If there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not . . . neither bid him God speed: for he that biddeth him God speed is partaker of his evil deeds.—2 JOHN 10, 11.

MRS. FIELDING was the elder of these sisters, whom marriage had separated for several years, until a change in the arrangements of Mr. Latimer's business brought them again into the same neighborhood.

Marion had been considered "religious" prior to her union with a sincere Christian man, and Helen had never shown any opposition to the faith or practice of those with whom she had associated from childhood; and she held religion, especially her sister's, in great respect.

But while Marion grew in knowledge and grace, and her deepened faith bore fruit in sanctified character and practical godliness, Helen drifted away from the formal hold of habit and association into thorough worldliness. And now, when the sisters met again in intimate communion, they found their tastes, pursuits, motives, and hopes wide asunder as the poles. The society enjoyed by one was uncongenial to the other; the style of living adopted by one as disapproved by the other; their domestic arrangements were unlike, their dress dissimilar, and even in that department of life in which all mothers make common cause, so far as love and devotedness are concerned, it has been seen how opposed were their principles, how different their views.

"I fear we shall not get on happily with my sister and her family," remarked Marion to her husband; "she has been trying to modernize me, as she calls it, and insists on certain submissions to the opinions of society. I am sorry to annoy her by frequent opposition, when I know she intends only to be kind, and is so anxious that we should be well received among her friends."

"Well, you may venture to yield a point or two in trifles," said Mr. Latimer, smiling.

"Ah, but you quite underrate her desire to serve us, if you think she is to be satisfied with trifling concessions. She protests against the ministry we expect to enjoy, and declares there are no respectable people in the congregation. And she is about to give two large parties on our behalf, in order, she says, to introduce us; and one for the children afterward, though I have almost decided that they cannot be allowed to go."

"Have you decided that it is not a right position in which to place them, dear Marion?" asked Mr. Latimer seriously.

"I cannot avoid that conclusion," she replied, "from what I have already observed of Helen's plans and associations. I imagine the mode of spending time is not that in which we wish our children to feel interested."

"It seems evident, my love, that you should not 'almost,' but quite irrevocably have declined this intended kindness," said Mr. Latimer. "Decision, Marion, is the best escape from many difficulties; the reverse soon entangles in a labyrinth of vexations."

"I am very glad to have your opinion, Philip, for I would neither be needlessly scrupulous, nor weakly compliant. But I will take the first opportunity of repairing, if I can, any ill consequence of my indecision."

"I need not remind you, dear Marion, that 'the wisdom that is from above is "first" pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated;' nor that we may speak kindly that which in itself may be annoying and unacceptable. Let us not offend in manner where we are compelled to disagree in substance. If offense must be taken, it should be the 'offense of the cross,' and not of rudeness or unkindness in its bearers."

"Then the parties for ourselves, Philip; what must we do about them?"

"What do you think yourself would be right?"

"I think that to my sister's house it would, perhaps, be right for us to go, as she so much wishes it. We should not be involved in intimacy with any, and we could not then be accused of rejecting a circle of acquaintance without testing its congeniality. If we allow ourselves to be known, perhaps we may not make a favorable impression either," she added with a smile.

Philip did not quite agree in his heart to this conclusion, so far as his well-informed and ladylike wife was concerned.

"Well, then," he said, "we will go for once; we have not witnessed one of your sister's parties, and have therefore no right to prejudge them. For our children, the case is different; we are responsible for the impression of scenes to which we willingly expose them, while they are unable to judge for themselves, and uninfluenced by the only principle which can discriminate to reject the evil and to choose the good. We know the too probable choice of the natural inclination."

Mrs. Fielding was greatly displeased at the rejection of her kind offer to introduce her youthful relatives to the children of the neighborhood. But she comforted herself in the prospect of presenting their parents, both of whom she said would be considered acquisitions to society if they could but be persuaded to keep their religion at church, and not live in it like a snail in its shell, carrying it with them wherever they went, and retreating into it as quickly whenever any one ventured to touch a sensitive point. However, she was of a sanguine temperament, and did not despair of effecting a reformation in time.

So the parties were assembled. And Mrs. Fielding, as she inquisitively surveyed her sister's dress, declared it "really better than she expected: not quite fashionable enough, to be sure, nor what the initiated would call full dress, but nothing 'outré,' all in very tolerable taste."

And she was not sure but that some of her friends, who concealed beneath their smiles, hearts sorely troubled and minds perplexed to keep up a stylish appearance, envied that sweet and placid face, and thought the modest simplicity of the fair stranger an interesting novelty among them.

Some of the visitors, who had heard Mr. Latimer spoken of as a puritan and a bigot worthy of the days of Barbone, * were profoundly astonished to hear a pleasant laugh from his lips, and to find that he had stored his mind with anything besides texts, hymns; and homilies.

