and which, had she 
 been spared, might have ripened into a decided poetical 
 taste. With the exception of the last — the translations 
 from the German — they w T ere all written from the age 
 of thirteen to seventeen years. Her parents, concurring in 
 the advice of the writer of these few introductory remarks, 
 felt it prudent rather to repress than encourage, at her early 
 age, this desire to commit her thoughts to verse, fearing, as 
 they did, lest it might tend to over-stimulation of mind and 
 brain. The fear proved to be too well founded ; but the 
 few fragments of the sort which remain are not now the less 
 prized because of that fewness. The same tender tone of 
 thoughtfulncss and piety which marked her whole brief 
 earthly career, and especially its close, is very plainly 
 observable here. " Life's early promise" was certainly well 
 marked in these artless, and most sweetly natural strains of 
 childhood. Let us hope and believe that the heart and 
 tongue which gave them utterance will awaken from the 
 calm and blessed sleep where they are, for the present, laid, 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 only to give more glorious and blessed testimony to that 
 Redeemer's love which shone on their possessor here, in the 
 region of life and immortality above. 
 
 The translations from the German were made but a few 
 weeks before Mary Frances closed her eyes on earth. As 
 already mentioned, she had spent the Winter at Cannes, and 
 hastened, with a most earnest longing homeward. The 
 grievous disease which terminated life was of but few days' 
 continuance, and its consummation awfully sudden. Her 
 home was regained on the 5th of May, and her death 
 occurred on the 1 6th. During its rapid progress she had 
 but few intervals of unclouded reason, for the brain proved, 
 ulitimately, its scat. In these, however, her every word and 
 thought were Heavenward, mingled with breathings of the 
 deepest and most tender affection to the parent to whom, in 
 God's mysterious providence, it was alloted to keep watch 
 unwearied by her bed-side during life's last struggle. Contrary 
 to the affectionate belief of the friends who were near, she 
 more than once said it was her last illness. These expressions 
 were then believed to be but the result of the incoherency of 
 the disease ; but they proved to be only too true. There was 
 no single shadow of darkness at the close. All was bright and 
 pure, calm, tranquil, and happy, and her last intelligent and 
 intelligible words were — "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." 
 \ cry shortly before, in a sort of happy, half-dreaming 
 consciousness, she had uttered what proved to be an 
 appropriate epitaph for her early grave— and here it is — 
 
6 MEMORIAL. 
 
 "My wreath is won — 
 My short course run !" 
 
 While preparing for the press this brief record, the writer 
 has been reminded of a fact which, although in itself, ap- 
 parently trivial, he yet thinks may be fitly noticed. The day 
 on which Mary Frances breathed her last, although in 
 Spring time, was an unusually dark and clouded one. Just as 
 her eyes closed on earth, and as the friends around watched 
 over her, a bright streak of sunshine, almost a momemtary 
 one, suddenly lighted up the heavens, and cast its gleam over 
 the face of her, then sleeping her last sleep. This incident 
 suggested more than one thought to those who witnessed it. 
 It seemed a message from above, where all is light and life, 
 and where sorrow and sighing, cloud and darkness never come. 
 
 " A beam from heaven is sent to cheer 
 The pilgrim on his gloomy roaJ ; 
 And angels are attending near 
 
 To bear him to their bright abode. 
 
 " O Lord, that we may thus depart, 
 Thy joys to share, thy race to see, 
 Impress thine image on cur heart, 
 
 And teach us now to walk with thee." 
 
 May " the God of all consolation" comfort those who 
 
 mourn, with the assurance that this child of early prom 
 
 " sleeps in Jesus;" and may His good Spirit lead each and all 
 
 who receive this Memorial to seek, and to obtain, that 
 
 " when He appears we shall appear with Him in glory," 
 
 through that abounding grace which is offered to the chief 
 
 of sinners. 
 
REMAI NS 
 
 The few following remains of Mary Frances Preston were 
 found, after her decease, in her writing desk. Although the 
 productions of childhood and of earliest youth, they are 
 appended to the foregoing brief memorial for the gratifica- 
 tion, and it may be hoped, the profit of the friends who shall 
 peruse these pages under the influence of those feelings which 
 they are so well calculated to produce. The whole is an 
 offering of Friendship, consecrated by the holiest of associ- 
 ations, and as such it will be received. 
 
 These Remains, it will be seen, are in verse, and also in 
 prose. The latter were written, almost entirely, as school 
 exercises, but seemed to the compiler to present so striking a 
 promise of future talent, had it pleased God to spare the 
 writer, that they ought not to be allowed to perish. The 
 verses are the product of the same early age, and are given 
 just as written, with the exception of a very few slight verbal 
 alterations. No idea has been either added or altered. 
 
 W. Mel. 
 
 Be/fast, Sept. i, 1S65. 
 
She is not dead, but sleepeth 
 
 The sleep no care may break , 
 For One beside her keepeth 
 
 Fond vigil 'till she wake. 
 'Tis He, whose presence lighted 
 
 The darkness of the grave ; 
 Who led her, unaffrighted, 
 
 Through death's enclosing wave. 
 She sleeps — but oh ! to waken 
 
 When past is sorrow's night; 
 And shade and cloud have taken 
 
 Their everlasting flight ; 
 When caith's loud anthem swelleth 
 
 To praise redeeming love ; 
 And Life's full fountain wclleth 
 
 With joys untold above. 
 
HYMN'. 
 
 Come unto me! the Saviour said, 
 
 All ye that weary are : 
 Come unto me, and ye shall find 
 
 Sweet rest from all your care. 
 Look unto me ! and be ye saved, 
 
 Who cry with humble heart : 
 Lord, teach us to believe and know, 
 
 That Thou the Saviour art ! 
 Help us to look to Thee by faith, 
 
 And feel that Thou alone 
 Canst save, and by thy precious blood 
 
 The sinner's guilt atone. 
 Here, Lord, before thy mercy-seat 
 
 Accept our humble prayer, 
 May we, in all our troubles seek 
 
 And find a refuge there ! 
 
 February 28, 1 858. 
 
IO REMAINS. 
 
 THE CHILD'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Mother, I dreamed, the other night 
 
 When you had gone to bed, 
 When on my pillow soft and fair, 
 
 I laid my weary head : 
 Oh ! then I dreamed that far away 
 
 There is a land of love, 
 " And holy children, when they die, 
 
 " Go to that world above." 
 I dreamed I saw an Angel fair 
 
 Who took me by the hand, 
 And smiling, whispered " Come with me 
 
 And see the better land." 
 And then I went away with him 
 
 And saw a lovely sight ; 
 I saw that blessed land above 
 
 Where every thing is bright. 
 He showed me ever-blooming fields, 
 
 Of never-fading flowers ; 
 Oh ! such I never saw before, 
 
 In all our garden bowers. 
 He showed me beauteous children too, 
 
 I almost see them now, 
 All dressed in robes of spotless white, 
 
 Pure as the falling snow. 
 And each one had a crown of gold, 
 
 Sparkling with diamonds fair ; 
 And on each forehead was the name 
 
 Of Jesus written there. 
 And then I dreamed the Angel asked 
 
 If I would like to stay, 
 
REMAINS. I I 
 
 J uI y n> 
 
 And roam, amidst those fields of flowers 
 
 That never fade away ? 
 " Ah ! no" — I answered — "Let me go 
 
 And fetch my mother dear ; 
 For well I know she'd wish to come 
 
 And stay forever here." 
 At this the Angel sadly smiled, 
 
 And said that I should come 
 To that fair land of Rest above, 
 
 And leave my earthly home. 
 And then he told me, by and bye, 
 
 That he would come for you, 
 To guide you to that same blest place 
 
 Where I should greet you too. 
 Oh ! mother dear, I hear him still, 
 
 I hear and cannot stay ; 
 Come — join me in that peaceful home, 
 
 Where tears are wiped away ! 
 Smile on your child and say — farewell ! 
 
 Oh ! do not — do not weep ! 
 Fair angels call my soul away — 
 
 Mother — I go to sleep. 
 
12 REMAINS. 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND 
 AND COMPANION. 
 
 We saw our loved one fading 
 
 And felt she soon must die ; 
 Our earthly hopes fast left us, 
 
 As time fled quickly by. 
 We knew that she was nearing 
 
 The Home of endless rest, 
 Her weary head to pillow 
 
 Upon the Saviour's breast. 
 
 The golden days of summer, 
 
 With all their lovely flowers, 
 Seemed for a while to lend us 
 
 A lingering hope for ours. 
 But soon their beauty faded, 
 
 Emblems of all below, 
 And seemed to say — " Look higher, 
 
 Where flowers unfading blow." 
 
 Alas ! we marked her pining, 
 
 We saw her colour fade — 
 And soon, where rest the weary, 
 
 We knew she must be laid. 
 But God would save our darling 
 
 We felt, from every ill, 
 Then to His hand we gave her, 
 
 And owned His holy will. 
 
 Then came the hour of parting — 
 
 But oh ! 'twas hard to part — 
 For her words had wound their memories 
 
 Like tendrils round our heart. 
 
REMAINS. 1 3 
 
 Her Saviour never failed her, 
 
 She rested in His love, 
 And soon we hoped to join her 
 
 At His right hand above. 
 
 Death had for her no terror, 
 
 For Jesus was her stay — 
 That Home she loved and longed for, 
 
 Where tears are wiped away. 
 Our faith could see her mounting 
 
 Above both cloud and sky, 
 Where smile the blessed mansions 
 
 Of the Redeemed on high. 
 Her crown we saw her casting 
 
 The Saviour's throne before, 
 Then joyed we with our loved one, 
 
 And wept for her no more. 
 
 January 6, 1 859. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 ON SEEING A BUST OF THE LATE PRINCE CONSORT, IN THE 
 INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION, SEPTEMBER 1 5, 1862. 
 
 Albert, Britannia mourns thy loss, 
 
 Thou wert her joy and pride, 
 Ah ! sadly too our widowed Queen 
 
 Shall miss thee from her side. 
 She'll miss the gentle voice that oft 
 
 Had soothed her bosom's care; 
 She'll miss thee in her halls of state 
 
 At home ; yes, everywhere. 
 
