Sketches Of The Quiet In The Land

THE following sketches, taken from the records of one of the greatest awakenings in the history of Christendom, may, it is hoped, serve a double purpose.

Firstly, to prove that the great truths taught by the Protestant Reformers can be received, assented to, defended, and maintained with a zeal amounting to acrimony, and yet leave the heart dead, cold, and godless, bringing forth in the life the fruit of pride in orthodox religion, self-righteousness, bigotry, and bitterness ; or, on the other hand, may be maintained by those who use liberty as an occasion to the flesh, and glory in the name of Protestants whilst sunk in the sensuality of heathenism.

Secondly, to prove that the second Reformation—the Reformation of dead Protestantism—was not accomplished, as was the Reformation of the sixteenth century, by the preaching of forgotten truths, and the casting aside of human errors, but by recalling the souls of men to the same great truths as those taught by the Protestant Reformers, convicting men of having received these truths only as theological doctrines, instead of acting upon the blessed call of God by coming as lost sinners to the living Saviour.

And as the highest truth, if received only as a doctrine, leads to the lowest state of soul of which fallen man is capable, we cannot wonder at the dark ages which followed the glorious flood of light poured out in the sixteenth century far and wide, and for a time received into the hearts of those who turned from Romanism to Christ Himself.

The reformers of Protestantism had not to say, " Forget the errors you have been taught." On the contrary, their message was this : "You have never believed the truths you have been taught ; you have learned them, and repeated them in creeds and catechisms ; you have argued about them, and dissected them, and fought for them, and made of them a pedestal upon which you climb to look down on your Roman Catholic neighbours ; but you have never received them from the mouth of God into your own hearts. You have talked about regeneration, and have not been born again ; you have talked about justification, and have not known your need of it ; you have talked of the Holy Spirit, and have never been moved by any force beyond that of your own nature ; you have overlooked and lost and forgotten that which cannot be argued about or used as a theological weapon—the immeasurable love of God to you who are dead in trespasses and sins ; you have talked of the atonement, but you have not known your own guilt which needed it, nor have you received remission of your sins through the precious blood of Christ ; you have disputed about His work and Person, but you have not seen Him, nor known Him. And He who loves you in your coldness, your deadness, your ignorance of Him, has sent you another call, as when in the wide valley of Ezekiel He breathed His life into the dead forms which had no breath in them, though they were no longer the dry bones of former days. He tells you that to have your lamps and to have no oil in them is to be shut out at last from the marriage feast. You have the letter that killeth ; He would have you to receive the Spirit that giveth life."

Let us then cease to wonder at the strange, dark picture of Protestant lands, where the fear of the Lord was taught by the precepts of men, whilst their hearts were far from Him. And let us see to it that we are ourselves taught by the Spirit who alone can teach, and make that, which is otherwise a form of doctrine only, the power of God unto salvation to him who believeth.

And, as to him that bath more shall be given, we find that the reformers of Protestantism in the seventeenth, eighteenth, and, thank God, in the nineteenth centuries were eventually taught by Him many blessed truths not yet disinterred from the rubbish of ages by the reformers of Roman Catholic Christendom in the sixteenth century. Let us be thankful that such reformers have been and are, and that by their means we can at last form some true conception of that which Paul was taught in the third heaven, of that which he longed with such intense conflict of heart to make known to his beloved brethren at Ephesus and Colosse and the regions beyond. Let us not be as our fathers who refused the witnesses of God, but as the few who hailed them and believed them and loved them, whether as "the quiet in the land," or as " Methodists," or by whatever name of reproach they may still be known amongst us.

The following records have been compiled almost entirely from German sources, chiefly from Ritschl's Geschichte des Pietismus (three volumes), Goebel's Geschichte des Christlichen Lebens in der RheinischWestpalischen Evangelise/len Kirche, H eppe's Geschichte des Quietismus und der Mystzk, Kerlen's Life of Tersteegen, and Tersteegen's own writings, including those now long ago out of print. Papers in Raumer's Historisches Taschenbuch have also been useful, especially those relating to the Princess Elizabeth of the Palatinate ; and use has also been made of further references to her in Penn's Journal of his Travels in Germany. Freytag's Bader aus der Deutschen V ergangenhei t has supplied the sketches of the state of Germany during and after the Thirty Years' War, with occasional portraits from Biedermann's Deutschland im Achtgehnten .7ahrhundert.

Chapter 1: A Swamp in German History

IN the little town of Meurs, in the Rhine province of the German empire, a house is still shown, which during the latter part of the seventeenth century was inhabited by Henry Tersteegen, and Cornelia his wife.

Henry Tersteegen, a merchant, of the Reformed Church, has left behind him the simple record that he was "given to godliness."

Meurs was at that time the capital of the county of Meurs, a possession of the Princes of Orange, and included in the Netherlands. Later on, in 1701, it was included in the new kingdom of Prussia.

Two years afterwards, Henry Tersteegen died, leaving behind him his Cornelia and eight children, who continued to live in the town of Meurs. Cornelia did her best—which may not have been much—to bring up her six boys and her two girls, of whom her son Gerhardt was the youngest, born November 25th, 1697, and, therefore, not quite six years old at the time of his father's death, in September, 1703.

And at this point we must break off our history a while, not a short while either, for the story of Gerhardt Tersteegen is one which would be but dimly comprehensible, did we not know something of men and women who lived before him something of the times and the surroundings of good Father Henry, and even of times long before.

We have to travel back into the earlier years of the century, and look around us on pictures very dreary—very repulsive—and at first sight very uninteresting to most of us.

The history of Germany, sketched out through ten centuries, is riot unlike a voyage down the Rhine, could we perform that voyage from the mountains where the two Rhines meet, and follow the great stream to the flat shores of the German Ocean.

We leave behind us the mountains with their mist and snow—the brave, rough men who still have simple ways and thoughts — we pass on by the knightly castles, and the stately hills, and the wooded valleys, by the marvellous cloisters and churches of ancient times. We are leaving the beautiful Rhine valley at last behind us, and we pass on through the flat plains where no beauty remains—through the stretch of country where men are busy with commerce and trade, where factories take the place of the ancient castles, and we scarcely care to turn to see the banks of pollard willows, and of wide unbroken fields, and towns and villages of ugly sameness, and rows of windmills, and chimneys of factories.

And to this dead flat of German history have we arrived in the clays of Henry Tersteegen.

Yet in one respect this flat field of history forms a contrast to the quiet, rich lands that stretch from the banks of the Rhine to meet the sky in a level line, beyond distant village spires and windmills. Unbeautiful, ignoble as were those times, they were not peaceful, or quiet, or prosperous.

The Thirty Years' War, ending in 1648, had left behind it misery and desolation which at the end of two hundred years were not effaced.

It is calculated that ten millions of men were lost to the nation during those forty years. Villages that had been rich and populous lay still in ruins, and almost deserted, at the end of the century. Many towns had lost three quarters or more of their inhabitants. The ground lay uncultivated around the blackened ruins of farms and homesteads.

In Hesse alone, seventeen towns, forty-seven castles, and three hundred villages had been burnt to the ground. Parsonage houses and schools had disappeared. Sheep and cattle had been seized and slaughtered wherever they could be found. Corn had been burnt or carried off by the lawless soldiers who roamed the country. Women and children could only die ; the men kept themselves alive as best they could by working at any thing they could find to do, by begging or stealing.

Terribly sad are the old chronicles of the German towns and villages. Let us turn to some of them.

Village of Stelzen, once a place of pilgrimage ; a famous shrine and chapel of the Virgin had in ancient times brought crowds of nobles and knights, and a ceaseless stream of peasant folk, to worship there. But after the Reformation Protestant pastors had lived a quiet life there generation after generation, till in the year 1632 the village, with the exception of the old church, the school, and a farmhouse, was burnt to the ground.

Pastor Nicholas Schubert contributed his sad tale to the records of the times. "I have saved nothing but my eight little naked, hungry children. I live as I can in the very old and ruined schoolhouse, which is in danger of falling on our heads, and where there is no chimney. I am without food or clothes. Dated from my miserable village of Stelzen, 29 January, 1633."

In the year 1647 the old church was burnt also. Sadder still is the history of Pastor Botzinger, which gives us a picture of the times a general history could scarcely furnish.

Pastor Botzinger was a man devoid of heroism, and apparently of faith. He does not interest us, except as a specimen of a large and miserable class. A fragment of his mournful tale remains for our study. " In the year 1627," he tells us, "one Tuesday, 8000 Saxon soldiers arrived at the town of Heldburg, and made their camp in the newly-sown cornfields.

A week later neither a calf nor a lamb, neither beer or wine, were to be had for love or money. Yet the officers insisted on being well fed. All houses were plundered, and my parsonage at Poppenhausen amongst the rest. My linen and bedding, my very shirts, were carried off.

" Duke Casimir, the prince, at last rode over to Heldburg, gave them a great banquet, some fine horses, and Soon crowns, if only they would take their leave, which they did."

Strange to say, the fields which were left trampled down, and covered with the ashes of some thousand camp fires, and looked like a wilderness, produced that year a magnificent crop, in consequence of which unhoped for plenty, Pastor Botzinger married the daughter of a town councillor of Heldburg, Ursula Bohme. Five quiet years followed.

But meanwhile the neighbouring bishops were meditating plans for bringing back the people of the villages to "the orthodox faith," and Jesuits and monks were working secretly amongst them. And some who foresaw that a storm was coming, took refuge in Poppenhausen and the villages immediately round.

But they found ere long they needed to be defended from their friends. The Protestant troops of Gustavus Adolphus suddenly appeared on the wooded heights. It was now Michaelmas, 1631. The Swedes, it was true, began by robbing the Catholics ; and these poor people, whose horses, cows, pigs, and sheep had been seized and carried off, fled in their turn to the quiet village of Poppenhausen, where they were hospitably received and cared for by their Protestant neighbours.

But the tables were turned when the Catholic troops, under Tilly and Wallenstein, appeared on the scene. The Catholic refugees then attacked their hosts, and robbed and plundered them. Pastor Botzinger fled to Heldburg, where his father-in-law was living, having sent his wife and children there some time before. He had changed his quarters, however, most fatally ; for the enemy seized the town of Heldburg, stabbed poor Herr Bohme in the presence of his daughter Ursula, tore off the shoes and clothes of Ursula and her mother, and plundered every house, dragging Herr Mime, who was still alive, from the bed upon which he was lying, and carrying off little Michael, the pastor's son.

Herr Bohme, seeing that his son-in-law was far too terrified to help his neighbours, advised him to escape from the town by any hole he could find in the town wall. The pastor was not ashamed thus to desert his wife and children and his dying father-in-law. He fled at once through the castle garden ; and we cannot be sorry to record further that he was pursued by Croats, who caught him, pulled off his shoes, stockings, and other articles of clothing, leaving him in his shirt and clerical cap. His purse, which was in his pocket, shared the fate of his clothes.

Then, remarking that he must be a parson, they proposed to kill him, and attacked him with their swords. This, however, their officer prevented.

At that moment a peasant was observed hidden in a bush. He was known to be rich, and the Croats left their first prize to pursue "the rich Caspar." A Swedish prisoner whom they left behind, advised the valiant pastor to take to his heels, which advice he followed, the rich Caspar meanwhile falling a victim to the Croats, who murdered him on the spot.

The pastor ran straight on for a whole hour without stopping, through a thick oak wood, but his course suddenly ended in a pond hidden in the brushwood. Having scrambled out, he relates that his heart beat so loud with terror, that he supposed it to be the galloping of a horseman in pursuit of him.

As soon as it was dark he proceeded on his way through the wood, and finally arrived in a village, which he believed to be still inhabited, as he heard the barking of dogs. But seeing no human creatures about, he wandered into a stable and went up to the loft, where he Made himself a bed on the hay.

It so fell out that the village people, who had been hiding all day in the bushes, assembled during the night behind the stable to consult as to the best plans for safety. The pastor now thought he had best join this party, and descended from his loft into the house adjoining the stable. In the cellar below he perceived a peasant with a candle, who was skimming the cream off some milk and drinking it greedily.

The pastor, standing on the cellar steps, called to the peasant, who turning round was alarmed at the sight of a bare-legged man, in a shirt, with a black cap. The pastor introduced himself as the parson of Poppenhausen, whereupon his kind host brought up some cream to share with his visitor. The pastor now ventured to ask for some addition to his wardrobe, and, whilst the peasant went to find him some clothes, he entirely finished the milk and cream. " No milk," he says, " was ever so good as that jug full!"

The peasant returned with a pair of leather breeches, a pair of clumsy shoes with straps, and two stockings, one white, and the other green. The pastor felt keenly how unclerical was this costume, but he accepted it thankfully. The shoes, however, were an impossibility—they were frozen hard. He therefore started in his stockings, which were in holes to begin with, and could scarcely be called stockings when he reached the town of Hildburghausen.

All around him, as he went, he saw in the distance, and near at hand, the burning villages, lighting up the sky with a terrible blood-red.

The appearance of the pastor caused an unwonted excitement, even terror, at Hildburghausen, for who might not such a wild nondescript be ? It was, therefore, his first care to find some means of providing himself with decent apparel.

His first appeal was to the burgomaster, Herr Paul Waltz. He was dismayed at his success. Herr Waltz presented him with an old hat about a yard high, which he says was even more unbecoming than the rest of his gear. He, however, thanked Herr Waltz, put it on, and proceeded to the house of a deacon.

Here a pair of knee breeches were provided him, also a pair of black stockings, and the sexton furnished a pair of shoes.

The pastor now felt quite presentable, were it not for the hat. Meanwhile a report reached him that the pastors, schoolmasters, and town councilors had secretly purposed to escape from the town at nine o'clock at night, with wives and children, leaving the townspeople to their fate. To arrange their plans they had assembled at the house of the town clerk.

To this house the pastor repaired, and found the gentlemen in question, assembled in a large room. All were too busy to notice the strange apparition. The pastor therefore retired to a seat in a dark corner, and there became aware of a nice and respectable hat hanging on a peg.

" Can it be," thought the pastor, " that they will be too busy with other matters to think of that hat ? What if they should leave it behind ?" And so it came to pass. " When they broke up," he writes, " there was such a leave-taking, and howling, and so many parting words, that the noise was deafening. I laid my head down on the table and pretended to be asleep. And when nearly all were gone, I clapped my old steeple hat on the peg, and putting on the other, walked out with the rest into the street. The plan had now come abroad, and a countless number of people were sitting on their packages and bundles waiting for the start. Many waggons and carts stood ready. As we passed out of the town, some were carrying lanterns, some torches, some lights made of straw and pitch. Some thousand people thus journeyed off sadly and sorrowfully in the dark night."

Others joined this band of homeless wanderers from other towns and villages, and each brought some fresh tidings of the terrible deeds of the Croats—murders, burning of churches and towns, pillage and tortures.

The pastor, however, was rejoicing that on this journey he had a fresh addition to his wardrobe, in the shape of a pair of gloves. Someone also gave him a knife in a sheath,

This melancholy party wandered on, finding, as they arrived at each town or village, that instead of obtaining food and lodging, their numbers were increased by the inhabitants who were themselves flying before the Croats. The news followed them of the pillage of their deserted towns, and the murder of any inhabitants who had not joined in the flight.

One fugitive after another arrived to join the band. " Our burgomaster has had his skull cleft in two," said one. "The Croats have hewn our carrier's horses to pieces," said another. " Our church has been pillaged," said a third, "and the organ-pipes lie all in a heap in the market-place." But by raising a large sum of money Hildburghausen had bought off the soldiers, otherwise the town would have been burnt to the ground.

Chapter 2: How It Fared With the Pastor's Wife

AFTER a short rest in a town which for the present was left in peace, the pastor determined to go back to Heldburg. He hoped, no doubt, to find that the invaders had passed on to other towns, and that his deserted family might yet be found alive.

As he entered the town he met a melancholy procession. A large cart, piled with dead bodies, was proceeding slowly to the " God's-acre "—the churchyard. The pastor joined the funeral train, and on arriving at the churchyard, perceived, in an open grave, the bodies of seventeen persons, one amongst them being his father-in-law. All the bodies were terribly disfigured by their ghastly wounds.

He then proceeded to the house of his sister-in-law, who lay almost speechless, pierced and wounded by pistol shots and sabre cuts. She gasped out that she was dying, and the pastor had best seek for his wife and children, who had been carried off by the enemy. The children were a little girl of five, and the baby Michael.

The pastor, however, who was in a starving condition, asked in the first place for something to eat. But neither food nor drink were to be found in the deserted town. Leaving the dying woman, he fled to his village of Poppenhausen, intending, he says, in the first place to get some food, in the second place to send out messengers to seek for his wife and children. He heard, however, on arriving there, that the village children had also been carried off, and that the troops had divided ; some had gone in one direction, and some in another, and, as no road was safe, no one was willing to undertake the dangerous task of pursuing them.

The pastor therefore, who possessed the better part of valour, however he may have lacked the remainder, proceeded to devour his share of a cow, the only one left behind by the enemy, which his parishioners had killed and roasted. " Neither salt nor bread," says the pastor, " were to be had ; but appetite is the best sauce."

In the midst of this Abyssinian feast arrived the pastor's wife, but all alone, and related her sad tale as follows:

She and her two children had been carried off by the soldiers to a place called Alterhausen. There, thinking that death would be preferable to the treatment she was likely to receive from the soldiers, she slipped out of their hands as they were crossing a bridge ; and seizing her two children, leaped with them into the water. The soldiers, however, dragged her out, and brought her into the village, where they ordered her to cook their supper.

Meanwhile a second and larger troop of soldiers arrived, and drove away the first detachment. In the confusion the pastor's wife managed to escape from the house, leaving the two children in the hands of the soldiers. An old beggar woman led her through back lanes and alleys out of the village into a wood, where was a cavern, in which she spent the night and all the following day. Then, finding that people were flying from the soldiers in the dusk of the evening, she too ventured out of her cave, and made her way to Poppenhausen.

The pastor enquired what had happened at Held-burg before she was carried away. Her tale of horrors was one of many hundreds, to be repeated again and again in many a town and village, with details even more sad and sorrowful.

As the town of Heldburg, she said, possessed a small supply of soldiers and ammunition, it was determined by the citizens that they would defend themselves against the enemy.

It was hoped that Duke Bernard's troops were advancing, and that the town could hold out till his arrival. But meanwhile the enemy set fire to the town in various places. The poor old father-in-law, wounded as he was, fled with other citizens from the burning streets. Frau Botzinger, who had recovered little Michael, led this helpless party to Poppenhausen, where she put her father into something like a bed, for some articles of furniture still remained in the parsonage. The house was already filled with the neighbouring noble families, who had been driven from their castles.

Next day arrived a troop of horsemen, who, having searched the house, ordered a plentiful supper, as times went, and meanwhile went out to plunder the village, returning late at night laden with goods and chattels.

All the women they could find were called in to boil and roast the plunder of the farmyards. When they were leaving they told Herr Bohme not to think himself out of the wood, for they meant to ransack the neighbourhood for a week longer. They advised him therefore, if he cared for a quiet life, to go to a village at some distance, the nearer villages being Catholic.

The poor old man, with his daughter and grandchildren, started afresh in the darkness and fog, and reached a village, where he was pursued by soldiers and Catholics from the neighbourhood, and the pillage began as before.

The unhappy party again escaped, and hid themselves in a wood, where they stayed several days and nights. From this wood a high road led to the town of Heldburg. For awhile troops were to be seen coming and going ; but at last the road seemed to be deserted ; and, moreover, Herr Bohme heard in the distance the sound of a bell at Heldburg, which was wont to ring whenever there was a christening. This confirmed him in the belief that all was again quiet there. He therefore took his daughter and grandchildren back to the town.

He was immediately surrounded by a rough mob, who dragged the whole party, including another daughter, to the house where the remainder of the soldiers were holding a savage feast. They were greeted with the wild yells of the drunken Croats, who were singing and shouting in deafening chorus.

The little money Herr Bohme had left was forced from him ; his eyebrows, beard, and moustache smeared with tallow, and set alight ; his daughter, Frau Botzinger, was seized by the soldiers, who shamelessly insulted her, till her shrieks were heard by her mother, who had been dragged off to another part of the house.

The old lady forced her way downstairs into the crowd. The outer door was locked, but the lower panel was broken. Frau Bohme, with desperate energy, smashed the panel, and pushed her daughter through the hole. Poor Frau Botzinger found outside a compassionate cook, who led her to a place of safety ; and when she had presented him with some ducats, which she had kept hidden in her sleeve, he returned to rescue her father, who was now half dead, and terribly disfigured.

Outside the town was an ancient pest-house, in which they took refuge. Many other citizens, men and women, had also betaken themselves to this pest-house, thinking it would be overlooked by the soldiers.

But they were mistaken. Scarcely had poor Herr Bohme been laid on a bed, covered with blood, and in terrible suffering, than some of the rabble rushed in, having been told he was a rich man. The pastor's wife was dragged back to the town with her two children. Her sister was left behind, stabbed in several places.

Frau Botzinger was at once set to work to make shirts for the soldiers. Her workroom was the churchyard. As she sat there looking ruefully at a piece of linen which a soldier brought her to cut up, she heard him say to his comrade, "Go and finish off that peasant man." He meant her father. His comrade ran off, and in a few minutes returned with the doublet and breeches of Herr Bohme. “I have done for your father," he remarked to Frau Botzinger.

The soldiers then went to the church in search linen, and having packed it in a bundle, left the town and carried with them the pastor's wife and her two children. It was on this journey that she escaped and fled, as has been related, to Poppenhausen. The children were afterwards found, and brought back their parents.

Chapter 3: Further Adventures of Pastor Botzinger

The following year, 1633, pillage and violence continued ; and in 1634, reports the pastor, matters grew worse. In order to save his beds, his two cows, and the family clothes, he gave them in charge to a pastor who had not yet been invaded.

But immediately afterwards a number of soldiers were billeted upon him for winter quarters. "This cost me," he says, "in thirty-five weeks more than Soo crowns. Eleven persons, besides servants and maids, lodged in my house. It cannot be described what I, my wife, and my children had to endure from them."

Finally the pastor fled to two other villages in succession, where things were no better ; and becoming each day more ill and weak from starvation, he determined to return to Poppenhausen to die there.

In the dark nights he performed his journey to the miserable village, where he found his parishioners looking "like dead people" from hunger and want. Many had already died, and the rest had to run to hide themselves several times a day from the merciless soldiers.

They lived upon lentils and vetches, which they kept hidden in the graves and old coffins of the churchyard—sometimes even in the skulls that lay half buried. But even these stores of food were found and carried off; and it was determined at last that the few who were not themselves by this time buried the churchyard should fly from the village.

Alas ! only eight or nine were left to set forth on their wanderings.

The pastor was allowed to take possession of deserted parsonage in another village, Lindenau, which he was appointed by the Consistory. In the village he remained five years, but received no stipend, as no one had any money. He repaired the parsonage as best he could, for it threatened more than once to fall upon his head. He also undertook the parochial work at Heldburg. During these five years he received altogether less than to crowns. The rest of his income consisted of apple pears, cabbages, turnips, and wood, supplied by his parishioners when they had enough to spare.

In the last year of his life at Lindenau, the who country round was desolated by the encampment Swedish troops. One Sunday morning, at four o'clock a large body of imperial troops also arrived at Heldburg. The pastor and his wife were at that time staying in Heldburg, and awoke in the morning to see the whole street and the courtyard full of hors and cavalry soldiers.

"I and my wife," he writes, "were seized at least five times in an hour ; for as soon as we escape from one party another caught us." He therefore thought it best to give the soldiers the keys, and let them search the house and the cellar, to keep them from molesting the household.

After the search the soldiers departed, leaving the pastor so stupefied with terror, that he entirely forgot some money he had hidden ; and, taking wife and children, he fled to the nearest wood, where many of the townspeople, old and young, had hidden themselves. Here the only food to be had consisted of black juniper berries.

Now and then one of the townsmen ventured back to the town in search of food, or of valuables they still hoped to find. The pastor said to himself, "Ah! if I could get at my cash, I might keep my children from starving yet awhile." He therefore slipped back and passed the outer gate in safety. The inner gate was palisaded. Inside the palisades soldiers were on the watch, and "they sprang on me," relates the poor pastor, "as a cat springs on a mouse."

In a moment he was bound hand and foot, and commanded either to pay a good sum, or betray some rich townspeople. As the pastor could do neither one nor the other, he was ordered to groom and feed the horses, which gave him an opportunity of taking to his heels. He opened a little door of the stable yard, and rushed right into the arms of another detachment of soldiers.

Again he was bound with ropes, and driven at the point of the sword round the town, in order to tell the soldiers to whom each house belonged. When they came to his own house he saw, through the open door, the copper bucket in which he kept his cash—three hundred thalers. How he came by so large a sum remains unexplained. But to get at the bucket was impossible. His clerical cap was also lying or the ground, which a soldier happily put on the head of its owner, for scarcely had he done so, where another soldier struck the pastor on the head with a cutlass, so that the blood ran down over his face and only the felt cap saved his skull.

After wounding him several times with the cutlass the soldiers proceeded to pour down his throat some liquid manure from a dung heap, for which purpose they forced into his mouth a thick stick, which loosened many of his teeth.

Finally they dragged him to the bridge, threw him into the river, and still holding the ropes which were fastened to his left arm and his feet, gave him series of dips, holding him topsy-turvy in the water and when he caught at anything with his right hand in order to keep his head above water, they belaboured him with rakes, with which they thrust him down till the rakes were broken to splinters.

This sport was fatiguing even to those who enjoyed it, and at last, thinking the pastor mus be as good as dead, they let go the ropes, and left him to drown.

" But I whisked under the bridge like a frog," write the good man, " and there, searching in my pocket I found a clasp knife, with which I cut the ropes and sprang straightway down the fall of the river a good story high, to the water below, where were the wheels of the mill. The water half covered me and the rascals threw after me sticks, and bricks, an, clubs, in order to finish me.”

In vain the pastor tried to climb the steep bank to the miller's backdoor—his wet clothes dragged him down. Then falling over again and again in the stream, he reached the opposite side, where was a brewer's yard. The rabble perceived that he might possibly get out in this direction, and therefore calling their comrades from the streets, they lined the banks to wait for his appearance.

The pastor, however, did not appear. He had crept under a thick willow bush, where he remained standing in the water four or five hours, till night came, and the sounds of riot had ceased. Then half dead he crawled out, but so stiff and sore he could hardly catch his breath. He crept along the bank as far as a tanyard, into which he was about to venture, when he saw some one mowing the grass, and another man rooting up nettles. He had only time to slip into the tanning-shed, in which he remained during a great part of the night.

Then starting afresh he crept along the bank down the stream, and crossed it at last by climbing along the slanting stem of a willow. From this point he proceeded to his old home of Poppenhausen.

The road all the way was strewn with clothes, which the soldiers had lost or thrown away. But the pastor was too stiff to stoop, and could not pick them up, much as he needed them. No one was to be found in the village but a certain Claus, with his wife, and a baby six weeks old. This good woman cut off the clothes which were tightened round the pastor's swollen limbs, and put them to dry. Claus lent him a shirt meanwhile, and was filled with horror at the sight of the wounds and bruises which covered the pastor's body. However, when day came Claus commanded his guest to leave; for he feared he might get into trouble by harbouring him. He therefore arrayed him in his old clothes, still wet as they were, and the pastor again started on his travels.

By hiding in the bushes from time to time, he managed at last to reach Lindenau, and stole into garden which commanded a view of the village. He observed several people going into a house, and followed them, but the door was shut against him They were afraid to let him in. Someone, however, looking out of the window, recognized the pastor and opened the door.

He spent several days in this house, for one of the soldiers who occupied the village was an old parishioner, who did what he could to keep his pastor from harm.

But his troubles were not over. The friendly soldier one day escorted a party of the village people to the castle of Einod in the neighbouring wood that they might fetch some of their goods which they had concealed there. Meanwhile he left the pastor to take his place as sentinel on the church tower, in company with a justice and a smith.

Suddenly some horsemen galloped into the village and remarking three men on the tower, they proceeded there straightway, and mounted the stairs shouting loudly in a manner which proved them to have no friendly intentions.

" Stiff and sore as I was," writes the parson, " fear taught me to climb. I scrambled up into the clock tower, and hid like a cat behind the clock. But one of them speedily climbed after me, and dragged me down. My parishioners said I was their schoolmaster, but this did not save me from the blows of the soldiers. ' The schoolmaster must come clown,' they said." Down the stairs they went — first the justice — then a soldier — then the smith then another soldier lastly the pastor.

As they passed out through the church door the pastor quickly stepped back, shut the door, and bolted himself in. He then ran out by another door and crept into a hole in a turnip-field, where turnips were stored. There was only room to crawl in on all-fours, which was terribly painful, stiff and bruised as he was. After waiting there an hour he escaped.

The justice and the smith were taken to a mill, where they were ordered to fill sacks with flour for the soldiers.

Eight days before Whitsuntide the pastor arrived at Coburg, in company with many other fugitives.

He had performed this journey in a pair of old shoes, thoughtfully provided for him by a thief, who had stolen his good ones. The thief's shoes were unprovided with soles, so that they were in the habit of turning round with the toes behind, and the amusement furnished thereby to the rest of the party greatly discomposed Botzinger, who if he did not stand upon his soles still stood upon his

The citizens of Coburg were astonished to see the pastor, whose disappearance under the bridge had been reported to them. They had no doubt he was dead.

For four weeks he remained with them, and was kindly treated with his wife and children, who had also arrived there.

But the town of Coburg furnished a mournful spectacle. The miserable people from all the neighbouring towns and villages had fled there for refuge, and had no means of living but by begging or stealing. After a while the pastor returned with his wife and children to Poppenhausen, where all the money which had been given him by his Coburg friends was seized by the soldiers.

No food was in the house, and no means could be found for getting any. The clover fields had been spoilt ; there was nothing to sell. In the castle the lord of the manor was dying from doses of " Swedish drink," otherwise liquid manure, forced down his throat by the soldiers. He died a few days afterwards.

From this time the pastor led a wandering life, being called to one parish after another, everywhere living in terror, and nowhere finding a livelihood.

In the year 1647 lie at last settled down in the village of Fleubach, where he hoped that his peregrinations would end, although his wife complained bitterly of the rough life in this deserted village, where no servants were to be had.