* Commonly called "Barebones."

Mr. and Mrs. Fielding were beginning to congratulate themselves on the satisfactory manner in which their entertainment was passing off, when a gentleman, not aware of the unacceptable tendency of his subject, asked Mr. Fielding, carelessly, if he had "seen poor Bingham lately."

"Yes," replied Mr. Fielding; "I saw him only a few days since, and he looked like what I suppose he is, a broken-hearted man. That last frolic of his son's is likely to cost him dear, I am told."

"It will ruin him most probably. If he does not pay the money, or at least guarantee its payment within reasonable time, proceedings will be taken, and the young scapegrace will get his deserts."

"I am very sorry for him," said Mr. Fielding. "I almost think, as the affair is so well-known, he had better let the law take its course, and rid the country and himself of a great disgrace to both."

"Well, I don't know that," replied the visitor. "You see, Bingham cannot help feeling himself to blame; for it is said that his son would never have turned out such a lawless rogue if his father and mother had not taken their fanatical fit a few years ago. The boy seems to have been disgusted with their religious sayings and doings, and got away from home as much as he could, and of course fell into bad company. It is a pity people will take up such foolish conceits about religion," he added, appealing for assent to Mr. Latimer, who happened to sit near him.

"I am ignorant of the circumstances to which you allude," said Mr. Latimer, inquiringly. "Have these unhappy parents become Mormonites?"

"Mormonites! O no," replied the other, laughing; "we have fanatics under other names, and no names at all, I assure you. These good people are members of a most orthodox community, but they could not be satisfied to go on in a quiet, inoffensive way. They took it into their heads that this was wrong, and that was sinful, and gave up their old friends and their old ways, and set themselves in opposition to, everything cheerful and pleasant in the world."

"If I might conclude that you speak rather from report than from personal observation, I would venture to suggest a possible explanation of the change. Perhaps from being more formalists in religion, they became Christians, and, found 'ways of pleasantness and paths of peace' where the word of God directs us to seek them. In that case you know it follows, as the apostle describes it, that 'if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.'"

"That is doubtless a very charitable suggestion," replied the visitor, in no small surprise at finding a subject so carelessly introduced thus seriously grappled with. "But it is unhappily too well-known that their path is at present anything but peace, and that their own folly has brought war and sorrow into their household. For my part, I do not wonder at any mischief a boy might rush into who was, no doubt, bored with religion from morning till night."

"It is not the first instance either," observed a lady, "in which poor Mr. Bingham's religion has caused him trouble. I heard of an absurd scruple of his, which lost him a large sum in a business affair. He seems quite to emulate Daniel."

"In the particular that no fault can be found in him except it be concerning the law of God?" asked Mr. Latimer.

"Not exactly," said the lady, "but in very needless exhibition of his own peculiar views. Daniel, you know, is a historical personage, and we are at liberty to form our own opinion of his conduct. It has always seemed to me a most uncalled for display of zeal, to act in such open defiance of the king's edict. There could have been no impropriety, but merely common prudence, in keeping his windows closed and himself out of sight while he prayed so often."

"It was happy for Daniel that his God judged otherwise, and sent his angel to shut the lions' mouths because innocency was found in him," replied Mr. Latimer. "But perhaps some day, if not now, we may have as clear a testimony to the consistency of a Christian father's conduct in his family. The world may make mistakes in judging of actions, the motives for which it has either not known, or has misunderstood."

"Now, what and whom do you mean by 'the world?'" said the gentleman who had before spoken. "For I should really be glad to know, since you seem to be familiar with the expressions of a certain class of religionists."

"I used it," said Mr. Latimer, without observing the anxiety and alarm visible in the countenances of his brother and sister, "in the sense in which it is used by the Lord Jesus Christ in the fifteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel. It there represents persons whose characters, habits, pursuits, hopes, and joys are chiefly confined to 'things seen and temporal;' and thus occupied, they are not competent to judge for the much smaller number of their fellow-creatures who have withdrawn their hearts and hopes from the things of time and sense, and fixed them chiefly on 'things unseen and eternal.' The Church of God consists of his believing people, who live and walk by faith in Christ, loving him, and endeavoring to prove it by obedience to his will, and desire for his glory: the world, in contradistinction, consists, in our land at least, of those who call him 'Lord, Lord,' and 'do not the things that he says,' together with all who deny or reject his Gospel."

"I am obliged to you for so clear an exposition. But I am to infer that you class all who are not of your way of thinking with the very dregs of the human race?"

"It was not I, but 'God manifest in the flesh,' who said, 'He that is not with me is against me,' and who divided the hearers of his Gospel into two classes, believers and unbelievers, the saved and the unsaved; the latter including those who deny him altogether, as well as those who are deferring to a more convenient season their consideration of the subject."