H 
 
 Often, in dreams, again she'll see 
 
 Thy loved form by her side, 
 As at the altar once she stood 
 
 Her Albert's blushing bride. 
 That face in life that on her beamed 
 
 In death sleeps calmly now, 
 While cold the cypress wreath is twined 
 
 Around that marble brow. 
 And sadly drooping o'er thy tomb 
 
 The white camelias bend, 
 As though they too would weep thy fate, 
 
 And mourn thy early end. 
 Yes ! ever in thy Consort's heart 
 
 Wilt thou remembered be, 
 And long as life and memory last 
 
 Albert ! she'll think of thee. 
 'Twas she who wreathed those drooping flowers, 
 
 And strewed them o'er thy bier; 
 While every spot that tells of thee 
 
 Recalls the bitter tear. 
 No more around her sinking form 
 
 Thine arms of love are thrown, 
 Ah no ! she's left to struggle on 
 
 And breast life's cares alone. 
 Alone ! — She knows the meaning deep 
 
 That sad, sad word conveys ; 
 While back to memory it brings 
 
 Visions of bygone days. 
 She sees again thy manly form, 
 
 Thy soft yet speaking eye, 
 Again she hears that lost, loved voice 
 
 Her sweetest melody. 
 
15 
 
 Again her memory rests on thee, 
 
 When that last hour had come 
 One look — one smile, and thou art gone 
 
 To thy eternal home. 
 And now, — when all in tribute join 
 
 To thee — the Great — the Good — 
 A nation's flowing tears shall soothe 
 
 Her lonely widowhood. 
 But oh ! our tears were powerless 
 
 To comfort her we love, 
 Were there no hope of meeting in 
 
 That happier home above. 
 There death-divided friends shall join 
 
 To sing the Saviour's praise ; 
 And there, around His glorious throne 
 
 Their endless anthems raise. 
 When Jordan's narrow stream is crossed 
 
 And all earth's sorrows o'er, 
 Then shall she see thee, face to face, 
 
 And meet to part no more. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON A VISIT TO FOUNTAINS 
 ABBEY, YORKSHIRE. 
 
 What countless changes hast thou seen 
 
 Since first those aisles were trod 
 By those who, far from scenes of strife, 
 
 Withdrew to worship God. 
 Long ages since have passed away, 
 
 Yet still thy stately form 
 And vaulted arches have outlived 
 
 The waste of Time and storm. 
 
| 1 6 REMAINS. 
 
 Now ivy mantles o'er thy walls 
 
 And crowns each hallowed spot, 
 
 While from the dewy turf up-springs 
 
 The wild Forget-me-not. 
 
 The aged yew, though bent with years, 
 
 Still spreads its branches hoar, 
 
 As though it fain would weep with thee 
 
 The days that are no more. 
 
 The swallow wings its rapid flight 
 
 Throughout thy ruins gray, 
 
 The nightingale chants requiems sweet, 
 
 For those long passed away. 
 
 And from each lowly grave I hear 
 
 Voices, which say to me, 
 
 " Set not thy heart on things of earth 
 
 Attractive though they be. 
 
 For like the rainbow's varying hues 
 
 Swiftly they fade and die, 
 
 One moment all is bright, — the next 
 
 Each beam has left the sky. 
 
 And thus it is with earthly joys, 
 
 A few brief hours they last ; 
 
 Though some — but ah! how few! still leave 
 
 Bright traces where they've past. 
 
 Yet e'en tho' bright things droop and die, 
 
 Pilgrim ! regret them not : 
 Still onward ! to the better land 
 
 Where grief is all forgot." 
 Then hearken to the voice ye hear 
 
 Prepare for that bright home 
 Where all is peace and loveliness, 
 
 Where changes never come ! 
 
 July 3, 1863. 
 
 1 ~-~ ,^ ■WUUWWVTJ - u ..' -n. . -n. j . . ~™~^^^^^, 
 
Cranslattons from tire fyxmm. 
 
 ABSCHIEDSLIED. 
 
 We part, but not for ever, 
 
 We part to meet again ; 
 Where wail of grief comes never, 
 
 Nor sigh of mortal pain. 
 Few are the hours of pleasure 
 
 In this drear world below, 
 Yet they cheer us on our journey, 
 
 As heavenward we go. 
 Like beams of moonlight streaming 
 
 Through midnight's cloudy sky, 
 On summer flowrets blooming 
 
 Ere they fade away and die. 
 We too, like them, are fading 
 
 And drooping, day by day ; 
 And soon, in silence sleeping 
 
 Shall mix with kindred clay. 
 But death has lost its horrors, 
 
 The grave, though dark it be, 
 Is but the portal leading 
 
 To immortality. 
 Soon shall our toils be over, 
 
 Then on that happy shore 
 Within those many mansions 
 
 We'll meet to part no more. 
 
 Harrogate, June 23, 1864. 
 
REMAINS. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 "Wenn einst mein Hundlein komen ist." 
 
 Mine hour appointed is at hand, 
 Lord Jesus Christ ! attend me ; 
 
 Beside my bed, my Saviour, stand, 
 To comfort, help, defend me ; 
 
 Into Thy hands I will commend 
 
 My trembling soul at my last end — 
 How safe in thy sweet keeping ! 
 
 Countless as sands upon the shore 
 My sins are thronging round me, 
 
 But though they grieve and wound me sore, 
 They cannot yet confound me : 
 
 My sins are numberless I know, 
 
 But o'er them all thy blood doth flow, 
 Thy wounds and death uphold me. 
 
 Lord thou hast joined my soul to thine 
 
 In bonds no power can sever, 
 Grafted in thee, the Living Vine, 
 
 I shall be thine for ever. 
 Lord when I die, I die to thcc, 
 Thy precious death hath won for me 
 
 A life that never cndeth. 
 
 Since thou hast risen from the grave 
 
 The grave cannot detain me ; 
 " Christ died" — " Christ rose again" to save, 
 
 These words shall still sustain mc ; 
 
REMAINS. 19 
 
 For where thou art there shall I be, 
 That I may ever live with thee, 
 This is my joy in dying. 
 
 To thee, Lord Jesus Christ, I will 
 With arms outstretched betake mc 
 
 I sleep in thee — so sound, so still, 
 No mortal man can wake me ! 
 
 For Jesus Christ God's Son I wait, 
 
 To open me the heavenly gate, 
 Which leads to life eternal. 
 
 October zd, 1863. 
 
 HYM N. 
 
 " Herr lass mich in Frieden tahren." 
 
 Lord let me now depart in peace, 
 
 Here would I fain no longer roam ; 
 O bid my cares and troubles cease, 
 And call Thy weary servant home. 
 Gladly I'll lay my weapons down, 
 Exchange the sword for Victor's crown, 
 To Thee resign my parting breath, 
 For in Thy strength I vanquish death. 
 
 From each earthly fetter breaking 
 
 Joyously I soar to thee, 
 Dread not the last great awak'ning 
 
 For thou art mine eternally. 
 
20 REMAINS. 
 
 Though my body day by day 
 Slowly into dust decay, 
 Upwards my glad spirit flies 
 To its mansion in the skies. 
 
 When the weary eye is closing 
 
 Calm and joyful will I be, 
 E'en whilst in the grave reposing 
 Thou wilt still watch over me. 
 Yes, I feel that naught can ever 
 Me from thy loved presence sever ; 
 Death to hold me tries in vain, 
 I through thee shall rise again ! 
 
 Father, to thy tender keeping 
 
 I my trembling soul commend, 
 O be with me and uphold me, 
 Guide and guard me to the end. 
 Crown me with thy joy at last, 
 When through the dark vale Fve passed 
 Lead me to that blissful shore, 
 To the loved ones gone before. 
 
 When the last dread hour shall try me 
 
 Jesus be Thou near my side ; 
 With Thy grace if Thou supply me, 
 Naught but good can ever betide. 
 In my arms I hold Thee fast, 
 O receive my soul at last ; 
 If Thou earnest, Lord, to-day, 
 Gladly would I haste away. 
 
 Cannes, "January 15M, 1 865. 
 
21 
 
 fros*— f chool &mam. 
 
 « TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION." 
 
 Truth stranger than fiction, how can that be ? was the 
 first question that presented itself to my mind on hearing 
 that such was to be the title of our composition. And 
 now, what can be stranger than fiction ? Can anything be 
 stranger than the absurd, not to say silly, anecdotes of 
 those heathen gods and goddesses ; for example, Hercules 
 and his twelve labours ? Was there ever in the memory of 
 any person in existence, such an animal as a hind with 
 copper feet, which he is said to have vanquished on some 
 mythical mountain, of which, however, I cannot now re- 
 member the name ; or has any one ever seen such a thing as 
 a centaur — a creature half human, half animal ; or does any 
 one know of a woman who was changed into a fountain for 
 giving way to her maternal feelings and deploring the loss 
 of her numerous, and no doubt, interesting family ? or of a 
 famous hunter, who was remorselessly changed into a stag 
 for disturbing a goddess while bathing ? or of a river with 
 golden sands r or of a Pegasus which was the special pro- 
 perty of Apollo and the Muses? and I certainly think it is 
 just as well, for the sake of fiction, that he belonged to such 
 noble owners. So much for fiction. Now let us look on 
 the other side of the picture, and try and find out how it is 
 that Truth can be stranger still. On a bright winter's night 
 when the silvery moon sheds her pale light o'er the sleeping 
 
J 2 2 REMAINS. 
 i 
 
 earth, and sparkling in that light, the hoar frost begems the 
 blades of grass ; when the hum of voices is hushed in the 
 silent thoroughfare, and all nature like a wearied child lies 
 wrapped in profound repose ; let us look at the bright starlit 
 heavens and say will not the question naturally arise, is it 
 true that those lovely stars are directed during their long wan- 
 derings through their boundless orbits, and that the pale 
 moon, the mistress of the night, is subject to the same Omni- 
 potent guidance ; that her rising and setting, waxing and 
 waning, are all under the same Almighty controul r Is it 
 true that the blazing sun pursues his never-ending course 
 around the heavens in obedience to the same divine com- 
 mand ? That the ocean's billows rise and fall, are lashed 
 into fury or hushed into rest by the same Divine Being who, 
 more than 1 800 years ago, said to Galilee's waves " Peace be 
 still?" I answer, assuredly so ; and as long as time exists 
 the silvery moon, the twinkling stars, the blazing sun, and 
 the foaming billow will remain as mute but powerful wit- 
 nesses to the fact that "Truth is stranger than fiction." 
 
 'January lot/i, 1862. 
 
 "THE BEST OF MEN ARE BUT MEN AT 
 THE BEST." 
 