No parsonage existed in the village, as it had formerly belonged to another parish. The pastor was allowed to live in a shooting-box, adjoining the house of the forester, whose rudeness and insolence were a continual affliction to him. The village was a wild, almost uninhabited place, and the people, used to a life of plundering and of being plundered, were little better than savages. A pastor was a most unwelcome acquisition to them.

In the parish register are still to be read the Latin verses, in which the pastor, to beguile the weary hours, described the insults and opposition he daily experienced. He lived in this dreary village for twenty-six years, and died there at the age of seventy-four.

His successor found in the registers, in Latin verse, various useful hints addressed to him by Pastor Botzinger, who thereby warned him "in brotherly love " against the " evil-minded forester and his wicked wife."

In his epitaph we read that "he spent his life after the manner of Job, being a well-plagued man."

Thus leaving the pages of history to tell the details of the Thirty Years' War, we can form some picture in our minds of life in Germany during that dismal period, when men, lands, wealth, and all means of living were again and again swept away. And yet more terrible was the consequence for those who remained—those brought up in utter lawlessness, killing and stealing for the dear life, unused to any peaceful employment, untaught in trades and agriculture, " hateful, and hating one another."

Nor can we measure the whole extent of the ruin, unless we remember that this disastrous war was carried on in the name of the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, which thus rose up with fire and sword to bring back Germany to the orthodox faith. The teaching of Luther, and yet more of Calvin, must be exterminated from the face of the land.

The history of the war need not here be related. Most of us remember how at last, in the year 1632, one town only remained in the whole of Germany, where the Protestant public worship was still carried on. The siege of Magdeburg must be classed with that of Jerusalem for horror and butchery.

Chapter 4: Some Brave Women

A TOWN less known may, however, be remembered in this short story. It is worthy of remembrance, and, in some respects, of honour.

The old town of Lawenberg lay in a fruitful valley at the foot of the Riesengebirge, on the river Bober, containing in the year 1617 at least 6500 inhabitants. Between the meadows and the wooded hills arose the strong walls and watchtowers of this ancient city.

Let us transport ourselves to the great marketplace, just as it was 260 years ago. Around it stand the townhall and various buildings for purposes of justice and of trade, with high gabled roofs, and four or five stories high, as were most of the houses within the walls.

Covered ways, like those now seen in some ancient towns, run along under the projecting upper stories.

In the lower part of the house are the rooms where the family sleep. The upper part is the storeroom. On the first floor is the best room, carved and panelled ; and on the floors above are sleeping-rooms, and chambers where household articles, or corn or wool, are stored away.

For Lowenberg carries on a busy trade in cloth, which has a great sale in Austria and Bohemia and Poland. Thus it has become a rich city, and has a seal of pure gold wherewith to attest its deeds and charters. This is the Lowenberg of 1617.

Twelve years later the storm had broken. For some time the emperor's troops had been quartered in the neighbouring towns. Their swords and pistols were the weapons of conversion used by the Jesuit " Salvation Army." And next the citizens of Lowenberg were ordered to send 'away their Protestant pastors, who for years had laboured amongst them, and who were now to go into perpetual exile. It was a mournful sight to see the old pastors pass out of the city gates. Their houses had been crowded that last morning by their loving people, who came to bring them parting gifts, and to say a last farewell with many tears. A crowd of weeping men, women, and children followed them out of the gates, to take a last leave when they had walked with them as far as they were able.

All that night an owl sat screeching on the great church tower, and the melancholy sound seemed to the sorrowful people an omen of darker days to come.

Next day came the Jesuits. They preached every day, promising to all those who would return to the true church rewards and privileges in the name of the emperor. For those who refused to return there were penalties and punishments. The citizens feared man, if they feared not God. They compelled the mayor to come to terms with the Jesuits ; and most of the men of Lowenbcrg consented to receive the wafer, without the wine, according to the forms of the Roman Church. The few who refused to do so were driven from the city.

The Jesuits had gained the day. They went on to conquer other towns for Rome.

As soon as they were gone the citizens betook themselves to the Protestant services in the neighbouring villages, The Catholic priest looked down from his pulpit at Lowenberg upon an empty church. More threats and more violence followed. The burgomaster, who was staunch and honest, was consigned to a dungeon. The council took heart, and declared that they would die Lutherans, Riots were raised in the streets, and again the emperor's " Salvation Army "—" Seligmacher," as they were called—rode in through the city gates.

Most of the citizens fled with wives and children, and hid themselves in the villages round. They were dragged back and imprisoned, till they should make confession to a Roman priest. Some, however, succeeded in reaching distant countries.

A new council was appointed, chosen from a set of disreputable men, who were always at hand to furnish to the Jesuits tools for any of their purposes.

The deserted houses were plundered, and waggonloads of household articles bought up by the Catholics from the soldiers who had been plundering. The imperial magistrate and the new council maltreated all whom they regarded as Protestants. The magistrate himself, an old inhabitant of Lowenberg, was one of the Jesuits' converts,

Two hundred and fifty citizens had gone with their families into banishment. One side of the great market-place became entirely uninhabited. Long grass was soon growing in it, and cattle feeding there. In the winter cold and hunger drove back a few of the women and children who had been living in the woods and hamlets around the town.

The chief member of the new council was a monk, who wore golden bracelets. The new priest of the great church was the son of a Protestant pastor.

Thus had the Jesuits conquered Lowenberg. So they believed ; but from a quarter they least expected the defiance came.

Let us return to the old chronicle, written by an eye-witness of the scenes which astonished the monk with his golden bracelets, and the imperial magistrate, on the morning of the 9th of April, 1631.

On that morning there assembled in the council chamber adjoining the town hall the priest, the magistrate, and four members of the council, namely, George Mumer, a clothworker, with another of his trade (each of these gentlemen are spoken of as "his wool-worship"), Herr Melchior, a disreputable baker ; Daniel Seiler, a cabinet-maker ; and the town clerk, Peter Beier. The burgomaster, who seems to have been released from his dungeon, was lying ill of gout.

The wives of these worthies, with other ladies of the town, had received notice the evening before, that on the morning of the 9th they were to present themselves in the town-hall.

The priest opened the meeting by a short speech.

He said that as his dearly beloved children of the true church in Lowenberg were about to send a deputation to the emperor to inform him of their submission, he and the magistrate had agreed together that it would be advisable before so doing to compel all the women to declare themselves of the Catholic faith. His imperial majesty's confessor would see to it, that if they could thus prove their orthodoxy, they should not fail of receiving a special reward. " And if the ladies prove refractory," added the priest, "you have towers and dungeons enough to bring them to a right mind."

The magistrate seconded this proposal, and felt confident that if the chief ladies were locked up for awhile, all the rest would submit themselves. "We have brought the men to their right senses," concluded the magistrate, " and we can therefore manage these animals with ease."

Herr Mumer here remarked that he had been a widower for three months, and he well knew from sad experience what a heavy cross it was to a man to have a wife who was always hammering at his conscience, and therefore he was entirely of opinion that man and wife ought to have one Creed and one Paternoster. As to the Ten Commandments, that was not so urgent ; but he considered it would be more easily said than done. Could not his imperial majesty's commandant first get his own wife to give in ? "As for mine," said Herr Mumer in conclusion, 'I know I never should have tackled her."

Herr Franze, the other clothworker, who had also just lost his wife, said he knew but too well how a man suffered from the tongue of a woman who was averse to popery.

Herr Seiler, the cabinet-maker, and Herr Beier, the town clerk, were of one mind as to the necessity of taming their obstreperous wives ; "hut mine," said Herr Beier, "is an arrant shrew, and never could I undertake to tackle her. I advise that the ladies should be invited into the council chamber, and provided with seats. Then we can try first with fair words, and then with threats, to bring them to reason."

The priest and the magistrate said, " It were well so, but no time must be lost, as the proverb says, ' Eat, bird ! or die.'"

The magistrate then called a constable, and said, " Are the women come ?"

"No," he replied, "none are there."

Then said the magistrate, "Go and find them."

The constable found a few of the ladies, amongst them the magistrate's wife, assembled in the house of a friend, and said, " Ladies, my lord the priest, and his worship the magistrate, and the honourable council, wish you a very good morning, and invite you to the townhall."

The magistrate's wife replied, "Yes, yes, We wish them good morning in return, we will soon come."

Then came the ladies two and two, the magistrate's wife and the burgomaster's wife leading the procession. The other women of the town, who were doing their morning's shopping at the baker's, and at other houses near the market, now collected, and followed in a troop behind the procession.

Thus the whole party went up the steps in to the townhall.

When the constable came into the council to tell the gentlemen this, the imperial magistrate said, " Bring them in."

The constable replied, " Sir, there would not be room for them. I reckon there is a good half thousand of them. The townhall is crammed. They are sitting even on the pipers' seats."

" What have you done ?" exclaimed the priest in dismay. "I never asked for all the women of the town. I wanted only the wives of these honourable gentlemen, that they may set an example to be followed by the rest. Oh, and alas ! what have you done ? "

The constable replied, "When his lordship the imperial magistrate told me last night to summon all the women who were not converted, or who did not wish to be converted, beginning with his own wife, I just carried out his order. And as it was getting late I told most of the women I met in the street to tell their neighbours. And I said they were all to be sure to come under a heavy penalty."

The priest was filled with consternation. "Alas ! gentlemen," he said, "how are we to get rid of the women ? Cannot we send a part of them away ?"

" Do not let your reverence disturb himself," said the magistrate. " We will do as you desire, and only summon before us the chief ladies. When they see that we are in earnest, and that they must give in, or be locked up, the others will go away fast enough."

The constable was therefore commanded to go to the above-mentioned honourable ladies, and desire them to come in alone.

When he had delivered his message, the magistrate's wife replied, " Upon no account. We will not be separated, Where I go, my train must go also ; and where they stay, I stay."

This message did the constable bring back to the council,

Then was the imperial magistrate very wroth, and he said with great solemnity, " Go out again and tell the stubborn women that if they show themselves refractory and disobedient, they will have to learn by bitter experience what our purpose is concerning them,"

Then went the constable and reported this message solemnly. But the good women held fast to their first determination, and said they requested to know why they had been summoned. And in any case they would not be separated, and the fate of one should be the fate of all.

The gentlemen in the council chamber heard with dismay the loud murmur of their many voices.

When the constable returned with their answer the council were in great fear, and they wished the women were nobody knows where. Then did the thought strike them to send out the town clerk, to entreat with urgent but friendly words that the principal ladies would be so good as to come into the council-room, leaving the rest to return home, and to assure them that no evil should befall them. But all was in vain,

" We will not be separated," they repeated.

Then the chief magistrate's wife spoke up, and said to the town clerk, " Yes, indeed, dear sir. Do you suppose we are all idiots, and are not aware of the trick that is to he played upon us ? Do you think we have not found out that we poor women are to be forced against our consciences to change our faith ? It is not for nothing that my husband and the priest have been putting their heads together the last few days. Nearly all day and all night they have been glued the one to the other ; and as to the dainty dish they have been cooking, they may eat it up themselves. I shall not go into the council-room. And where I stay my train will stay also."

Then she turned round to the other women, and said, " Am I speaking your mind, ladies ?"

Then the women shouted all together, " Good, good, we are all one, and we keep together."

Chapter 5: The Better Part of Valour

Thereupon the town clerk was grievously dismayed ; and he ran in hot haste back to the council, and informed them in a doleful voice that he considered the worshipful gentlemen were in no small danger ; for he had remarked that each woman had a weighty bunch of keys hanging at her side.

Thereupon their courage deserted them, one and all, and they hung their heads, and stood silent with terror; one wished to escape one way, and one another.

Master Melchior, the baker, said to the priest, " Had I but a few hundred musketeers I would shoot down the whole pack of them, except those who would kneel down and confess!"

Meanwhile the town clerk was cogitating, and at last he spoke. " Gentlemen," he said, "I know of a way by which we may escape from the women. If the gentlemen will cause the two outer doors of the townhall to be locked on the outside, we can go softly down the stairs to the lower council-room, and open the postern doors of the tower, and thus take flight. They will then not be aware what has happened to us. But I do not know where the keys of the posterns are to be found."

This good counsel commended itself to all, and a mighty search was made for the keys ; for the posterns had not been used for many years.

Meanwhile the constables were called, and commanded to tell the ladies to wait awhile patiently where they were. The constables were also to go round to the two outer doors, out of which they were to pass quickly, shutting and locking them behind them.

This plan succeeded. The good women, of whom there were 263, were thus locked in. The keys of the posterns having been found, the town clerk ran down and forced them into the rusty locks, and then ran up and called, "Gentlemen, the coast is clear ! but softly, softly, I implore, that the women may hear nothing, or all the fiends will be let loose upon us !"

Thereupon the gentlemen fled, each one at his utmost speed, most of them leaving behind their hats and gloves. One ran home, another to a neighbour's house, each one where he thought he would be most in safety. One and all could truly say they were filled with terror.

The priest ran at full gallop the whole way down the church street, looking more behind him than before him ; for he felt as though the women were at his heels, and the keys swinging around his head. He shut the parsonage door behind him, and sank down exhausted with his unwonted exertions. He was so wearied he could neither eat nor drink, and his two ladies had hard work to cool and revive him.

Now when the imprisoned women, of whom some were sitting on the window-sills, heard the cries and tumult in the town, and saw the worshipful gentlemen here and there flying through the streets, they knew not what had happened.

Then went the magistrate's wife to the door of the council chamber, lifted the latch, and peeped in, and called aloud, in great astonishment, "The rascals are all gone ! See, here lies a hat, and there a glove, and there a pocket-handkerchief, and the doors are left open ! Come, let us sit on the benches, and send for our husbands, and tell them they are summoned under heavy penalties to come and hear their sentence."

And all the women replied with shouts of laughter, so that the sound of their mirth could be heard in the market-place below.

But after awhile the women found that they were locked in, and they collected in little knots, and began to lament together that their husbands and children and the small babies would be wanting their dinners. They were not aware of the little postern doors below, and they knew of no means of escape. They therefore agreed to call for some women who were standing outside the locked doors, having come too late, so that they were now unable to enter, and they sent these women to the magistrate, begging him to let them out. The women were also to enquire for what purpose they had all been summoned.

Meanwhile the magistrate had returned to his house a wiser man than he had left it. And he bethought him that, may be, all the husbands of Lowenberg were not of his mind with regard to their wives.

Also he observed that many children and servants were running to the town-hall, carrying food and drink to the imprisoned women, which they pushed in at the windows by means of poles. Indeed, one kind friend had provided them with a whole firkin of beer. And, moreover, many men collected round the magistrate's house, enquiring what their wives had clone that they should be thus locked up.

Then the magistrate collected his wits, and sent for the gentlemen of the council to come in all haste for an urgent and necessary consultation.

The four gentlemen of the council, and the town clerk, were found after a long search. But the priest was nowhere to be seen. He sent word from his hiding-place that he was too tired to attend the summons. But a second summons was sent to him, with the order to appear without a moment's delay, because it was he who was the author of all this trouble.

Meanwhile the constable ran to the town-hall—by whose orders none can say—and called through the locked door to his wife, saying, " Tell the other ladies the gentlemen are all assembled again at the magistrate's house, and they will speedily send to unlock the doors, that all may return to their homes."

Thereupon the magistrate's wife made answer, " We are in no hurry. We are well sheltered from wind and weather. Only we should like to know why we were summoned, and for what reason we are locked up."

The priest was at last induced to attend the council at the magistrate's house. He found the worshipful gentlemen lamenting to one another their great weariness, and the great shock which had left them spent and exhausted, so great had been their fear, and so great the danger they had escaped.

Whereupon some cups of wine were handed round, " but what was done besides I have not," observed the chronicler, " been able to discover, as all was settled in haste, and not taken down in writing. But this I know, that each one upbraided the other, and manybitter reproaches passed backwards and forwards. And the conclusion they came to at last was, to send an embassy to the ladies to release them on the spot, and to address them in the most friendly manner, requesting them politely to leave the town-hall."

The ambassadors were his wool-worship, Herr Mumer, Master Daniel, and the town clerk.

When they reached the town-hall, they walked in amongst the women, and the town clerk began his speech. " Honourable, most honourable, virtuous, and most gracious ladies, his reverence the priest, and his worship the imperial magistrate, and the worshipful council desire to wish you good-day, and wonder greatly that you have taken so ill their harmless summons, entirely misunderstanding their intentions. And since, ladies, you desire to know for what purpose you were summoned, I am permitted to tell you the real cause. It is, that as sermons are to be preached during Passion-week concerning the Holy Sacrament, the council desired to exhort you to attend these sermons diligently. Also they desired to request you to attend the Easter services, and to show a liberal spirit, as the purse of his reverence the priest is well-nigh empty, owing to the small number of citizens left in the town."

Then said Master Daniel, thinking to improve upon the speech of the town clerk, " The ladies must distinctly understand that this is a friendly conference. For the most worshipful council are not in the habit of hanging anyone before they catch him."

Here Master Daniel was silenced by nudges on either side on the part of Herr Mumer and the town clerk, who perceived how rash and foolish was the speech he had begun to make.

But the women burst forth into loud laughter and noise. "Yes, yes," they said, "we quite understand. They liken us to people who are on their way to the gallows !"

And many an evil name did they call the gentlemen of the council, so that the magistrate's wife had to silence them, saying, " Be quiet, be quiet, all of you ;" and then she turned to Master Daniel, and said, " Hear, dear brother-in-law, you do not understand what you are about. You are far too small, all of you, to force our consciences. Oh, how will God judge you, and my husband also ; for he himself is acting openly against his conscience ! Your father, Master Daniel, and my husband's father, were good and reverend Lutheran pastors. They taught you in a very different way from that in which you are now walking. Now you say you are good Catholics. Those who lead evil lives may well want a new religion, but as to being Catholics, you well know that, when you have been drinking, you can speak irreverently enough of the mother of God. And you well know that if you were to be deprived of all you gain by your change of religion, of the good incomes you get by it, which you speedily consume in feasting and drinking; and if you had, on the contrary, to go back to your plane and your shavings, we should hear no more of your popery.

God will judge you, be assured of that. Never shall you take from us our faith. As to being hanged, that will perchance be rather your fate than ours."

Then said the burgomaster's wife, " If you had nothing more to say to us, you might as well have left it to the priest to preach it to us from the chancel. It was not necessary to lock us up to hear it. I am not to be forced in that manner to go to church. When we had our good old pastors and preachers I went to church with great gladness, and was comforted there by the word of God. Now, when I go there, I am pained and angered, and can only tell my grief to God in heaven. As to that Easter-penny, each one is free to give or not to give—any can give it who wish to do so."

But the other women burst forth with such angry words that the gentlemen were terrified, and asked leave to depart without saying another word.

Now when these gentlemen returned to the magistrate's house, the priest and the other gentlemen had already left. They therefore related their interview with the ladies, and returned home.

The women mean while were wending their way, each one to her house. But the magistrate took the matter most seriously and sadly to heart. It was now plain to him that he had made a fool of himself, and that he would never hear the last of his folly, but be mocked and derided for evermore.

He walked up and down the room, and muttered and murmured to himself. At last he said, "Give me something to eat."

Thereupon the cloth was laid, and his maid and the children brought in the dinner, namely, a dish of crawfish, and a white loaf, and cheese, with butter besides.

But the good gentleman, being violently enraged, took first the loaf, then the butter, and the tin butter-dish with it, and threw them out of the window into the market-place. Also the crawfish he threw about all over the room, and then seized the sausage, which was on the table, and which the children were watching with hungry eyes, for all this time they had been waiting for their dinner. Yes ; so filled was he with wrath, that he smashed in pieces the dishes and plates, and everything he could lay hands on, so that the neighbours ran together in crowds to see what was amiss. Then he ran from the room and shut himself up, still muttering loudly to himself, and the next day he got up early, and left the town, and gave up his post to Herr Melchior, the baker.

This next day the gentlemen kept quiet until towards evening. Then the priest sent for the constable and told him to go in his name, and in the name of the vice-magistrate Melchior, to the burgomaster's wife and another lady, and desire them to come to him to the parsonage next morning after mass.

But the ladies said in reply, they would not go to the priest unless the burgomaster himself commanded them to do so.

The constable therefore went to the burgomaster, who said, "As far as I am concerned I desire them to go, or I shall be blamed if they do not."

Therefore next morning, being Friday, they went at the hour appointed, and with them the magistrate's wife, who had not been invited there.

Then began the priest to speak to them in the most friendly manner, and requested them most politely to comply with his wishes, and to declare themselves of the holy religion which their husbands had adopted, the religion which could alone give salvation to the soul. They would find peace and comfort in doing so, and all other matters would go well with them.

Thereupon the women straightway made answer, and said, " No, we have been taught otherwise by our parents, and our former pastors, and we found peace and comfort in the way they taught us. We cannot conform to your religion."

Then said the priest, " At least, dear ladies, come to church, and if you have any doubts or difficulties, come to me as often as you wish, and I will assuredly teach you with all diligence."

The ladies replied, " No, the good gentleman need give himself no trouble on our behalf ; we will not conform,"

" Ah !" said the priest, " but surely the ladies will set a good example, and at least go to church for mass ; and not hinder and stumble others who have already declared, ' If the ladies go, we will go also!'"

The ladies answered, " But we will not go ; neither will we hinder others if they desire to go. They must follow their own consciences, for they are answerable to God alone."

Now when the priest saw that his entreaties were in vain, he implored them yet once more, saying, " Well, well, at least you can say to the other ladies and women that you asked for a fortnight's space to consider, and that your request was granted."

Then answered the women with wrathful mien, " No, dear sir, we did not learn from our parents to tell lies, and we will not learn it from you ; therefore we desire that you should excuse our doing so." And forthwith they went away.

While the three ladies were with the priest a great number of women ran together with wondrous speed, many more than had assembled on the first day.

Of this Herr Franze became aware, and, running and panting, he came in hot haste to the burgomaster, and said, " Sir, I entreat you, in the name of God, be warned by me, and forbid the priest to meddle with the women, for there are a multitude of them come together ; all the bread market and all the houses in the church street are full of them ! May God preserve us, that we and the priest be not massacred by them !"

The good burgomaster was so ill in bed that he could move neither hand nor foot. He sent in haste to the priest, and told him in plain German that he had endangered the whole city by his venturesome proceedings, and that never in any town had such things been attempted before ; and if he were to fall a victim to the fury of the women, he, the burgomaster, would not be answerable for it.

Then answered the priest, "Alas ! sir burgomaster, be not so wroth with me. I see that I have been deluded by that rash man, Herr Melchior; and things have turned out quite otherwise than he led me to expect. I beseech you, sir, advise the women all to return home ; for that which has happened shall never happen again, I solemnly assure you."

When the women heard this, and found that no harm had befallen the three ladies, further than what has been related above, they were well content ; and they went home and laid by their bunches of keys, though each one in a corner where they might have them at hand, either by day or by night, in case they might have need of them.

So far the old chronicle.

Soon after the priest was banished from Lowenburg in disgrace ; for, despite his promises to the burgomaster, he persisted in his meddlesome ways, and in other objectionable practices, having amongst other things opened a tavern for selling beer.

Master Melchior, becoming desperate, enlisted as a soldier, and later on was hanged at Prague.

And the brave women ? We hear no more of them. We may hope that they fled with their husbands and children to some more peaceful home.

For from that time the miseries of Lowenberg increased each year. In 1639 only forty citizens remained, who were deeply in debt. In 1641 they unroofed their houses with their own hands, and went to live in thatched huts, in order to have no more taxes to pay. By the time peace was proclaimed, in 1648, the whole town was in ruins. Some few citizens returned after the peace, and made some of the houses habitable ; but eighty-seven per cent. of the inhabitants had perished. In the year ,184.5 the population had increased to 4500 souls ; that is to say, 2000 less than in the years preceding the disastrous war,

Chapter 6: Fallen Germany

,WE can scarcely picture to ourselves this wholesale destruction, when we remember that such was the history, not only of one town, but of towns, cities, and villages through the breadth and length of Germany.

Seven years before the Peace the inhabitants of Würtemberg were reduced from 400,000 to 48,000—in Frankenthal, out of i8,000 but 324 remained—and so might we continue the terrible list, including many places where but two families, or even one family remained, and many also where none were left to tell the tale of horrors.

Nor must we forget that war was not the only scourge which devastated the land. Whilst immense tracts remained uncultivated, or were ravaged by thousands of hungry soldiers, it was inevitable that famine should add to the misery and death of the unhappy people.

Nor famine alone but the consequences of famine, where men and women and little children were driven forth to feed upon roots and berries, even, in some places, upon the dead bodies which lay around them. We even hear of men and women who were hunted down for food by those who were maddened with hunger.

Therefore, on the heels of famine followed terrible and deadly pestilence ; and in some places—in Dresden, for example—at the end of three years of this plague scarcely one in fifteen was left alive.

Haggard creatures, more like phantoms than like men, wandered wildly over the country "black in the face," says the Chronicle, "tottering and stumbling like people in a dream." Their thought was only to flee—flee anywhere, before the band of wild soldiers, urged on by the merciless Jesuits. They left their dead unburied to the starving dogs and cats, and to the wolves, who increased rapidly as human life diminished. Many killed themselves in hopeless despair. Many sank into melancholy madness, and roamed about, imagining themselves possessed, or hunted by evil fiends.

And the voices that might have spoken comfort to them—the voices of their pastors and preachers, the sound of their old hymns and psalms—all alike were almost everywhere silenced and banished. The churches lay in heaps. Many of the pastors had been massacred, many had fled. Villages and towns remained for long years without preachers or public worship, without schools, without law. Whole generations grew up with no education, no habits of order or morality ; but, on the contrary, learning every vice and every evil practice from the lawless soldiers who carried a curse over the land.

Nor could the nation gain in patriotism and courage, the only gain which sometimes in a small measure, counterbalances the evil effects of war.

For this war was one of Germans against Germans, a war which served only to stir up the bitterest feelings of religious hatred. The desolated country, the burning towns, the piles of the dead and dying, were a triumph to the Jesuits and their troops.

It was at first a crusade against light, and truth, and the gospel of Christ ; but in time the victims ceased to suffer for the truth's sake, and, maddened into revenge and hatred, fought, but under the bare name of Protestants, scarcely knowing the truths which were so rarely preached or taught, but burning only with rage and vengeance, ready to welcome Swedes, or French, or any who would but take up their cause ; though their defenders in their turn ravaged their country, and left a desert behind them.

Such were the people become, fifty years before so prosperous, so orderly, so peace-loving, and, in many cases, so God-fearing and enlightened.

Such were the people. But their princes, who had been ranged either for or against the cause of the gospel, what had they become when the days of peace returned ?

We read of George William of Prussia, who, whilst his subjects were starving, and many hundreds of his villages lay in piles of desolate ruins, "led a wild, heathen life of luxury, feasting and drinking himself drunk with shameless women and gamblers, given up to revels and races, masquerades and ballets and comedies." This prince died eight years before the end of the war.

And meanwhile a historian of the time describes the country round. "I-low sorrowful is the sight of your great towns ! Where of old there were thousands of streets, there are now not a hundred. The small towns and villages lie in ashes and ruins—houses without roofs or rafters, doors or windows. Where are the churches ? They have burnt them, and carried off the bells ; they are turned into stables or market-houses, or resorts of the vilest of the populace.

"And the villages-O God, how terrible is the sight ! I wander amongst them for ten (German) miles, and see not a human creature, not a beast, not a sparrow ; perhaps here and there a solitary old man or a child, or a couple of old women. In all the villages the houses are filled with dead bodies and carrion, the corpses of men, women, children, horses, pigs, cows, and oxen lying heaped together, the victims of hunger and pestilence, eaten by worms, by wolves, by dogs, and crows and ravens; for there were none to bury them, or to lament them, or weep over them.

" Remember, you rich townspeople, how multitudes died before your eyes on the bare ground ; for of your many beds you would not spare them one. And later on those beds were carried away, and your turn came at last. You know how the living among you hid in holes and in cellars, to murder one another, tear one another in pieces, and to devour one another ; that parents fed upon their children, and children on the dead bodies of their parents ; that many have begged at your doors for a cat or a dog to appease their hunger ; that many thronged to the knacker's yards to cut off pieces from the carcasses, already decayed and pestilential."

And this throughout the whole land, far and near, whilst the princes feasted and drank, and the nobles, as far as they had the means, followed their example.

They gave themselves up, we read, to expensive living, in their dresses of costly velvet and lace, glittering with pearls and jewels—much of this finery the plunder they had heaped up during the long years of war. Especially, we are told, did they spend recklessly at weddings and at christenings, when gluttony and drunkenness knew no bounds.

We are told also that the courts most noted for drunkenness were those of the prince bishops, being chiefly in the vine country along the Rhine and Maine, and being also without the refining influence of ladies, so that the sole pleasure of the bishops and their guests was, as one of their historians relates, not drinking, but tippling.

This writer records of himself that during a stay of more than eight days at one of these episcopal palaces, he was scarcely one hour sober.

But his visit to the Court of Heidelberg was more disastrous. Although at Heidelberg ladies were not wanting, they did but encourage the elector palatine in his laudable desire to make his visitor " drink himself to death."

He was taken to the renowned Heidelberg tun, and there forced to drink till he was speechless and insensible. He found, he says, on coming to his senses, that all the company were much in the same condition.

Thus Protestant princes and Catholic alike, bishops and nobles, were sunk beneath the level of beasts, whilst murdering and slaughtering with merciless fury, for the sake of religion.

Had nothing then remained of the great work of Reformation for which a hundred years before so many had suffered and died ?

Yes ; there were some few but glorious exceptions even amongst the princes—there were not a few, amongst the pastors and preachers who remained, who lifted up their voices against the vice and shamelessness of all classes.

One proof of this is the fact that towards the end of the century a large number of the Protestant princes went over to the Church of Rome, some, it is true, for the sake of worldly honours, but many because, as we are told, " all manner of concessions were made to them on the part of Rome, with regard to their morals and manners. The new faith itself offered many alluring enticements for tastes and feelings, which cold and severe Protestantism had kept down, or at least had not encouraged. The ceremonial, so gorgeous and dazzling to the senses, which the Church of Rome regards as a necessary part of the worship of Him who is a Spirit ; and the solemn pomp with which a bishop glittering with gold and jewels appeared amidst a flood of light, surrounded by hundreds of wax tapers, and accompanied by the entrancing sound of Italian music, was something in comparison with which Protestantism, with its unadorned services, seemed to their eyes dull and common, not to say vulgar. The countless church festivals and processions gave occasions for splendour and feasting, and furnished an excuse for the holiday-making which Protestants condemned, as interfering with duty and labour. The convenient morals of the Jesuits spared their converts all the perplexing conflicts which might disturb the consciences of those who had to listen to the exhortation of their Protestant pastors. 'The casuistry of the pupils of Loyola, which furnished justifying excuses for most things, found no difficulties not only in sparing the inclinations and desires of these favoured princes, but even in representing them as especially pleasing to heaven, on account of their extravagant luxury."

