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world, are ye subject to ordinances, (which say) Touch not; taste not; handle not;' which all are to perish in the using; after the commandments and doctrines of men ? Which things have indeed a show of wisdom in will worship, and humility, and neglecting of the body; not in any honour to the satisfying of the flesh.”
Rome is degraded by her superstition to the lowest level. She will never rise again, politically, intellectually, or religiously, until she shakes off the incubus under which she groans, and, soaring upwards, breathes a purer spiritual atmosphere ; and the “Man of Sin be overthrown, whom the Lord shall consume by the breath of His mouth, and shall destroy by the brightness of his coming." Can that day be far distant ?
Joseph Munden the Actor, In the summer of 1818, when we resided at Henley, my dear wife was recommended by her medical adviser to spend a month by the seaside; and by the kindness of our friends (at Henley) it was determined on, and we set out for Brighton early in August.
At that time, August was the prime month in the year at Brighton. The Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.) was then usually there, and many of the nobility and citizens of wealth. “The Steine” was the place of promenade in the evening; and a gay resort it usually was. There was then no cross road from Castle Square to St. James's Street, nor any road on the north-west of the Steine,—but a very broad brick pavement walk inclosing the Steine, and inclosed by substantial wood railing and posts.
In this broad walk were a crowd of the élite of visitors to Brighton.
My valued friend, Rev. Samuel Lowell, of Bristol, one who was cheerful even to the comic, was supplying the pulpit at the Tabernacle, Lewes, as a summer "out.” Hearing that I was at Brighton, he sent ine word that he would come over and spend a day with me, and go in the evening to see “ Vanity Fair," as he called the Parade, and show of visitors,—great and gay. He came over accordingly, and we made some calls in the morning, especially on Rev. Frederick Hamilton and the Rev. Dr. Styles. At six in the evening, we went to the Steine walk, and joined the huge procession of high life and pleasure. At that time, the broad path was close up to the Library (a building which is now the Telegraph Office). There were piazzas in front, and loo tables in the large room, &c. &c. Under the piazza were green forms and seats for lounging. On one of these seats sat a gentleman, evidently enjoying the scene greatly; and as we were passing by, a gentleman, who was with bis lady on the path just before us, observed to the lady that the gentleman sitting there was Munden, the celebrated comedian. Lowell caught the name, and suddenly paused,
and looked and stared at the man, and said to me, “Didn't he say Munden?” The name was not familiar to me, and I said, “I think so." He started and looked, and then said, “ 'Tis Joempoz—it is Joe. I'll speak to him, be it he or no!”
Thus saying, he toddled up the steps; for he was a stout, heavy man, with a head of white hair and a beaming countenance,-a very gentleman in his manners. As he approached the gentleman sitting on the green seat, he politely said, “Do I address Mr. Munden ?" Rising quickly from his seat, he said, “My name is Munden, sir; but you bave quite the advantage of me,-I don't know you. Who are you?” “What! don't you know me, Joe?” “Know you ?--; who are you?"
Why, my name is Sam Lowell.” “What! Sam Lowell!” and clasping Lowell's hand in both of his, he exclaimed, “Why, Sam, is it you? How long, Sam, is it since we met ?" "I was just thinking how long it is ; why, it must be forty years, if it be a day!" "Well, Sam, what are you? what family have you, and where do you live ? tell me now in s breath." “Well,” was the reply, “there is no need to ask what you are; but I am a Dissenting minister; I have seven children, and I live at Bristol. There is my card; and if ever you come to Bristol, you will easily find me out,--and I shall be glad to see you, and talk over old times and events." "A Dissenting minister are you, Sam! and how do
your work, Sam ?” “Well,” said Lowell, “ I think I like it better and better every year I live." “Ah! you're a happy fellow; you always were such a happy fellow! Sam, I can't say as you do. To make oneself a fule to please a parcel of fules is the fulishest thing a man can do. Oh! Sam, I am sick at heart. I have no satisfaction in it-it affords no satisfaction, Sam, I am witness ;—but, then, you know one must take care of the main chance. You know what I have to do at Covent Garden next week. Ah! I am sick as a dog.' So I have come down here to get a little fresh air and breathing. (Munden was then in the meridian of his popularity.) Well, Sam, there's my card; and I have a daughter living with me, and I have a plate and knife and fork for a friend, and a pipe of wine in the cellar; and if you ever come near me, do come and see me. Farewell !"