 This is a very common saying, but although so common it 
 is nevertheless true. All men have their failings — the ardent 
 impetuous Luther; the bold, courageous Knox; the timid, 
 shrinking Cranmer ; the meek, gentle Mclancthon ; all, though 
 doubtless to be ranked amongst the greatest men that ever 
 lived, were yet but " men at the best." Let us take examples 
 from some of these : — In the early morning of the summer 
 
REMAINS. 23 
 
 of 1 517, when hardly any one is yet stirring in the old town 
 of Wittenberg, sec a monk of dauntless mien and flashing 
 eve walk up to the market-place, and, after having affixed a 
 printed paper on to the most conspicuous part of the 
 building, retrace his steps again to his humble cell. Need it 
 be said that monk was Luther, and the paper a copy of his 
 famous " Theses," which soon spread over the length and 
 breadth of the land, and became, under God's blessing, in- 
 strumental in paving the way for the downfall of Popery. 
 All honour to the brave man who, amidst the fiercest perse- 
 cution from the most implacable of enemies, had still the 
 courage to propagate opinions which he conscientiously 
 believed to be right. Then again the scene changes, and 
 certainly not for Luther's advantage. In the same tower 
 there is a blazing fire lit in one of the principal squares, and 
 in the presence of a multitude of students and people, Luther 
 walks up to it and casts in a copy of the Pope's bull, amidst 
 the loud acclamations of the assembly. Then we see a 
 prelate of mild and venerable appearance, in the presence of 
 a number of other Bishops, by whom he is evidently looked 
 up to, revising and composing that Litany which was after- 
 wards destined to be, next to the Bible, the chief support of 
 the Church of England. But let us see that same prelate a few 
 years later, when his popularity, under the fiery persecution of 
 the bloody Mary, was fast ebbing away — when threatened by 
 death unless he should renounce those opinions he had laboured 
 so earnestly to propagate— urged by those w 7 ho called them- 
 selves his friends, see him in an unguarded moment sign a 
 paper by which he declared he would retract those doctrines 
 of which he was formerly such a warm supporter. But to 
 his honor be it said, he atoned soon after for this deed of 
 weakness with his life. 
 
24 REMAINS. 
 
 Even to come down to our own days and take as an 
 > example the illustrious Prince who has lately gone to his 
 rest, "Albert the Great, the Good," ever foremost in all 
 philanthropic designs — whose ear was never closed to the 
 appeals of the oppressed — a tender, loving husband, a fond, 
 judicious father, and who will not exclaim, " O, he was one 
 of the best of men." Granted ; none will attempt to dis- 
 \ pute it, such was undoubtedly the case, but still there are 
 few even amongst those who most strenuously uphold his 
 memory, who will not also acknowledge he was but man at 
 the best. But now that the cold grave hides from our sight 
 the form we loved so well, now that the voice, once the 
 delight of the widowed mother and her fatherless children, is 
 hushed and silent in death, oh let us not seek to unveil his 
 faults ; let us rather look on the bright side of the picture 
 and say with the poet — 
 
 " Oh, be his failings covered by his tomb, 
 And twining laurels o'er his ashes bloom.'" 
 October 20th, 1 862. 
 
 SNOW-FALL. 
 
 Silently and softly it falls from the overcharged clouds, 
 clothing hill and dale, mountain and valley, the lordly oak 
 and the lowly heather with its feathery mantle, making our 
 beautiful world look still more beautiful, and throwing out 
 into bold relief the scarlet berries of the holly as they gleam 
 brightly forth from amidst the fairy-like covering with which 
 the dark green leaves are draped, heralding the approach of 
 " Old Father Christmas," and picturing to our imaginations 
 bright visions of the joyous scenes and cheerful greetings of 
 that festive season. 
 
 November 22, I 862. 
 
REMAINS. 2) 
 
 THE STORY OF AN IVORY BROOCH. 
 
 It is true I am only a piece of ivory, and, as such, I cannot 
 be expected to have a very romantic tale to relate, yet I 
 have travelled over hundreds and thousands of miles and 
 seen very many different countries ; so I think, as I have 
 been so much in the world, my story is on the whole entitled 
 to some consideration. I first saw the light in the forests of 
 Asia, where my possessor (a huge elephant) wandered all day 
 in unrestrained freedom amidst the tangled thickets of his 
 native wilds, feeding on the tender branches of the trees and 
 young shoots of grass, and quenching his thirst at some 
 limpid stream. This state of things continued for some time, 
 during which period I became larger and thicker, and I sus- 
 pect my fine appearance attracted the notice of some elephant- 
 hunters, who seemed resolved to possess me. After many 
 attempts they succeeded in doing so. Never shall I forget 
 that day. My owner was quietly reposing after the fatigues 
 of a long march he had taken in company with some other 
 elephants, when all at once he was alarmed by a succession 
 of unearthly sounds, which I afterwards found proceeded 
 from a number of drums which some hunters were beating, 
 seemingly in the last stage of desperation. 
 
 Hastily starting off to what he took to be the only outlet 
 (as there were fires in every other direction), my frightened 
 owner got entangled in a perfect maze of labyrinths, from 
 which all his ingenuity could not extricate him, and, after 
 being kept without food some three or four days, he was 
 quickly despatched, as, being rather aged, he was considered 
 unfit for further use. I was taken off with much difficulty, 
 for being very much attached to my poor master, I naturally 
 resisted leaving him as long and as strongly as possible ; but at 
 
26 REMAINS. 
 
 length I was carefully packed up in a case with a number of 
 my former companions, whose masters had shared the same 
 fate as mine, and, after much journeying, I was at length 
 permitted to see the light once more at a Swiss chalet on the 
 banks of the lovely Lake of Geneva. 
 
 Never shall I forget the transcendant beauty of the scene 
 thus unexpectedly opened before me. The windows of the 
 chalet looked out on that beautiful lake so often and so justly 
 celebrated by travellers and poets, which was then tinged 
 with the bright golden and crimson rays of the setting sun, 
 and the ripple of each wave as it gently broke on the 
 beach was the only sound which disturbed the perfect still- 
 ness that reigned around. Then behind the chalet towered 
 the lofty summits of the snow-capped mountains in all their 
 majestic beauty, whose peaks, as they seemed to pierce the 
 very clouds, also partook of the brilliant coloring of the lake. 
 Then as the sun sank to rest, the gorgeous tints gradually 
 gave place to the more sombre hues of night, and soon all 
 was enveloped in darkness. 
 
 Then I bethought myself of examining my new abode, 
 and for the first time I perceived a female figure reclining on 
 a lowly pallet in the corner, whilst one who seemed to be 
 her brother was preparing a cooling draught for his invalid 
 sister. 
 
 " Thanks for all your care, dear Fritz," said she, as he 
 took it to her bed-side, " sometimes I feel I shall not need 
 it long." 
 
 " Oh do not say that, my own one," replied her brother, 
 as he fondly stroked her cheek, " only wait till the bright, 
 happy spring time comes, and then you'll soon be all right 
 again." 
 
27 
 
 Bertha smiled sadly but did not reply, and all was again 
 silent. Presently Fritz arose and, after having examined me, 
 said, " See, Bertha, what a lovely piece of ivory ! I'm sure I 
 can carve something beautiful out of that, only I must go 
 out to-morrow and hunt the chamois, so that I may take it 
 for a model. Do you think you are well enough to be left 
 alone ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, Fritz, do not fear for me, I shall not mind ; but 
 do not venture too near the precipices, and then I shall not 
 be uneasy about you.'* 
 
 " That's a good Bertha ; now mind you keep your promise 
 and I shall keep mine ; that's a good bargain, isn't it?" 
 
 " Remarkably so," replied Bertha, smiling, " and now I 
 think you had better follow up your good beginning by retir- 
 ing early to rest, as you will have a fatiguing day to-morrow." 
 
 " Well said, Bertha ; you are really becoming a model of 
 wisdom. Go on in that line and you'll soon equal Minerva 
 herself," said Fritz laughingly, as he fondly kissed her. 
 "Good night dearest; mind nightmares of brothers falling 
 headlong over precipices don't figure prominently in your 
 dreams, else the upshot of the matter will be I shall have to 
 stay at home all to-morrow, and that won't be over agreeable, 
 as I have no work to do, and I can't possibly carve without 
 models. I'm convinced if I can only watch the chamois 
 bounding over the precipices and catch their attitudes, I shall 
 contrive quite a respectable brooch out of this superb piece 
 of ivory. But if I chatter here in this strain you'll never go 
 to sleep, nor I either, that's clear, so I'll take my departure. 
 Good night again, dearest," and he took up his candle and 
 left the apartment. 
 
 On the following morning, ere yet the rays of the rising 
 
REMAINS. 
 
 sun had illumined the lofty peaks of the distant mountains 
 Fritz was up, and, having taken a supply of rye bread for his 
 sustenance during the day, he wished Bertha " good bye," 
 and set off on his expedition. 
 
 On he went through fields and valleys clothed in luxuriant 
 verdure, where some flocks of Alpine cattle were already 
 grazing up the steep sides of the mountain, till at last the 
 village looked like a mere speck in the distance, and he found 
 himself amidst the glittering glaciers and yawning abysses 
 over which the graceful chamois bounded in perfect safety. 
 
 At length the shades of evening clothed the mountain tops 
 with their glowing rays, and Fritz began to retrace his steps 
 towards the village, which he reached just as the sun was 
 setting. 
 
 " Well, Bertha, how have you got on all day," said he, as 
 he entered the apartment, " I hope you have not been uneasy, 
 for you see I kept my promise about the precipices ; did I ?" 
 
 " O yes ; I knew you would do that, but I was beginning 
 to think you must be very cold and hungry, for you have not 
 had much to eat all day." 
 
 " That proves I shall enjoy my supper all the more," said 
 Fritz ; " the more so, as I am quite satisfied with my day's 
 labour. I have watched the chamois all day, and I shall 
 begin to-morrow to carve something out of that piece of 
 ivory. I am quite sure I shall succeed." 
 
 " You certainly speak hopefully enough, Fritz, and as far 
 as I am concerned I wish you all success in your laudable 
 undertaking ; and now I must really get supper ready, for I 
 am not nearly as fatigued as usual this evening, and I may as 
 well get it ready as you ; don't you think so r" 
 
 " Well, I am not quite clear on that point, but I suppose 
 
REMAINS. 29 
 
 so. Mind do not tire yourself too much, else I shall have 
 to officiate as cook to-morrow, and you know I am not re- 
 markable for my success in that department." 
 
 While this conversation was going on Bertha had pre- 
 pared the frugal meal, and both sat down to enjoy it. As 
 soon as the repast was finished, and whilst Bertha busied her- 
 self in putting away the things, Fritz seated himself by the 
 fire, and after having examined me attentively for some time 
 he at length began operations on my surface, much to my 
 discomfiture, as the process of polishing is not very agreeable. 
 Time wore on, and each day Bertha grew weaker and weaker, 
 till at length she was unable to leave her bed. More de- 
 votedly than ever did Fritz now attend to the slightest wish 
 of his dying sister ; day by day he sat by her side and talked 
 to her whilst proceeding with his carving. Soon she became 
 too weak even for the sound of his voice, and it was evident 
 her end was drawing nigh. It was a beautiful summer's 
 evening, Bertha had been reposing quietly all day, and had 
 felt freer from pain than usual. Fritz was sitting by her 
 bedside when all at once she raised herself up and said, 
 " Fritz, I want you to bring me nearer the window, I should 
 like to see the lake and the mountains for the last time." 
 Tenderly he raised her in his arms and bore her to a couch 
 near the door. The lake looked just as it did the night of 
 my arrival, only I thought all nature seemed more hushed 
 and still than ever. For a time neither spoke, at length 
 Bertha said, " Fritz, you must not mourn me when I am 
 gone. I know you will be very lonely for a time, but then 
 you know we shall meet again, where there will be no more 
 pain or sorrow or parting. Bury me where our parents lie 
 in the lovely church-yard, and then when you look at my 
 
3o 
 
 grave you will know I have gone to join them, and will try 
 to meet me there too ; won't you, Fritz ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, dearest, indeed I will ; but, Bertha, I don't know 
 what I shall do without you. I shall be so lonely when I 
 come home and there is no one to welcome me," and his 
 tears flowed fast. 
 