Chapter 7: French Germany

This picture would seem sufficiently black had we no more to describe. But a deeper, darker shade was yet to be added, by the strange mania which towards the end of the century spread far and wide through Protestant and Catholic Germany.

This finishing touch was unconsciously given by "The Most Christian King," Louis XIV. of France. Up to this time, in the midst of coarse and brutalizing vices, there were still to be found here and there the traces of the simple, homely manners and pleasures of olden times.

There were princes and ancient families who still preserved a love of order, and a sense of duty ; who were in these respects the models to which the more depraved looked up with some sort of reverence.

But twenty years after the Peace of Westphalia a new order of things had begun. The splendour, the extravagance, the despotism, the utter immorality of Versailles, became the pattern and admiration of Protestant and Catholic Germany.

The change seems to have come more or less suddenly. Towards the end of the century the German princess, Elizabeth Charlotte, who had married the Duke of Orleans, wrote sorrowfully to her sister in Germany that the life of Paris and Versailles was a weariness and oppression to her. She looked back to the old times in her German home, where she had natural and simple pleasures, and thoroughly enjoyed her girlish days.

She remembered the merry games, and the free out-of-doors life, when she could laugh and talk, and have no rules of etiquette to make her miserable. She remembered the feasts of cold milk and simple food with cheerful friends, out on the green grass by some little stream, and she thought how happy and innocent were those pleasures, which she had exchanged for stiff and stately splendour.

But a few years after she wrote, "I hear that all is changed, and you seem in Germany to be no better off than I am here in France."

And so it was ; but the picture at this point needs to be covered with the thickest veil. It would be an unprofitable and hateful task to attempt a description of the manner of living of German princes and nobles, when the rage for all that was French had taken possession of them.

The history of many a heathen would appear decent and dignified when compared with the lives of the " Christian " Sultans of Germany, with their harems, their feasts of Venus in luxurious gardens, their feasts of Diana in shady groves their festivals of nymphs upon their lakes and rivers, and of Saturn on the wooded lulls.

Did no awakened conscience ever speak to these descendants of the princes who had listened to Luther, and restored the Bible to Germany ?

On the contrary, we are told that the more they were sunk in the most shameless self-indulgence, the more did they regard themselves as " the Davids and Solomons of their time." We read in a letter addressed to one of these princes, one who excelled the rest in every vice, " Above all must we remember that magnificence is necessary to a prince, for he is the representative of God, God displays His magnificence in all His works. He shows Himself to be great and mighty in His mighty universe, in His radiant sun, His terrible lightning and thunder. So should the prince shine and glitter in all that surrounds him."

But no more of this " Saxon man of sin," as Carlyle would have him called, for, as he further says, "human language is unequal to the history of such things " as the life and manners of this " representative of God."

And so the world went on in these palaces and castles, with none to speak a word of warning, or to remind these dying men and women of the great eternity before them, For even from the beginning of the seventeenth century, the chaplains in the Catholic courts and castles had been replaced by Spanish or Italian Jesuits, and the Protestant chaplains gave place as the years went on to French abbes.

For all things were now to be French—French tutors and dancing masters, French dress, French wigs and curls, French manners, French morals, French language.

"And thus," complained Prince Frederick II. of Gotha, " instead of estimable virtues, and state craft, the young princes have their heads continually filled with atheism, and indifference, and self-conceit, and impertinence, and contempt of their fatherland, and moreover they are ruined in bodily health by vice and luxury."

Nor was the curse limited to princes and nobles. The middle class became ashamed of the plain and simple ways of their fathers. They too must follow the shining examples set before them of extravagance and luxury and immorality of all sorts.

The insane pride of birth and rank, which kept them entirely apart from the upper classes, did not hinder this, but rather encouraged it. For they had accustomed themselves to think that a count or a baron were positively superior beings—a prince or a king something half-divine—and could they have nobler models than these men and women in splendid attire, and glittering with gold and jewels ?

Deeply were they flattered, when at some court festivities they were invited with wives and daughters to take part in masked balls and masquerades. Little did they suspect that it was one of the noble pleasures of their hosts to watch their awkward attempts at French grace and manners, to make merry over their vulgar finery, and their rustic innocence, which made them the sport of the still more vulgar tricks of the aristocratic.

Thus downwards did the degradation and ruin spread amongst all classes—till we reach the half-savage, the starving, the homeless victims of war and pestilence.

Chapter 8: The Quiet in the Land

MAN earthy, of the earth, an hungred feeds

On earth's dark poison tree—

Wild gourds, and deadly roots, and bitter weeds;

And as his food, is he.

And hungry souls there are that find and eat

God's manna day by day—

And glad they are, their life is fresh and sweet;

For as their food, are they.

—G. TERSTEEGEN

IN that part of Germany which specially concerns us in this history, we must not regard the end of the Thirty Years' War as the beginning of a time of peace. The Rhine provinces, Cleve, Julich, and Berg, had a history of their own. Peace had been there an unknown delight for many a year before the great war began.

These provinces had been the thoroughfare for Spanish soldiers during the eighty years' war of the Dutch provinces against the tyranny of the Inquisition. They had been the fighting ground of Spanish and Dutch troops again and again during that long war. They had been themselves a bone of contention between the two houses of Neuburg and Brandenburg, not to mention that the emperor at Vienna had considered it his duty to settle these disputes by claiming them for himself, They had also been promised by him to the Elector of Saxony, who had, as he believed, some shadowy claim upon them likewise.

Consequently, in the years that followed the Peace of Westphalia, they remained mostly without any regular government. Who was to govern them ? was the question as yet unanswered. The Prince of Pfalz Neuburg, who was a Catholic, asserted his rights by tyrannous proceedings against the Protestants, for the inhabitants of these provinces were with few exceptions Protestant.

In self-defense, they called in the help of the Great Elector, Frederick William of Brandenburg—now of Prussia.

These disputes continued, with occasional acts of violence, until something like an agreement was made in the year i666. They were then divided between Neuburg and Brandenburg. It was however only a nominal agreement. The actual fact was a constant condition of disputing and disorder.

So did all hope of a peaceful life become more and more distant, till it was utterly extinguished by the second " Robber-war" of Louis XIV. in 1672, from which period Germany and France remained at enmity with one another till nearly the end of the century, with a short interval which had the name of peace for the nine years ending in 1683.

Thus when we arrive at the last quarter of the seventeenth century, and look round us on German courts and castles, on German town life and country life, we draw back sickened and disgusted at the loathsome picture. One passing glance and we have seen enough, more than enough.

Let us turn the pages of history, and go back into the depths of the darkness, where we find at least some sort of faith, and some notion of the existence of holiness, and some delight in things beautiful and things divine. Some heroism, some enthusiasm, something not altogether lower than the level of the heathen—not to say of beasts.

Let us go back and consort with the men who went on crusades, and built abbeys and cathedrals, and were knight-errants, and ascetics, and pilgrims, and minne-singers, anything rather than these swine of history.

" It would be hard to find," writes Professor Bryce, "from the Peace of Westphalia to the French Revolution, a single grand character, or a single noble enterprise, a single sacrifice made to great public interests, a single instance in which the welfare of nations was preferred to the selfish passions of their princes."

But the object, for one thing, of this history, is to bring before us the glorious truth, that many waters cannot quench the love that came down from heaven, neither could the floods drown it.

God, who looked down upon these scenes of indescribable wickednesss and uncleanness, upon these scenes of misery and suffering, upon the awful hypocrisy which used His name as a pretext for slaughter and plunder, and torture and self-indulgence —that same God also beheld, in the midst of the darkness, those who sighed and cried for the abominations of Christendom, and who, even in the midst of Sardis, had not defiled their garments.

It is a pleasanter task to turn to them, and to watch the dawning of a brighter day for the Church of God.

Had not Christ said, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world " ? Had He not promised, "I will send you another Comforter, that He may abide with you for ever; even the Spirit of truth ; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth Him not, neither knoweth Him but ye know Him ; for He dwelleth with you, and shall be in you " ?

And it may be in some of the by-ways and back lanes of history we may have the surprise of meeting with " some noble enterprise, some sacrifice made for the great interests " of Christ, some instance in which the welfare of lost men and women was preferred to the selfish passions of degraded men.

For God works down here by men and women ; but less often by the great and the renowned than by the small and the unknown—by those who were called, in the days of which we speak, by a name their God has given them, " The quiet in the land,"

Chapter 9: The Precise Dr. Voet

THE history of this good man, though properly belonging to the annals of the Dutch Reformed Church, is necessary for our understanding some of the events which will be related in the following sketches of German Protestantism.

A very quiet man was Dr. Gisbert Voet. He was not amongst those known to history by the name of " the quiet in the land," for this name was given later on ; but in many respects such as they were was he ; and we may, in fact, trace their existence in part to his life and labours.

Born at Heusden, in Holland, in the year 1588, he was for sixty-five years a minister of the Reformed Church of the Netherlands.

Except for his influence upon those who followed him, his history concerns us but little. Perhaps to himself his life seemed scarcely quiet. He was deeply concerned about the many evil doctrines and evil ways of men.

First of all, as belonging to the Calvinistic Reformed Church, he grieved deeply over that which he called the Lutheran heresy. To a member of the Reformed Church, a Lutheran was little less to be dreaded than a Catholic, or even a Jesuit.

He grieved over the evil teachings of Arminius and of Arminians.

He grieved perpetually over the dancing, gambling, drinking, play-going Christians all around him.

He grieved most especially over those who were led away by the theories of a rationalist-Catholic

Frenchman, who had taken up his abode in Holland. For did not this faithless man declare, that only that which we distinctly and clearly perceive can we recognize as true, and that our mind therefore is the test and measure of truth ?

" Where, then," said Voet most truly, " is there any room for faith in God ? Prove something to me on the evidence of my reason and my senses only, and you render it impossible for me to believe it except as I believe that two and three make five."

Therefore could this Frenchman, Rene Descartes, be only regarded as a troubler of the minds of men, by turning them away from God to themselves.

But Dr. Voet could not convince men of this by his learning and his labours, and as time went on his life and strength were spent more and more completely in arguments and controversies and disputes, and also in fruitless remonstrances against the world, the flesh, and the devil.

"Gospel-preachers," he said, " are opposed by their own church members, and regarded as fanatical or newfangled, if they bring Scripture to bear upon Sunday-breaking, dances, ballets, plays, gambling, excessive finery, duels, violence, immorality, drunkenness, dice-playing, simony, and the customs and observances of Rome."

But how were matters to be mended ? There were the Anabaptists, it is true, who set their face against all these things, but they were wild and fanatical, and dissenters from the established Church. They too could only be a grief and sorrow, in another way, to good Dr. Voet.

" There is nothing to be done," was the conclusion he came to, " but to follow precisely and absolutely the laws and commandments we find in the Bible."

Thus arose the word " Precision ;" and we may remember that our great-grandfathers and grandmothers in England talked of "precise people," who wore plain bonnets, and never went to balls or plays. But in England the word • Puritan was more commonly used, or in later days Methodist.

Such a grave and sad Precisian, was Dr. Voet. He laboured hard, and he did not bethink him that his labour was not only the harder, but the more hopeless, because it was with the law, not with the gospel, that he betook himself to his task. He did believe the gospel so far that he knew and taught that we are saved from eternal condemnation by the blood of Jesus.

But how are we to be saved day by day from our sins ? " By keeping God's law," said Dr. Voet.

Thus, side by side with the English Puritans, grew up a large body of Dutch and German "Precisians." In most respects they were very much alike. They were both a God-fearing, Bible-reading folk, distinguished from their neighbours by their strict, austere lives, their avoidance of worldly amusements and luxuries, their plain dress, their delight in prayer, preaching, and godly conversation.

The world has described them as coarse, uncultured people, insensible to, or even hating, all that is beautiful or lovely or tender in things around them. But we find that even a tinker amongst them had the soul of a poet, and the eye of a painter, and as we learn to know them, we see that they refused most of the harmless pleasures of the world, because they were pleasures defiled by contact with sin, and debased into channels for lust and godlessness.

The world made merry over their separation from the ungodly, and over their rigid rules, and their plain clothes. Perhaps the fact that they were equally plain and simple in their worship, and that they had an abhorrence of Romish idolatry, led the world then, and the world now, to regard their austere dress, and their unworldly lives, as a species of ultra-Protestantism. But if we trace back the Precisian and Puritan teaching on these points, we find that it sprang from a source further back than the Reformation, or even than Catholicism, though it was from Catholicism that it flowed onwards into the Protestant communities.

The source is to be found in the New Testament. We are there taught separation from the world, simplicity in dress, self-denial in needless luxuries, and moderation in all things. But as time went on, and the Church lost her first love, and sank into the ways of the world, these commandments of the Lord became a burden too heavy for the worldly Christians who had but a name to live and were dead.

A distinction was therefore made between ordinary Christians who were not bound by such unwelcome rules, and the " religious" who were bound not only to follow the teaching of Christ in this respect, but to add to it endless rules of austerity, the super-sanctity of some thus making up for the semi-sanctity of others. The " religious " were taught to mortify themselves as regards all pleasure and enjoyment, whether worldly or merely human, and in a good sense, natural. They were expected to wear a plain religious dress, conform to rigid rules, and be literally separated from the world by stone walls. Thus asceticism took the place of Christian holiness, and the simple unworldliness and self-denial of the early days was buried beneath a pile of will-worship and voluntary humility, more satisfying to the flesh.

When we come to the time of the Reformation, we find that many awoke to the fact that not only some, but all believers, are chosen out of the world for God—set apart for Him, and consecrated by Him for His worship and service. The holiness and unworldliness, therefore, which had been supposed to attach to a certain class of Christians, were owned to be, not the penance, but the privilege, of all the children of God.

Calvin, who knew and taught this truth, so long lost and forgotten, had nevertheless shaped his thoughts, as to holiness of life and practice, according to the teaching of his early days, when he too had been a Romanist, and had reverenced the religious dresses and the austere rules of monastic life. He, therefore, applied to all believers, rules and precepts which were taken rather from medieval asceticism than from the New Testament.

And the world that had looked with respect at the monks and nuns in religious dresses, who were making up for the shortcomings of their neighbours, raised the cry of fanaticism and hypocrisy, when the Puritans and Precisians appeared in their plain clothes, bearing witness to the unwelcome truth that there is no middle ground between that of separation to God, and separation from Him.

It must also be remembered that another point of similarity existed between the Catholics and the Puritans ; both sought for holiness more or less by human endeavours, not knowing that those under grace are no longer under the law. And, therefore, rigid rules were welcomed in both cases by those who desired to live a life of devotion.

Neither to the Puritans, nor to those who derided them, did it ever occur, that their austerities and their plain clothes were to be traced further back than their teacher John Calvin ; back to Francis of Assisi, to Benedict of Monte Casino, and to many an ignorant and devoted monk. These medianial "Puritans " had been canonized for the practices which, faintly reproduced in the Puritans of Protestantism, appeared to the world unspeakably ludicrous. Yet the world that derided the Puritans retained a lingering reverence for the old " saints " —saints not only unadorned, but too frequently unwashed.

And so days and years passed by in the life of good Dr. Voet, and men grew the more wicked, and strayed away the more after popish priests and French philosophers, and after lusts and pleasures of all sorts. And Dr. Voet grew more and more sad. For he was a true and faithful servant to his Master, and he longed for better things, and he sighed, and mourned, and preached, and wrote, and read his Bible, and his Thomas a Kempis, and the great light and power and blessedness which some have known were rarely known to him.

And you and I would perhaps have felt sad and sleepy had it been our lot to sit pricier his pulpit, and we should have put his books on some top shelf, and regarded him as a dull and ponderous man, whose heart was dried up by arguments and controversies.

But there was One who loved him, and owned his laborious endeavours to weed and prune the neglected vineyard.

As he lay dying, he looked up and said, " Oh, a thousand times, a thousand times do I long for Thee, my Jesus ! When wilt Thou come ? When wilt Thou rejoice my heart ? When wilt Thou satisfy my soul with Thyself, my Lord ?"

And the Lord answered and heard, and took him to Himself, where we shall meet him and rejoice with him.

His portrait hangs in the council-room of the senate at Utrecht, and there we may yet see " his high forehead, his piercing eye, his finely-cut mouth, and the iron firmness of every feature."

There were some then, and some since, who regarded Dr. Voet as a mystic. His last words may explain this. Sound doctrine, and strict life, were to most of the true believers of those days the whole of Christianity. But the intercourse of the heart with God had suspicion of something dreamy, unreal, imaginative, attached to it.

It is a short and simple way of bringing a thing into disrepute, to give it a name. It does not matter whether the name has any perceptible meaning. Any pronounceable letters, joined together, will answer the purpose.

The word mystic, therefore, which had only a very vague meaning, was very serviceable. To stray from the path of orthodox doctrine and " precise " life, into visionary notions of communion between the soul and God, was to be a mystic. Such could only be classed with those who see visions and dream dreams, who believe in ghosts, and witches, and charms, and omens, and the philosopher's stone, and depart from all the rules of common-sense, not to say of sound religion, as we are taught it in our catechisms, and by our pastors and teachers.

Is it then true that between the redeemed soul and the Saviour, between the child and the Father, there is none but imaginary intercourse ?

Is the Comforter, who came down on the Day of Pentecost, gone back into the depths of heaven ? Or does He still dwell in the hearts of those who are beloved of God ?

If these things are true, if the promise of God is sure, we need not be surprised that the dry and controversial Dr. Voet, who had within him the well of living water, allowed it at times to be seen springing up, and thus bringing everlasting life to souls around him.

There were others such as he was in this respect. There had always been Protestants who were not only Protestants, but Christians.

We cannot stop to consider many of them, but upon some we must spend a little while, in order to understand the history that follows.

Chapter 10: The Laborious Dr. Koch

DR. KOCH, who was born in 1603, is one of these.

He too had been strictly and precisely brought up in the Calvinistic Reformed Church. His early home was at Bremen, afterwards at Hamburg, where he learnt Hebrew from a Jew, but later on he went to study in West Friesland.

After holding various professorships, he at last settled down as professor of dogmatic theology at Leyden.

Koch is to be remembered for the devotion of his life to the earnest and thorough study of the Bible. " The innermost spring of his life and work," says one of his historians, " was his unconditional subjection of mind to the word of God, as he under- stood it, by means of an enlightened conscience and earnest prayer, ' for,' he said, 'the conscience, to which the truth has been revealed, cannot err, but unen- lightened reason is sure to err. And the proof of the corruption and hardness of the heart is, that it prefers to follow its own inventions and imaginations to the voice of conscience.'" The teaching of Descartes was therefore, to Dr. Koch, only an example of unenlightened reason.

And yet Dr. Koch himself, strange as it may seem, was a grief and sorrow to good Dr. Voet. Why was this ? It was because Dr. Voet considered that the Bible was to be interpreted according to the teaching of the Church ; that is to say, of the Reformed Calvinistic Church of the Netherlands. And therefore if Dr. Voet wished to understand a passage, he would take down some of his ponderous volumes, and read the interpretation given by orthodox divines, or he would carefully compare it with the Heidelberg catechism.

But Dr. Koch, on the contrary, searched through the Bible itself, and said that the meaning must be found by comparing one passage with another, and not taking them out of their connection. "And if we need a teacher," he said, "let us go to Christ, who has said that we need not that any man teach us, for the anointing that we have received of Him teacheth us all things." That is to say, that Dr. Koch would compare all human teaching with the Bible, and believe it as far as he found it there.

In consequence of this, not only Dr. Voct, but many orthdox divines, suspected Dr. Koch of atheism, heresy, Pelagianism, Socinianism, popery, Judaism, and infidelity. They said he opened the door to fanaticism and unbelief of all sorts.

But Dr. Koch maintained, on the other hand, that to trust to the teaching of the Church, if thereby you mean not simply believing persons taught by the Spirit, but a national institution, is the sure way to all these evil results.

"For," he said, "the Reformed Church, and indeed all other Churches, consist in great measure of baptised heathen people who are enclosed within their limits. The Churches are all alike more or less corrupt in their doctrine and in their practice. In fact there is little hope of their restoration. They consist mostly of those who have no love to God, and much love of the world, and consequently, taking them as a whole, they are like fallen Jerusalem, which the Lord called Sodom and Gomorrah."

After our little glance at the life and manners of all classes in Germany, we are compelled to own that Dr. Koch came to correct conclusions.

Thus far do we need to bear in mind who and what was Dr. Koch. We shall hear of him again. We may remember him, and also good Dr. Voet, with love and respect.

At the same time, whilst Dr. Voet was arguing against the evils around him, and Dr. Koch was diving into the difficulties of obscure passages in the Bible, the millions around them, with hungry souls and sorrowful hearts, gained but little at the time from their labours. God, who cared for them, was preparing other messengers, and preparing them by means of such as Dr. Voet and Dr. Koch, to meet the need of the sad and sinful.

Chapter 11: Reformers After the Reformation Jer. 33:18

THE race of God's anointed priests shall never pass away ;

Before His glorious Face they stand, and serve Him night and day.

Though reason raves, and unbelief flows on a mighty flood,

There are, and shall be, till the end, the hidden priests of God.

His chosen souls, their earthly dross consumed in fire of love—

In flame their hearts ascending reach the Heart of God above;

The incense of their worship fills His Temple's Holiest place ;

Their song with wonder fills the Heavens, the glad new song of grace,

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

WE sometimes hear of the reformers before the Reformation. That there were such people is very true. In fact, there were a far greater number of them than those would suppose whose idea of a reformer is simply that of a man who desires that Roman Catholics should become Protestants, and that Protestant rites and ordinances should take the place of Roman Catholic ones; or that Roman Catholic doctrines should give place to the teaching of Luther or Calvin.

In order to come to a clear view of the matter we have to drop a good many notions which we have learnt from men and books, and go back to the New Testament, and submit ourselves to the teaching of God the Holy Ghost.

We learn from the New Testament that there never was, and never could be, more than one Church of God. That however many might be the names given by men to differing sects and parties, one true Church alone could exist as the body of Christ and the house of the living God.

We learn further that this one true Church is, was, and always will be, composed of those, and of those only, who, having believed in Jesus, and received from God the forgiveness of sins and eternal life, are thus become living stones in the one temple, living members of the one Christ, united to Him by the Holy Spirit sent down from heaven.

If, therefore, we wish to trace the history of this Church through the confusions and ruin and bewilderment of the past eighteen centuries, we must not simply follow the thread of the history of anything called by men the Church.

In fact, the history of this true and living Church is an unwritten and an unwritable history. Just as we could not write the history of those in Israel who had not bowed the knee to Baal, so we could not follow this river of living water, which flowed on in hidden places unrecognized by men.

But now and then, in this sect or that, a glimpse of the bright water shows to us the existence of this river of life; and we can see dry places made green and fruitful, and catch here and there words and songs which tell of souls who had passed from death to life, and from the power of Satan unto God.

And wherever there was such a soul redeemed by the blood of Christ, made alive with the life of Christ, there we find one who in heart and soul was a reformer. We find one who desired that the Church, which had lost her first love, should be warmed afresh by the knowledge of the love that forgives and saves. We find one who, having been brought into the Father's house, and having sat down at the Father's feast, desired that the dead and the lost around him should know the same welcome and the same kiss.

We find further, that when such an one shines out now and then from the pages of history, he shared the rejection and persecution of Christ. He might be called by any name. In fact, for many centuries such persons are known to us, not only as Waldenses or Lollards, but chiefly as Roman Catholics, who had, however, no thought of leaving that outward Church, simply because they could not conceive anything but heathendom outside of it.

But remaining in it, and of it, they were yet taught by God the blessed truths which made them, not only witnesses for Christ, but also the objects of the scorn and contempt of the world—mostly of the religious world.

Of such reformers, or rather of such who desired a Reformation, we find, thank God, many in the darkest ages.

And as we find them in the dark ages before the Reformation, so do we find them in the dark ages that followed it. For when we speak of the Reformation as an era in history, we mean the time when some of the doctrines taught as Christianity were reformed ; that is to say, brought more into accordance with the doctrines of the New Testament. And consequently it was also the time when rites and observances were extensively reformed, so as to be in accordance with the reformed doctrines.

But God, who has to teach us in numberless ways that all light and knowledge granted by Him are wasted upon those who are sightless and senseless, has given us the proof in the centuries that followed the Reformation how powerless is the purest and the highest truth, if merely assented to by the natural mind.

Not only so. We find invariably that the purer and the higher the truth, the more will those brought up in the light of it become examples of the power of the world, the flesh, and the devil, if it has reached the mind only, and the heart and conscience remain untouched.

It was to an orthodox teacher that the solemn words were spoken, "Ye must be born again."

And if we needed a proof that light and knowledge alone are as nothing, and that professing Christians as well as heathens, Protestants as well as Catholics, need to be raised from death to life, and saved from sin and condemnation, we find it in the history of the Protestant nations to whom God had in His great mercy restored the Bible, and to whom He had spoken by the saints and martyrs, who in the sixteenth century won back the Bible for the Church.

We find that the lowest depths of wickedness were reached by those who, proud of their Protestantism, had never yet been Christians.

So did Jerusalem fall lower than Sodom; the professing Church than the heathen ; debased Protestants than many ignorant Roman Catholics.

Though it is true that even the records of German Protestant courts acquire a tinge of virtue when compared with the histories of many popes and bishops of earlier times.

Three of the reformers after the Reformation need to be mentioned to complete this part of our story—reformers who desired to see dead souls live, lukewarm souls burn with the love of Christ, lovers of pleasures become lovers of God, children of this world become children of light. To these threeLodensteyn, Labadie, and Spener—may chiefly be traced the great awakening which was the means used by God to stem the torrent of sensuality, rationalism, and infidelity, which broke forth at the period called by a strange irony the period of " enlightenment." (" Aufklarung.")

Chapter 12: Father Lodensteyn

THOUGH , as we have seen, the labours of Dr. Voet and Dr. Koch made but small impression upon the careless and the ungodly around them, they were used by God to stir up some who went out to seek the lost sheep of Christ.

If Dr. Voet seemed dull and dry to some, he was the object of the love, and even of the enthusiasm, of a young student who attended his classes at Utrecht.

This young man, Jodocus von Lodensteyn, of a noble family of Delft, born in the year 1620, appears to have been truly converted to God by the teaching of Dr. Voet.

He afterwards spent two years at Franeker as a pupil of Dr. Koch. Whilst at Franeker he made the acquaintance of a Scotch Puritan, called Amesius, and determined to travel in England and Scotland to learn more amongst the Puritans and Covenanters. But this plan was never carried out, for he was chosen, at the age of twenty-four, as preacher at Zoetemer, in Holland.

After various moves he was at last placed at Utrecht, where his beloved Dr. Voet was still living and teaching, and he rejoiced to spend his last years with this friend of his youth.

He survived Dr. Voet only one year, dying at Utrecht in the year 1677. " Father Lodcnsteyn," as he was called, was not a learned theologian, like his masters. His desire was rather to win souls for Christ, and care for them as a pastor. Therefore, besides his regular sermons, he had conversational Bible-readings and prayer meetings every Friday. These meetings were then becoming widely spread in Holland, and later in Germany and England, and are known to us as " conventicics." Of their origin we shall hear later on.

Many Christian students took part in these meetings, and as Father Lodensteyn's object was simply and only to awaken dead souls, and build up living ones in the love of Christ, we are not surprised to hear that " at Utrecht, as in all other places where he laboured, the green leaves budded forth, and a new life began."

For the good man's life spoke as loudly as his lips. He was simple and self-denying. If he bought meat it was generally for the poor. He laboured from early morning till late at night, taking for his recreation the writing of hymns. He was never married, and considered that a single life had many advantages. He went so far as to wish that convents had been only reformed, not abolished, for he thought they might be quiet retreats for many who wished to live for God.

Many of the old convents had been turned into parsonages, others into schools. And when Father Lodensteyn saw the schoolboys spinning their " monks " (so they called their humming-tops) in the deserted cloisters, he would feel a mournful longing that living monks, but at the same time Puritan monks, who believed as Calvin believed, should be pacing those cloisters as in olden days.

He preached with great power, and his fine voice was fitted for the old cathedrals and churches, in which crowds gathered to hear him.

But he would say a few words before the sermon, to entreat those amongst his hearers, who had more grace than he had, " no doubt there are many such," added the simple man, "to pray earnestly for him that God would fill his heart, and open his lips." " So must the apostles have preached," said some who heard him.

The services were very simple—he had no choir and no vestments to attract the crowds who came. " The pure gospel," he said, " and the truth of God, has in itself so much marrow and fatness, so much spirit and life, that no man need paint and colour it to give it force and charm. Without adornment, it is able to pierce through heart and conscience; therefore, all we have to do is follow the will of God in preaching His truth, and be utterly blind to all results, leaving that to God, who will give us power to help each soul that has ears to hear, and also to reform the church which needs it."

For the deep fall of the professing church, especially of the beloved Reformed Church of his fatherland, was a deep and bitter sorrow to Father Lodensteyn.

" They boast of being reformed," he would say ;

" but when we look back to the first days of the Church, to the time of her first love and her bitter persecutions, and compare that time with this time of lukewarmness and carelessness, of apostasy and death, then do we see the desperate need of repentance and self-abasement. The mockery of the world is richly deserved by those who can yet defend the Reformed Church, or dare to boast of her triumphs; they should rather be weeping over the deformed Church, and making bitter lamentations. In the sixteenth century more stress was laid upon the doctrines of godliness than upon godliness itself, whereas the aim and object of the revival of the preaching of justification and grace should be the revival of Christian life in power and holiness."