Thus that interview closed. When we parted with Munden, Lowell said, “ Munden and I were schoolfellows; we were both comic, and his course led him to the stage-mine to the pulpit. What a curious thing, that I should have come to Brighton to see my old chum Munden!"
In the month of June, 1822, I was visiting Bath, and went over to Bristol to see my old friend Lowell. It was a beautiful summer's day; and as I opened his garden-gate, I saw him standing at a window; as I approached the house, he exclaimed to his daughter, “Patty, Patty, come here! why, here is the very man who was with me at Brighton four years ago, when I met Munden there! Come in. Why,
Münden has been breakfasting with us this morning, and hasn't been gone above half an hour. Why didn't you come to breakfast ? " "Simply because I did not know of it,” said I; "had I known, I would have been here." " Well, come in and see what we have been at. Joe came in time for family worship, and united with us with evident earnestness. After breakfast, he said he wished to have my opinion on some points of religion and some passages of Scripture, 'for,' said he, ever since I met you at Brighton, I have turned my mind to these matters, and feel interested in them; but there are some things which I can't understand.' We (Lowell went on to say) have had such a morning—a good two hours of explanation and research : here, see these Commentaries which lie open we have been consulting; and Joe's mind, I do think, is opening to the Truth. I do really hope so, for he seemed so simple and earnest and thankful for the explanation, and exclaimed, 'Wonderful !' and, at parting, said, 'Well, Sam, when we meet again, I hope I shall know more of things
In the autumn of (I think) '27, I was going from Brighton to Southampton by coach, at nine in the morning. On going to the office, I observed a gentleman sitting in the coach, whom I thought I ought to know, but could not recollect who he was.
I stepped back and asked the bookkeeper if he could tell me who my fellow-passenger was. He said, “ The gentleman is booked for Southampton, in the name of Munden.” “Thank you," I said, and got into the coach, taking my place on the opposite seat. A young girl was in the coach, who was only going a short distance. Presently I ventured to speak to my companion, and after a few complimentary expressions, I said, “I think, sir, we have met before." "Indeed, sir, indeed," said Munden ; "I have not the pleasure of recollecting you, sir.” “No, sir; it is not likely that you would, but I remember you.” “Yes,” said he, “public men are known by many whom they cannot know. When, sir--on what occasion do you
refer to?" I replied, “I was at Brighton in the summer of '18, when my friend Mr. Lowell, of Bristol, met you at the Library steps." “Ah!” said he; “indeed! were you there? I remember it well. I shall never forget it. Why, sir, that was a turning point of my life! Did you hear our conversation ?” “Yes, sir, I heard it generally, for it was not private.” “Do you remember, sir, his answer to my inquiring what he was, what family he had, where he lived, and what his occupation ? " 6. Yes," I replied, “I do, and remember especially that he said, frankly, 'I am a Dissenting minister, have a family, and I live at Bristol; and as to how I like my occupation, why I like it better and better every year I live.?" “Ah! sir, that is it. Do you know, I have never forgotten that expression-it was so new and surprising to me; but I knew my honest and happy early friend, and saw so much of serious earnestness in him that I felt it deeply. In fact, sir, it has never been out of my mind since! Sir, I think I owe the greatest obligation to my friend for that expression. It gave me a serious turn. I suppose you understand me, sir?” I replied, “Yes, oh yes; quite.” “Well, sir, I became thoughtful as I never had been before ; and I soon determined to give up my profession and leave the boards, and give my mind to more grave and serious thoughts. Sir, there is no satisfaction in the profession of the theatre; but there is satisfaction in religion, and I believe my friend Lowell is a religious man. I learned much from him on a visit I paid him since we met in Brighton." Here I interrupted him to tell him that it was very remarkable, that I visited Mr. Lowell the very day he had been breakfasting with him in June, 1822, and heard from bim the substance of his inquiries and Scripture researches. "Indeed, indeed, sir! that is very remarkable, and seems to identify you with my eventful life. Oh! sir, what a different thing religion is to what the world in general think it is! I bave an only daughter, who is the very soul of my life, and she has married what you call an Evangelical clergyman. Ob! 'so dear a man! My dear sir, to hear him read the Scripture and pray is the sweetest engagement I know. It is such a pleasure to me, I don't like to be away from them. So I am now on my way to live, or rather, I suppose, to die with them, for I cannot bear to be away from them. He is a curate in Wiltshire, and I am now going to dwell with them.” The conversation all the way was of the most interesting kind; and when we parted at Southampton, the impression on my mind was one of great encouragement and hope as to the real and satisfactory state of Mr. Munden's views and experience of personal religion.