 " But, Fritz, you would not wish me back again, only to 
 suffer pain and sickness. You know I am only going home 
 first, and you'll soon follow me. Read the 14th chapter of 
 St. John, dearest," and Fritz read, " Let not your heart be 
 troubled, in my Father's house are many mansions, if it were 
 not so I would have told you I go to prepare a place for you." 
 The sacred words soothed the aching heart of her brother, 
 and fell as balm on the ear of the dying girl. 
 
 " Thank you, dearest," she said after a pause, " I'm getting 
 weaker ; I shall soon be at home now." She sank exhausted 
 on her pillow. 
 
 Fritz bent over her and softly whispered, " For I am per- 
 suaded that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principali- 
 ties, nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, shall 
 be able to separate us from the love of God which is in 
 Christ Jesus our Lord." And then, seeing she heard him, he 
 repeated, " Yea, though I walk through the valley of the 
 shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me, 
 Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." 
 
 " He paused, unwilling to say more, fearful lest she should 
 pass away without his knowledge he bent tenderly over her ; 
 she opened her eyes, looked at him earnestly and said, while 
 light as if from heaven lit up her worn features, " I am 
 nearly home ; sing " Rock of Ages," — then she closed her 
 eyes and her happy spirit passed away as he sang — 
 
REMAINS. 3 I i 
 
 " While I draw this fleeting breath, 
 When mine eyelids close in death. 
 When I soar to worlds unknown, 
 See thee on thy judgment throne ; 
 Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in thee." 
 
 A few days after Bertha's happy death I was again packed 
 up carefully in a box, with several other brooches Fritz had 
 finished during her illness. It was so mournful now since 
 her death I really did not wish to stay longer, and as for poor 
 Fritz my very heart ached when I looked at him, he seemed 
 so utterly alone, and almost without spirit or inclination for 
 even the slightest exertion. It was a bright autumn day 
 when I was put on board a steamer and sailed down the 
 lovely lake endeared to me by so many pleasing recollections. 
 After travelling some days and undergoing a vast amount of 
 shaking and jolting, I was at length unpacked in a jeweller's 
 shop in London. Being most beautifully carved I attracted a 
 good deal of attention, and also, I confess, underwent a con- 
 siderable amount of handling of not the gentlest description. 
 I was placed in the window, where, in spite of my beauty, 
 I remained for so long that my pin was beginning to get 
 quite rusty from idleness, and I was longing to be sold to 
 some one, for I was quite sure anything would be better than 
 the useless life I now led. One day, whilst musing on my 
 present condition and contrasting it with my sojourn in 
 Switzerland, I was aroused by feeling myself roughly handled 
 and pulled about to see if my pin was firmly put in, and 
 finally I was put in a small box which sunk like lead into the 
 bottom of a coat pocket of the most capacious dimensions, 
 from which I was finally drawn after the lapse of three or 
 four days. During this time I think I must have been 
 
3 2 
 
 travelling again, as, when I was next brought to light I found 
 myself in the comfortable parlour of a beautiful mansion 
 at the Trossachs, where I soon found out that my new 
 owner, a young lady of nineteen, the pride of her father's 
 heart, for she had lost her mother at an early age, soon be- 
 came much attached to me, and I to her, and I accompanied 
 her wherever she went. I used to go with her when she 
 mounted her rough Highland pony, when, taking the Bible 
 in her pocket, she set off to read to some aged woman the 
 words of truth and life. Often have I seen her cheer, by 
 her angel presence, the bedside of some departing soul, whom 
 she would soothe by her tender care and attention, and to 
 whom she would devoutly read portions of those Scriptures 
 which had become so precious to her ; and then would she 
 watch by the bedside of the humble peasant till the day 
 broke and the shadows of earth for ever fled away, then turn 
 her horse's head to ride home to her father's lordly mansion. 
 Day by day passed happily away in efforts to benefit her 
 countrymen, till at length her overworked frame could stand 
 out no longer, and she too lay down to die. Calmly and 
 peacefully she passed away from earth, like a parting sunbeam 
 shedding glory all around. No terrors marked her deathbed, 
 and joyfully she yielded up her spirit into the hands of him 
 that gave it, and departed to be forever with the Lord. 
 
 And now my short tale is ended. For myself I begin to 
 think my career of usefulness is over. I am no more per- 
 mitted to go about doing good, but am kept by the fond 
 father as a precious relic of his departed child. And daily 
 I bring before his mind her bright image and happy death, 
 so in this way I hope I may still be permitted to be of some 
 use. 
 
REMAINS. 33 
 
 SERMON, 
 
 Preached by the Rev. E. Neville Rolfe, in Christ Church, 
 Cannes, Sunday afternoon, the 30th October, 1864. 
 
 " But if our Gospel is hid, it is hid to them that are lost." — 2 Cor. iv. 3. 
 
 There is something very sad as well as very solemn in these 
 words of St. Paul. It must have sent a feeling of sorrow 
 into his heart, to think that his Gospel was hid. For it had 
 been the whole object and business of his life to make that 
 Gospel plain — to declare it to all men — to proclaim it at all 
 times and in all places. And this was the gospel, the good 
 news which he was commissioned to declare — that God 
 was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not imput- 
 ing their trespasses unto them. 
 
 And to him in an especial manner had been committed 
 this word of reconciliation. He was sent, not of man, 
 neither by man. He had not conferred with flesh and blood. 
 Directly instructed by God, immediately sent forth by the 
 Lord Jesus, fully inspired by the Holy Spirit forth went 
 that noble herald to proclaim the means by which lost 
 sinners might be raised from death to life. Truly in this 
 work he counted not his life dear unto him. He knew well 
 that good though his news might be — glorious as the Gospel 
 of God might appear to those who received it — yet, that 
 there were indeed no light difficulties in the way, and that, 
 as the Ambassador of Christ, he was to discharge no peace- 
 ful office, but was buckling on armour against no mean power, 
 no despicable adversaries. 
 
34 REMAINS. 
 
 He had first to address the Jew. To him he must say, 
 " those rites and ordinances on which you pride yourself are 
 now mere empty husks ; your nation is now no longer the 
 only highly favoured one. The kingdom of God is offered 
 to every creature under heaven." When he spoke to those 
 in authority, he had to upbraid them with the cruel and 
 unjust murder of the Holy One of God. He turned, in dis- 
 charging his commission to the Gentile to him he had to say, 
 " Every altar, though your ancestors have revered it, must be 
 thrown down. Every one of your gods is false and power- 
 less. Your religion may have the sanction of authority, of 
 magnificence, of power, but it must fall, every shred of it, 
 before the Cross of One executed as a malefactor at Jerusa- 
 lem. You must abolish your own, and receive a totally new 
 religion from a conquered race — a nation whom you have 
 been accustomed to hate and to despise." 
 
 Was it an easy task to preach the gospel of the once 
 despised Nazarite to such hearers as these ? And you and 
 I believe that, behind those open and visible enemies were 
 ranged powers invisible and terrible ; great in their hatred 
 of God, earnest and untiring in checking good, zealous in 
 promoting and fostering evil. " We contend," says this 
 ardent preacher of the gospel, " we wrestle not against flesh 
 and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against 
 the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual 
 wickedness (or as you will find the words rendered in 
 the margin of your Bible), wicked spirits in high places." 
 
 We look at the message of love and mercy sent to man- 
 kind by a gracious God. We wonder how it could possibly 
 be rejected. We look upon the messenger and we say, how 
 can such zeal, such love, such presence of the Spirit of God 
 
REMAINS. 35 
 
 be executed in vain ? We look upon those to whom it was 
 delivered, and we wonder how it should ever make its way. 
 It could not have made its way but by the power and the 
 hand of God. 
 
 And so Saint Paul looks upon his work and cannot hide 
 from himself the sad truth, that from many his Gospel was 
 hid ; that they heard it, but they heard it all only with the 
 outer ear, looked upon it idly with the outer eye ; that it was 
 bidden, they heeded it not — were none the better for hearing 
 it. They were lost, and the gospel itself could not save 
 them. 
 
 O good Lord ! and is it thus that Thy work shall fail ? 
 Shall a holy, zealous, self-denying apostle, breathing Thy 
 spirit, upheld by Thy powerful grace, shall he proclaim Thy 
 love, Thy willingness to save, and yet proclaim it in vain ? 
 Shall even his gospel be hidden ? Yes, so it even should be. 
 Great as is the power of sovereign grace, yet would not that 
 grace of God take man's heart by storm. Unbelief may yet 
 reject it, and the gospel of the grace of God yet be hidden 
 from those to whom it was sent. And if St. Paul failed, if 
 his gospel clearly placed before his hearers, spiritually set 
 forth in all its fulness and all its gracious power, nothing being 
 kept back, if even that was often hidden and often ineffectual, 
 how shall his poor successors now prevail to do that in which 
 he failed — prevail to bring themselves and their hearers to 
 receive it gladly and freely ? For we go not forth as he did, 
 fresh from the very teaching of Christ, with heavenly words 
 ringing on the heart, holy teaching springing from the lips. 
 We have not his zeal, his courage, his heavenly-mindedness, 
 his single eye ; if his bright name was hidden, how shall our 
 feeble spark shine upon the darkness ? My brethren, St. 
 
36 
 
 Paul's work, the Christian minister's work in every age, is 
 the work of God and not of man. If He made use only of 
 perfect instruments, it is but little work any of us would do 
 for Him. He can place His treasure in earthen vessels, and 
 He does so place it, that the excellency of the glory may 
 be His not man's. He can even by the foolishness of preach- 
 ing save them that believe. 
 