Therefore did he preach constantly and fervently a continued reformation, a second reformation—the reformation of worldly Christendom, a reformation of life and practice, through the new birth, by the power of the Spirit of God ; for "in what," he would say, " is a reformed Christian, not yet born again, better than an atheist ? So is the Reformed Church outwardly flourishing and inwardly dead. It has a worldly piety, and an outside zeal for the worship and service of -God, but it is in vain that I labour to break through the unspeakable carelessness and coldness beneath. It is fallen into a deep sleep, drowned in luxury and pleasure, full of delusions, vanity, self-admiration; and the desecration of all that is holy. People take the outward national church for the true Church, and spend their strength in propping it up ; but of the spiritual church, the hidden Body of Christ, they know nothing, and care nothing for it. They have cast off the rule of the Pope, but have not cared to guard the Church from all other rule. The teachers are mostly earthly-minded and ignorant, careless of the flock, only seeking to please men by soft, sugary, ornamental preaching, instead of waking up their sinful hearts to repentance. The leaders are misleaders, and if any one lifts his voice, and speaks of the need of reformation, he is pursued, like the scapegoat, with blows and curses."

It also grieved Father Lodensteyn very deeply, that these easy-going Christians were content to do nothing for the conversion of Jews, heathens, and papists.

"The papists, on the other hand," he said, "allow themselves to be stirred up by a lying spirit to spread their errors in all directions. And reformed Christians sit still, and amuse themselves with their evil pleasures. Look at them in their dances, with bodies half uncovered ! Do such people look like living representations of the Lord Jesus ? Is not the Reformed Church a carcass without a spirit ? And a carcass will not hold together long. The separation must come. For it will not remain possible, for those who are truly living souls, to remain mixed up with the corruption, and when they leave it must fall to pieces. To have light and to have none of the Spirit of God, is a call for awful judgment. I may well say the Reformed Church is a Babylon of Babylons, a thousandfold worse than the Babylon of popery, because of the light she has, and uses not.

" Protestants have left the Roman Church, the spiritual Babylon, in order to become the fleshly Babylon. Their respectable, church-going lives are, in general, as devoid of the Spirit of God as the lives of heathens and papists. Their church-going is only an appendix to their worldly occupations, and most often an opportunity for sleeping. Amongst the rich and great, it would be a sort of disgrace to know God, or fear and honour Him. And so in all classes God is absent from their daily lives. Were it otherwise, would they not speak of Him in their intercourse with one another ? Would they not read their Bibles to know more of Him ? As it is, they are commonly in complete ignorance of the way of salvation.

" Here we see the consequence of the evil habit of preachers, who speak to all alike as if they were God's people, including the worldly, the lukewarm, the formalists, and those who have no visible signs of holiness. And, to go further back to the cause of this useless preaching, we find that when the preachers were at college they were taught theology, and learnt nothing. of Christian faith and life."

And he further explained, that a cause of this dead Christianity was that people were perfectly satisfied with themselves as long as they were not criminals who had to answer for their misdeeds before a magistrate.

" You baptized, sacrament—taking people," he would say, "know that you are not Christians at all. I often think, Would the Lord Jesus allow, if He were here amongst us, that His holy things should be thus profaned before His eyes ? Oh, what unworthy, self-indulgent, ignorant men do we not see admitted to the Holy Supper of the Lord ! Did their teachers but take the trouble to go and find out what they are, how many would they find fit to be there ? But no, this is a trouble they decline to take. It is just as if the Lord Jesus had given them up to their own ways, and had said, ' Let them come and go as they will—the bands are broken—I have left them to themselves.'"

Soon after a severe illness which Father Lodensteyn had in the year 1665, he felt so keenly this desecration of the Lord's Table, that he made a solemn vow never again to take part in it. He abstained therefore from all communion for the remainder of his life. But he still remained the preacher and pastor of his church in Utrecht. He was called to account by the burgomaster for this conduct, which caused the greatest consternation amongst the citizens. But he answered, shortly and decidedly, "I beg that nothing may be said further on this subject. I have scruples of conscience, and he who doubts is condemned if he partakes."

The example of Lodensteyn was followed by great number of earnest and pious Christians, who received the nickname of Lodensteyners. They were also nicknamed "the earnest" or "the nice."

They are thus described by a Dutch writer : " The so-called Lodensteyners are people who are violently opposed to hypocrites ; who are not perfect, but desire to be perfect ; who will have nothing to do with worldly amusements, and with the beaten path of the Christianity of to-day ; who are not contented with things as they are, but seek for an inner reformation ; who gladly consort with pious people and do not sit in the seat of the scornful.

"And because they separate themselves from worldly and fleshly men who are only Christians in name, they are an offence to the churchgoers who have not the Spirit of God, and are more hated and ill thought of by such, than people who are living in open vice. And for this reason, that open sinners leave these respectable nominal Christians in peace, and do not cast into shade their little glimmer of light by any light more full and true. Just for the same reason did the Pharisees hate the Lord Jesus."

Father Lodensteyn himself won his full share of this hatred. "The whole swarm of the unregenerate," he says, " of the worldly-minded, of seekers after honour, of lovers of show and splendour, of the vain, of those whose god is their belly, of the lawless and disorderly, of the respectable and would-be pious, were up in arms against me."

Not only so, but they left no stone unturned to stop his preaching. His sayings and doings were misrepresented. He was accused of all manner of evil. " He is a Spiritualist, an Anabaptist, a Dissenter, a Quaker," said the Christian world of Utrecht.

But Father Lodensteyn pursued the even tenor of his way. He remained a member of the Calvinistic Church which he still hoped to reform. Many others left it. He said, "I did not advise them to do it, but it ought to make those who remain consider their ways. And it is a heavy judgment upon this Church that such people as they are, can no longer remain in her. They go out, leaving behind them, amongst us who remain, all that is of the world—none of that do they take with them—the costly feasts, the expensive clothes, the splendid houses, the pomp and luxury, and the outward forms. Thus the Lord Himself is withdrawing from us, though the form of worship goes on."

The name of Father was given to this good man out of love and affection, it was not on account of his age ; for he was only fifty-seven when he was called away to be with Christ. He died August 6th, 1677.

Many who loved him stood weeping round his dying-bed. " Why do you weep ?" he said. "I am lying on roses. It is so sweet to me to do the will of my God."

Four hours before his death he said, " If this is death it is very easy." Soon after he said, "I am full of thoughts," but we know not what they were, for he spoke no more.

Though he was not of the unhappy number of those of whom it could be universally, and therefore fatally, said, that they lived respected, and died lamented, he was mourned deeply and lovingly by many to whom his words had brought eternal life and peace. We may love him also, and be thankful for his labours.

At the same time it may be seen, even from this short account, that Lodensteyn, like Dr. Voet, was seeking to reform the Church rather by the law than the gospel. He never knew whilst here below the glorious truth of the Christian's standing in Christ. Do we, to whom it has been taught, desire as fervently as he did, that the Church should return to her first love, and walk worthily of her heavenly calling?

Chapter 13: A Child-Crusader

WHILST Father Lodensteyn was still a little boy at Delft, and concerned as yet with no weightier matters than tops and marbles, another boy, ten years older, was studying a Latin Bible, and looking back with a sorrowful heart to the early days of the Church.

This boy was a novice in a Jesuit college at Bordeaux. His father, John Charles de Labadie, a man of noble family, and governor of Guyenne, had sent him with his two brothers to this college in the year 1616, intending to bring him up for the law. Little John, then six years old, was a small, delicate boy. But his fiery southern blood, his extraordinary talents, and his indomitable will, marked him out as one who was not to be shaped according to the plans of any man.

The Jesuits had only lately returned to France, after their banishment in the year 1595. The history of the early days of their order is full of strange contradictions. Their task was to restore the Church.

Did this mean to reconquer the nations who had separated from Rome by the preaching of the reformers ? Or did it mean to stir up afresh the first love of the first ages ? Did it mean a crusade against worldliness, and lukewarmness, and sin ?

There were earnest and pious men and women who had brought themselves to believe that if it meant the former, it also meant the latter. And there were, perhaps, the more of these men and women, in consequence of the little streams of living water which flowed from the teaching of the reformers, through dark and dry places, and some weary souls drank and were refreshed, not knowing the source from whence they came. They heard of the love of God, and the free grace that saves the lost, and they loved Him because He had first loved them.

Many of these stray sheep of Christ flocked to the Jesuit fathers, to be received into the order that was to revive the Church, and reconquer tile heretic nations.

But ignorant devotion takes strange shapes. It is fashioned by the human heart and mind, rather than by the Spirit of God. And the Word of God was little known to these devoted people. They were like ships without a compass. That they became wild and mystical was almost a necessity in such a case.

Their mysticism and superstition were turned to account by the skill of the Jesuits, who had a far different ambition. They could use them to gain the worldly power they craved. It would serve their purpose to have shining examples of saints who saw visions, and dreamt dreams, and worked miracles, to oppose to the prosaic worthies, and the dry doctors of the Protestants.

For one who would be attracted by the example of good Dr. Voet, would there not be hundreds who would be entranced with the history of S. Rose of Lima ; of S. Francis Borgia ; of many wonderful men and women, who talked to angels and departed saints, and performed impossibilities just as easily as other people ate and walked ? Were not such holy people a certain proof that to be a Catholic was worth the while ? But why be a Protestant, who must be contented with the dead level of common matter-of-fact daily life ? The Pope himself therefore gave his sanction for a time to those who went by the name of " mystics " and " quietists." Later on it was otherwise ; for amidst their errors and superstitions the eternal life that is from God moved and acted in these His children, and could not be fitted and fashioned according to the iron framework of Catholicism. But whilst John de Labadie was still a child, the mystics were not only tolerated, but reverenced.

Thus there were many strange histories, and wonderful sayings and doings, talked of in the Jesuit College, which would work on the feelings and the imagination of a boy like John de Labadie.

"I believed," he says, "that I was sanctified from the womb to reform the Christian religion, and from my early childhood I was moved by the working of the Holy Spirit, though, like Samuel, I did not, by reason of my tender years, know from whence it came. Whilst with the Jesuits I learnt, through the Holy Ghost, true prayer and contemplation, and God gave me to speak in a way which edified others, of the mysteries of the gospel."

The gospel, however, known to Labadie was dim and clouded. It is true that Jesus, Jesus only, was the object of his heart and mind. But, as in the case of many of the mystics, it was rather love to the person of Christ, than faith in the work of Christ, which filled his soul. The reverse might be said of many doctrinal Protestants, but the unhindered teaching of the Holy Ghost will produce both the one and the other. And we may be assured that, in this case, the one will be deeper and fuller in proportion to the depth and fulness of the other.

Meanwhile he read eagerly, in the breviaries and other devotional books, all the passages which were taken from the Bible. Later on he became possessed of a whole Latin Bible, and he also read the writings of Augustine and Bernard, and the lives of the saints. And at the same time he looked around him to observe how far the Church resembled the accounts he read of the early days when Peter and Paul preached the gospel of God.

If there was any one who remained in ignorance that the Church had fallen from her first estate, and had lost her first love, that person was not John de Labadie. " I saw clearly," he says, " that the first Christian assemblies were the model according to which the corrupt Church must be reformed."

But to be a reformer, he believed it to be needful he should be a Jesuit, and not a lawyer. His father refused to consent to this ; but John resolved to obey God, as he believed, rather than man. He was scarcely fifteen when he joined the order, though without taking the vows which bound him for life. Soon after, his father died, and he was now free to follow his own determinations,

Chapter 14: The Snare Broken

SELF to forget, in this world's empty joys,

Lost in a host of trifles and of toys;

Thus cloth a fool forget.

Self to forget, whilst thou wouldst preach to men,

Convert the world, when scarcely born again;

Thus the untaught forget.

Self to forget, for Christ unveiled we see,

Christ in the glory where Self cannot be—

Thus do the glad forget.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

WHEN about twenty years old, John de Labadie became a powerful preacher, and was already able to attract crowds, who were deeply moved by his earnest words. " Labadie," said one who heard him, "was the greatest and truest preacher I have ever heard."

His hearers listened to him with streaming tears, and the Jesuits saw that they had a mighty instrument with which to work, if trained and initiated for their purposes.

But it was exactly this training which proved fatal to their hopes. Their pupil listened wearily to their teaching, for it was but dry theology and controversy. Moreover, he says he found that it contradicted the teaching he had received from God through His Word and Spirit. He had learnt that God chose His people before the foundation of the world—that all is of free grace—that in man there is nothing, and less than nothing. Could he stop his ears to the Word of God and believe these men ?

Besides, were they men who could be believed by anyone who had the fear of God before his eyes ?

For, once behind the scenes, he was filled with disgust. He saw their cunning, their worldly ambition, their utter disregard for right and wrong. He saw that an unscrupulous conscience was a necessary part of their machinery. And the conscience of John de Labadie was not unscrupulous. Did lie not desire, from the bottom of his heart, to know the will of God and to do it ? Was the restoration of the Church of which the Jesuits talked, that awakening to holiness and faith which had been the dream of his life ? Did it not mean worldly gain, won by enslaving the souls of men ?

Therefore he gave himself up the more to the study of the Bible, and felt the more assured, that if ever the Church was to be reformed, it must be after the model of the church of the apostles, not the church of Loyola.

The Jesuits now began to perceive that Labadie was but ill-fitted to be their tool. They hinted to him that, as his health was never very good, it was unlikely he would be fit for his vocation, and that therefore if he preferred to leave them and return to the world, the permission to do so would readily be granted. But Labadie still remained, hoping for better days.

At the age of twenty-five he was ordained as priest by the Bishop of Bazas. He related afterwards, " When I received from Maroni, Bishop of Bazas, the rite of ordination, I felt during that ceremony that it was Jesus Christ, rather than the Bishop, who laid His hands upon me. And of the inward anointing shed forth upon me at that moment by the Holy Trinity, was I far more powerfully aware, than of the oil with which the Bishop anointed my hands."

More than ever before, did Labadic now realize that he was called by God to the great work of reformation. The Spirit of God, he said, spoke plainly to him, and, to his astonishment, " He added," says Labadie, "a clause to this effect, which was, that I could only serve His purpose away from the place where I then was, and separated from the society to which I was united."

From this time the Jesuits became more and more awake to the fact that they and their old pupil were at cross purposes. But by what means was he to break his chains ? He had refused the permission, granted to him some years before, to return to the world. He could but answer to the call of the Lord, " Here am I, O Lord ; do with me as Thou wilt." And to the hands of God he committed himself, in passive obedience, leaving to Him the means of his deliverance.

Soon after, one Sunday, when he had for some time back been unusually well, he suddenly fainted in the presence of several of the order. For a time they believed him to be dead. As his senses returned, the thought darted into his soul, as light from heaven, that this sudden illness was to be the means by which God would deliver him out of the Jesuit college. He remained for some time extremely ill, and for a while became daily worse. Four doctors were called in. He knew in his heart that he should continue to get worse till the hour of his deliverance came. The doctors said that he must leave the college, and completely alter his manner of life. It was, therefore, plain to the Jesuits that they must gain permission from the general to dismiss him from the order.

Meanwhile a separate room was allowed him, on account of his illness, where he spent three months in reading the Scriptures, and in prayer. At the end of this time, his elder brother came unexpectedly and took him to his old home. He received from the general his dismissal on the 17th of April, 1639.

From this moment his health returned, and with joy and thankfulness he felt himself free for the work so near his heart. He would at once preach the reformation he had longed to see, and God would be with him.

He began his preaching in a hospital, and in village churches. He preached of the sin of man, and the grace of God, and, above all, he preached of the love of Christ—Christ the Saviour of sinners. The Jesuits saw that they had made a fatal mistake. They had cast aside, as they believed, a useless invalid, and here was a man of power and vigour, untiring, and of burning zeal, and preaching, moreover, exactly that which would be fatal to their purposes.

They, therefore, denounced Labadie to the Bishop of Bordeaux as a heretic and a demoniac. Labadie was summoned to give an account of himself to the Bishop. But nothing could be detected which would give the smallest warrant for these accusations. On the contrary, the Bishop assured him of his full approval of his preaching.

"And now," says Labadie, " I had such strength of body and of spirit given to me, that I preached constantly twice every day, and in places far apart. Numbers would come to hear me on sea and on land —for I often used the deck of a boat for the purpose of preaching—and the labourers would leave their work in the villages, whatever it might be, to come and listen."

Labadie now prayed that God would take him where he might have the widest field for preaching Christ. The answer came. The tidings of his wonderful sermons, and of the crowds who came to listen, reached the ears of the general of the Oratorians at Paris, who invited him to preach at Paris with leave of the Archbishop. His sermons at Paris appear to have impressed even Richelieu himself, who took him under his protection.

The Jesuits assured the Archbishop that Labadie was in league with the Calvinists to stir up the people against the truth—that he was a heretic, and that he desired to raise commotions by reason of his hatred of Richelieu.

He continued to preach, however, without hindrance, and was next year invited by the Bishop of Amiens to work in his diocese.

The sermons of the young priest in the cathedral of Amiens roused the dead souls around him in a marvellous manner. He preached chiefly that it is to the word of God alone that men must go for the knowledge of God, and that the earliest Christians are the example for all ages of the Church. The names of the saints were absent from his sermons ; the name of Christ alone was heard.

And now, with the consent of the bishop, he began his first attempt towards the fulfilment of his dream —the reformation of the fallen Church. This first step was to form a brotherhood of awakened persons, who were to meet twice a week for prayer and for study of the word of God, and who were diligently to read the Bible in their own houses. He told them he hoped the day would soon come, if so were the will of God, when the Church would cast off all the inventions of man, and return to the simple worship of the first ages. Then, he said, they would all meet for reading the Word, for preaching and for prayer, and for receiving the supper of the Lord, both bread and as in the days of the apostles.

All who came to the meetings were expected to bring with them their French Testaments. We can judge of their numbers, when we find that in one week Labadie ordered no less than 600 -French Testaments for the use of the brotherhood.

The bishop meanwhile, in spite of the manifold accusations of the Jesuits, became deeply attached to Labadie. The king, Louis XIII., who during his wars stayed for a time with Richelieu at Amiens, was himself moved in some degree by the marvelous sermons in the cathedral. He encouraged the bishop in his defence of Labadie. The bishop made him a canon of the cathedral.

As the Testaments multiplied, the rosaries disappeared. The priests of Amiens, whose orthodoxy was sharpened by envy and jealousy, complained vainly of the heresies of the new preacher.

The same complaints were made at Abbeville, where Labadie also preached "after the manner of the Huguenots," said the priests. And they refused absolution to all who went to listen. But the people of Abbeville, like those of Amiens, preferred the sermons to the absolution ; and though Labadie often preached for two or three hours at a time, the churches could not contain the crowds who came. Many came early in the morning, and spent nearly the whole day in the church. It was soon remarked that amongst his hearers the merit of human works was altogether denied.

The priests dispatched a special deputation to Cardinal Richelieu at Paris, to entreat that this disturber of the peace should be removed from their town. But Richelieu replied, that Labadie was in no degree a heretic, and that he only desired the people of Amiens to keep the peace, and leave the preacher without molestation. Richelieu thought otherwise at a later period.

Chapter 15: Last Hopes for Rome

IT was at this time that Labadie made the acquaintance of the true servant of God, and victim of the Jesuits, S. Cyran, imprisoned at Vincennes for heresy. He had denied that an impenitent sinner receives remission of sins by absolution, or that a priest can do more than declare the forgiveness of God in the case of those who look to Him, repenting of their sins.

S. Cyran insisted much upon the reading of Scripture. He had been for some years the director of the convent of Port Royal, where he had taught much truth, and where meetings were held for reading the Bible, called conferences, or " conventicles." Labadie's conventicler at Amiens were on the same plan. But in Holland, and perhaps elsewhere, such meetings existed during the earlier part of the century amongst reformed Christians.

Their chief promoter in Holland was an earnest preacher of the name of Teelinck, who died in the year 1629. After this they gradually came almost into disuse in the Dutch provinces, though we find traces of them at Utrecht, where Dr. Voet, in spite of his strict adherence to rubrics and canons, encouraged them amongst his people, and where Father Lodensteyn took an active part in them. S. Cyran was released from his prison in 1642, and died in the following year.

Labadie had found amongst the Port Royalists many kindred spirits. Whilst he was a boy at Bordeaux, dreaming of the reformation of the Church, Angelique Arnauld, the girl-abbess of Port -Royal, was not only dreaming it, but carrying it out to the best of her light and knowledge within the walls of her convent.

But, like the reformation of which Labadie dreamt, it was a restoration to love and holiness which the Mere Angelique desired. Neither the one nor the other had any thought of becoming Protestants. They had not discovered that the Spirit, who roused and kindled their hearts, could not teach them otherwise than He taught the Protestant saints. And in some important respects, little as they realized it, they and the Protestants believed alike.

The Port Royalists and Labadie believed much bes1des, taught them by man, not by God. But as to this belief in man, which is not peculiar to Romanists, let us see to ourselves that the last shred of it is cast off by each one of us, and that we are ready to own with John the Baptist, "a man can receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven." For all else is nothing.

M. de S. Cyran was charged amongst other things with having taught, that to abstain from outward sin from the dread of the wrath of God, was by no means a proof of conversion. He said that the sorrow for sin, which is the work of the Spirit, arises from the love of God shed abroad in the heart.

The Jesuits observed that this was a heresy of the deepest dye. Love to God, several of them taught, was entirely unnecessary. We remember how one of them had decreed that to love God on Sundays was sufficient. Another, that once a year was enough. A third, that once in five years might be considered needful.

Placed between the Port Royalists and the Jesuits, we need not be surprised that Labadie held to the one, and despised the other. He was cordially hated by the Jesuits in return.

But much as he loved S. Cyran, and felt himself drawn to the Port Royalists, he hung back from joining himself to them, as they would have desired. He said that God had taught him in answer to prayer, and that He might yet teach him more than the Port Royalists had learnt. He would bind himself to none, but follow the leading of the Lord alone.

Meanwhile tidings reached the prisoner at Vincennes that the truths for which he was persecuted were "proclaimed on the house-tops of Amiens, and there were none there to hinder."

In the year 1642 Cardinal Richelieu died. His successor, Cardinal Mazarin, was more ready to lend an ear to the Jesuits, who desired him to stop Labadie's preaching at Amiens. Labadie was summoned before him to answer for his strange practices. The conventicles were a dangerous novelty to Mazarin, all the more so, as they savoured of Port Royal. This was in the year 1645, the fifth year of his labours at Amiens.

He was forbidden to preach, on the ground that his sermons caused excitement, and disturbed the peace of the town. In the following year he returned to Guyenne. Many of his brotherhood followed him.

Labadie had a marvellous power of winning the hearts of men. He was strangely attractive. It would seem that it was not only for the love of the doctrines he taught, but from attachment to his person, that he was continually surrounded by some of his select few. On arriving in the south of France, he preached continually, travelling from town to town, though still forbidden to do so.

Up to this time he was known as a Catholic priest. The Bishop of Bazas said of him, " he was a most remarkable labourer in the Lord's vineyard, and a dauntless confessor of Jesus Christ, an enlightened semi-martyr, and a truly apostolical man." That he was but a semi-martyr was not the fault of the Jesuits. They pursued him from place to place, aided by soldiers furnished to them by Queen Anne of Austria.

In the Castle of Donjat, near Toulouse, he had a narrow escape. The lady of the house shut him up in a coffer, just as the soldiers arrived to search the castle. Various delays were made in opening this coffer, and meanwhile a moment was found for letting him escape, whilst the soldiers were searching in other nooks and corners.

For a time he retired with his " brethren " to a Carmelite convent at Graville, in the diocese of Bazas. There, without taking the vows, they wore for about six months the monks' dress.

But the Bishop who had called him a semi-martyr died. The new Bishop desired to find favour with the court by persecuting those who were friends of Port Royal. For four years, therefore, until the year 1650, Labadie lived a wandering life, concealing himself in the castles of many nobles who were friendly to him.

He still had no thought of leaving the Church of Rome. All he desired was to reform her. He would be a second S. Francis, a second S. Bernard He would stand alone, if needs be, face to face with the apostate Church, and lay down his life, if so it might be, to bring her back to the old faith and love she had lost so long.

He did not know what Protestants believed. He regarded them as heretics, though at times the thought came to him, whether after all they could be the people he had long sought, and so often sought in vain, who loved God, and despised the world. He did not read their books. He looked to God to teach him. And when at last he found that the truths he had been taught were those for which the despised Huguenots had suffered persecution and death, it was a strange surprise to him.

The time was come when he should have a nearer view of them.

Chapter 16: A Reformer of the Reformed

PROTESTANT noble, Vicomte de Castets, offered Labadie a refuge in his castle from his Jesuit enemies. Here, shut in for safety for about two months, he first read the writings of Calvin.

But it would seem it was not the teaching of Calvin which attracted him so much as the saintly, unworldly lives of the family of Castets. They received him too as a brother in Christ, and even as a teacher. For some of his teaching he had received from God, and it was therefore the same as that which God had taught to them and to Calvin.

Labadie saw that amongst Protestants he would be free to preach and teach those truths which had brought down upon him the hatred of the Jesuits.

He was driven from Castets by the necessity of escaping from the neighbourhood of the persecuting Bishop. He fled to Montauban, and was there received into the communion of the Reformed Church, October 16th, 1650.

Was Labadie now a Protestant ? In many respects he was. But if by that word we mean to include a belief in all the truths of the gospel, he was not only at that time scarcely a Protestant, but at no time in his life down here on earth. He still spoke of the tears of repentance, and the prayers of the penitent, as being that, which in part at least, puts away sin from before the eyes of God. He would therefore have found nothing amiss in the faith of those who say they "hope they are saved," in those who are still, as they say, "doing their best to obtain mercy." Well aware, as he was, that none are saved by their good works, he attached the more value to their tears and prayers.

In a word, Labadie was ignorant, as even now thousands calling themselves Protestants are ignorant, of the immeasurable value of that precious Blood which puts away all the sin of all who believe, completely and for ever.

Not only so. He never saw into what place the precious blood of Christ brings each one who, in this time of his rejection, believes in Him. He not only was ignorant that the believer is brought out completely and eternally from the state of condemnation and of distance from God, but he was ignorant also of the blessed welcome into that love which is declared to us by the only begotten Son in the bosom of the Father—" Thou hast loved them, as Thou hast loved Me."

"There are some," said Henry Suso, "who are going from, some who are going to, some who are going in." Some fleeing from the City of Destruction, from the wrath, the curse, the misery. Some drawn to Christ by the attraction of His love. Some—would there were more—who go in, and know the joy of the Father, who hear the music and the singing of His welcome, and who feast with Him in the inner court of His delight.

But it is only as we know the power and the value of the blood of Christ, that thus we can rejoice in the joy of God. " Brought nigh" by the blood alone, and trusting only in that blood, we stand upon the Eternal Rock. We look away from that blood to ourselves—to our repentance, our tears, our prayers, our self-denials, our best endeavours, and at once, if conscience is not dead, we feel the ground give way beneath our feet, and we sink in the Slough of Despond. Thus Labadie, with a true heart, and a sincere love to God, was haunted even to the last by the shadow of guilt from which he hoped to escape by earnest striving and labour and sorrow. The scars of the fetters which had bound him in the Jesuit convent, remained to his last day here on earth. He has lost them now. He has " gone in" at last.

For seven years he lived at Montauban, where he learnt more of the reformed faith, and laboured as a pastor and preacher. His preaching, as may be expected, consisted of much of the law, and less of the gospel. He preached earnestly against theatres, dress, gambling, and profligacy. He desired to drive men from the bondage of Egypt, and he could tell them something of Canaan.

But the land of fountains and depths that spring out of valleys and hills, was not a familiar home to the pupil of the Jesuits. He had a faithful heart, he knew the Lord Jesus as his Master, and looked to Him as his Saviour, however little he realized the fulness of His salvation.

But he knew not as Paul knew, the marvels of the love of Christ to the unworthy, and the things which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart conceived, but which God reveals by His Spirit to the eye and ear of faith. Labadie was at last driven from Montauban by fresh persecutions, and for two years was the preacher at the little town of Orange, then independent of France, being the hereditary possession of the princes of Nassau-Orange.

At the end of that time Orange was threatened by the troops of Louis XIV. And just at the same moment Labadie was invited to be the pastor of the French Reformed Church in London.

He set off on this long journey, taking Geneva on his way. There, just as a hundred and twenty-three years before it had happened to Calvin, he was detained by the great Council of Geneva to preach in their city, and persuaded by them to renounce the thought of going to London, in order to be their preacher as Calvin had been.

He, therefore, settled down in the ancient stronghold of Protestantism, where, we are told, his marvellous sermons speedily filled the churches, and emptied the taverns. The Lord's-day was again remembered and hallowed, feasting and drunkenness, which had regained their hold of the Genevese, became almost unheard of. Gambling was given up, and money won in gambling restored to the owners ; tradesmen became honest, and magistrates became just. Labadie was owned as a Reformer, a Reformer of the Reformed.

But of his former fallen Church, lie said with bitter sorrow—for he loved her well, and hoped against hope—" We would have healed Babylon, but she would not be healed : forsake her, and let us declare the work of the Lord our God."

Before proceeding further with the story of Labadie, we must leave him to preach at Geneva, and travel back from the shores of the beautiful lake to the flat prosaic land of Dr. Voet and Dr. Koch.

Chapter 17: The Princess Elizabeth and Her Friend

To learn, and yet to learn, whilst life goes by,

So pass the student's days;

And thus be great, and do great things, and die,

And lie embalmed with praise—

My work is but to lose and to forget,

Thus small, despised to be;

All to unlearn—this task before me set;

Unlearn all else but Thee.

—G. TERSTEEGEN,

AT the time when John de Labadie was at Bordeaux, slowly making up his mind to the great step of leaving the Jesuits for ever, a young girl at the Hague was studying Greek and reading philosophy.

She was unsatisfied and unhappy; she needed she knew not what—something to make her forget the many sorrows of her life, or to make her endure them as she desired to do, bravely and calmly. Perhaps there were few who knew that this lively girl, with her merry talk, was sad and hungry at heart. Yet she had had trouble enough to cloud her life, and little to comfort her.

She was the eldest daughter of the unhappy Frederick V., the "winter king" of Bohemia. Her father had died of a broken heart, crushed by the ruin and the disgrace of his country and his house. Elizabeth lived at her mother's Court at the Hague, the eldest of three handsome sisters. Her youngest sister, Sophia, and her young brothers were brought up at Leyden by tutors and governesses.

"Our mother," said the Princess Sophia, "preferred the sight of her monkeys and dogs to that of her children." The queen was also fond of horses and of hunting, and spent a part of the year for this reason at a country house at Rhenen ; but when at the Hague, in spite of her many misfortunes, her Court was gay and lively.

Elizabeth was not her mother's favourite. She was fond of her artist daughter Louise, and of her beautiful Henriette, who had, so says Sophia, fair flaxen hair, a complexion of lilies and roses, soft eyes, a pretty mouth, and great talents for needlework and the making of preserves.