"Ah, but can you not perceive a great difference between those who entirely deny a Saviour, and those who hope to profit by his kindness when the time of need arrives?"

"There may seem a difference to human judgment, but, dear sir, it is our condition before God which is the really important point. Surely the man who only intends to be saved some day is practically in no better position than the man who denies the necessity altogether; but rather worse in one sense, for the convictions of conscience which led him to purpose closing with Christ before he dies, will aggravate his misery should time and opportunity after all be denied."

"You speak very decidedly, sir, as if your own mind were made up, at any rate," remarked the other, flippantly.

"It is because I deem my soul too precious, and eternity too tremendous a reality, to risk either on an intention or a peradventure," said Mr. Latimer. "And may I venture to add, that we live in days when every man needs to feel the foundation firm beneath his feet, to know clearly what and in whom he believes, and to decide advisedly, but firmly, whom he chooses to serve. If the Lord be God, let us follow him; if Baal, let us follow him: in neither case disguising our choice."

"It is pushing matters to extremes, sir. What is your opinion, Mr. Fielding?" said the visitor, appealing to his host.

"O, I never measure weapons with Latimer on such points," said Mr. Fielding, glad of an opportunity to change the subject. "And after all that can be said, we shall have to settle them for ourselves, you know, and let each of us do it in his own way."

And again the conversation became general, and more congenial to the feelings of the majority who joined in it.

But when separating after the evening closed, the same guest approached his opponent with a jocular air:

"Well, sir," said he, offering his hand, "though you may belong to the favored few whom you call 'the Church,' and I to the great ungodly world, I dare say we shall both find ourselves all right at last, and so let us shake hands upon it."

"Forgive me, my dear sir," said Mr. Latimer, seriously and kindly, "but common truthfulness forbids me to subscribe for a moment to such an estimate of our respective views; we cannot both be right while so opposed. Let us rather shake hands upon the sincere determination to know the truth, and firmly to abide by it, and God himself be our teacher."

The bland smile of good fellowship yielded to a flush of pride, and the visitor, strongly disposed to imagine himself insulted, hastened away. The way that seemed right to him was the way of death; his knowledge was derived from the evil inspiration with which the archenemy deluded the first sinner, when he said, "Ye shall not surely die." And the revelation of that only antidote to the poisonous lie—the love of God in Christ Jesus—was set aside as a fable, or referred to some uncertain period of life's short term, when the heart and mind should have nothing to do but prepare for a misty heaven, and an unwelcome eternity.

Could the surprised company who commented so severely on the conduct of Mr. Latimer, denouncing it as presumptuous and uncharitable, have followed the servant of God to his closet that night, they would have heard him pleading as with a brother's interest for the soul of the man whom he had felt bound to oppose, and seeking for himself more unshrinking faithfulness to speak "the truth in love," and under all circumstances and at all times to bear witness for his absent Lord.

True, he had "daubed" no wall "with untempered mortar" nor cried "peace, peace, where there was no peace;" but at the same time, it was hard and trying to the natural feelings of a kind and liberal heart, to tear down amid sneers and displeasure the flimsy screen behind which men try to keep out the light of truth, and hide themselves from the heart-searching God.

And if they could also have traced the man of the world to his prayerless chamber, they would have seen the brow knit with a mortifying consciousness that he had made but an indifferent figure before the calm, strong testimony of a Bible believer. There was a secret fear, too, that the words he had provoked were true; that all was not only not "right," but very wrong in heart and practice; and then there was a desperate effort to shake off the impression as a nightmare, a superstition of the darkness unbecoming one in health and prosperity, a man of business, position, and influence. And whatever the monitor within, whether the remonstrance of the Divine Spirit, or the voice of conscience, or the memory of early instruction, it was heard, but not obeyed; it struggled once and again for God and truth, for the soul and eternity, and left the resisting rebel without excuse before Heaven and his Judge.

And thus it was with thousands, generation after generation. A few days, and the warning is forgotten. The man of business, or pleasure, or science, amid the details of daily life, and the good opinion of his congenial cotemporaries, passes on quietly for years, grows old, and dies. A mourning procession follows the body to its last home. A dark narrow space is sufficient now. The proud spirit that enjoyed worldly show, that indulged in costly comforts, and had no time to think of resigning them—the immortal spirit that would now court annihilation at any cost if it could be had, has gone in never-ending consciousness to realize the knowledge it has fatally deferred, and to mourn for ever the irretrievable mistake of a lost lifetime.

O for more truth-telling voices to fill the air men breathe with words of wisdom, to "cry at the gates, at the entry of the city, at the coming in at the doors,—

"To you, O men, I call, and my voice is to the sons of men."

"Turn ye, turn ye: why will ye die?"

"Behold, 'now' is the accepted time; behold, 'now' is the day of salvation."