 And even the Lord Jesus Christ himself, the great preacher, 
 He who ordained apostles and instituted sacraments, and was 
 the great Corner-stone on which should be reared that 
 glorious temple, the Church of God, even he uttered the 
 same sad complaint, that He, even He, had laboured in vain ; 
 that He had spent His strength for naught and in vain. " Ye 
 will not come unto me that ye might have life" — He offered 
 it freely, but it was not accepted ; He came unto His own 
 and His own received Him not ; even His gospel was hidden 
 from the wise and prudent and was revealed only unto babes. 
 At this at least He would rejoice (He the Man of Sorrows). 
 He is only recorded once in Scripture as rejoicing, and what 
 was the cause ? that the Holy Spirit would breathe upon 
 little children, and that they who would seek God in sim- 
 plicity and truth should surely find him. My hearer, is the 
 gospel of God hidden from you? It is an easy thing to talk 
 about. Here at church from the first to the last you hear 
 about it — that God is one who willeth not the death of a 
 sinner ; that He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and 
 of great kindness, faithful and just to forgive us our sins; but 
 are you claiming and receiving this gospel of the grace of 
 God ? Is it your life that you have the Lord Jesus Christ 
 living within you ? 
 
 And what are the first principles upon which that gospel 
 
REMAINS. 37 
 
 stands ? Upon the statement that you are lost and ruined by 
 nature, having no power to do any good thing, that no reli- 
 gious feeling in an unrenewed heart is acceptable before God, 
 but that his Holy Spirit must first cleanse and purify before 
 there can be any possibility of life and fruit in the sight of God. 
 
 And I ask of you — Is this great and solemn truth as a 
 personal reality hidden from you ? Are you contented to 
 compare yourself with others, and to be satisfied with the 
 comparison. To think of yourself — " If I am not what I 
 ought to be, yet I am not so bad as such an one. Whatever 
 I am I do deserve credit for such and such good qualities, 
 and for the absence of such and such bad ones. Thank God 
 I am no thief, no adulterer, no murderer." Or has the Holy 
 Ghost taught you that your heart by nature, whatever it may 
 be in the sight of man, in the sight of His holy eyes is ut- 
 terly polluted, and can only be purified by His grace. Has 
 He taught you while you are striving earnestly to purify 
 your heart, and to live a sober, righteous, and godly life, 
 has He taught you that such a life (if you are able to attain 
 it) can possess no merit before Him, but that such improve- 
 ment is only the natural result of receiving Christ into your 
 heart — that it is His work, not yours ? 
 
 If you have learnt this from the heavenly Teacher, as a 
 practical, experimental truth, from you the gospel is not 
 hidden, it is manifested as the power, and goodness, and love 
 of God Almighty ; Christ the power of God and the wisdom 
 of God ; Christ in you the hope of glory. 
 
 But what if these things have no interest for you — if you 
 are wishing that the sermon had been on some more inte- 
 resting subject — if you are caring very little about your state 
 before God — if you have no experience of any change, 
 
38 REMAINS. 
 
 making it life for God, and not for the world or yourselves, 
 what must the ambassador of Christ say to you as His mes- 
 sage ? Why, that if the gospel be hid, it is hid to them that 
 are lost, in them whose hearts Satan has blinded and not the 
 Holy Ghost illuminated ; lost without God in the world, 
 without hope in the world to come ! And if this is really 
 true, and they are the words of the God of Truth, not of 
 my imagination, can you rest contented to allow matters to 
 go on thus ? Can you allow year after year of your short, 
 terribly short life to be passing away without your seeking to 
 catch at the salvation which God offers you through the Lord 
 Jesus Christ ; remaining a stranger to God, at a distance from 
 Him, contented to give your thoughts to things which last 
 only this side of your death, but which will then be as useless 
 to you as utterly nothing, as if they had never existed ? 
 
 I do not speak, God knows it ! as one who arrogates any 
 superior goodness — one who looks upon himself and a certain 
 number of his own friends as being safe, and all others in 
 danger of eternal damnation — but here we have before us 
 words which are true if God is true. The word " lost" is 
 His word, not mine. If our gospel be hid, it is hid to them 
 that are lost ! O surely, my beloved brethren, no w T ords 
 which man can say in explanation of this truth, can possibly 
 add one iota to its solemnity, or to its reality. I only pray 
 that the Holy Spirit may impress this truth deeply on my 
 heart and yours. 
 
 For if, day after day, you can read holy words, and they 
 transmit no feelings to the soul, if Sunday after Sunday you 
 can hear the Prayers, the Psalms, the Lessons, the Sermon, 
 and all these arc only outward words and outward impres- 
 sions, your heart being fixed on this world, not upon the 
 
REMAINS. 39 
 
 world to come — if you hold the name of Christian and have 
 not, nor seek to have the Spirit of Christ — if your prayers 
 morning and evening bear no relation to your daily life, then, 
 disguise the fact as you may, shut your eyes to it if you will, 
 still you are surely one of those spoken of in my text, men 
 from whom the gospel is hidden, though outwardly it is 
 placed before them, and of whom the Holy Book speaks as 
 " lost" Let the sceptic try to exalt the mercy of God, at 
 the expense of His justice, and deny the eternity of future 
 punishment. This might be a very comfortable doctrine 
 for those who take and persist in taking the wrong choice in 
 this world, if they would only believe it, but I defy them to 
 do so. If you live for this world, your master will do all 
 he can to keep you quiet, but his opiates are but poor sub- 
 stitutes for peace and quiet trust. The devil has no happi- 
 ness himself, and it is poor work to expect that he can make 
 you happy. 
 
 Is this addressed only to the openly and outwardly vicious ? 
 By no means, it is God's message to all, however respectable, 
 or amiable, or esteemed, who live without Him. The two 
 paths must lead to two very different ways. If you follow 
 the path of pleasing self it is a downhill road ; the path by 
 which God would lead you is that of His commandments. 
 Drawing up your heart to His love, making that your law 
 — leading you to believe and to trust in the unseen — and 
 while you walk through this world, to have your heart and 
 your hope in the world to come. It is no natural process. 
 He offers to give you grace and strength to conquer nature, 
 for our nature is a fallen thing. To overcome self, and 
 through this mortal life so to pass that finally you live with 
 Him in eternal happiness, such happiness as our hearts cannot 
 picture, our senses cannot at present enjoy. 
 
40 REMAINS. 
 
 " I need thee, precious Jesus ! for I am full of sin, 
 
 The soul is dark and gloomy, and the heart is dead within. 
 
 I need Thee, precious Jesus ! I need Thee day by day, 
 
 To fill me with Thy fullness, to wash my sins away. 
 
 I need Thy Holy Spirit to show me what I am, 
 
 To teach me more of Jesus, to point me to the Lamb." 
 
 Cannes, 1864. 
 
 SERMON, 
 
 Preached by the Rev. E. Neville Rolfe, Cannes, Sunday, 
 
 November 13th, 1864. 
 
 "Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth a 
 vessel for the finer.'" — Proverbs xxv. 4. 
 
 I The fact alluded to in my text is one that hardly requires 
 any explanation. The wise man speaks of the process by 
 which silver, found amongst much mixture of earth and baser 
 materials is purified and brought into the bright metal we so 
 
 I much prize and value. The ore, rough and coarse as it comes 
 from the mine, is subjected to great heat — it passes through 
 the furnace. In its progress all the earthy matter and dross 
 is burnt away. The pure silver is not destroyed, but, freed 
 from that which had cumbered it and hid its beauty, it issues 
 from the crucible pure, increased in value, bright and beauti- 
 ful ; no speck of the silver is lost, no taint of the dross 
 remains. The workman who purifies the silver is the 
 " refiner," or " finer" as he is called in my text, and of him, 
 
 \ says Solomon, " Take away the dross from the silver, and 
 there shall come forth a vessel for the finer." Under this 
 simile are several truths shadowed forth which the wise man 
 
REMAINS. 4I 
 
 doubtless meant to suggest by his proverb. May God's Holy 
 Spirit place these truths before our hearts, and thus lead us 
 to profit by the parallel. 
 
 The first idea is at once suggested by the furnace, in which 
 the operation we have spoken of is carried on. That furnace 
 is often employed in the Holy Scriptures as an emblem of 
 affliction and sorrow. If the finer is meant to suggest to us 
 One who would purify us from all evil — One who, in the 
 language of the Prophet Malachi, " Shall sit as a refiner and 
 purifier of silver " watching silently his work, watching its 
 progress, the way in which the dross works off from the pure 
 and valuable metal, we know the means He has to resort to 
 for the accomplishment of His good purpose. He will not 
 destroy His silver, He will only purify it ; so the fire is heated 
 and the crucible or furnace containing both the silver and the 
 dross is exposed to its influence. In other words, the child 
 of God is made to pass through sorrow and suffering, through 
 much tribulation, and with what object ? in order that he 
 may be fit for the company of his Holy Father and his Good 
 Redeemer, and the blessed angels. What workman would 
 make a silver cup out of the rough ore ? The ore is not fit 
 for its high destiny, and must be refined and purified. 
 
 My Christian brethren, if it pleases God to call us to sor- 
 row and suffering, here is surely comfort and encouragement 
 for us. It is necessary for us ; it is not accidental. There 
 is an object in view, and that object, to quote the words of 
 the beautiful prayer for the visitation of the sick, is " to correct 
 and amend in you whatsoever doth offend the eye of your 
 Heavenly Father ;" it is to fit you for the home which Christ 
 has prepared for you ; it is sent in love and tenderness, though 
 you may find it very hard to bear. But faint not under it ; 
 
42 REMAINS. 
 
 seek that the good work which it intends to effect may really 
 be accomplished ; that what is of earth may be purified away 
 and left behind, and that the silver may come out of the 
 furnace pure and bright, and fit for the Master's use. " No 
 chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous, 
 nevertheless afterwards it yieldeth the peaceful fruits of 
 righteousness to them that are exercised thereby ;" and this 
 so clearly that God's children see it and own it. They can 
 say and mean it, when they look back upon their afflictions 
 and see what those afflictions were intended to work, what 
 by God's grace they have worked, " It is good for me that I 
 have been afflicted." 
 
 But affliction and trouble are not always the means em- 
 ployed by the Great Refiner of sinful man. There are hearts 
 which He is able to draw to Him with love ; hearts which 
 during this life are, by His goodness, gradually drawn nearer 
 to God ; hearts with which the Holy Spirit has not to strive 
 in vain. But are such fit for heaven ? They themselves 
 would shrink from the thought. The nearer they live to 
 God, the clearer are their conceptions of the holiness required 
 of those who would dwell with Him. And them God 
 leaves yet upon earth, in order that by His grace they may 
 employ their lives here as a preparation for eternity. And 
 oh, my brethren, how happy are they who have learnt thus 
 to regard their lives in this world ! Who by faith see the 
 Great Refiner is at work upon them, purifying them, taking 
 away their dross, their love of earth, their love of self, their 
 pride, their ccnsoriousness ; who see their lives as devoted to 
 this purification, and who can see God's grace at work in 
 their hearts, and leading them by all the circumstances of 
 their daily lives, towards the great and all important end, 
 
REMAINS. 43 
 
 growing more charitable, more humble, more unselfish, more 
 ready to do the work of God. Oh ! there is such a thing as 
 happiness in this world after all, and here it is ! God give 
 it to you and to me. 
 