Louise and Henriette considered Elizabeth a bookworm, and dreamy. She was the subject of many jokes. Her mother's coldness and her sisters' mockery drove her the more to the solitude of her room, where she read and thought, and became more and more sad and bewildered, as she tried to understand the hard problem of life the present sorrows and troubles, and the great misty future.

She thought also of the mournful times that were past. She could remember how her father and mother had been driven away from their beautiful castle of Heidelberg, when she was too young to understand the meaning of the wars and tumults around her. It was in the first year of the terrible Thirty Years' War that she was born in that princely castle ; and she had faint, dreamy recollections of it, and of the old town below, and the wide, sunny valley of the Neckar.

Then she remembered her wandering life, with her good grandmother, the Electress Dowager Juliane, who had taken charge of her when only two years old, and later on of her brother Charles, and her baby brother Maurice, whilst father and mother, and other brothers and sisters, were flying before their enemies from place to place, at last settling down at the Hague.

Also she remembered the early lessons in the Bible, and in the Heidelberg catechism, given her by the pious grandmother. And then her return to her parents at the 'Hague when she was eight years old, and how she felt herself a stranger in her own home, and shy and lonely, because she was laughed at for her demure ways—" So like her grandmother," they said.

Then came the life at Leyden, before she was old enough to take the place of the dogs and monkeys in her mother's esteem. And she remembered with a shudder the old, stern governess at Leyden, with her two prim and proper daughters, who taught the little girls some dreary lessons, and saw that they did not forget the Heidelberg catechism.

Then there was a gleam of sunshine to remember, her handsome, clever; affectionate brother Henry, just a year older than herself, with whom she read and played, and for whose sake she wished to learn Latin and Greek, and all that the boys had to learn. And afterwards there was the terrible day, from which time she had been all alone in her innermost heart—the day when the news came that Henry had been drowned in the dark night on Haarlem Meer.

She could remember too the sad time when the news came from Maintz of her father's death, four years later. She knew that he had died of a broken heart, talking in his wanderings about Henry and Haarlem Meer, and about the little children he had left at Leyden.

Then came a time, when at fifteen years old, she had to consider whether she would marry the king of Poland, who had heard much of this remarkable princess, and wished to have a wife so learned and clever. But to marry him she must become a Roman Catholic, and Elizabeth was a staunch Protestant. She had not learnt the Heidelberg catechism in vain.

So for three years there were treaties and discussions, and embassies and entreaties on the part of the king, and a very fixed purpose on the part of Elizabeth. No, she would never be aught else than a member of the Reformed Calvinistic Church of the Netherlands.

And when all was settled, and the king found another wife, Elizabeth buried herself amongst her Latin and Greek books, and, moreover, found at last a kindred spirit, a friend whom she loved and reverenced.

And she determined that she would never again think of marriage, but become as nearly as possible like this ideal friend, Anna von Schurmann, eleven years older than herself, and the most learned woman in Europe.

Anna von Schurmann, "the tenth muse," as she was called in those days, the greatest linguist of her times, or of all past time ; the renowned mathematician, scientist, artist, musician, engraver, singer, wood carver —what might she not be called ?

Anna lived at 'Utrecht with her widowed mother, and her brothers. She was a pupil of Dr. Voet, who taught her Semitic languages and theology. That one small head should carry all she knew, seems to us incredible.

She wrote fluently and correctly in the purest Latin, Greek, French, and Hebrew. She was well versed in Arabic, Syriac, Coptic, English, and Italian. She studied philosophy as a recreation, and was expert in embroidery, as well as in painting and carving.

Moreover, she missed no sermons or services conducted by Dr. Voet. She was a devout Precisian, as were her parents before her.

It was on the death of her father, who lived at Cologne, whither his father had fled to take refuge from the persecutions of Alva, that she had returned with her mother to the Netherlands ; and it was at the age of fifteen that she had begun her course of study under Dr. Voet.

There can be no doubt that Anna von Schurmann was not only, like Elizabeth, a devoted member of the Reformed Calvinistic Church, but also that she was a true-hearted believer in Jesus.

She sometimes told the story of the great turning-point in her life, a story which may encourage those who have the charge of children to bring them early to Christ.

She said that once, when she was four years old, she was sitting with her nurse by a brook, to learn the Heidelberg catechism. Her nurse made her repeat the answer to the first question : " I am not my own, but I belong to my faithful Saviour, Jesus Christ."

In saying these words, her heart was filled with a sweet and sudden joy, and with a love to Christ that flowed forth from her innermost soul. " Thus," she said, "did God first awaken and touch me ;" and from that day Anna's heart burned within her when she read the words of Christ, and stories of the martyrs who had died for Him.

A good confession in truth for all who believe, yet scarcely one to be put into the mouth of any child. lint, as in the case of Anna, we see that God answers to the faith of those who, in however unenlightened a manner, sincerely desire to bring little ones to the Saviour who loves them.

Many such stories were told in the household of Frederick von Schurmann, for both the grandfathers of Anna had been exiles for the truth, and many dear to them had suffered torture and death during the eighty years of the Spanish persecution in the Netherlands.

Thus Anna grew up as a loving child in the household of God, but it would be saying too much to declare that she was unspoilt and unchilled by her mass of learning, and the fame and admiration which she had gained.

It was a dangerous honour that learned men from distant places thronged to Utrecht to see her, that her books went rapidly through numerous editions, that the Queen of Poland and the Queen of Sweden went to visit her, and felt themselves honoured by her friendship.

It has to be admitted that Anna became lukewarm and self-satisfied, but she never ceased to study the Bible, and to listen humbly to her beloved teacher, Dr. Voet. It is a proof of the life of God in the soul of Dr. Voet, that his devoted pupil never left the narrow path in her years of worldly honour, though she walked in it slowly, carrying the great burden of human learning and human praise.

Anna and Elizabeth became fast friends. Next to Anna, Elizabeth was regarded as the great wonder of the age amongst the learned women of the world, " She knew every language and every science under the sun," says her sister Sophia.

" She had," Sophia tells us further, " black hair, a dazzling complexion, brown, sparkling eyes, a well-shaped forehead, beautiful cherry lips, and a sharp aquiline nose, which was rather apt to turn red. At such times she hid herself from the world. I remember that my sister, Princess Louise, asked her on one such unlucky occasion to come upstairs to the queen, as it was the usual hour for visiting her. Princess Elizabeth replied, ' Would you have me go with this nose ?' The other answered, ' Will you wait till you get another ?'"

Chapter 18: Réné Descartes and His Pupil

SUCH was Elizabeth when, at the age of twenty-two, she first made acquaintance with Rene Descartes, who in the year 164o was introduced at the court of the Queen of Bohemia, and who in the following year took up his abode at the village of Eyndegeest, not far from the Hague. Eyndegeest was also within easy distance of Utrecht.

" Here," writes a French philosopher who visited him, "I found him in a little château in a very beautiful situation, with a tolerably pretty garden, trees in the background, and meadows all round, across which one could see church spires of various heights rising in the distance, till they were lost like points on the horizon. From this place Descartes could go in a boat in the course of the day to Utrecht, Delft, Rotterdam, Haarlem, and sometimes even to Amsterdam. He could spend a half day at the Hague, returning at night; and this drive or walk was one of the finest in the world—through meadows and past country houses, then through a wide forest that reaches to the Hague, a town worthy of comparison with the most beautiful cities of Europe. The Court of the Queen of Bohemia seemed to be that of the graces. All the beau monde of the Hague frequented it, to offer their homage to the wit and virtue and beauty of the four princesses."

He further relates that these lovely princesses were in the habit of making water parties, dressed as peasants, and talking freely to every one on board the packet-boats in which they made their expeditions, on which occasions they had many adventures and much amusement. "But Elizabeth, the eldest princess, was only occasionally of the party. She was deep in her books, studying Descartes, and sitting up late at night to read philosophy."

For Elizabeth was still seeking the clue to the labyrinth of life. She had no day to remember like little Anna's day at the brookside, when Christ had knocked at the door of her heart, and had given to her the living water.

Descartes, on the other hand, was flattered and delighted by the devotion of his new pupil. He dedicated to her his great book on the principles of philosophy. He corresponded with her regularly. He said that she understood his reasoning more clearly and accurately than anyone he had found, even amongst learned men.

One day he paid a visit to Utrecht, and called upon Anna von Schurmann. He found her studying the Bible in Hebrew.

He told her he was astonished to find a person with such a mind wasting her time over a study of so little importance.

Anna replied, the study of the Hebrew Bible was of the greatest importance to her, for by this means she could learn more clearly the mind of God.

Descartes answered that he too had once had similar ideas, and for that reason had begun to learn the languages that were called sacred, and that he had begun to read the first chapter of Genesis, which describes the creation. But he had only puzzled his head over it. He could learn nothing clear and definite, and he never could make out what Moses meant ; and he found that, instead of having lighted a candle to clear up his mind, he had only got into hopeless confusion, and had therefore had enough of such studies to last him for the rest of his life.

Anna looked at Descartes with a stern pity. She resolved that she would never more be in his company.

A memorandum of that day stands in her journal, headed, "The Lord's benefits. God turned away my heart from that profane man, and used him as a goad to stir me up to piety, and to make me give myself up more wholly to Himself."

From this moment Elizabeth's friendship for Anna cooled down. The girls saw one another but seldom, and their letters, once so frequent, became few and far between. At last, in the year when Descartes, having removed from Eyndegeest, dedicated his book to Elizabeth, she received a faithful warning from her friend Anna, but received it in vain.

The letters written to her by Descartes pleased her better, and she still remained working out the problems which he gave her, and endeavouring to make sure of her own existence in the first place, of the existence of God in the second, and to satisfy the hunger of her soul by searching in her own mind for the explanation of all the mysteries of her sad life. Yet Sophie, who watched her carefully, could not observe that her philosophy gave her any consolation on the frosty days which nipped her nose.

Still less did it console her in the sorrows and troubles which followed. Two years after Descartes had left Eyndegeest, Elizabeth's brother Edward became a Roman Catholic. This was a great shock to her Protestant feelings. The following year, her brother Philip, having assassinated a French favourite of his mother's, had to fly for his life. Elizabeth, who undertook to defend him to her mother, now fell far below the dogs and monkeys in the estimation of the queen. She left home for a time to visit her good Aunt Charlotte, her father's sister, with whom she and her grandmother had spent some of their years of wandering when Elizabeth was a child.

Aunt Charlotte's son, Frederick William, who had studied at Leyden, and spent much time with his aunt and cousins at the Hague, was now, since the death of his father, Elector of Brandenburg, afterwards to be known as the Great Elector.

Elizabeth was recalled to the Hague by a terrible family sorrow, the death of her uncle, Charles I. of England. The shock caused her a severe illness, and she received from Descartes all the consolation he was capable of giving her.

He felt sure, he wrote, that she would rise above circumstances, "being well accustomed to the unkindness of destiny."

" If this violent death of the King of England," he writes further, "appears to have something more horrible in its details than those which await us in our beds, yet, looking at it rightly, it is more honourable and happy and gentle. So that the very circumstances of such a death, which to common men and women would appear so grievous, must be to your Highness a ground of consolation. For it is a great honour to die a death which must awaken the pity and lamentation and praise of all people who have feeling hearts. During the last hours of his life, the king must have more completely atoned to his conscience, for the indignation which was the only unfortunate passion that could be remarked in him, than have permitted himself to be carried away by it. As to the suffering, it is not to be compared, on account of its short duration, with fever or sickness. Also it is much better to be entirely freed from false hopes, than to be left to indulge in them."

" It must be owned," writes Elizabeth's biographer, " that it needed a great soul to find any rest or comfort in these frosty consolations, in which reason alone speaks, and commands the feelings to be silent."

In the same year Descartes went to take up his abode in Stockholm, at the invitation of Queen Christina, and Elizabeth returned to the court of her cousin, the Great Elector, at Berlin. Descartes died in the following year, and left Elizabeth to work out her problems as best she could.

Meanwhile her life became to her more sorrowful and mysterious as time went on. Her beautiful sister Henrietta married and died within a year. Philip too was killed, and Maurice, the sailor-brother, disappeared from the shores of the West Indies, and was heard of no more.

In the year 165o Elizabeth was invited to Heidelburg by her brother, Charles Louis, on the occasion of his marriage with the Princess Charlotte of Hesse. After the Thirty Years' War he had been restored to his domains on the Rhine. Sophia was already there, and had asked her brother to invite Elizabeth to enliven her dull life at the castle.

" But Elizabeth," she says, " arrived much changed in mind and person." The Electress, wife of Charles Louis, thought her decidedly disagreeable. Her brother, Prince Edward, who was also at Heidelberg, said, " Where has her liveliness gone ? What has she done with all her merry talk ?"

Sophia too took up arms against her sister, "because," as she said, "Elizabeth took upon herself to assert her authority over me as if I was a child."

And meanwhile Louise, the artist princess, who had been left behind with her mother at the Hague, ran away, and became a nun. No children now of all the thirteen were left at home.

The life at Heidelberg was, as may be supposed, a time of many sorrows to Elizabeth. The cold, proud Electress disliked her. Sophia was in open rebellion against her elder sister; and the profligate life of Charles Louis was a grief to her, for which she could find no comfort in the philosophy of Descartes.

Yet, as a solace to her many troubles, Elizabeth betook herself the more energetically to the study of the writings of her beloved teacher. Her free-thinking brother, Charles Louis, who had bestirred himself to restore the University of Heidelberg, demolished during the Thirty Years' War, desired to enlighten the students by lectures on Cartesian philosophy. The lecturer, an old friend of Descartes, was gladly welcomed by Elizabeth. She even supplemented his lectures by private readings with the students, as the letters written to her by Descartes served to explain difficulties in the lectures of the professor. These classes, conducted by Elizabeth, were well attended by the students, and Elizabeth obtained a name for learning to which no other princess has an equal claim.

As time went on, Charles Louis, who had for a long while disliked his wife, determined to marry one of her ladies, Louise von Degenfeldt. In those days, when vices of all sorts were regarded as a matter of course, the conduct of Charles Louis was defended and excused, as being no worse than that of other princes.

The constant quarrels of the Elector and his wife now sometimes ended in blows. The Electress, who after a while had attached herself warmly to Elizabeth, confided to her all her sorrows and insults. In the year 165S, eight years after the marriage of Charles Louis to Charlotte of Hesse, he desired the Electress to consider herself his wife no longer, and shamelessly married Louise von Degenfeldt.

Strange to say, the Electress Charlotte not only remained in his castle of Heidelberg up to that moment, but consented to remain there afterwards. Half of the apartments in the castle were allotted to her, and her three little children. Elizabeth remained there also.

Chapter 19: Dr. Koch Once More

THERE is a balm for every pain,

A medicine for all sorrow ;

The eye turned backward to the cross,

And forward to the morrow.

The morrow of the glory and the psalm,

When He shall come ;

The morrow of the harping and the palm,

The welcome home.

Meantime in His beloved Hands our ways,

And on His Heart the wandering heart at rest ;

And comfort for the weary one who lays

His head upon His Breast.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

TWO years after this second marriage of Charles Louis, good Aunt Charlotte of Brandenburg died. Elizabeth would have no more pleasant visits to her and her daughter Katherine at Berlin or at Krosse. The latter was the country house of the kind old Electress.

But to this same house Elizabeth was invited, soon after her aunt's death, on the occasion of the wedding of her beautiful cousin, Elizabeth Charlotte, daughter of the younger brother of the Winter King.

The mother of the bride, Maria Eleanora of Brandenburg, was a princess of great talents, and also a believer in Jesus. She had begun in her old age to learn Hebrew the better to read the Bible. And for this purpose she had entreated our old friend Dr. Koch to compile a Hebrew and German dictionary. From this time she constantly corresponded with him.

Her chaplain had brought with him to Krosse notes of Dr. Koch's lectures on Canticles. He lent these notes to Elizabeth, who read them eagerly, and requested that a copy of them might be made for her. Dr. Koch, hearing of this, published his lectures with a dedication to the princess. The effect of this reading upon Elizabeth was, that she now devoted herself to the study of the Bible. And thus she had found at last the clue to the labyrinth, the shadow of the great rock in the weary land of her pilgrimage. She turned to Him whose words she read, and believed in him to the saving of her soul.

From this time Elizabeth was no more sad as those who are alone in the great wilderness. She had been till now an orthodox Protestant. She was none the less a Protestant, but she was, as never before, a rejoicing believer in Jesus. Her search after truth was over, for she knew Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, the Saviour who had sought her in the cloudy and dark day, and had found her at last, and would carry her home rejoicing.

Soon after her return to Heidelberg, she was elected as coadjutress of the Protestant convent of Herford, in Westphalia. The abbess of this convent was her aunt, Elizabeth Louisa, sister of her father the "winter king." It was her cousin, the Great Elector, who procured for her this office. He remembered his old student days at Leyden, when he had spent many pleasant hours with his aunt, the Queen of Bohemia, and his four beautiful cousins. To Elizabeth he was deeply attached.

She was not for the present to live at the convent, and for a while she remained at the castle of Heidelberg. But matters there grew worse. The disowned wife of Charles Louis, a strange mixture of pride and meanness, could scarcely be expected to settle down quietly in her husband's castle. After writing repeatedly to the Emperor to desire him to compel her husband to dismiss Louise von Degenfeldt, and to own her again as his wife, she at last came to the obvious conclusion that his house could no longer be her home. On the pretext of going out hunting, she made her escape, (some say with the help of Elizabeth,) and fled to the court of her brother, William VI. of Cassel.

The wife of William was the daughter of Aunt Charlotte, and therefore sister of the great Elector. This princess, Hedwig Sophie, was a woman of a great mind, and, moreover, of great faith. In her, Elizabeth, who followed her sister-in-law to Cassel, found a warm and congenial friend.

In this year the Queen of Bohemia died. There remained of all her children besides Elizabeth, the Elector Charles Louis, Prince Rupert, so well known in English history, the Roman Catholic Prince Edward, Louise the nun, and Sophia, who, in the year of Charles Louis' second marriage, had become the wife of Ernest Augustus of Hanover.

Had Elizabeth become a wife and mother, her descendants would have inherited the throne of England. But another path was marked out for her ; it was upon a higher throne that she was to sit with Christ. We must now take leave of her. We shall meet her again by-and-by. We will return to Labadie at Geneva.

Chapter 20: Labadie and Anna

THE year before the flight of Charlotte and Elizabeth to Cassel, a stranger was remarked in the congregation of John de Labadie. He had travelled from Holland to hear the great preacher, and to make acquaintance with him. He found in Labadie even more than he expected, and went back to Utrecht filled with the enthusiasm which took possession of so many who had but once seen or heard the reformer of Protestants.

This Dutchman was John von Schurmann, one of the Precise of Utrecht, brother to the learned Anna.

In consequence of this visit of John von Schurmann to Geneva, it came to pass that five years later, in 1666, Dr. Voet and Lodensteyn, stirred up by Anna von Schurmann, invited Labadie to come to Middelburg, not far from Utrecht, to be the pastor of the French Protestant congregation in that town. Anna wrote herself to implore Labadie to come to Holland, and " to revive at Middelburg the zeal for holiness which Teelinck had formerly awakened there." She also entreated him to pay her a visit on the way.

The people of Geneva were loth to lose their preacher, but Labadie considered it a call from God. On March 3rd, 1666, they dismissed him with the honourable testimony "that he had laboured diligently with both hands for the edification of the Church ; namely, with sound doctrine and sound practice, setting a glorious and excellent example of zeal for holiness, of love, and of uprightness, behaving himself as a true scholar of Jesus Christ, the chief Shepherd and Bishop of souls."

As before, Labadie had gathered round him many friends and disciples, and had so attached them to himself, that they went with him, as a matter of course, to his new field of labour. Three of these friends lived always in his house, and were earnest fellow-workers with him in gathering out the awakened from the slumbering Protestants. These three were named Yvon, Dulignon, and Menuret.

They travelled as secretly as possible, on account of the numerous enemies who were lying in wait by order of the Jesuits.

They had taken a solemn pledge in the words that follow : (1) "1 promise to sanctify myself more and more, to renounce the world, with its desires, its goods, its enjoyments, and its pleasures, in order to follow in the steps of Jesus Christ—poor, despised, and persecuted, bearing His cross and His shame. (2) To give myself up to God and His gospel, firstly practising His precepts myself, and then aiding others to practise them, as God shall give me the means to do so, thus, after reforming myself, taking to heart the condition of others, and to this end exposing myself to persecution, poverty, disgrace, and suffering, and to the hatred and contradiction of the unholy and unchristian world."

Thus would Labadie reform the Reformed. It is easy to remark upon the self-assertion, and the belief in human efforts and resolutions, which betray themselves in this pledge. But it is a happier task to consider the true, loyal love to Christ which marked Labadie and his friends. As yet they had not learnt the complete dependence upon Him, from which a holy and blessed life proceeds. But they longed to follow Him fully, and the Lord owned their love and faithfulness. They shine out from the dark background of those evil clays with a glorious radiance, and many who saw their light, glorified their Father in heaven.

Labadie willingly accepted the invitation of Anna von Schurmann, and spent ten days at her house in Utrecht, which lay in the direct road to Middelburg.

Many changes had passed over Anna. Once a beautiful girl, and a marvel of learning and science, she was now a lonely woman of fifty-nine years old. The visit of Descartes had produced the effect she desired. She had given herself up more completely to the study of the word of God.

When forty-one years old, she was left by the death of her mother at the head of the household, consisting of her brothers, and two aged aunts. Not only did a large amount of household work fall to her lot, but also the care of the two invalid aunts, who lived to about the age of ninety, and in course of time became totally blind.

For their sakes she gave up her hours of study, and devoted herself to them and to her brothers. In order to provide them with change of air, she had moved from place to place, and when at last they died, and she was fifty-three years old, she returned to Utrecht and to her beloved teacher Dr. Voet, with her only remaining brother John, of whose visit to Geneva we have just heard.

Two years after his return from Geneva John died, and Anna had now been left alone for two years in bier house at Utrecht.

We can well believe that the visit of Labadie and his three friends was a time of great refreshing Lo Anna. It seems to have been an era in her life, second only to that when she first knew and delighted to know that she " belonged to the Lord Jesus."

It cannot be denied that she was also carried away n some measure by the enthusiasm which took possession of so many who met with Labadie. The salts of Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress in some hospitable house, must have been literally acted out n those ten days, spent by the friends in reading, and prayer, and holy conversation.

Labadie then proceeded to Middelburg.

Chapter 21: The Churches and the Church

LET Him lead thee blindfold onwards,

Love needs not to know ;

Children whom the Father leadeth

Ask not where they go,

Though the path be all unknown

Over moors and mountains lone.

Give no ear to reason's questions ;

Let the blind man hold That the sun is hut a fable

Men believed of old.

At the breast the babe will grow ;

Whence the milk he need not know.

God is evermore rejoicing,

Loving, tender, still ;

Breathe His life and learn His gladness,

Sweetness of His will.

Loving, still, thou thus shalt be,

Jesus manifest in thee.

—G. TERSTEEGEN,

AND now there arose a cloud upon the horizon I which had been little anticipated. There were some in the Reformed Church who looked with a suspicious eye upon this fervent, perhaps they would say, wild and enthusiastic, Frenchman. Was he sound in the faith ? Was he ready to conform to the rules and ordinances of the Reformed Church ? Might he riot be a mystic, or a species of Quaker ? For all this time the strange ways of the Quakers were talked of far and wide, and it was not necessary to be a phlegmatic Dutchman to feel a wholesome horror of some of their practices.

Had not a Quaker woman, Margaret Brewster, " come into a church, in time of divine service, with her face disfigured " (so wrote an eye-witness), " her hair about her shoulders, and ashes upon her head, and sackcloth upon her upper garments, and barefooted, like unto some wild satyr, or some mad lunatic person ? by which unlooked for strange aspect the whole congregation was disturbed, some children much affrighted, and several women were ready to faint " ? And had she not declared to them "that she came thither, in that manner, in true obedience to the Lord, to warn them of their pride, and their superfluous adornments and attire " ? And had not the Quakers excused and commended her as being a "devout woman, under a religious concern, and affliction in spirit, who found herself constrained to appear in an unusual and extraordinary manner, whereat the priest, an utter stranger to such prophetic appearances was" (strange to say) "highly displeased " ? What might not other Quakers find themselves constrained to do ? And what " unusual and extraordinary" scenes might there not be ere long in the Dutch churches ? Was it seemly that a Quaker should stand up in a church, as one had done, to reprove and argue with the preacher, because he had said that Mordecai was hanged, and Haman promoted to honour ? And had not another walked through an Irish city, being only half-clothed, and having " fire and brimstone burning on his head " ? and in this manner had he not walked into a Popish church, saying, " Wo ! Wo ! O idolatrous worshippers" ?

And even in Holland, had they not testified, in various strange ways, preaching out of doors, and contradicting the pastors and ministers in the churches ?

Would it not, seeing that such things had been possible amongst men, be necessary to look more closely into the belief and the practices of this strange Frenchman ? Ought he not to subscribe to the confession of faith of the Reformed Church, and sign a declaration that he would submit himself in all things to the discipline and the ordinances prescribed by the Synods ?

For various rumours were already spread abroad that he had preached in a way little conformable to the Heidelberg catechism. And having been summoned once and again to appear and answer for himself at various synods, he had made various excuses for his non-appearance. Once, the vain excuse that he had a headache.

Nor had he consented to sign any confession of faith, or to promise submission to the Church. He had said on one occasion, that he had not the health to read through the confession sent to him with proper attention.

As time went on, it was reported that he had said the confession of the French Reformed Church contained unscriptural expressions. He had refused the Lord's Supper to a certain man without the authority of the Consistory. And lastly, he had preached not only against the wearing of jewels and costly finery, but also had openly declared that the Lord Jesus would return and reign in visible presence for a thousand years on the earth.

Thus he was a Chiliast. For this name was given at that time to all who professed a belief in the second coming of the Lord. This name served the purpose of deterring all who desired to be orthodox Protestants from " waiting for the Son of God from heaven," as did the Thessalonians.

Also Labadie joined to his belief in the future reign of Christ, a deep love and compassion for the chosen people of God after the flesh. He preached and taught that God would yet visit his ancient nation, that a great conversion of the Jews must prepare the way for the reign of Christ. He did not know that those who now believe in Jesus must be raised and changed, and caught up to be with the Lord, before this awakening of the Jewish nation can take place. But at least he looked forward to the glorious appearing of the Lord Jesus Christ. Twice at Utrecht, in the absence of Wolzogen, the French pastor, who was a disciple of Descartes, did Labadie preach the coming of the Lord.

He was known to say, moreover, that no man ought to be called upon to sign or to subscribe to writings of any man or men, for that in all writings of men there must be more or less error, none being infallible. And in addition to all these charges, he was known to use extempore prayer, not binding himself to the forms of prayer ordained by the Reformed Church.

Thus did the Reformed pastors and elders look with great suspicion upon these ways and doings of Labadie, so new-fangled, as they supposed ; for they did not compare them with the beliefs and customs of the Church of the Apostles, as Labadie, even in the Jesuit college, had done, but with the decrees of the Synod of Dordrecht, and the institutes of Calvin, and the Heidelberg catechism.

Good Dr. Voet had many a sad and anxious hour in reflecting how he himself had been the means of importing into the Netherlands this Quakerish man. And he warned, but vainly warned, Anna von Schurmann against his wild and enthusiastic vagaries.

In the year 1668, two years after the arrival of Labadie, the French pastor at Utrecht, Wolzogen, published a book, in which he taught that the Bible should be treated and explained like any other book written simply by men. Labadie called upon the elders of his church to denounce Wolzogen's book as an infidel attack upon the word of God. The elders brought the question before the Synod. The book was closely examined, and by most members of the Synod was approved. The remainder declared it to be "a Socinian and atheistical book, full of the spirit of the world, of the wisdom of the flesh, and devoid of the Spirit of God."

But by the desire of the majority, the elders of Middelberg were required to make a public apology to the Pastor Wolzogen. Labadie and Yvon left the Synod in indignation. They were forbidden in consequence to preach, but they continued to do so. The elders were deposed, and new elders appointed, who would compel Labadie to obey the Synod, or to cease altogether from his ministrations.

Matters were now come to a point. Would Labadie obey God or man ? Would he put communion with the Reformed Church in the first place, and communion with Christ and His faithful people in the second ? It had cost him much to leave the Roman Church, in which he had not only been brought up, but in which he had been awakened and converted to God. But Christ had been to him dearer than the Church he had loved. Was He not dearer to him than the Reformed Church, which had also declared itself false to Him ?

"All my experiences," he said, "experiences made during forty years in the Catholic and in the Reformed Churches, have now fully proved to me that it is scarcely possible, nay, almost impossible, to shape and fashion an already shaped and fashioned community according to the convictions which are a necessity to me. A reformation of existing church communities I see to be an impossibility. Therefore the restoration of the Apostolic Church can only be reached by separation from them all."

But Labadie did not see that even by this means he could not restore the glory of those early days. For the true Church of God would necessarily include both those who were willing, with him, to separate themselves from the existing bodies, and those who with any spark of divine life, remained even in the most corrupt of them. He could not accept the sorrowful fact of the irretrievable ruin of that building, once so glorious and so fair.

But the facts that he saw the ruin, and that he desired, in the spirit of a child-crusader, to rescue the beloved city of God, mark him out from the dead and lukewarm mass around him. And we cannot but honour the faithfulness of Labadie to the mission which he felt to be his. He had laboured with a single eye to this end, till at the age of forty he found himself outside the beloved Church of his childhood. Now, after twenty years of fixed purpose and ceaseless labour, he found himself outside the Reformed Church which had welcomed him. He would go forward at all costs, and leave all for Christ. And to leave a Church would be to one like Labadie far more than to leave his country, his kindred, and his father's house. God has owned his faithfulness, and forgiven his errors.

He openly declared to the Synod that it was impossible for him to conform to their requirements. His elders and the largest and most pious part of his congregation joined him in this declaration.

Once more they met together to take for the last time the Lord's Supper in the French Church. Only those joined in this communion who were of one mind with Labadie. He then formally and solemnly excommunicated those who held and defended the teaching of Wolzogen, and the whole party left the church, feeling that they had burnt their ships, and must now take the consequences, be they what they might.