But I heard nothing of Mr. Munden after this whicb was at all specific. I think I heard of the decease of his daughter, or saw it in some record, but it passed away.
At length, narrating the story to my friend the Editor of the Evangelical Magazine, he suggested that I should write out the narrative and let him have it, and meanwhile try to make out, if I could, the subsequent history of Munden.
My reply was, that the story would be nothing comparatively apart from the narrator, who was a personal witness, unless it were dressed up for the press, which I could not bear to do. However, I did not neglect to make inquiry as to the subsequent history of Munden.
It so happened that a very respectable gentleman, proprietor of 2 theatre, and familiar with theatricals, fell in my way; and I ventured to ask him if he knew Munden. “ Knew him----ah !” said he, “poor I knew him years ago. I then asked if he knew anything about his latter days. “No, not much. Poor Munden became melancholy, and retired from the stage ; and I don't know what became of him. He bad a son, but he is I don't know where."
I then made inquiry by the “Notes and Queries” publication, by which I learned that a Life of Munden was published in two volumes. These I procured, but they afforded me no light on the matter of my
inquiry. The close of his life is simply noticed as a formal matter after he resigned the stage; but where he died, and where he is buried, I have not ascertained ; only that he became “ melancholy.” I expect this means religious : at least, I believe so.
J. N. GOULTY.
The Seal and the Earnest of the Spirit. They are glorious discoveries of “life and immortality” which are “brought to light through the gospel.” Nothing can exceed the beauty and grandeur of the revelations which are made to us of the future life. As we think of the “inheritance incorruptible and undefried," of the “crown of glory that fadeth not away," of the city in which there is "no night," of the perfected bliss and the ceaseless song of the white-robed multitude, and of the body fashioned like the glorified body of Jesus, we may well feel that beyond all that there is nothing left us to desire. Is it not indeed a “great salvation ” which is consummated in such a joy ?
“But how," it is most natural to ask, —“how may I know that the inheritance is mine? There are exceeding great and precious promises' of it; but how may I ascertain whether or not those promises belong to me, and whether or not I am really an heir of glory ? "
The Lord Jesus Christ, we reply, intends not only to conduct His people to heaven, but to give them on the way thither all the comfort which springs from the persuasion that it will one day be their home; and He does this through the grace of His Spirit. “In whom also," says the Apostle Paul (Eph. i. 13, 14), “after that ye believed, ye were sealed with that Holy Spirit of promise, which is the earnest of our inheritance until the redemption of the purchased possession, unto the praise of His glory.”
Believers are first said to be sealed by the Spirit. There seems to be an allusion to the custom of sealing important documents, or to that of placing seals on objects, which were thus indicated as belong. ing to the persons whose seals were attached. The Holy Spirit“that Holy Spirit of promise"-the Spirit promised in the writings of ancient prophets, and especially by the Lord Jesus Christ himself, as the abiding Comforter;—that Spirit is the seal, and the seal is on every true believer. What, then, is the nature of the seal, and what are its purposes ? The following remarks may furnish a reply to these questions.
A seal produces a certain impress. It was usual for seals, as well as for coins, to bear the image and superscription of the monarch by whom they were employed. That which was produced presented, of course, his likeness and his name. The Holy Spirit is God; and it is His work to restore in man the image in which He was created,