 My brethren, we have read to-day a collect, epistle, and 
 gospel taken out of the usual course. As in this year Easter 
 fell early, and Advent is almost an immoveable feast, we have 
 more than twenty-five Sundays after Trinity, and we supply 
 the deficiency by the use of one or more of those omitted 
 after the Epiphany. That Collect and Epistle both reminded 
 us that would we enjoy the happiness of making our lives 
 here a real preparation for the kingdom of God hereafter, we 
 are not to be, we cannot be merely passive in the world. It 
 is quite true, in one sense, that the work is the work of God. 
 It is equally true that we are to "purify ourselves even as His 
 is pure." St. John says that this must be done by every man 
 who hath in him this hope. That hope is, that a time shall 
 come when we shall be with Him, and see Him as He is. 
 And what does this induce ? That we now set diligently to 
 work, actively as well as passively, to purge away all that 
 dross which makes us unlike God and unfit for heaven. We 
 were created in the likeness of God, and He has graciously 
 provided for us all the means of our recovering that likeness. 
 It will not come to all by itself. Are you seeking to recover 
 it ? And that means, are you doing your best to root out all 
 that is in your heart and in your life contrary to the will of 
 God ? And are you doing your best to encourage and to 
 cultivate what is like God, and in accordance with His law ? 
 Are you rooting out pride, self-pleasing, luxury, uncleanness, 
 covetousness, judgment of your neighbours, idleness ? Are 
 you increasing in purity of thought and deed, in self-denial, 
 in charity, in humility, in heavenly-mindedness ? 
 
44 REMAINS. 
 
 My brethren, I wish to turn my sermon now in a direction 
 which I think may be practically useful to many of my 
 hearers, and it is a direction, moreover, in which my text 
 seems to lead us. " Take away the dross from the silver, 
 and there shall come forth a vessel for the finer." Now 
 what are the peculiar circumstances in which God's Provi- 
 dence has placed a large number of my hearers ? They are 
 by His leading hand taken away from their ordinary English 
 life, and (doubtless with a fixed purpose if they only knew 
 it), brought by Him into a place in which their usual habits, 
 usual duties, usual companions are changed. This is to be 
 possibly, their life for the next six months. Now what is 
 the peculiar temptation which must beset such circumstances? 
 Those of you who are thoughtful are at no loss for an an- 
 swer. The danger is that you will be tempted to lead, not 
 perhaps a frivolous life, but one that is desultory, idle, self- 
 pleasing, and luxurious. And which of us can be the better 
 for this ? Which of us must not be very much the worse ? 
 Cut off, it may be, from any apparent duties, with the ne- 
 cessity, it may be, of a certain carefulness of self, which may 
 become, unless anxiously watched, selfishness and luxury. 
 Surrounded by neighbours similarly circumstanced, exposed 
 to the same temptations, are you not in danger of forgetting 
 that your time is a talent for which God will exact an ac- 
 count ; that every hour of it must help to form the com- 
 plexion of your whole life, and make it as dedicated to God, 
 or spent in an objectless, desultory, though perhaps busy, 
 idleness ? As your appointed pastor, I would earnestly warn 
 you against this danger. I would have you believe that you 
 have duties here as positive as those you have left behind 
 you, and that you need not look far for them, if you really 
 
 wish to find them. 
 
REMAINS. 45 
 
 " Take away the dross from the silver." Set diligently and 
 earnestly to work, as a religious duty. Avoid the idle and 
 desultory life. Divide out your time in such a manner as to 
 make the most of it ; not by a rule which it will be impos- 
 sible to keep, but by one which you have a fair chance of 
 keeping. Remember that there is hardly any one branch of 
 knowledge which you may not turn to a good account. The 
 mastery of a language may be work done directly for God. 
 Anything that makes you study industriously, self-dependent, 
 must improve your whole character. You take away much 
 dross, if you only take away idleness. Beware of the forma- 
 tion of idle habits; they grow apace. Truly says the 
 farmer's proverb, " One year's seed — seven years weed." 
 
 The best moral training for any man or woman is steady 
 work with a good object. Many no longer in leading strings 
 envy those whose dudes are marked out for them, and who 
 are punished at once for any dereliction ! Happy the child 
 whose lessons are still set ; the servant, whose work must 
 betray itself if it be neglected. But with a large part of 
 mankind duty is imperative and yet optional. Many a day 
 which may go by before men cries out against our indolence, 
 and yet not a day passes without carrying in its account to 
 God and adding to our store of sins committed a heavy sur- 
 plus of omitted duties. Having said this much against an 
 idle and desultory life, I will now point out another part of 
 your duty. Very few of us are alone ; most of us are sur- 
 rounded by those to whom God has bound us by the ties of 
 nature and kindred. As His providence in a great degree 
 seems to cut off from you in this place, those benevolent 
 works which would lead you to the cottage or the school- 
 room, the sick and the suffering — as here you are separated 
 
46 
 
 by language and religion from the mass of those around you 
 — seek to discharge more earnestly and religiously those duties 
 which God has left to you. As a son or daughter, as a 
 brother or sister, as a husband or wife, see if there is not 
 room for a quiet exercise of love and kindness, in which you 
 may hitherto have failed ; at all events you cannot have over- 
 done it. Believe that your own family, those with whom 
 not chance but God's providence has placed you — must afford 
 you your real and proper sphere of love and duty. Let a 
 loving consideration for those around you mark your inter- 
 course with them. Be patient under those little trials which 
 must arise in the lot of every one, and which too often are 
 allowed to upset the temper. Let your words be gentle, 
 unselfish, inspired by love ; and if you remove dross only in 
 this particular, the winter before you will not be wasted 
 time. Remember that the cause of God is more promoted 
 in this world by unselfish conduct, by loving intercourse, by 
 humble and dutiful behaviour, than it is by services and ser- 
 mons. I have spoken of two matters which, after all, are 
 still but outward matters. They are very important, and I 
 am sure that your happiness and usefulness will be promoted 
 by your attention to them. But there is a much more im- 
 portant matter, and that is — Will you seek to improve in 
 these respects merely for the sake of the good opinion of 
 those around you, or for the pleasure of improvement, or out 
 of love to God and as fruits of your religion ? The object 
 in getting rid of our dross ought to be, that we may be fit 
 for Him who gives us the strength to improve. It is this 
 that gives our efforts at self-improvement any real value. If 
 we can only realize the great truth that God's love has re- 
 deemed us from sin and death and brought us to Himself, and 
 
REMAINS. 47 
 
 that He is seeking to restore in us that lost image of Himself 
 in which we were first created, and that He bids us to be 
 fellow helpers with Him for our own benefit and happiness ; 
 if we can only realize and believe this, then we shall set 
 about our work with a better heart and hold to it all the 
 more earnestly ; and, believe me, that every little thing con- 
 nected with it is a part of the great whole, and of much 
 grander importance than it appears at first sight. And we 
 ourselves, shall we be tried in the great fire ? and which shall 
 we prove, silver or dross ? That must depend upon our 
 lives here — while by God's goodness we still remain mem- 
 bers of His visible Church — and hereafter that Church shall 
 be submitted to a searching test, and all that is not pure and 
 real thall be destroyed in the fire. And out of that fire shall 
 emerge the heavenly, ransomed Church of God, redeemed 
 by the blood of Christ, sanctified by the Holy Ghost, purged 
 from all evil, and sin, and dross — a vessel for the finer. Ah, 
 my brethren, which shall you and I appear on that day ; 
 where will be our place — with the dross or with the silver ? 
 Once more — our position then must depend upon our lives 
 now. Men die as they have lived ? If you have the hope 
 of eternal life, you will not fail to do your best to purify 
 yourself even as He is pure. 
 
 Extract from a Sermon on " Conversion? by the Rev. E. F. 
 N. Rolfe, Sunday, January 2gtb, 1865. 
 
 The Gospel says to us — " You are the purchased possession 
 of God ; you belong to Him. You are His child ; do not 
 live as a disobedient and rebellious child ; come to Him 
 with confidence as you are, and He will receive you and 
 
4 8 
 
 make you fit." The words of my text are simple — " Let 
 him return to the Lord." The promise is ample — " He will 
 have mercy upon him, He will abundantly pardon." Close 
 with this offer, not once only, but day after day, all your 
 life long. Seek without delay to live as the child of God in 
 His strength. Set your face courageously against your sins ; 
 seek not only to deny the outward act, but to root out the 
 evil desire. Do this daily in your character as a chiid of 
 God, in earnest prayer seeking daily help from your heavenly 
 Father. Let the question in your mind be, not so much 
 " Am I converted ?" but rather, " Am I being converted ?" 
 Is there a continuous work and growth going on within me ? 
 Do not look for and wait for a sensible change, which God 
 may not see fit to send to you ; but work on with what He 
 has already given you ; believe that He has given you light 
 enough and help enough for your present step, and that when 
 you have taken that, you shall have a fresh supply for the 
 next. 
 
 SERMON, 
 
 Preached in Christ Church, Cannes, Sunday afternoon, nth 
 March, 1865, by the Rev. E. F. Neville Rolfe. 
 
 " Whereas I was blind, now I see." — St. John ix., 25. 
 
 Possibly some of my hearers will connect the words of my 
 text with the story of a blind child over whose grave were 
 inscribed its touching and appropriate words, as though they 
 were put into the lips of her glorified body, "Whereas I zvas 
 blind, now I see." In this world the gift of sight had been 
 withheld. She had never looked upon the glories of God's 
 creation ; all those bright and beautiful things which form so 
 
REMAINS. 49 
 
 large a portion of a child's delight. From her had been 
 withheld the golden sunlight — the living picture of the earth 
 of God — His trees, His birds, His flowers. But a change 
 had taken place, the great change which we call death, and 
 the eyes, useless in this world, opened now upon brighter 
 sights, more satisfying and more enduring beauties, in the 
 world where God dwells and where Jesus reigns, and is all 
 in all to his happy children. 
 
 From the account of which my text is taken, the miracle 
 has a peculiar interest, as being related by St. John. He 
 seems always to go much deeper into detail than the other 
 evangelists. Here he not only records the miracle, but he 
 tells us what our Lord said and did before it and after it ; 
 shows us the feelings of the man who received the mercy, 
 the view the disciples took of him and of his case, what the 
 Pharisees thought and said ; in short, he devotes a whole 
 chapter to an incident which, in all probability, the writers 
 of the other Gospels would have compressed into a few verses. 
 