" There is a human Church discipline," said Labadie, "there is also a divine Church discipline, the only rule of which is the Holy Scripture, to which alone we may refer. All other Church discipline rests upon human traditions, and there is no sin in refusing obedience to such. On the contrary, we may not dare to submit ourselves to it, or bind our consciences, and deprive ourselves of Christian liberty.

" For adherence to an outward confession of faith is not sufficient to form a Christian community. Nor is it enough that in that community some true believers should be found. It is absolutely necessary that the whole of those who are in communion should prove, by their holy lives, their separation from the world, and their good works, that they have the true faith, and are true believers.

" But when, on the contrary, this community consists for the most part of members who are lawless and disobedient, fleshly, worldly, and ungodly, without zeal, without love to God, common swearers, covetous men, deceivers, unrighteous, impure, scoffers or injurious, in one word, are guilty of crying and outrageous sins, what can we think of such a body and such members ? Is it not rather a synagogue of Satan than the company of the Lamb ? And is it not necessary to come out of such a communion, because such is not the Church, but the world, from which the Lord has called out His own ?"

Therefore, in leaving the Reformed Church, Labadie equally left all the churches organized by man. Nothing remained for him but to gather together those who would represent the Church of his earliest dreams, the Church of the apostles, consisting only of those called by God, and chosen out by His grace from this present evil world to witness for Him. But he did not see that unless ALL such could be gathered, the ruin of the Church remained.

Chapter 22: A Sect Everywhere Spoken Against

NUMBER of Labadie's congregation and of former friends gathered around him, and he persuaded himself that the ideal Church was these—the dreams of his boyhood in the Jesuit convent were a reality at last.

It may be supposed that this new community aroused the bitterest enmity of the professing Christians around. The whole of the Labadists, as they were now called, were forbidden by the town council of Middelburg to hold meetings, or to preach, and finally were banished from the town.

They removed in 1669 to the neighbouring town of Veers, where the town council welcomed them warmly, and gave up to their use one of the churches, so that this little town now became a center to which crowds were gathered from all parts of the Netherlands.

The preaching of Labadie aroused and awakened the thousands who flocked to hear him. Three or four hundred of the Middeiburgers regularly attended the meetings, coming over twice every week. It was quite clear that Veere was becoming the head-quarters of heresy and schism in the eyes of the neighbouring towns and cities. It seemed, in fact, that a civil war was about to break out ; for the meetings, said the town councils of Middelburg and of the Zeeland province, must be put down by the sword, if no other means should answer the purpose.

Labadie said he would not be the cause of bloodshed. He left the little town in August, 1669, and, much regretted by the citizens of Veere, he removed to Amsterdam, bearing with him a written recommendation from the church of Veere, who declared him to be sound in the faith, and a true and faithful pastor of the flock of Christ.

He hired a roomy house, in which forty of his followers took up their abode with him. The desire for a reformation of the Reformed Churches was now so deeply felt in the Netherlands, that numbers who heard of this new community flocked to the meetings. It was not long after that there were, at Amsterdam alone, sixty thousand persons who declared themselves as members of the body, besides numbers in other towns, who formed themselves into similar communities, the ground of their separation from the Reformed Church being the impossibility of receiving the Lord's Supper except in company with the unconverted.

The teaching of Dr. Voet and others, which had opened the eyes of many to the great distinction between those born again, and those not yet passed from death to life, had thus prepared the way for the work of the Labadists.

This separation of Labadie from the Reformed Church was the beginning of the first new sect upon the Continent of Europe since the Reformation. In England the Independents and the Quakers had already left the Established Church.

It now remained to be seen whether this community formed by Labadie would prove to be really the separation of the Church from the world, or merely a separation of a certain number of believers, leaving the remainder still mixed up with the corrupt mass.

Father Lodensteyn looked on with sympathy and interest, but he did not join himself to the Labadists. Dr. Voet looked on with disapproval, Anna von Schurmann with enthusiasm.

Soon after she received a letter from Yvon, who with Dulignon and Menuret were going round to various Dutch and German towns, to invite all true-hearted believers to join themselves to the brotherhood.

"You know Labadie, my dear sister in the Lord," wrote Yvon, "how filled he is by the Spirit of God. But since we have been in Amsterdam, it is as if the Spirit had been poured out upon him in larger measure. In the morning we all meet together, and he leads us in prayer and thanksgiving, and then begins the morning exercise. Then each one goes to his work and to his spiritual meditations. At dinnertime we all meet again as brothers and sisters, and eat our meat with gladness and with the joy of brotherly love. Then we sing a hymn to the glory of God and our beloved Saviour, and the evening prayer and praise consecrates to us the evening meal when we again meet together. If you could see our life here, you would never be willing to leave us, Come to us. Why do you hesitate ? Like Paula, follow this our Jerome. It is a blessed joy to the soul to sit at his feet."

Anna was much impressed with this letter, but did not understand the reference to Paula and Jerome. Her many studies can scarcely have included Church history. She sent to Dr. Voet to ask him to lend her the life of S. Jerome, and then, in spite of the warning voice of her old friend, she betook herself to Amsterdam.

She could find no lodging in the near neighbourhood of the Labadists, and therefore took up her abode in Labadie's own house, where she inhabited the ground-floor in company with a widow from Micklelburg, and two of her maids.

Yvon vainly endeavoured to persuade good old Dr. Voet to follow her example, not by coming to live in Amsterdam, but by devoting himself to the reformation of the Church in Utrecht, either casting out the worldly and unconverted, or coming out himself with the remainder as Labadie had done. But Dr. Voet foresaw insuperable difficulties.

In many other Dutch and German towns, however, the separation was made, and Labadist communities sprang up, consisting in many cases of Christian people who had for some time back refused to join the world at the table of the Lord.

In Amsterdam the daily meetings were crowded, and amongst those who joined themselves to the brotherhood was the burgomaster of Amsterdam, Conrad von Beuningen, one of the noblest and most respected of Dutch statesmen. A young student in theology, Henry Schluter, also joined the community at this time, and became one of the most earnest preachers, teachers, and writers amongst them. We shall hear of his work later on.

But it came to pass soon afterwards that Menuret, the beloved disciple of Labadie, became insane, and shortly afterwards died. An outcry was made by the Reformed preachers, who had watched the meetings with a jealous eye. They complained that " the Labadists won over the best Christians, and the most godly souls, so that most of the congregations were despoiled of their pearls."

This was saying a good deal for the Labadists, though the pastors seem to have been little aware of the praise they were bestowing. They did not feel, like good Father Lodensteyn, that it would be well they should humble themselves when they saw the best departing from their midst, and leaving the world behind them.

The magistrate, stirred up by the pastors, now forbade all public meetings of the new sect. They might meet amongst themselves, but none from outside might take part. The Labadists took counsel together what should be done. They resolved to found a colony on the island of Nord Strand, in Schleswig. There they hoped they would be free, and that many would join them from other places. But difficulties arose, and this plan was given up.

Anna von Schurmann now bethought herself of her old friend of former days, the Princess Elizabeth of the Rhine.

Chapter 23: The Abbey of Herford

AFTER five years spent at Cassel with her good cousin Hedwig Sophie—years, no doubt, the happiest she had known—Elizabeth had succeeded her aunt Elizabeth Louisa, as abbess of Herford, in Westphalia.

This ancient abbey had been founded, in the year 839, for fourteen nuns, and had received from the Carlovingian emperors a great number of gifts and privileges. A cathedral-church and cathedral-school were attached to it. It was a free and independent abbey, under no jurisdiction but that of the abbess.

The town of Herford, which was of a later date than the abbey, stood at the junction of the rivers Werre and Aa. It was a town of considerable trade and importance, not under the jurisdiction of the abbey, but at the same time the sheriffs and corporation took a yearly oath of fealty to the abbess as her vassals.

To the abbess also belonged the right of the sale of provisions in the market, and each citizen on entering upon any municipal office had to swear that he would be true and loyal to the abbey. The abbess, on the other hand, had to promise to respect and maintain the customs and privileges of the town.

A bridge over the Aa led to the piece of ground called " The Freedom," upon which the abbey stood. It contained a large feudal hall, old-fashioned gardens, and the wings of the building (now a cotton factory) were roomy dwelling-places for the nuns in the old time, and for any decayed ladies after the Reformation, who were chosen by the abbess to end their days in this quiet retreat.

Four Lutheran priests performed the service in the cathedral-church, with other clergy and assistants ; but the abbesses, who on account of the great privileges of the abbey were chosen chiefly from royal and princely families, were not necessarily Lutherans. Several princesses of the Reformed Church had filled this post before Elizabeth's time. They were regarded as princesses and prelates of the Holy Roman empire, and for some short time back had been appointed by the Elector of Brandenburg, the present Elector being, as we know, Elizabeth's attached cousin, Frederick William I.

For Elizabeth, Anna von Schurmann had always retained her old affection. And she had heard that the princess was interested in the story of Labadie's labours and persecutions.

It seems to have been the princess herself who first had the thought of inviting the whole community to inhabit her roomy old abbey buildings.

She entrusted to a person at the Hague, in whom she had confidence, a message to Anna to this effect. But " this person," writes Anna, " not knowing himself the state of the case, and misled by the letter of a preacher of the Walloon Church at the Hague, which letter was filled with gall and hatred against Labadie and his followers, forwarded this letter to the noble princess, in order to deter her from her intention. But the illustrious princess was so far from altering her mind when she had read this letter, that she was the more confirmed in her purpose ; for she saw that this letter savoured more of the muddy water of a hellish stream, than of the clear stream of living water which Christ promised to His faithful servants, which He gave to them, and which He will ever give.

"Therefore the princess argued thus: 'A service which the world condemns and hates, is a service which is dear and acceptable to Christ. Now this service which I purpose, is hateful to the world and to the worldly, consequently it is approved by Christ, and is precious to Him.'

"And later did the princess describe to us how, in the theatrical style and light and mocking tone which marked that letter, she had perceived the worldly mind of the writer, and had also with the same glance perceived that honour was to be given to the injured and innocent servant of God, who was a true minister of His gospel.

" She therefore wrote at once to me, saying that she was well acquainted with my desire to free myself from the fetters of the world and of earthly things, and to end my days in the company of the people of God. She assured me that our old friendship remained always in her memory, and that she therefore cordially invited our whole community to take refuge with her, where they would have complete liberty of worship, and be sheltered under her authority.

" She also added, that if her proposal were agreeable to us, I should myself either go to her at once, as a carriage might perform the journey in twenty-four hours, or I should send a trusty and capable friend to arrange with her how she might send half way to meet the whole party.

" When I informed our pastors of this invitation, it was clear to them, and to all of us, that this opportunity was granted to us by God, and we therefore determined to send to the princess our dear friend and brother in Christ, Pastor Dulignon, who was well furnished with a knowledge of divine and human things, and with the wisdom and discretion of the saints."

By means of this discreet pastor all arrangements were made, and the whole party took ship at Amsterdam, to the number of fifty, many others promising to follow them shortly. Anna describes herself as being too full of joy to mind the discomforts of the journey, and her own maladies.

They landed at Bremen, where however they were most unwelcome, and were commanded to leave at the end of two days, as being a species of mad Quakers.

All the more warmly were they welcomed by the Princess Elizabeth. " My house is open," she said, "to all who love the Lord Jesus." When we remember the insane pride of birth and rank which marked those degraded times, we can all the more trace the work of God in the heart of the princess, who felt herself honoured in receiving this company, chiefly composed of working men and tradespeople.

The women of the company were of a higher rank, several ladies, young, and of large fortunes, having followed the example of Anna von Schurmann. Three of these, who were sisters, of the name of Sommerdyk, lived by themselves in a separate house. But others, like Anna, lived in the same house with Labadie and his friends. Anna, though an elderly lady, greatly scandalised the steady and discreet Dutch matrons by this unseemly example. She was unwise enough to say that her reputation, being her most precious jewel, was that which she most gladly offered up for Christ. Had she, in such a case, retained it for Christ, it would have been better. But the younger ladies, all whose scruples were demolished by Anna's remark, turned thenceforward a deaf ear to the remonstrances of their friends and relations.

They imagined themselves to be too spiritual to need the usual rules and observances of social life. It was the old story of confounding the crucifixion of the flesh with disregarding the laws of human nature. " Doth not nature itself teach you ?" God Himself has said, appealing to natural modesty. But many have been found in the history of the Church, and some are found still, who imagine that by cutting the string of the kite it will soar far higher than the kites with strings. The history of the Labadists is an example of this.

At the same time, to judge fairly of these young women, we must also remember that, like Christian and Mercy, of whom John Bunyan wrote, they were literally flying from the City of Destruction, from the world of which we have had glimpses in the history of those dark days. One of the Sommerdyk sisters related her story in later years to William Penn.

She said, "When I was yet a girl, I was plunged in grief at the dead works of the flesh in the Christian Church. How often did I say to myself, In what pride, in what lusts and pleasures and empty amusements, Christians are! Can such a way be the way to heaven and to glory ? Can such people be disciples of Christ ? No, no, O God ! Where is Thy little flock ? Where is Thy family, who live for Thee, who seek to follow Thee ? Let me be counted amongst their number.' "

She further related that at this time a sermon of Labadie's struck her to the heart ; she resolved there and then to leave the world, with its pleasures and its glory, and to ask to be received into this family separated to God. The Lord, who looks at the heart, owned and accepted the love which was willing to leave all for Him. We, at a distance, and in other days, are less capable of seeing the love, and more capable of seeing the mistakes, of these simpleminded Dutch maidens. Let us rejoice in that which was of God in their hearts and lives.

And at the same time, in considering the conduct of the Princess Elizabeth, we can rejoice to see one who was willing to become a fool for Christ's sake, and the more so, as her early ambition had been distinction in human wisdom, and her early education

had taught her to regard royal blood as a privilege which put an impassable gulf between princes and ordinary men and women.

" If we believe the biographer of Descartes, and all those who follow him," writes Guhrauer, the author of the best history of Elizabeth, " we should conclude that Elizabeth, as abbess of Herford, and up to the end of her life, found in Descartes' philosophy her sole rest and satisfaction, so much so that this philosophy served as her actual religion.

She made,' writes this author, of the abbey, a philosophical academy for all sorts of persons of mind and of learning, with no distinction of sect or religion. Catholics, Calvinists, and Lutherans were all alike welcome, nor were Socinians and Deists excluded. For admittance to this circle it was enough to be a philosopher, and first of all an adept in the philosophy of Descartes. This abbey, therefore, was regarded as one of the first schools of Cartesian philosophy as long as the princess lived, who presided over it. The name of Descartes was never mentioned there but with respect and reverence.'

" The whole of this description, however, is derived rather from a poetical imagination than from historical fact. The bare supposition that not only the three confessions of faith tolerated in the German empire, but also Socinianism and Deism, were allowed a place in the abbey of Herford, is deprived of all credibility, since, according to the laws of the empire as then existing, no Socinians or professed Deists were tolerated. The author of the life of Descartes either did not know, or concealed the fact, that Elizabeth, as abbess of Herford, had received the living principle of Christian faith in such a manner as to exclude the cult of philosophy as in former days."

Guhraner adds, "In some deep minds the last result of learning is often the sense of the vanity of human knowledge, and is therefore very frequently the passage into a new life, or, as some express it, the moment of the new birth."

That Elizabeth had thus passed from death to life the whole of her life as abbess of Herford is an undeniable proof.

Chapter 24: Elizabeth's Guests

IT was a strange but joyful meeting between the two old friends, who had parted as girls, and as the wonders of their age for human learning. Now had the old things passed away, and all things had become new. Anna had but a few months before burnt all the books and papers written by her in her days of philosophy and science. Nothing remained for either but Christ and Him crucified.

Anna must have her due. That she was carried beyond the bounds of the simple walk with God taught us by the Spirit in the Word we cannot but see. But others, with more wisdom and less love, might easily be found.

Elizabeth had taken the precaution of gaining the full consent of the Great Elector to her strange importation of the Labadists. But she had not thought it necessary to consult the town council or the clergy of Herforel, nor even to give them any intimation of the arrival of this unaccountable party. Strange rumours had meanwhile reached these worthies of the wild ways of the " mad Ouakers."

It was on a November day that they arrived, and found the streets of the little town lined with curious spectators, who looked at them with disgust and horror. A shower of stones and mud was their first welcome to Herford.

Next day a deputation came to the abbey from the mayor and corporation to protest against the invasion of " the Dutchmen." Elizabeth refused to receive the deputation, but sent a private message to assure them, as friends and neighbours, that they had nothing to fear from the new arrivals.

The council then sent a complaint to the great Elector. Elizabeth told them they might complain if they chose, but that she, as a princess of the holy Roman Empire, was accountable to no one but the emperor, and that she advised them to keep quiet, unless they wished her to keep them in order by a troop of dragoons.

A long correspondence followed between Elizabeth and her cousin Frederick William, who, with every desire to act kindly and indulgently, felt constrained to tell her of the scandalous stories he had heard of these " Quakerish people."

The Elector had good reasons for his scruples. Labadie and his first disciples had for a time openly taught that marriage was an earthly relationship unsuited to Christians. That a half-enlightened convert from Jesuitism should have taught this is not surprising. Nor has it been uncommon for Christians, who ill understand what it is to walk in the Spirit, to regard all earthly relationships as belonging to the "old man," thus confusing nature and the flesh. Labadie therefore did not reflect that natural relationships, as well as spiritual relationships, are formed by God. He had thought and acted as though the spiritual relationship of believers to one another as children of God, and therefore as brothers and sisters, was alone to be taken into consideration.

It was for this reason he formed his community, as we have seen, of men and women who were to live tog-ether as the children of one family. But this state of things speedily came to an end. Yvon had confided to Labadie some time before the removal to Herford that he wished to marry one of the young Dutch ladies who had joined the community. Labadie himself owned to a wish to marry one of the Sommerdyk sisters. Having, however, taught that marriage is beneath the calling of a Christian, Yvon and Labadie had to reconsider their theories. The conclusion they arrived at was, that marriage is too sacred a relationship for any who are not Christians. But lest this change in their principles should be misunderstood, they committed the folly of marrying privately, and keeping the whole matter a secret. It may be too that the Quaker theory, that Christians should be married privately amongst themselves, had some weight with Labadie, " For priests or magistrates," wrote William Penn, "to marry, or join any in that relation, is not according to Scripture. For it is God's ordinance, not man's."

It is not to be wondered at, that as time went on, many evil reports had spread far and wide to the discredit of Labaclic, and what was more important, to the dishonour of Christ. The council of Herford forbade the tradespeople to sell anything, even bread, to the ill-conducted Quakers.

Elizabeth's troubles now became many and great. She wisely insisted that all the marriages amongst the Labadists should be made public, the ceremony being performed afresh according to the usual forms. She also insisted that her guests should have perfect freedom of worship, and she delighted to take part in their meetings, and to read and talk and pray with them, to the great disgust of many of her relations and of the townspeople.

Anna describes the joy and thankfulness of her friend " that God had called her to be the hostess and the protectress of a Church gathered out of true believers." " She said to me once," writes Anna, " that she no longer believed the truths they taught on account of what I and others had told her, but because she had heard and learnt herself that they were taught of God and were true servants of Christ. And what wonder that she found in their preaching those unsearchable riches which they gave forth without any preparation of human study, whereas the other preachers racked their brains over books to produce dry sermons with hard labour, and that which they preached was artificial and not natural.

" But these servants of God not only threw new light upon well known truths, but the truth flowed forth from them as a clear stream which could not but flow.

"And the princess could not but observe this, and also their simple, pure, and joyous life, which was a perpetual preaching of the Gospel to all whose eyes were not blinded."

We can readily believe, however, that to those who had neither eyes nor cars for Him whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth Him not, neither knoweth Him, Elizabeth and her guests were a perplexity and a wonder. That a princess who had been the favourite pupil of Descartes, who had, as Descartes said, more clearly comprehended him than any philosopher in Europe, and who had afterwards learnt the Scriptures from the great and learned Dr. Koch, should now allow herself to be taught by " smiths, tailors, shoemakers, and saddlers," was a standing marvel, not to the world alone, but to orthodox Christians.

Even the good princess Hedwig Sophia, who loved and respected Elizabeth so truly, felt constrained by her conscience to write to the Great Elector, after having received an imploring appeal from the council of Herford, to entreat him to do what he could to save Elizabeth from her friends. But the Elector still replied he was taking time to gain information respecting them, as he would not act merely upon idle rumours.

The Labadists being now freed from all restraints, and having unlimited liberty of worship allowed them, went a step further than separating themselves from the mixed communion of the Established Churches. They met together to break bread, as in the days of the apostles. But ignorant as they were of many truths of the Bible, they often overlooked the distinction between Old Testament worship and that which is in the Spirit and in truth.

On one occasion they expressed their gladness by dancing, after the example of David. They said their happiness was so great they could not but dance. Even the venerable Labadie, and the demure Anna, joined in this unworthy expression of Christian joy.

It is an unwelcome task to relate the follies of these really devoted people, but to omit all mention of them would be to represent them under false colours, They had the same phases of folly which we know too well in our own experience, though our foolishness may take another shape than theirs, But let none of those cast a stone at them, whose excitement can be awakened only by the things of this world, and who, as regards spiritual matters, have absolutely nothing which could disturb the dead level of their existence.

For those who have passed from death to life, the record of these spots and stains in a Christian course are as beacons that have their use. And perhaps the injury done to the cause of Christ by those who have naturally no sense of the ridiculous, is not often regarded as a sin. It is, to say the least, a proof that the soul is, so far, not in communion with God, nor led by the Spirit of God, but that the flesh, in every such case, has gained the upper hand.

In the case of Labadie, we must bear in mind that his early training had accustomed him to a sensational worship, and that there is but a short step from many Romish ceremonies to actual dancing, In fact, in some Spanish cathedrals, in the present day, religious dances are performed on certain occasions by choristers; and grotesque processions attended by military bands have been usual in Roman Catholic towns. It seems very difficult to our fallen nature to detach the idea of worship from material sights, sounds, and movements ; and in the present day we have ample proof of this, even amongst English Christians.

We have at this point a glimpse of the life at Herford, as it appeared to one who had no key to the mystery.

Soon after the arrival of the Labadists, Elizabeth had a visit from her sister, the Electress Sophia, who brought with her a German doctor of theology from Osnabruck. Sophia was much amused at the Herford household. The German theologian looked on with stern contempt. Elizabeth had to listen to her sister's jokes, and to the doctor's bitter remarks, with more patience than she could have acquired from the philosophy of Descartes.

Soon after the arrival of the Electress, an addition to the party was made by a visit from the Crown Prince Charles, only son of Charles Louis, who brought with him a learned chamberlain named Hackenberg, who had seen much of the world at various European Courts, but was now to have an experience of a Court which was not of the world.

"We were very curious," he writes, " to find out something more of this new apostle, and of the ways and means by which he fascinated the minds of men. At dinner many questions as to this were asked by the Princess Sophia, and Labadie's life was very freely commented upon.

"Elizabeth put a stop to our loquacity, and assured us we were doing great injustice to the holy man. When we replied that he had raised commotions at Orange and Geneva and elsewhere, she said that was the invention of reckless men, who blackened him with shameless lies."

Many other accusations were brought by these well-mannered guests against Elizabeth's "apostle," to which she replied by defending him warmly. And when they asked "by whose authority this most ambitious of all men dared to form a new Church," Elizabeth replied, says Hackenberg, " that it was she who brought these heavenly and godly people from Holland, that she was independent, and could allow them their liberty if she chose."

" Next day," he continues, "we all betook ourselves to Labadie's house. The first thing we saw was Fratilein von Schurmann, very shabbily dressed. She gazed at us with her languid eyes. We were taken into her room, where many beautiful objects attracted our attention—pictures painted by the most learned lady, in which art vied with nature, also wood carvings and wax models with speaking expression, which roused our admiration.

" Meanwhile an old man entered the room with slow and solemn pace, with an engrossed expression, as though all sorts of unimaginable divine thoughts occupied his mind, otherwise of very insignificant appearance. In a word, one saw at once he belonged to that class of mortals who are inspired by some better spirit, and being exalted above the earth, are in closer communication with the Deity.

" This man saluted our prince by a flattering speech, describing in eloquent terms the piety of his aunt Elizabeth. Then he launched out into a solemn discourse, and philosophized at length about divine love, and the fall and the ignorance of the human race. By this description you will have recognized Labadie.

"We all stared hard at him, and our superintendent disputed with him for a whole hour without coming to a point. Then Elizabeth, weary of these clamours, put a stop to it, and invited both of them to breakfast.

"Here the disputations were renewed. Labadie was charged with depriving women of all ornaments and jewels, and disturbing and terrifying their weak minds by forcing his pious notions upon them. Under shabby dreses they had all the same, proud and self-satisfied hearts. Further, he taught people there were no indifferent actions, but everything that was not directly for the glory of God was a great sin and crime, which was contrary to sound reason. And what shameless impudence was it to consign everybody to eternal punishment who would not fall in with such ludicrous superstition as to be a follower of Labadie !

" Moreover, he declared that nobody should go to the Lord's Supper unless they had the forgiveness of sins, and were saints.

"And was it not the height of folly and absurdity to regard oneself as born again, and as being holy, whereas the heart of man is always deceiving itself, and hiding the worst states of mind under strict and pious ways ? "

" Labadie answered," says Elackenberger, "as did his friends, by many long speeches," apparently very incomprehensible to the Princess Sophia and her party. " It all came to this : People must leave the world in order to live with Christ, and believers must avoid all contact with unbelievers for fear of being spotted and stained, and they must have their thoughts continually occupied with God and heavenly things."

" Schluter added," says Hackenberger further, "that he had lived three years in the Palatinate, and had never seen there as much as one pious pastor or professor." This speech was received with shouts of laughter, which the prince put an end to by requesting Labadie to collect his community, and preach them a sermon, as he should like to hear from the pulpit all he had to say. We therefore all adjourned to Labadie's house, where the women and girls, (pretty little creatures) all came in, together with a number of tailors, sailors, and grimy-looking tanners. It was surprising to see no well-dressed or gentlemanly man in this brilliant assemblage of women.

" Scats were placed in all haste, the second psalm was sung, and the text given out, " No man can serve two masters " (Matt. 6:24), and thereupon this juggler held forth, in a long and offensive declamation, that none were to be reckoned amongst the members of Christ who were still polluted by the world, or burning with any other love or desire than that which the Spirit of God enkindles in the souls that are born again.

" The sermon ended with a special appeal to the young Prince Charles, restored, as the preacher said, by the goodness of God to the home and the dominions of his ancestors, and to whom therefore the voice of God was speaking, calling him out from this present evil world to serve the Lord."

Hagenbacker however was more intent on observing the audience, and was amused to find that the words of Labadie moved and touched them, so that some of them " shed abundant tears."

"But as for ourselves," he adds, " we went home to the abbey filled with astonishment, and during dinner we entertained ourselves with a variety of jokes over this ludicrous piety, and could not express our-wonder that girls of the highest families, blooming with youth and beauty, and with ample fortunes, should be so utterly insane as to yield up their souls to the most miserable and useless of preachers, despite the entreaties of parents and lovers,

" Some of us said it was a species of hysteria, or the sort of insanity that leads other people to hang themselves. Others said that a course of Schwalbach or Pyrmont waters would put them to rights; whereupon the Princess was highly indignant, and told us it was the wickedness of our hearts which led us to ascribe to a diseased body the work of the Holy Spirit.

"But the Princess Sophia, who was a woman of good sense, silenced the excitement, renewing it however soon after, by explaining that her sister Elizabeth had found out the way to unite hospitality and parsimony in her choice of so cheap a party of guests, for in her position she was naturally expected to do something in the way of entertaining."

This remark, proceeding from a guest at Elizabeth's table, and from one who was called " the most accomplished lady in Europe," seems to have ended the conversation, leaving Elizabeth in possession of the reproach which is greater riches than the of Egypt.

Chapter 25: Ast Days of Labadie

(PILGRIM SONG.)

ON, O beloved children,

The evening is at hand,

And desolate and fearful

The solitary land.

Take heart ! the rest eternal

Awaits our weary feet

From strength to strength press onwards,

The end, how passing sweet !

Lo, we can tread rejoicing

The narrow pilgrim road

We know the voice that calls us,

We know our faithful God.

Come, children, on to glory

With every face set fast

Towards the golden towers

Where we shall rest at last.

It was with voice of singing

We left the land of night,

To pass in glorious music

Far onward out of sight.

O children, was it sorrow ?

Though thousand worlds be lost,

Our eyes have looked on Jesus,

And thus we count the cost.

The praising and the blaming,

The storehouse and the mart,

The mourning and the feasting,

The glory and the art,

The wisdom and the cunning,

Left far amidst the gloom ;

We may not look behind us,

For we are going home.

Across the will of nature

Leads on the path of God ;

Not where the flesh delighteth

The feet of Jesus trod.

O bliss to leave behind us

The fetters of the slave,

To leave ourselves behind us,

The grave-clothes and the grave !

To speed, unburdened pilgrims,

Glad, empty-handed, free ;

To cross the trackless deserts

And walk upon the sea

As strangers amongst strangers,

No home beneath the sun

How soon the wanderings ended,

The endless rest begun !

We pass the children playing,

For evening shades fall fast;

We pass the wayside flowers—

God's Paradise at last.

If now the path be narrow,

And steep and rough and lone,

If crags and tangles cross it,

Praise God we will go on.

We follow in His footsteps;

What if our feet be torn

Where He has marked the pathway,

All hail the briar and thorn!

Scarce seen, scarce heard, unreckoned,

Despised, defamed, unknown;

Or heard but by our singing,

On, children ! ever on !

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

ELIZABETH'S correspondence with the Great Elector continued, for the Herford corporation were unwearied in their endeavours to blacken the Labadists abroad, and to persecute them at home.

In November, 1670, Elizabeth wrote to the Elector as follows : "I hear that people have said a great deal of evil of my Dutch people to your Highness, as also they have written a great deal of evil respecting them to myself, from Holland. So that if I had not had them here present with me, so as to be able to see daily with my own eyes their exemplary Christian walk, I should have been the first to drive them away.

"As it is, I must humbly implore your highness not to condemn us unheard, but to wait till you have had a personal interview with General Ellern. And if he does not clearly prove to you, that not alone our religion, but the whole land, is a gainer by their presence, I request that you refuse us your protection. They are no Quakers, but simply of the Reformed faith.

" The project of the council to starve them out, has turned out like that of Simple Simon, who sat under the bridge in order to starve out the city of Dresden, for I have means enough to provide for them all without any help from the town.