 We read that our Lord passing by from the temple (in 
 great personal danger as we learn from the end of the chapter 
 before), saw this blind man who very likely was brought there 
 dailv to ask alms of those who went in or out at the hours of 
 
 The disciples took it for granted that his misfortune was 
 the punishment of sin. They ask whether the sin thus 
 punished had been committed by the man himself or by his 
 parents ? You must remember that the Jews held the 
 doctrine that a soul passed from one body to another, and that 
 a man might therefore suffer in consequence of a sin com- 
 mitted by his soul, that is by himself 'when in a former body. 
 Thus they accounted for his being born blind. 
 
5° 
 
 REMAINS. 
 
 Our Lord gave a very different reason. He tells us that 
 the man was born blind, not as a punishment, but in order 
 that God's works — His goodness and mercy — that God's glory 
 should be shown forth in him. 
 
 Was not this a hard case ? That a man should lose so 
 much for such a reason ? 
 
 Who shall answer against God? Hath not the potter 
 power over the clay ? And who can call anything hard in 
 this world, who believes that this world is only a place of 
 our trial, who believes in the reality of that world to come, 
 who believes in the power of God to compensate through all 
 eternity the sufferings through which He sees fit to call His 
 people here ? Ay, and it may be no small comfort to those 
 who in this life are called to suffer; that their suffering 
 whatever it may be is no chance, no accident, not necessarily 
 even a punishment, but intended to work the glory of God ; 
 and that they may promote and further that glory, by bearing 
 it meekly, without a murmur, looking upon it as necessary 
 for their spiritual discipline. 
 
 Our Saviour would teach his disciples that a heavy trial, a 
 deep sorrow, a great affliction, may have a very different 
 aspect from that which it presents to the world, and to 
 worldly hearts. They may commiserate the burdened man, 
 and say that he has nothing worth living for. Christ says of 
 him, " This trouble is ordered for him, so that the works of 
 God should be made manifest in him." 
 
 We have not time to follow the miracle and the number- 
 less thoughts which it suggests, step by step. We will pass 
 on at once to the happy and thankful acknowledgment of him 
 who received the gift, long withheld, and now, consequently, 
 all the more highly valued — " Whereas I was blind, now I see." 
 
REMAINS. 5 
 
 This at least lie knew, and was thoroughly assured of. 
 There was no mistake about this. Others might speak hardly 
 and speak uncharitably about his benefactor, but he could 
 only testify to the benefit ; long had he sat in darkness, but 
 now (and God be praised!) he could see! he could look 
 upon things hitherto only described to his ear, or felt by his 
 hand. The sunlight, the landscape, the brightness of the 
 flowers, the freshness of the trees were now realities, and he 
 knew it ; and it was a voice of thankfulness and of joy with 
 which he cried — " Whereas I was blind, now I see ! " 
 
 My brethren, our Saviour himself, on this very occasion, 
 in this very chapter, seems to point to this man, exulting in 
 his newly given blessing, and to warn the Pharisees that there 
 is such a thing as blindness of the heart — a blindness which 
 he had come to cure ; which he could cure, as easily and as 
 th8roughly as he had cured this poor man. A blindness 
 which had fallen upon them, though they fancied they had 
 light and sight above all others — and asked scoffingly, " Are 
 we blind also?" 
 
 O, that the Holy Spirit of the true and loving God, may 
 force that question into the inmost soul of you and of me ! 
 We have around us the light of Holy Scripture, the light of 
 the Gospel, the light of the Lord Jesus Christ ; glory radiating 
 from His blessed Cross, from His Holy Church, from His 
 opened Heaven — " And are we blind to these things ?" or 
 can we cry thankfully, " O, Lord ! who searches t the heart 
 and knowest all things, Thou knowest that ' whereas I was 
 blind, now I see.' " 
 
 And is there no difference or only a little difference between 
 these two states ? Is it a little thing we now speak of? A 
 change which it matters little whether or not we know it? 
 
5* 
 
 We dare not think of it as a little thing — as a trijiing change, 
 when Christ Himself, our Lord, speaks of it as light and 
 darkness, blindness and sight ! 
 
 But my text speaks not of the Pharisees, but rather of Him 
 whom in their self-righteous spirit they despised and excom- 
 municated. What would be the parallel to His case? What 
 would be meant by one of us who could say, and say with 
 truth, " Whereas I was blind, now I see ! " Why it would 
 mean that God's Holy Spirit had breathed upon that heart, 
 and enabled it to see that which before was indeed, but was 
 hidden from it. 
 
 " Now I see ! " I see God's Holy Law. Hitherto I listened 
 to the ten commandments and I said to myself, self-righteously, 
 "All these have I kept from my youth up." But now I see the 
 breadth and extent of that holy and extreme law, a law de- 
 manding perfect obedience, not only in deed, but in word, alid 
 in thought. Now I see what it is that God requires of me. 
 I thought it enough to bow my knees in His house on the 
 Lord's day, and to give Him a few hurried minutes which 
 I called my prayers. I now see that he demands my heart, 
 my affections, that I shall serve Him with all my might, my 
 soul, my strength, that my life should be His, not given to 
 myself and the world. 
 
 I see this, and I see how far I have already fallen short of 
 this, that my life has been to myself, not to Him ; that I 
 have only given Him an outward service, and not always 
 that, that my prayers have been a form, that I have never 
 known communion with God, that my heart has been full of 
 sin, not of love to Him. I see the black stains upon my life. 
 I often think harshly of my neighbour, while I know in my 
 own story, that which I only suspect in his. I see myself, as 
 
REMAINS. 53 
 
 God only can give me the sight, and woe is me ! What 
 Lenten confession can depict it all ; what words can describe 
 the sinful sight? But there is more. Yes, God be praised, 
 there is more, " Whereas I was blind, now I see." I see the 
 Lord Jesus on the Cross, making a full atonement for all those 
 sins, wiping them out of the Book of God. Oh ! what is the 
 Passion Week to me now. Is it a mere formal observance ? 
 Jesus, my Saviour in the Garden of Gethsemane, in the 
 Judgment-hall, on the cross, in the grave. Is it a mere earthly 
 history ? Once it might have been, but " whereas I was 
 blind, now I sec," and I fall upon my knees, and I recognize 
 on that Cross the Lord of Life, the Saviour of sinners, and the 
 beautiful words of our matchless Litany arise spontaneously to 
 to my lips, as I cry — " By Thine agony and bloody sweat, 
 by Thy cross and passion, by Thy precious death and burial, 
 G9od Lord, deliver me." And I see Him. That He does 
 deliver me I see, I know, I feel His great and undeserved love 
 towards me — a love which sought me out, and pardoned my 
 sin, and arrayed me with the robe of His righteousness, and 
 poured upon me His Holy Spirit, and gave me an inner life, 
 so that I may live as a part of Him, and realize the full 
 meaning of my Christian baptism. I see the same choice 
 daily before me ; on the one side the Father, the Son, and 
 the Holy Spirit ; on the other the world, the flesh, 
 and the Devil. I see the power given me to hold fellowship 
 with the one, to renounce and reject the other ; and I kneel 
 in Holy Christian Communion at the Holy Table. I was 
 blind, now I see. It is not bread, it is not wine, it is the 
 very flesh and blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, present to 
 dwell within me, to teach me to overcome the world, to 
 enable me to live to Him. 
 
54 
 
 And in that daily life also my eyes are opened. I see it 
 all as ordered for my discipline, and intended for my 
 heavenly life. I can rise to a principle, that principle being 
 to do at once, as the opportunity occurs, what my God 
 would have me do. The time was when I rebelled and 
 murmured at what I had to go through. I was discontented 
 w T ith my lot, I fretted under my burden, but now I see what 
 that lot means, why that burden is laid upon me. 
 
 Oh, my brethren, would to God that I were now describ- 
 ing not what you and I might be, but what we were, that 
 our eyes were thus fully opened ; that we did thus see and 
 never lose sight of the real meaning of our lives here. That 
 we sought and found grace in God's ordinances — grace which 
 applied a Saviour's work to our soul's necessities, and prepared 
 us, day by day, to leave this world for a better. For then, 
 in that other world, should our eyes really be opened. NoV, 
 what at best we see is through a glass darkly, but then it shall 
 be face to face ; then all obscurities, all difficulties shall be 
 cleared, and what here perplexes us shall vanish like a mist 
 before the august sun, and the throne of God and the pre- 
 sence of the Saviour shall be open before us. But what, my 
 brethren, if we are wilfully closing our eyes as we walk 
 through this life? What, if we are refusing to set them upon 
 the world to come, upon our death, our resurrection, our 
 judgment ? What, if we are refusing to look upon the law of 
 God, upon our sins and shortcomings, upon the Saviour on 
 the Cross ? What, if we are allowing and mean to allow 
 year after year of our lives here to pass and leave no impres- 
 sion upon a callous heart — a heart given to the world. Surely 
 this is the road that leads to death. It is the road which 
 Pharaoh took, it is the road which our hearts naturally would 
 
REMAINS. 55 
 
 follow, but it is none the safer for that. We need not walk 
 upon it, we need not close our eyes, we need not harden our 
 hearts, for all day long doth our Saviour call us — a Saviour 
 who would not that we or any should perish — and thus He 
 calls us with sweet and urging voice, " Come unto me all that 
 labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest, an easy 
 yoke, a light burden, a seeing eye, and a loving and believing 
 heart I offer you, and I will give you !" 
 
 SERMON, 
 
 Preached in Christ Church, Cannes, by the Rev. Edward 
 Fawcett Neville Rolfe, January 29th, 1865. 
 
 " And He took him aside from the multitude." — St. Mark vii. 33. 
 After the death of St. John the Baptist, our Lord seems to 
 have wrought His miracles much less publicly than He had 
 done before. From that time He seems to avoid notice — to 
 retire frequently into the wilderness — and when He performed 
 a work of mercy likely to attract attention, we find that He 
 charges the person who received the benefit not to speak of 
 it publicly. St. John gives us the clue to this. We learn 
 from him that the people, highly indignant at the murder of 
 one whom they justly regarded as a great prophet, were ready 
 to take Jesus by force and make Him a King. They had 
 seen His power, they had partaken of the bread miraculously 
 increased on the shores of the Sea of Galilee ; they were 
 always ready for revolt, and here seemed before them the 
 very opportunity of throwing off the Roman dominion which 
 they hated, and setting up a king of their own — a king of 
 tested and acknowledged power — at all events, one who 
 could feed them. 
 
56 
 
 But this was not the kingdom which our Lord had come 
 to establish. Power such as this He rejected and declined, 
 and therefore it was that He withdrew himself into the wil- 
 derness. Therefore it was, that when He did work a miracle 
 He wrought it quietly and so as to avoid remark ; and here, 
 when in Decapolis, they brought to Him a man deaf and 
 having an impediment in his speech, He took him aside from 
 the multitude before He exerted the power which marked 
 Him to be the Son of God, the King of Israel. This I con- 
 sider to have been the reason, the main reason, why our Lord 
 took this man aside from the multitude. But in addition to 
 this I think we may fairly suppose that there might have 
 been some consideration to the afflicted man himself; when 
 the Lord took him aside from the multitude He was going to 
 confer on that man a gift — a gift which had hitherto been 
 withheld from him — a gift which you and I have always 
 possessed and often abused — the power of holding communi- 
 cation with his fellow-man. And might not He who formed 
 the ear and gave to man's tongue the faculty of speech, might 
 not He well have taken this man aside from the multitude in 
 order that, apart from all distraction and confusion, He might 
 receive gifts which are powerful for evil or for good, that 
 this man, who had never as a child heard his mother's voice, 
 or gladdened her heart with one articulate sound, should be 
 alone with Christ when he received the blessing which he 
 sought, and that the blessing would, from the very circum- 
 stances of solemnity with which it was conferred, seem to 
 demand more forcibly his gratitude and his service ? I can 
 hardly suppose that this result of taking the man aside could 
 be hidden from the mind of Him who saw all things, and it 
 is this view of our Lord's action which, my Christian breth- 
 ren, I would press upon you and upon myself, as represent- 
 
REMAINS. 57 
 
 ing, possibly in more senses than one, the dealings of our 
 Saviour with us when He would confer blessings upon our 
 souls. Can we not then call to mind occasions and events in 
 our spiritual history which we may look upon as parallel to 
 our Lord's taking this man "aside" — apart from the multi- 
 tude when he was about to show mercy upon him. 
 
 " Aside from the multitude" — Will not this expression re- 
 call to the minds of some a time when it seemed good to God 
 to withdraw us from our labours and place us upon a bed of 
 sickness within those four walls, where morning, noon, and 
 night slipped noiselessly away, marked by hardly any external 
 change, save from daylight to candlelight, from candlelight to 
 dawn ? Aye, that silent chamber, those dreamily-watched 
 curtains, the hushed presence of those who looked upon us 
 hour after hour, and wondered whether we should sink or 
 rise, we may give that scene another name and call it not a 
 sick bed, but the Lord Jesus taking us " aside from the multi- 
 tude? 
 
 Ah, my brethren, there is nothing on this side of the 
 coffin and the grave so softening, or else so hardening ; so 
 likely to draw you near to God, or to make you callous, 
 careless, indurated with the world, as a period of sickness 
 alone with Jesus, near Him ; because in suffering you must 
 grow very much better or very much worse ; much fitter for 
 heaven, or more heavily chained to earth ! O seek the grace 
 of God ! The mere fact of being aside from the multitude 
 may be a spiritual blessing, but like all other spiritual bless- 
 ings it requires the hand of faith to grasp it and to keep it. 
 Religion in our hearts is not a matter of witchcraft. A 
 period of illness has not of itself power to change the heart, 
 or to make us accept that gospel of peace which God so 
 
58 
 
 freely offers us. It is possible to be " near the Church and 
 far from God" to have our eyes fixed upon the most near 
 and impressive view of death, yet without being impressed, 
 without one thought of judgment, or of an Advocate through 
 whom we may face that judgment without fear ! Let us 
 never depend for salvation upon our outward circumstances ! 
 
 Again, my brethren, surely many of you must foci that 
 the idea of our text seems to describe the circumstances 
 under which, by God's Providence, you are standing at this 
 moment. For have we not here amongst us many whom 
 the hand of an over-ruling God has, from one circumstance 
 or another, withdrawn from their natural English life, from 
 their appointed spheres of duty, from their own familiar 
 scenes, their own loved parish church, perhaps from their 
 own families and from faces photographed on their hearts, on 
 which they are longing again to look ? And dare we think 
 of this separation as being a mere chance ? Is it not most 
 surely the guiding hand of the Providence of God ? 
 
 Happy, my brethren, are those of us who acknowledge 
 earnestly and heartily this practical truth ! Who see, as it 
 were, the hand of Jesus taking their hand and leading them 
 forth — aside from the multitude — and who can realize that 
 He has an object in doing so ; that He has blessings for them, 
 that He will open their ear that they may hear Him better, 
 and loosen their tongue that they may praise Him the more 
 heartily. Do not be contented with vague wishes that these 
 blessings may be granted to you. Seek them, and you shall 
 surely have them ; though they arc the gift of God, they do 
 not come to the idle and the indolent. Believe that you 
 have been brought here for a purpose, and O that purpose 
 may be, to draw you nearer to God ! 
 
REMAINS. 59 
 
 
 
 Further, in the lives of most of us there are certain pauses 
 or resting places. It is impossible to describe these by terms 
 which will apply to circumstances which are widely diffe- 
 rent. Any thoughtful person will know what I mean, and 
 can lay his finger upon them in the chart of his past life. It 
 might be something akin to that of which I have already 
 spoken ; it might have been an illness from which you ex- 
 pected never to rise ; it might have been your sudden with- 
 drawal from duties which you had long discharged, and from 
 scenes with which your eyes and heart had grown very 
 familiar. It might have been the removal of one upon 
 whom you leaned ; or it might have been a rich and unde- 
 served blessing. I speak of something which seemed to 
 change the current of your life — to be a sort of halting-place 
 in your pilgrimage. You resume your journey, and to you 
 the character of the scenery has changed, things are not what 
 they were before. 
 
 Try to look upon such an epoch in your life in what may 
 possibly be a new light to you ; that is to say, apply to it the 
 idea of our text — the Lord leading you aside — not without a 
 motive. Have you been the better for it ? or, after the first 
 emotions have subsided, do you go on as before, as if this 
 check, this pause had never been, living for yourself, not for 
 God, not for eternity ? I will open my text wider, and God 
 grant I may speak plainly, may He carry it home to your 
 hearts ! For now I will speak not of the rarer and more 
 marked events in your life, those to which I have hitherto 
 been turning your thoughts, but of blessings and privileges 
 which are often around you. Common as they are, they are 
 the hands of Jesus leading you aside. I speak then of prayers, 
 and sermons, and sacraments, of inspirations from the Holy 
 
Go REMAINS. 
 
 Spirit of God, of desires after good breathed into your heart 
 from above, of feelings of dissatisfaction with the world, of 
 craving after something higher, more noble, more enduring, 
 of sorrow for past sin, of desire to live a holier, more satis- 
 fying life. Are these real things to you, or only things of 
 which you read in a Sunday book, or hear of in a sermon ! 
 If they are matters utterly without interest to you, if you 
 acknowledge to yourself (your conscience telling you) my all 
 is here, I care for little beyond what I eat and drink and 
 wear, I seek my pleasure here, my gain here, I think highly 
 of what may be the opinion of my neighbours concerning 
 me, nothing whatever of the judgment of the all-seeing God; 
 I am taking my portion in this life, and only think of religion 
 when it is forced upon my notice ; if you confess this to 
 yourself, what ought the messenger of God say to you ? He 
 will say to the last, that such a state, if not a state of open 
 sin against man, is the state of one who is living without 
 God, without a Saviour, and therefore without any hope 
 whatever, except for those few short days which you call 
 your life, and which may end at any moment ; that our God 
 is one who willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that 
 he should turn and live ; that you are feeding upon ashes ; 
 that God sent His Son into the world to give you life and 
 freedom while you are resting content with death and 
 slavery, and that these religious privileges of which you think 
 so little are the means employed by Him of raising you from 
 death to life. And some of us, God be praised, have found 
 it to be so. We have learned to look upon these prayers, and 
 sermons, and sacraments as the act of the Lord Jesus taking 
 us aside from the multitude so that He might bless us. We 
 do not reverence them so much as Him working in and 
 
REMAINS. 
 
 6l 
 
 through them. He sends desires after good into our hearts, 
 we recognise them as the operation of the Holy Ghost, and 
 we fall upon our knees and bless God and pray that, though 
 we deserve them not, yet that we may keep them, and that 
 they may be the spirit of our lives. We open the Bible, 
 and there, at one time possibly more than at another, we 
 hear the very Word of God speaking to our souls. We come 
 into His house and kneel before Him, not because it is a good 
 custom, but because we ask of Him things we really want. 
 We come to His holy table and find Christ present with us, 
 our souls are strengthened and refreshed with spiritual food ; 
 and thus God works upon us, and we, His workmanship, 
 grow under His hands, grow in grace, grow in knowledge of 
 ourselves, our wants, our frailty, our dependence ; grow in 
 knowledge of our Saviour, His fullness, His readiness to give 
 us all we need, and to make us fit for the kingdom of God. 
 
 And at times, my Christian brethren, times which might 
 recur much more frequently did we seek more honestly to 
 walk near to God, at times does our Lord take us aside from 
 the multitude, even as He took St. Peter, St. James, and St. 
 John (His beloved disciple) up into the holy mountain, and 
 show to our sight glories which are often, nay, usually 
 shrouded from mortal sight. We live for some brief space 
 within sight of God, we feel as if all were brightness around 
 us, and we could trust our Heavenly Father and rest quietly 
 upon His love, and seek nothing farther. We look upon the 
 exceeding brightness of a Saviour's face, and of the robe in 
 which He promises to array us, and we want no more. We 
 would renounce all earthly vanities, we would no more seek 
 our portion below, but are well contented to rest where the 
 Lord would lead us — " Lord, it is good for us to be here !" 
 
6l 
 
 REMAINS. 
 
 And here we might be much oftener, much longer than we 
 are. It is not that our Saviour is unwilling to lead us aside, 
 apart from the multitude — to take us to be with Him — but 
 that we rather anchor our thoughts and hearts below, and 
 will live on the earth when we might have our conversation 
 in heaven. They who would thus see the comforts and 
 glories of religion, must first be religious ; they must live for 
 the glory of God and not for their own pleasures, and, day 
 by day, must learn to believe that the Lord Jesus is able and 
 willing to give them all they want, even His holiness and His 
 righteousness, and to lead them aside from the multitude and 
 bring them near to God. 
 
 God grant, my dearly beloved brethren, that these happy 
 experiences may become more and more solid realities to 
 your soul and mine ; and that when the day shall come when 
 our Lord, who holds the keys of the unseen world, shall un- 
 lock for us that dark door, through which all mortal flesh 
 shall pass — each one alone — and lead us aside from the mul- 
 titude, apart from those whom we have known and loved, 
 may He then bring us, washed and purified by His precious 
 blood, clad in the robe of His righteousness, into that happy 
 Paradise where the children of God shall look upon their 
 Heavenly Father, and waking up after His likeness, shall be 
 satisfied with it. 
 
 Printed at Adair's Steam Printing Office.