"The magistrate will no doubt think of fresh plans for annoying them, and lay the blame on the people, as he did when I complained of the insolence of the boys, who hooted after them and pelted them with dung. I therefore trust to your highness to stand by me in this danger, for the honour of God and the interests of your highness."

Frederick William, who had distinguished himself by his kindness to the French Huguenots, was equally inclined to protect his cousin's beloved friends. But whether they were Quakers, Anabaptists, Communists, or lunatics appears to have been by no means clear to him, and he used every means for arriving at the truth ; so that time went on, and the council at Herford received no answer to their appeals against the unwelcome presence of the Labadists. The townspeople had to content themselves with pelting them and breaking their windows.

At last a bright expedient suggested itself. Elizabeth had said she was answerable to none but the Emperor. To the Emperor, without the knowledge of Elizabeth, the council of Herford sent a petition.

An imperial mandate was the speedy answer. Elizabeth was commanded to banish Labadie and his friends under a penalty of thirty gold marks. They had now been a year at Herford. Elizabeth herself was summoned to appear by proxy before the imperial council assembled at Spires on the sixtieth day after the reception of the mandate ; otherwise she would be deprived and dispossessed of all the imperial privileges belonging to her office.

The princess was amused by this mandate. She merely expressed her indignation at the impertinence of the council of Herford, who had dared to appeal to the Emperor without her knowledge. She considered it also an affront to the Great Elector, to whom she sent word immediately, desiring him to put his assessor at Spires on his guard, since it would seem that persons accused of heresy might thus be condemned and sentenced without a hearing.

She took no further notice of the imperial mandate, but removed the Labadists to her own country-house, where they might be more free to hold their meetings without annoyance.

In the spring of 1672 she went herself to Berlin, to plead their cause in person with the Great Elector. The council of Herford received in consequence a notice of the Elector's severe displeasure. Of this they in their turn took no notice, but insisted that the imperial mandate should be carried out. The Elector sent a still more indignant message.

How matters would have ended we know not, had not Labadie determined to be no longer the cause of trouble and annoyance to the princess. He called together his community, and they wrote a joint letter to the princess at Berlin, thanking her warmly for the refuge she had afforded them, but announcing their immediate departure.

On June 23rd, 1672, they left Herford, leaving behind a few of their number to pack up their library and printing-press, and convey all their possessions on board ship. Thence they proceeded to Altona, hearing that the King of Denmark had proclaimed complete religious liberty for all in his dominions.

Here they were received with great suspicion by the clergy and people. But after awhile their quiet, pious lives won for them the respect and love of their neighbours. Anna employed herself in writing a history of her life amongst them, a book that is a witness to the peace and joy which filled her heart.

The little community were of one heart and one soul. They met for praise and prayer and exhortation without hindrance. As in other times of awakening, a gift for spiritual song was given them. Many hymns remain which tell of the happy days spent in communion with God.

"The ideal," says their historian Goebel, "of the first Christian community at Jerusalem seemed to be actually attained. Labadie used to say, ' Christ rules amongst us. God has led us out of the world to unite us to Himself. I see at last that for which I have longed with so deep a longing. Scarce anything more is left to desire. God is known amongst us, is loved and honoured and glorified. What more can we desire ? I can die in peace.'"

This expression of the soul being united to God, so common amongst the mystics, seems to have been an incorrect and unscriptural way of expressing the truth that "we have fellowship with the Father, and with His Son Jesus Christ." We should, however, be careful to avoid all such expressions, which if carefully considered, are seen to be unreal. Union with God is nowhere found in Scripture. The believer is united by the Holy Ghost to Christ the divine Man, but never to Christ as God.

About a year and a half after the settlement of the community at Altona, Labadie died, thanking and praising God for " His countless benefits to one so unworthy ; for which," he adds, " I adore Him and thank Him with my whole heart, and especially that by His Spirit and the mighty power of His grace He made me to be a Christian, and brought me to the knowledge of Himself, as Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Further, that by His leading and guidance He has brought me to the knowledge of the truth which is according to godliness, and to the true worship of Himself in the Spirit.

" I desire also to bear witness that I believe in His divine Word, as it has pleased Him to reveal it to us in the whole Bible, and especially in the gospel of Jesus Christ, or the New Testament, which is my sincere confession of faith, and the expression of it.

With my whole heart I attach my signature to this Word of God, dictated by Him through His Spirit, and by His Spirit understood and explained.

" And I would especially declare, that the faith of which I speak, is the faith of the latter years of my life.

" As to the world, and the men of the world, I own, with a thankful heart, that God has separated me from it, and has placed me in opposition to the world, and the world to me, therefore I live and die well content that I have had the hatred and ill-will of the world.

"And as whilst I was living, so now whilst I am dying, I desire to bear my solemn testimony that the world is not of God, but that it lieth in wickedness, that it knows neither the Father, nor the Son, nor the Holy Ghost ; and I believe that the end is near, and the beginning of the reign of God and His Son Jesus Christ, for whom I have waited, whom I have known, for whom I now wait, whom I now know."

Thus died John de Labadie, at the age of sixty-four, " a peaceful and happy death," writes an eye-witness, " with praise and love on his lips and in his heart."

" Labadie," writes Goebel, " was, like Spener and Zinzendorf, an entire, a true-hearted, and a decided Christian, though not without serious faults and errors. Wherever he worked much blessing followed; and more might have followed, had he not with his adherents formed a separatist community. But in the Lord's hand this community became a significant and richly-blessed sign of the times.

"Besides the Labadists proper, the noblest and most pious Christians of those days, Spener, Francke, Zinzendorf, and others, were friends and defenders of the Labadists. And with these holy men, Labadie claims a foremost place in the history of Christian life in the evangelic church.

" He had a depth of piety in his innermost being, which shone forth in his whole walk, in his words and writings. His gifts were most rare, and his personal attractions were such as to fascinate and captivate those who knew him."

" Constantly calumniated as he was," writes Spener, "I can bear witness, as can many who had no love for him, that he was a man of blameless and holy life."

Let us thank God that one who loved Him so truly, was raised up in those evil days to begin a work that still lasts, and is still owned by Christ ; for to Labadie and his followers may be traced many a stream of living water flowing yet through dark and dry places in Holland and in Germany. Like Ridley and Latimer in England, Labadie lighted a candle which will never be put out till the Church is called up to be with Christ.

The Labadists now removed, under the leadership of Yvon, to Wiewart, an estate of the Somerdykes, in Holland. Here we have a last little picture of them in the journal of William Penn, the Quaker:

" We took waggon," he wrote, " for Wiewart, the mansion-house of the family of the Somerdykes, where John de Labadie's company resicleth ; it being strong on my spirit to give them a visit. We got thither about five, and as we were walking over a field to the house, we met a young man of that company who conducted us in. I asked for Yvon, the pastor, and Anna Maria Schurmann. Yvon came presently with his co-pastor ; they received us very civilly ; however, they seemed shy of letting me speak with Anna Schumann, objecting her weakness, age, &c. They were at last persuaded, but it was then too late in the day.

" Next morning I returned to them. So soon as we came, we were brought into Anna Schurmann's chamber, where also was with her one of the three Somerdykes. This Anna Schurmann aforesaid is an ancient maid above 6o years of age, of great note and fame for learning in languages and philosophy. The Somerdykes are daughters to a nobleman of the Hague, people of great breeding and inheritance,

"After Yvon had spoken, Anna Schurmann related something of her former life—her pleasure in learning, and her love to the religion she was brought up in ; but at last, through the ministry of John de Labadie, she saw her learning to be vanity, and her religion like a body of death. She resolved to despise the shame, desert her former way of living and acquaintance, and to join to this little family, that was retired out of tile world, among whom she desired to be found a living sacrifice, offered up entirely to the Lord. She spoke in a very serious and broken sense, not without some trembling." The "trembling" impressed the Friends with much respect for Anna's convictions.

The year following this visit of the Quakers, Anna von Schurmann was called home, at the age of sixty-eight.

She finished her book, The Eucleria, just before her death, ending it with the following words : "I delight once more to bear witness with the deepest joy that my choice of the better part has never been regretted by me. By the grace of God it was the happy exit out of my folly, and I repeat again that I thank Him with my whole heart for the blessing with which Christ has sealed my choice, so that more and more have I learnt to know Him, the pearl of great price, through the communion of saints. Nor would I part with it for all the riches and glory, and treasures, and pleasures, and joys, and delights, and honours of the highest learning, for all the praise that is given to human virtue, nay, not for heaven and earth ; for I can say with David, ' The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance.' He is mine, and to Him be glory for ever and ever."

A few days after writing these words Anna died, in great suffering, but praising God most joyfully till, she could speak no more.

For about fifty years the community held together, though dispersed into distant corners of the earth. Labadie's widow, with a few more, went to Surinam, where her brother was governor, and there began the first Protestant mission recorded in history. It came, however, to an untimely end.

But the spiritual work of Lahadie and his brethren has never died out. We shall trace it later on with thankfulness to Him who owns the true and faithful love which is the work of His Spirit, in the hearts of His servants, despite many faults, follies, mistakes, and ignorances which have to be recorded of each and all.

Labadie had lived long enough to see how impossible was his ideal church. He had lost sight of the true Church, consisting of all everywhere who have living faith in Christ.

Perhaps he scarcely was aware to how great a degree he regarded the Church as consisting only of the Labachst community. As time went on, his followers began to understand that the scattered people of God, though united to Christ, and to one another by the Spirit, are not intended to come out of the world in so material a manner as to form a settlement which could be marked on a map.

But whilst their errors and mistakes died out, the truth they believed and taught, and the love which filled their hearts, remained, and remains still ; for the stream flows on which we can trace back to Wieward and Herford, receiving its tributaries even from the Jesuit College and the convent of Port Royal.

For the grace of God reaches lonely hearts in dark places, and brings together from the farthest corners those whom the Father draws to Christ.

Chapter 26: Elizabeth and the Quakers

Thou who givest of Thy gladness,

Till the cup runs o'er—

Cup whereof the pilgrim weary

Drinks, to thirst no more—

Not a-nigh me, but within me

Is Thy joy Divine ;

Thou, O Lord, hast made Thy dwelling

In this heart of mine.

Need I that a law should bind me

Captive unto Thee?

Captive is my heart, rejoicing

Never to be free.

Ever with me, glorious, awful,

Tender, passing sweet,

One upon whose Heart I rest me,

Worship at His Feet.

With me, wheresoe'er I wander,

That great Presence goes,

That unutterable gladness,

Undisturbed repose.

Everywhere the blessed stillness

Of His Holy place;

Stillness of the love that worships

Dumb before His Face.

To Thy house,

O God my Father,

Thy lost child is come;

Led by wandering lights no longer,

I have found my home

Over moor and fen I tracked them

Through the midnight blast,

But to find the Light eternal

In my heart at last.

—-G. TERSTEEGEN.

AND what became of the Princess Elizabeth ? She returned to Herford, sad at heart. She had found true comfort and gladness and refreshment in the communion she had had with her friend Anna, and with the simple devoted people who had filled her house with songs of praise. She said that she could only long for the coming of the Lord, to put an end to the sad days when His people are hated and cast out for His name's sake.

But she believed that the Lord had removed the Labadists because of her sin and unworthiness, and wrote humbly and sorrowfully to Anna, accusing herself as the cause of their departure. After this she sought out and found others here and there who loved the Lord, and who were glad of a refuge in those evil days where they could serve Him in peace.

Amongst these was a Dutch lady, the Countess Anna Maria van Hoorn, described to us as "one who truly loved all true and single-hearted children of God." Another was a young French lady, Mademoiselle de Reneval. A third, a young German pastor, who had been suspended from his office on account of his warm, we might say hot-headed, defence of Yvon and other Labadist preachers.

Elizabeth appointed him as her preacher at Herford, where after a while he was betrothed to the young French girl, whom he married some years later. In 1677 he was received as preacher at Mülheim, on the Ruhr, at which place we shall hear of him again. He was much loved and respected at Mulheim, for "many godly persons had inhabited that place for a long while back," and many were added to their number during the time that he and his young French wife laboured there for the Lord.

" Thus," writes Goebel, returning to the history of Elizabeth, " Herford remained a bright and blessed center of Christian life." And these last happy years of Elizabeth's pilgrimage were as a haven of rest after the troubles, sorrows, and wanderings of her earlier days.

She had still some bitter trials, especially those relating to the miserable household of her brother Charles Louis. The pity which Sophia lavished upon her for being in bondage to gloomy bigots, who deprived her of all pleasure and amusement, must also have been hard to bear. But still for her had the eternal joy begun, and the peace of God was hers. It was in the year 1676 that the young Quaker, Robert Barclay, whilst travelling in Germany, paid a visit to the Princess Elizabeth, and her friend the Countess de Hoorns. On returning to England, he related to his friend William Penn that he had found these ladies to be " persons seeking after the best things, also that they are actually lovers and favourers of those that separate themselves from the world for the sake of righteousness."

The princess proved the truth of Robert Barclay's account soon afterwards. In the month of November of that year he was imprisoned with other Quakers in the Tolbooth at Aberdeen. When the news reached the princess, she wrote immediately to her brother, Prince Rupert, then in England, the following letter :

" HERFORD, December, 19th, 1676.

" DEAR BROTHER,—I wrote to you some months ago by Robert Barclay, who passed this way, and hearing I was your sister, desired to speak with me. I knew him to be a Quaker by his hat, and took occasion to inform myself of all their opinions ; and finding they were accustomed to submit to magistrates in real things, omitting the ceremonial, I wished in my heart the king might have many such subjects. And since I have heard, that notwithstanding his majesty's most gracious letters in his behalf to the Council of Scotland, he has been clapped up in prison with the rest of his friends ; and they threaten to hang them, at least those they call preachers amongst them, unless they subscribe their own banishment, and this upon a law made against other sects, that appeared armed for the maintenance of their heresy, which goes directly against the principles of those which are ready to suffer all that can be inflicted, and still love and pray for their enemies.

"Therefore, dear brother, if you can do anything to prevent their destruction, I doubt not but you will do an action acceptable to God Almighty, and conducive to the service of your royal master, for the Presbyterians are their violent enemies, to whom they are an eyesore, as being witnesses against all their violent ways. I care not though his majesty see my letter. It is written out of no less an humble affection for him than most sensible compassion of the innocent sufferers. You will act herein according to your own discretion, and I beseech you still consider me as,

"Yours, ELIZABETH."

It was not till the month of April following that the interference of the king prevailed with the Scotch Council to release their prisoners. Robert Barclay then travelled south, and rejoined his Quaker friends in London. Amongst other matters which he related to William Penn concerning Princess Elizabeth was the history of John de Labadie, and of his reception at Herford.

William Penn was no friend of the Labadists, for he had been moved to visit this man and his company six years before. And," he says, " I in that day saw the airiness and unstableness of the man's spirit, and that a sect-master was his name ; and it was upon me to let them know that the enemy would prevail against them to draw them to inconvenient things, if they came not to be stayed in the light of Jesus Christ." This prediction, as we have seen, proved to be a true prophecy as regards some " inconvenient things" into which the Labadists were beguiled.

William Penn also told them, that "though they were something angelical, and like to the celestial bodies, yet if they kept not their station would prove fallen stars. In consequence," he says " they were shy of us ; yet I believed well of some of the people, for a good thing was stirring in them. And in this also was the Countess of Hoorn commendable, in that she left all to have joined with a people that had a pretense, at least, to more spirituality and self-denial than was found in the national religion she was bred in."

We must remember, however, that William Penn had not only failed to make Friends of the Labadists, but that Labadie, having been constantly reviled for being a Quaker, took the occasion of William Penn's visit to prove that he had no leaning to Quakerism. He therefore rather opposed than welcomed Penn and Fox ; and the "airiness of his spirit" is probably Penn's manner of describing a certain coldness and reserve which the Labadists thought needful on the occasion.

Early in 1677 Penn was moved to write to the princess two letters, the first consisting of eight closely-printed folio pages, still to be read by the enterprising reader.

In reply he received, in the month of May, 1677, a less voluminous letter from Princess Elizabeth, assuring him, " Both your letters, friend, were very acceptable, together with your wishes for my obtaining those virtues which may make me a worthy follower of our great King and Saviour Jesus Christ."

She adds :

"What I have done for His true disciples is not so much as a cup of cold water, though it should expose me to the derision of the world. But this a meer (sic) moral man can reach at. The true inward graces are yet wanting in

" Your affectionate friend,

" ELIZABETH."

Chapter 27: Journal of William Penn

SOON after receiving this short epistle William Penn set out on a tour in Holland and Germany.

"Being the first day of the week," he says, "I left my dear wife and family at Worminghurst, in Sussex, in the fear and love of God."

Being joined by Robert Barclay, George Fox, and other Friends, he took boat for Rotterdam ; and on June 9th the whole party arrived at Herford, and sent word to the Princess that they would visit her at any time that would be most proper.

"She sent us word," he says, "she was glad that we were come, and should be ready to receive us the next morning about the seventh hour."

Accordingly at that early hour the eight Friends were received by the Princess and Countess Anna "with more than ordinary expression of kindness." The "meeting" which followed appears to have lasted about four hours.

"The Princess," says friend William, "entreated us to stay and dine with her ; but we at that time refused it, desiring, if she pleased, another opportunity" (i.e. another meeting) "that day, which she with all cheerfulness yielded to, she herself appointing the second hour. So we went to our quarters, and some time after we had dined we returned,"

This second meeting appears to have lasted five hours, "which done, with hearts and souls filled with holy thanksgivings to the Lord, we departed to our lodgings, desiring to know whether our coming the next day might not be uneasy or unseasonable to her, with respect to the affairs of her government, it being the last day of the week ; when we were informed, she was most frequently attended with addresses from her people, But with a loving and ready mind she replied that she should be glad to see us the next morning, and at any time we would, therefore the next morning, being the seventh day, we were there betwixt eight and nine."

After holding a meeting with the servants, the Friends, having dined at their inn, returned to the Princess. Elizabeth then reminded friend William of a promise made in one of his letters, "that he would give her an account, at some convenient time, of his first convincement, and of those tribulations and consolations he had met withal in this way of the kingdom which God had brought him to."

" Before this was half done," he tells us, " it was supper-time, and the Princess would by no means let us go, we must sup with her ; which importunity not being well able to avoid, we yielded to, and sat down with her to supper. Among the rest present at these opportunities was a Frenchwoman of quality " (Mademoiselle de Reneval, before mentioned), " who from a light and slighting carriage towards the very name of a Quaker, became very intimately and affectionately kind and respectful to us.

" Supper being ended, we all returned to the Princess's chamber, where, making us all sit down with her, she, with both the countesses and the French woman, pressed from me the continuance of my relation, which, though late, I was not unwilling to oblige them with, because I knew not when the Lord would give me such an opportunity."

This conversation lasted till about ten at night, and "they heard me," says friend William, "with an earnest and tender attention, and made arrangements for a large meeting at the second hour next day, to which any townspeople who liked to come were to be invited."

Of this meeting William Penn says, " The quickening power and life of Jesus wrought and reached to those present, and virtue from Him, in whom dwelleth the Godhead bodily, went forth, and blessedly distilled upon us His own heavenly life, sweeter than the pure frankincense ; yea, than the sweet-smelling myrrh that cometh from a far country."

"As soon as the meeting was done the Princess came to me, and took me by the hand (which she usually did to all, coming and going), and went to speak to me of the sense she had of that power and presence of God that was amongst us, but was stopped. And turning herself to the window, broke forth in an extraordinary passion, crying out, ‘I cannot speak to you, my heart is full,' clasping her hands upon her breast.

"It melted me into a deep and cairn tenderness, in which I was moved to minister a few words softly to her, and after some time of silence she recovered herself; and as I was taking leave of her she interrupted me thus : Will ye not come hither again ? Pray call here as ye return out of Germany.'

" I told her we were in the hand of the Lord ; and being His, could not dispose of ourselves. But the Lord had taken care that we should not forget her, and those with her, for He had raised and begotten an heavenly concernment in our souls for her and them, and we loved them all with that love wherewith God had loved us.

" She then turned to the rest of the Friends, and would have had us all go to supper with her. But we chose rather to be excused ; we should eat a bit of her bread and drink a glass of her wine, if she pleased, in the chamber where we were. The countess, the Frenchwoman, and the countess's waiting-woman, stayed with us, and we had a very retired and seasonable opportunity with them.

"After the Princess had supped, we all went down and took our solemn leave of her, with all the rest of the family, whose hearts were reached and opened by our testimonies.

" So we left them in the love and peace of God, praying that they might be kept from the evil of this world."

The next morning Robert Barclay returned to Amsterdam, and friend William went on to Frankfort. " But," he says, " before we parted, we had a little time together in the morning in our chamber, whither came one of the Princess's family, and one of the town. The Lord moved me to call upon His great name, that He would be with them that stayed, and with them that returned also, and with us that went forward in wild and untrodden places."

Thus did the little party proceed on their various ways, their travels being chiefly performed in open carts, along bad and muddy roads. Friend William, after visiting many places, arrived on the last day of June at " Cullen " (Cologne), "a great popish city," where he met with "serious and tender people, who had desires after the Lord."

Whilst at Cologne, a letter reached him from the Princess Elizabeth, entreating him to go to Millheim, on the Ruhr, to visit the two pastors. One of these was Copper, the affianced lover of Mademoiselle de Reneval. Elizabeth thought that her young friend would be glad to hear tidings of her betrothed.

The other pastor was named Sybel. She also desired Penn to visit, if possible, the young Countess Charlotte of Falkenstein, living at the Castle of 13roich, near Mülheim.

Chapter 28: Countess Charlotte of Falkenstein

" IN the world ye shall have tribulation:"

Lord Jesus, Thou saidst it of old.

There dark are the desolate mountains,

The night winds are cold.

But safe from the storm and the tempest

My soul bath a cell;

There ever, beside the still waters,

With Jesus I dwell;

There, hushed from the strife and the sorrow,

Alone and apart,

In chambers of peace and of stillness—

That Home is His heart.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

If we look back to the days when Labadie lived at Amsterdam, we may recall the missionary journeys made amongst the Dutch and German towns by Yvon and other Labadists. Amongst other places they had visited Mulheim, and Schluter had for some time held meetings there, assisted by a tailor, John Backhaus, who had joined the community, and who settled down at Mülheim as a schoolmaster.

The young Countess Charlotte had been left to keep house in the absence of her father, who lived most of his time upon his estates in other parts of Germany. Charlotte and her maids went to the meetings, and became not only Labadists, but earnest believers in Jesus. The conventicles increased in numbers, and were marked by many conversions.

Suddenly, in the year 1670, the old Count returned quite unexpectedly. He was nominally a Lutheran, but has no claim to be regarded as a Christian. He was the last of his race and name—none but daughters were left to him, of whom Charlotte alone remained unmarried.

Great was his horror to find that his daughter had become not only a Calvinist, but, as he described it, "a Quaker, and a Brownist." He was not aware of the difficulty of being all these three heretics in one.

He concealed his fury, however, lest Charlotte should interfere with his proceedings. Before she was aware, Backhaus and a fellow labourer were dragged out of their beds, and cast into prison. A notice was posted up in the church, and read aloud from the pulpit, that all followers of this new sect should be banished, and their goods confiscated, " as from them proceeded all manner of rebellion, disturbance, revolt, and sedition."

Poor Charlotte, as may be believed, led a weary life after this outbreak of her father's fury. She was closely watched and guarded, and deprived of all intercourse with her friends. It was this which awakened the compassion of Elizabeth, who, no doubt, often heard from Pastor Copper of the young Countess's sad life. A letter remains, written by Charlotte to Backhaus, just after his release from prison:

"I cannot refrain, my much loved brother in Christ, from writing you a poor little letter, to tell you of the joy and delight which are given to me in the beautiful heavenly feast, of which I have become a partaker through your means, and for which I cannot sufficiently thank you. But the rich Recompenser will reward you. I pray to God my Father that I too may be able to share with others the treasures He has given to my heart.

For awhile He filled my cup with tears, but now He gives me the wine of joy. I went to Herr Schluter's preaching, and it gave me such happiness that I cannot help writing to you to tell you. My soul was spent with hunger and thirst, but my Father has restored me with the wine of gladness. My beloved, Father gives me all that I ask for.

"Oh that I could be with my dear brothers and sisters in Christ, that I might tell them of my joy ! I have to keep it all to myself amongst the dead souls around me. That grieves me ; and the time appears very long that I have to spend amongst the dead, when I cannot speak my Father's praise, of which my heart is so full that it is impossible to be silent. Oh that I could be always with godly people, that I might always be free to speak of my Father and Redeemer !

"I cannot tell you in writing how it pained me, that you, dear brethren, came to see me, and I was not allowed to speak to you. It seemed to me for a time that I was now the prisoner. I could not go to see any godly people, nor see them at home either. Because I cling to them is the reason I am hated. But the more the ungodly hate me the more I turn to my Father, who hears my sighs, and how often has He helped me !"

For seven years after writing this letter had poor Charlotte remained under the iron yoke of her father, Occasionally she stole out to hear one of the preachers, and sometimes could even spend a Sunday at the pastor's house at MUlheim. But all had to be done without her father's knowledge ; and the time seemed very long, and her life, except for the love and comfort of her Father in heaven, very lonely,

The Friends hoped they might by some means get an opportunity of seeing and comforting her. Accordingly, next morning they set off for Duisburg, and arrived there about noon, being the first day of the week.

"The first thing," says friend William, "we did after we came to our inn was to enquire out one Dr. Maestricht, for whom we had a letter to introduce us from a merchant of Cullen, whom, quickly finding, we informed him what we came about, desiring his assistance ; namely, in procuring us access to the Countess of Falchensteyn and Bruch. He told us she was an extraordinary woman, one in whom we should find things worthy of our love ; that he would write to her, to give us an opportunity with her ; that the fittest time was the present time, in that we might find her at the minister's of Mulheim, on the other side of the river from her father's castle ; for that she used to come out the first day morning, and not return till night ; that we must be very shy of making ourselves publick, not only for our own sakes, but for hers."

The three Friends therefore set off, accompanied for a part of the way by the doctor, to walk to Millheim, a distance of six English miles.

" Being on foot," says friend William, " we could not compass the place before the meeting was over ; and following that way which led to the backside of the count's castle and orchard, we met one Henry Smith, schoolmaster of Speldorp, to whom we imparted our business, and gave the letter of Doctor Maestricht to introduce us to the countess,

" He told us he had just left her, being come over the water from worship, but he would carry the letter to her, and bring an answer suddenly, but, notwithstanding, stayed near an hour. When he came he gave us this answer ; viz., ' That she would be glad to meet us, but she did not know where, but rather inclined that we should go over the water to the minister's house, whither, if she could, she would come to us, but that a strict hand was held over her by her father.' "

The Friends therefore went on to the town of Mülheim.

"But," continues friend William, "being necessitated to pass by her father's castle, who is seignior or lord of that country, it so fell out that at that very instant he came forth to walk ; and seeing us in the habit of strangers, sent one of his attendants to demand who and from whence we were, and whither we went.

" We answered that we were Englishmen, come from Holland, and going no further in these parts than his own town of Mülheim. But not showing him or paying him that worldly homage and respect which was expected from us, some of his gentlemen asked us if we knew whom we were before, and if we did not use to deport ourselves after another manner before noblemen and in the presence of princes.

" We answered, we were not conscious to ourselves of any disrespect or unseemly behaviour.

" One of them sharply replied, ' Why don't you pull off your hats then ? Is it respect to stand covered in the presence of the sovereign of the country ? ' "

We told them, it was our practice in the presence of our prince, who is a great king, and that we uncovered not our heads to any, but in our duty to Almighty God.

Upon which the count called us Quakers, saying unto us, " We have no need of Quakers here ; get you out of my dominions, you shall not go to my town,"

In vain did friend William represent that they were an innocent people, who feared God, and had good-will towards all men, and had moreover true respect in their hearts towards him, the count, but that "the Lord had made it a matter of conscience to them not to conform themselves to the vain and fruitless customs of this world."

The count commanded some of his soldiers who were at hand to see the Quakers out of his territories, and "thus," says friend William, "we parted from the soldiers after awhile, with much peace and comfort in our hearts."

Never for a moment would it have occurred to the worthy Friends to ask themselves whether the matter of conscience which had prevented them from speaking a word of comfort to the poor young countess, was really according to the mind of God.

They returned to visit the schoolmaster, and after conversing with him they took leave, desiring him to remember them with true love and kindness to the countess, and to desire her not to be dismayed at the displeasure of her father, " seeing that the Lord had visited her soul with His holy light, by which she had seen the vanity of the world, and in some measure the emptiness and deadness of the religions that are in it."

"It was now getting dark," he continues ; "but the Lord comforted our hearts with the joy of His salvation as we walked without any outward guide through a tedious and solitary wood, about three miles long, giving us to remember and to speak one unto another of His blessed witnesses in the days past, who wandered up and down like poor pilgrims and strangers upon earth, their eye being to a city in the heavens that had foundations, whose builder and maker is God."

But when the Friends arrived at the town of Duisburg, whence they had started, they found the gates shut for the night, and there being no houses outside the walls, they lay down to sleep in the fields, receiving " both natural and spiritual refreshment. And about three in the morning we rose, sanctifying God in our hearts that had kept us that night, and walked till five, often speaking one to another of the great and notable day of the Lord dawning on Germany, and on several places of that land that were almost ripe unto harvest."

At five the gates of the town were opened, and friend William went to his inn, where, he says, "it came upon me, with a sweet but fervent power, to visit this persecuted countess by means of an epistle."

A letter of those days, and written moreover in the peculiar dialect of the Friends, would probably be less welcome to the reader now than it was to the lonely young countess.

Friend William had finished it, and was about to seal it up, when there came to him a " sweet and loving" message and salutation from the countess herself; " which," he writes in a postcript, " hath exceedingly refreshed and revived us."

Having finished this epistle, he proceeded to write a longer one to the count her father, contrary to the advice of Dr. Maestricht, " who," says friend William, "though of a kind disposition, and very friendly to us, yet seemed surprised with fear (the common disease of this country), crying out, What will become of this poor countess ? Her father hath called her Quaker a long time, behaving himself very severely to her ; but now he will conclude she is one indeed, and he will lead her a lamentable life. I know you care not for suffering, but she is to be pitied.'

" We answered with an earnestness of spirit, that the serious and enquiring people of Germany had minded the incensings and wrath of men too much already, and that true religion would never spring or grow under such fears, and that it was time for all that felt anything of the work of God in their hearts to cast away the slavish fear of man, and to come forth in the boldness of the true Christian life. Yea, that sufferings break and make way for greater liberty, and that God was wiser and stronger than man."

Dr. Maestricht, however, was not convinced by this reasoning, and from what followed, it appeared that he determined in his mind that these mad Quakers should be kept as far as possible out of the way of the countess and her father.

When they had, as they believed, sufficiently exhorted the poor doctor, they returned from his house to their lodging.

"In the way," says friend William, "we met a messenger from the young countess—a pretty, young, tender man, near to the kingdom, who saluted us in her name with much love, telling us `that she was much grieved at the entertainment of her father towards us, advising us not to expose ourselves to such difficulties and hardships, for it would grieve her heart that any that came in the love of God to visit her should be so severely handled, for at some he sets his dogs, and upon others he puts his soldiers to beat them.'

"But what shall I say ? That itself must not hinder you from doing good,' said the Countess.

" We answered him that his message was joyful to us, that she had any regard to us, and that she was not offended with us. We desired the remembrance of our kind love unto her, and that he would let her know that our concern was not for ourselves, but for her.

"We invited him to eat with us ; but he told us he was an inhabitant of Meurs, and was in haste to go home. So we went home to dinner, having neither eaten nor drank since first-day morning, and having lain out all night in the field."

Chapter 29: A Last Glimpse of Elizabeth

CHILD of the Eternal Father,

Bride of the Eternal Son,

Dwelling-place of God the Spirit,

Thus with Christ made ever one;

Dowered with joy beyond the Angels

Nearest to His throne,

They, the ministers attending

His beloved one

Granted all my heart's desire,

All things made my own;

Feared by all the powers of evil,

Fearing God alone;

Walking with the Lord in glory

Through the courts Divine,

Queen within the royal palace,

Christ for ever mine;

Say, poor worldling, can it be,

That my heart should envy thee ?

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

THE Friends now returned again to Herford, where they arrived on a Saturday morning.

"At the second hour we found the Princess and the countess," says friend William, "ready to receive us with much love and tenderness. I observed them to be much lower in their spirits than ever" (this in Quaker phraseology does not mean that they were melancholy, but humble), " and that our former blessed opportunities had had a blessed effect upon them. That afternoon was employed in the narrative of our travels, which they heard with great attention and refreshment, and oh, the reverent tenderness and lowly frame of spirit that appeared in both these ladies !

" After supper we returned to the Princess's chamber, where we stayed till it was about ten at night.

"At parting I desired the Princess would give us such another opportunity next day ; and she answered me, With all my heart ; but will ye not come in the morning too ? ' I replied, Yes, willingly. What time wilt thou be ready to receive us ? She answered, ‘At seven.'

"About seven the next morning we came ; about eight the meeting began, and held till eleven.

" After the people were gone out of the chamber it lay upon me to speak to those two, the Princess and the countess, with respect to their particular conditions, occasioned by these words from the Princess: ‘I am fully convinced ; but, oh ! my sins are great.'

" Whilst I was speaking, the glorious power of the Lord wonderfully rose, yea, after an awful manner, and had a deep entrance upon their spirits."

After dining at the inn, the Friends returned to hold a second meeting at two o'clock, and more of the townspeople attended it.

" After supper," says friend William, " we returned to the Princess's chamber, where we spent the rest of our time in holy silence, or discourse, till about the tenth hour."

The next morning, at eight o'clock, the Friends again repaired to the Court, and were in the midst of their discourse at eleven o'clock, "when," writes Penn, "a rattling of a coach interrupted us.

"The countess immediately stepped out to see what was the matter, and returned with a countenance somewhat uneasy, telling us that the young princes " (probably Prince George, afterwards George I. of England, and his brothers) " nephews to the Princess, and also the Count of Donau" (Dhona), "were come to visit her."

We can imagine the consternation of the young princes, had they found aunt Elizabeth holding a conventicle with the plain Friends. And Elizabeth no doubt remembered but too well the visit of her nephew Charles.

William Penn thought best they should at once return to their inn.

"But we entreated," he adds, "that, forasmuch as we were to depart that night with the post-waggon, we might not be disappointed of a farewell meeting with them, and the rather for that I had a great burden upon my spirit, which they readily complied with, telling me these persons would only dine and be gone.

"As we went to the door the countess stepped before us, and opened it for us ; and as I passed by she looked upon me with a weighty countenance, and fetched a deep sigh, crying out, Oh, the cumber and entanglements of this vain world ! They hinder all good.' Upon which I replied, looking her stedfastly in the face, Oh, come thou out of them then !

The Friends having dined at their lodging, William Penn retired to his bedroom to write a letter " to the professors of religion in Germany." This letter would probably have extended to far more than eight folio pages, but it was interrupted by the arrival of the steward of the Princess, who came to say that she entreated the Friends to return to her at once, for the Count of Donau had a great desire to see them, and speak with them.

The count listened in a friendly manner to the discourse of the Friends, taking no notice of their unceremonious behaviour. "But after awhile," says friend William, "he fell to the hat, &c. This choketh, and the rather because it telleth tales. It telleth what people are ; it marketh men for Separatists ; it is blowing a trumpet, visibly crossing the world ; and that the fear of man (greatly prevalent with too many serious people in that land) cannot abide, starteth at, and runneth away from."

The Friends further explained to the count that the vain custom of taking off the hat was " but a weed of degeneracy and apostasy, a carnal and earthly honour, the effect, feeder, and pleasure of pride and of a vain mind ; that it was no plant of God's planting, and that no advantage redounded to mankind by it ; and being a vain and unprofitable custom, it could not be done, as all things should be done, to the glory of God."

Thus ended the great opportunity which the Friends had had of speaking of Him who had loved them, and given Himself for them, to one who apparently had a ready ear to hear. A second time had the matter of the hat deprived them of the only occasion which was given them of witnessing to that love and grace for which, perhaps, the soul of the poor count was athirst. He probably now regarded them as harmless lunatics, for he took his leave of the Princess and of them " with great civility."

" After he was gone," continues friend William, " the Princess desired us to withdraw to her bedchamber, and there we began our farewell meeting. And in the conclusion of that torrent of heavenly melting love, with which we were all deeply affected, I fell on my knees, recommending them unto the Lord, crying with strong cries to Him for their preservation, and so ended.

After some pause, I went to the Princess, and took her by the hand, which she received and embraced with great signs of a weighty kindness, being much broken. I spoke a few words apart to her, and left the blessing and peace of Jesus with and upon her. Then I went to the countess, and left a particular exhortation with her, who fervently beseeched me to remember her, and implore the Lord on her behalf. From her I went to the Frenchwoman, and bid her be faithful and constant to that which she knew. She was exceedingly broken, and took an affectionate and reverent leave of us."

And so the Friends departed.

Before returning to England the Friends made one more attempt to see the young Countess Charlotte, but they found Dr. Maestricht had laid his plans to prevent their meeting. For five years more she bore patiently with her father's evil ways ; and after his death, in 1682, she married Pastor Arnold Sybel, of Mülheim, and, we may hope, lived a happy life to the glory of God.

When Penn returned to England and related his visit to Herford, George Fox " was moved " to write to Elizabeth, and to send his letter by the hand of his step-daughter, Isabella Fell, and the wife of a Quaker, George Keith. The Princess received the Quakeresses with much love and affection. She was charmed with the sweet face and voice of the young Quaker maiden, Isabella, and talked much with her. She sent back to George Fox by his messengers a characteristic letter :

" DEAR FRIEND-I cannot but have a tender love to those who love the Lord Jesus Christ, and to whom it is given, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for His sake. Therefore your letter and the visit of your friends were very welcome to me. I shall follow their and your counsel as far as God shall grant me light, and the anointing of His Spirit, remaining still,

" Your loving friend,

" ELIZABETH."

A few months later she wrote to William Penn :

" DEAR FRIEND—I have received your letter, without a date, but not without the power to encourage my heart to do and suffer the will of God. I can say with truth and sincerity, Thy will be done, 0 God,' because I wish it with my whole heart ; but I cannot sincerely say that I possess that sincerity which is pleasing in His sight. My house and my heart will always stand open to those who love Him. . . .

" I am, your affectionate friend,

" ELIZABETH.'

After this we know little of Elizabeth's few remaining years. Penn's account of the few days spent at Herford gives perhaps the most vivid picture of her which remains to us. He described her later in his book No Cross, No Crown, published shortly after her death.

" She chose," he writes, "a single life, as freest of care, and best suited to the study and meditation she was always inclined to; and the chiefest diversion she took, next the air, was in some such plain and housewifely entertainment as knitting, etc.

" She had a small territory, which she governed well. She would constantly, every last day in the week, sit in judgment, and hear and determine causes herself, frequently remitting her forfeitures where the party was poor or meritorious ; and—which was excellent, though unusual—she would temper her discourses with religion. Though she kept no sumptuous table in her own court, she spread the tables of the poor in their solitary homes. Abstemious in herself, and in apparel devoid of all vain ornaments, her mind had a noble prospect, her eye was to a better and more lasting inheritance than could be found below."

Penn probably refers here to the Electress Sophia, who was accustomed to say, that if she could only have " Sophia, Queen of England," engraved on her tombstone, she would die content. She missed the attainment of her desires by two short months. But to Elizabeth, who delighted herself in the Lord, did He give the desires of her heart, " an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away."

She lived but a short time after Penn's visit. We hear of her correspondence for a while with Malebranche and Leibnitz, the latter of whom writes of her at that time, that she was a princess as distinguished by her learning as by her birth.

We may make a note of this, as disproving a remark of her great niece, Elizabeth Charlotte, daughter of her nephew Charles, who wrote, " I am really becoming quite dreamy, and half-childish, much like old great aunt Elizabeth."

Early in the year 168o Sophia was called to the death-bed of her sister. Elizabeth was now sixty-two years old. Her great niece's description of her, writes Guhrauer, "was not unmixed with mockery, and was no doubt due more or less to the sympathy the abbess had with the ' awakened,' and to her indifference to those things which arc most highly esteemed by the world."

Just as much weight should be attached to Sophia's account of her visit to her sister. She understood the joy and affection which Elizabeth expressed on seeing her to mean that she was delighted to have someone to speak to, less gloomy and depressing than the bigoted fanatics who kept her from all human enjoyment. We know how easily Elizabeth might have chosen friends of another stamp had she desired to do so.

She was truly and deeply mourned by many of the poor and despised with whom she had " chosen to suffer affliction," and should be remembered by us with the love and honour due to one who walked in a difficult and lonely path, and " endured as seeing Him who is invisible."

She was buried in the choir of Herford minster, with a Latin inscription upon her monument, describing her as sprung from the Electors Palatine, and the Kings of Great Britain. But, as it is written on the grave-stone of a Puritan maiden of noble blood, "let us pass over her descent, and remember rather her ascent, to be with Him who will grant to her to sit with Him on His throne, and to appear with Him in glory."

Chapter 30: The Reformation of the Reformed.

MEANWHILE the hearts of Christian men and women, in the Netherlands and in Germany, had been awakened to desire more earnestly a reformation of the Reformed and of the Lutheran churches.

There were thousands who had not followed Labadie, but who saw, as he did, the great and awful abyss which divided the church from the world. Their eyes had been opened to the fact, that only by faith in Christ can the soul pass from the one side of this great chasm to the other. They saw on the one side the unsaved, " those not born again," as they commonly expressed it ; on the other side the children of God, born of the Spirit, gathered out and delivered from this present evil world to witness for Christ and to serve Him.

" We should remember," wrote one of the " awakened " amongst the Reformed pastors, that our hearers are of two entirely different sorts, a fact which is, alas ! scarcely noticed by theologians. In all our sermons we have two great masses of hearers before us, who are as widely different from one another as light from darkness, and who cannot therefore by any possibility be addressed in the same manner, I mean unconverted sinners, and converted Christians.

" For these last alone have any claim to the name of Christians, and I do not know under what plea the former should be included as having a title to it. On the contrary, thus to include the unregenerate, is to encourage them in a good opinion of themselves, by allowing them to regard themselves as being Christians.

" Whereas, if it were plainly told them that all outward knowledge and profession of the truth can by no manner of means make them to be Christians, they would be driven out of all their holes and corners, and led to regard themselves as they really are. To them should be addressed the invitations and the threatenings of God, but to the others His consolations only."

And did not the Churches which overlooked this great and solemn fact, which classed together the children of God and the unconverted children of the world, need a reformation deeper and far more radical than the reformation which Luther preached ? If a reformation of doctrine had been needed, was not a reformation of life needed all the more urgently ?

For if it were true that their fathers had been brought out of the evil teaching of Rome to assent to the truths of the Bible, was it not a fall into deeper sin thus to boast of the light, and to care nothing for the life ?

Had the old reformers won for them nothing but sound doctrines ? Were they not as the Church of Sardis, having a name to live, and yet dead in the eyes of God ?

Thus had Father Lodensteyn and Dr. Voet and Labadie and many hundreds described them, and thus they now confessed themselves to be. And they remembered the blessing spoken by the Lord on the Church of Philadelphia, which had but a little strength, yet had not denied His name in life and practice.

Not only amongst the Calvinist Reformed Churches was the need felt and mourned. Amongst the Lutherans the call had sounded to a reformation equally needed.

We cannot give the time or space to an account of this awakening of Lutheran Christians ; but, amongst many others, the name of Philip Spener should be remembered, as one whose voice aroused the German people from the Rhine to Saxony, and whose labours are now owned as having made an era of the utmost importance in the history of Germany. And to Labadie chiefly did Spener trace the longing of his heart to bring back Protestant Germany to Christ. He had spent a year at Geneva whilst Labadie preached there, and left the old city with a heart burning for the return of orthodox Protestants to the life and love of the days of the apostles.

The life of Spener is worth a careful study, with all that resulted from his work—the founding of the " Pietist" University of Halle, the orphanage of Francke, the missions to heathen lands, the mighty tide of prayer and praise which flowed over the barren places and made the desert to rejoice.

Spener tells us that it was in the year 1694 that the name of Pietist was first given to these awakened Protestants at Frankfort-on-the-Maine—a name of reproach, but to them a name of honour ; the name by which these crusaders for the heavenly city were henceforth to be known in the pages of history.

It should also be here remarked, that the extraordinary awakening amongst the noble families of Western Germany, which marked the beginning of the eighteenth century, can be traced in great measure to Spener. As a child, he had been to a great extent brought up by the pious old Countess Agatha of Rappoltstein. "FIe grew up," writes Barthold, "almost on the knees of the Countess Agatha, the pious, serious lady who had perhaps learnt much from Tauler's sermons, so well known in her Alsatian home, and who had been driven by the troubles of the Thirty Years' War to seek for heavenly rest and comfort."

Her death, when Spener was thirteen years old, so filled him with grief, that he prayed earnestly that God would take him also to heaven. Later on the families related to the good countess retained a great affection for Spener, and his intercourse with them was the beginning of the remarkable work of God which extended from family to family amongst the nobles, before so corrupted and so godless.

But we are looking on too far into the times beyond. We must return at last to the little town of Meurs, and to good Henry Tersteegen, from whom we have wandered so long.

Chapter 31: The Boyhood of Gerhardt Tersteegen

O God, a world of empty show,

Dark wilds of restless, fruitless quest,

Lie round me wheresoe'er I go

Within, with Thee, is rest.

And sated with the weary sum

Of all men think, and hear, and see,

O more than mother's heart,

I come A tired child to Thee.

Sweet childhood of eternal life

Whilst troubled days and years go by,

In stillness hushed from stir and strife

Within Thine Arms I lie.

Thine Arms, to whom I turn and cling

With thirsting soul that longs for Thee—

As rain that makes the pastures sing

Be Thou, my God, to me.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

HENRY TERSTEEGEN was, as we have said, a merchant of this little town, in the duchy of Berg, one of those unquiet and unhappy provinces which had so long been a bone of contention to many different claimants.

Little Gerhardt, his youngest son, not quite six years old at the time of his father's death, could remember little of his words and ways. But as he grew older he learnt, from old papers and letters left behind in desks and drawers, that Henry Tersteegen was a man who loved and served God, and who kept up a voluminous correspondence with awakened Christians in Holland and Germany.

Labadists, no doubt, were amongst them ; for Labadist " families," like that of Amsterdam and Herford, had sprung up all around the town of Meurs. Labadist preachers had laboured in neighbouring towns and villages, amongst them Reiner Copper, from Mülheim, who had removed to Duisburg, and after a while was deprived of his pastorate by the elders of the church, on account of his refusal to admit unconverted persons to the Lord's Supper.

Labadist conventicles were, as we know, to be found at Mülheim and in the towns around, within easy reach of Meurs.

The house of Henry Tersteegen has still many visitors to whom the memory of Gerhardt Tersteegen is dear.

Just after his father's death, Gerhardt was sent to the Latin school at Meurs, where for nine years he studied diligently. He was the least robust of Cornelia's six boys, but the only one who appears to have had extraordinary powers of mind. His mother intended to send him later to a university, and with this prospect he devoted himself to classics, learning also Hebrew and French.

He was beautiful, we are told by one who knew him, clever and gifted beyond other boys. He was also industrious, honourable, and conscientious. But it was for himself and for the world that he lived and worked. The God of his father was as yet unknown to him, and perhaps all the more so, because his blameless life blinded him to the fact that he was lost, and dead in trespasses and sins.

And yet blameless ! Blameless in the eyes of man. But He whose eyes are as a flame of fire saw in that young heart no spark of love to Him who was one day to be all to him in time and in eternity.

Four of the elder brothers were in business as merchants. The fifth was later a preacher, but died young. This brother, nearest in age to Gerhardt, his best-beloved brother John, died in middle age.

Gerhardt worked hard to distinguish himself at the Latin school, and he succeeded. He could look forward to honours in his college life. It must have been a bitter disappointment to him when his mother found that the expense would be too great for her small means. She had no choice but to send him to learn business with his brother-in-law, Matthias Brinck, who lived at Mulheim, on the Ruhr.

The boy was then fifteen years old, delighting in books and in thought, by no means interested in money-making, or in the traffic and employments of the people of Mülheim, then, as now, a busy manufacturing town, with a great trade in brown-holland, linen of all sorts, ribbons and silk.

But if this appeared to be a common-place life to Gerhardt, there was another side of Mülheim life far from common-place. It was, at the time of Gerhardt's arrival, a town most extraordinary and remarkable. We have a little picture of it drawn by Professor Melchior, who was a pastor there from 1708 to 1717.

We remember that it was in the year 1712 that Gerhardt was sent there, just about the same time that another boy well known to history, John Wesley, was sent from the Lincolnshire rectory to study at the Charterhouse.

Professor Melchior tells us of Minheim, " If songs were heard in the workshops or the fields they were not profane songs, but sacred—either the psalms of David, or hymns from the hymn-books. It would have been difficult to find a man who went to his work without sonic book to read in his spare moments that would stir him up to godliness. Even the little boys and girls who went to the field with the sheep or cows could seldom be found without such a book to beguile the time."

Do we know any of these hymns ? Some of them are still sung and loved in German towns and villages. You might hear the washerwoman singing as you passed her door. It was to her as though the words came to her from the lips of Christ.

" Can a mother cease to care

For the sucking child she bare ? Faithful I will be.

Yea, amen, My oath is given,

Nor can aught in hell or heaven Sever thee and Me.

"Thee eternally I claim,

On My hands I find thy name,

I who graved it there.

Ever in My thoughts thou art, Evermore within My heart,

Evermore My care."

"I always know, when I have been travelling about, that I am getting back to Mülheim," said Pastor Melchior, " for I hear the singing everywhere."

Thus it was not in vain that Untereyk and Copper, and Sybel and Backhaus, and the Countess Charlotte, had lived and laboured at Mülheim, and that Yvon and Dulignon had preached there of the love of Jesus. And when Gerhardt came there the sound of the singing filled the town.

It has been truly said, that from the time that the people of God came out of the house of bondage, from the land of Egypt, every time of deliverance and of refreshing has been marked by songs of praise. When the light broke in upon the German convents of the Middle Ages, when Huss and Luther preached the glad tidings. from heaven, when the Huguenots were aroused in the Cevennes to make their glorious stand for the gospel of Christ, when the Methodists were sent forth through the dead towns and villages of England, "then," as Goebel writes, "did the life and freshness of Christian life break forth in glorious songs and hymns, which told the wonders of that heavenly life in clear and lovely music."

Thus there was something more than the sound of factory wheels to reach the ears of Gerhardt Tersteegen, and his soul was filled with longing for that sunny mountain-side of which John Bunyan tells us.

" I saw," said Bunyan, " as if the poor women I had met at Bedford were on the sunny side of some high mountain, there refreshing themselves with the pleasant beams of the sun, while I was shivering and shrinking in the cold, afflicted with frost, snow, and dark clouds."

And so also it seemed to Gerhardt when he saw and heard the preachers of Mülheim, and those who came there from time to time from the Holy Land of Germany—the little district of Wittgenstein—which was to Germany as the Cevennes to France, and as the valleys of Piedmont to Italy. A short history of this obscure corner of Westphalia will be needful in this place.

Chapter 32: The Counts and Their Guests

STILLNESS midst the ever-changing,

Lord, my rest art Thou ;

So for me has dawned the morning,

God's eternal NOW.

Now for me the day unsetting,

Now, the song begun ;

Now, the deep surpassing glory,

Brighter than the sun.

Hail all hail ! thou peaceful country

Of eternal calm ;

Summer land of milk and honey

Where the streams are balm.

There the Lord my Shepherd leads me

Wheresoe'er He will ;

In the fresh green pastures feeds me

By the waters still.

Well I know them, those still waters !

Peace and rest at last.

In their depths the quiet heavens

Tell the winds are past ;

Nought to mar the picture fair

Of the glory resting there.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

LONG ago, in the days of our Queen Elizabeth, there lived and ruled at Wittgenstein the good Count Lewis, who is on record as "one of the most remarkable princes of the sixteenth century."

His domains formed the southernmost point of the province of Westphalia, divided from the central and Catholic part of Westphalia by the high and rugged Rothhaar mountains. Two rivers, the Eder and the Lahn, flowed from the mountains through the Wittgenstein territory. But the land was for the most part rugged, stony, and barren, so that only in the sheltered valleys rye could be cultivated, and even oats and potatoes grew but sparingly in most parts of the territory; fruit only in the warmest valleys on the sunny hillsides.

On the other hand, the mountain slopes and glens were thickly wooded with magnificent trees, and in these forests game of all sorts abounded. Here and there were patches of green meadow and heath-land.

The peasants, who were mostly very poor, lived chiefly by wood-cutting and charcoal—burning. Besides the count no landed proprietors existed, nor was there anything at that time that could be called a town. Later on the town of Berleburg was built, where it was recorded in the chronicles that Count Lewis "was a famous and learned lord, whose like was not to be found in the Holy Roman Empire, well versed in many languages, namely, in Latin, Greek, French, and other tongues, and withal a good theologian. Moreover he was specially a lover of the word of God, and he was zealous, which was an especial and great gift which God gave him."

The count had studied in his youth at Paris and at other universities, probably at Zurich. He had spent three years at Rome as the Pope's chamberlain, and had brought home from his travels the knowledge of the gospel, which he had learned from the Swiss Reformers, He therefore laboured for the spread of the Reformed teaching in his dominions, and lived to see the whole territory reckoned amongst the Protestant states of the Reformed Church.

At his death his son Lewis inherited the southern and more fertile district of his dominions, properly called Wittgenstein ; his son George, the rough mountain country of Berleburg. Thereafter the two families lived on as loving relations, true to the Reformed faith, and in 1657 the respective heads of the two branches married two pious sisters, namely, the Count Gustave of Wittgenstein, Anna Helene; and the Count George of Berleburg, Amalie Marguerite, daughters of a French nobleman, Francois Vicomte de Machaud, whose family had fled to the Netherlands on the occasion of the massacre of S. Bartholomew.

When, in the reign of Louis XIV., fresh persecutions of the French Huguenots broke out, the two countesses found a pleasure in welcoming to their secluded homes any who were seeking a safe refuge from the king's dragoons.

The Wittgenstein families owned several fine castles, some of which they gave up entirely as homes of shelter to the persecuted French—amongst others the castle of Schwarzenau, commanding some of the loveliest views in the valley of the Eder.

The French brought prosperity with them. They set up woollen factories, which greatly increased the revenues of the little state, as their fine stuffs found a ready sale at Frankfort and elsewhere.

Other persecuted Christians—Labadists, Anabaptists, Pietists, and such like—hearing of this safe and hospitable corner, joined the French community from time to time ; and the good counts and their wives, who thought little of outward distinctions, but loved and welcomed all who loved Christ, gladly received these waifs and strays of orthodox Christendom.

But the word of God has shewn us that He desires for us not only that " our love should abound more and more," but that it should be "in knowledge, and in all judgment." This last the Counts of Wittgenstein appear to have overlooked. They not only entertained angels unawares, but also many who were by no means angels, and thus many troubles and scandals arose.

Count Gustave seems to have been liberal beyond his means ; for having reduced himself to poverty, he gave up the government of his territories in the year 1698 to his eldest son, Henry Albert, and retired with the Countess Anna Helene and his four daughters to Magdeburg, where he died two years later.

All the count's children, with the exception of his second son Augustus, were of like mind with their father and mother. Augustus had a good appointment at the court of Berlin, where he was in high favour. Henry Albert married his cousin, the grand-daughter of Count George and Amalie Marguerite. She also was an earnest and devoted Pietist.

Her mother, the Countess Hedwig Sophie of Berleburg, was the widow of Count Lewis Francis, "a God-fearing lord, who loved his Bible," writes the chronicler. She was left with two boys, Count Casimir and Count Franz, and several daughters, whom she trained up as best she could in the fear of the Lord. Her time was chiefly devoted to the education of these children.

Casimir was sent, at the age of seventeen, to the neighbouring universities of Marburg and Giessen. The countess sent with him his chamberlain, who was, as she believed, an earnest Pietist. This man, Uffelmann, was, however, a proficient in hypocrisy. He led the young count into habits of gambling and self-indulgence; and when later on Casimir was sent by his mother to the Pietist university of Halle, Uffelmann carefully kept him out of the way of Pastor Francke and others, on the plea that they were Lutherans, and the count of the Reformed Church.

Uffelmann discovered a Reformed pastor, the Court preacher Schardt, to whose theological classes he introduced Casimir, well aware that he would learn theology from Schardt rather than the gospel of Christ. The countess happily was warned of this by a Christian lawyer at Halle, who wrote to tell her, that whilst Count Casimir was learning controversy, his soul was starved. The countess dismissed Uffelmann, and sent a Lutheran Pietist to travel with her son in Holland and England.

Casimir returned from his tour to Wittgenstein, thoroughly converted to God, and therefore overflowing with affection to the mother whom he could now value as never before. He married soon afterwards " the pious and modest Countess of Isenburg."

The countess, his mother, glad to give up to him the reins of government, retired, in the year 1712, to her dowry castle of Christianseck, four or five miles distant from her children and friends in Schwarzenau and Berleburg. We shall hear of her again.

Meanwhile the refugees of Wittgenstein and Berle-burg had increased in numbers, and we may also say in variety; for whilst many who were suffering for Christ's sake had found shelter there, others had followed who had made themselves justly obnoxious to sober and right-minded Christians, by wild notions and unseemly behaviour. Men and women who had given way to mere fleshly excitement, and who saw visions and dreamt dreams from this cause alone, people who were more or less disordered in mind, or half insane from spiritual pride, found their way to this harbour of refuge.

Persons who believed themselves to be sinless were not lacking, and of these not a few fell into habits of the grossest and most open immorality. They were then no longer harboured by the two counts ; but the examples of wickedness with which they polluted other neighbourhoods, when banished from their former home, brought a very evil name upon the communities they had left.

Not only were the family castles peopled by refugees, but shooting-boxes, farms, mills, barns, and even caves and mountain clefts, were turned into dwellings for this motley assemblage. Many besides built for themselves hermitages and huts in the thick forests around. Of these Protestant hermits, some were men of simple faith and truly devoted in heart to God. They had sought in vain in many places for those who were like-minded, and with whom they could live in Christian fellowship. But in the long years that followed the Thirty Years' War, Germany had become, with few exceptions, a barren and dry land where no water was. They had found preachers and teachers of theology and controversy ; they had found bitter zeal for Lutheranism and Calvinistic Protestantism, and bitter hatred of Lutherans to Calvinists, and Calvinists to Lutherans. They had found still more deadly hatred on the part of Rome against all Protestants alike, witnessed by the desolate and blackened ruins and deserted villages which the Imperial armies had left behind them.

They had found heathen vice in high places, which the Protestant divines had vainly attacked, armed with the law instead of the Gospel, and which Catholic France and Jesuit missionaries had taught and fostered. They had found wars, and controversies, and strife in the world and in the Church. They had found schools of rationalist philosophy springing up amongst the dry divinity schools of the Protestants, and wild sects which had branched off from the Established Churches.

They had found feasting and drinking in the convent life of the monks of Catholic Germany. " They have an excellent pack of hounds in this convent," writes one, "a stable of fine hunters, apartments magnificently furnished—a dozen of most beautiful singing girls, and their wine-cellar excites the utmost astonishment. The number of casks is really amazing, each being about seventeen or eighteen feet in height. They have three large rooms for games, and an excellent band of musicians."

Can we wonder that there were some amongst Christian men who longed "to flee away and be at rest—to wander far off, and remain in the wilderness," alone with Christ and their Bibles ?

They protested long and vainly against the desecration of the holy things of God, against the meeting of the world and the Church at the table of the Lord ; and they had found that, as in the days of fallen Israel, "all tables are full of filthiness, there is no place clean."

To them the quiet woods and glens of Wittgenstein were a haven of rest, and through them that little territory became, as Goebel tells us, "the centre and the hearth of a mighty awakening, which spread through the whole of Western Germany from the Alps to the Northern Sea—which gathered together the children of God who were scattered abroad, and scattered broadcast spiritual food, and was watered everywhere by showers of spiritual blessing."

"The history of this awakening," wrote Stilling, "has the closest connection with the ' Crusaders ' of our time. To him who attentively watches the signs of the times, it is perceivable that in the first half of the eighteenth century an extraordinary movement aroused the whole of European Christendom, especially in Germany. It was then that arose the great institutions at Halle, under the blessed Francke and his friends ; it was then that Zinzendorf called together and sent forth the Moravian Brethren; it was then also, we may add, that the martyrs and preachers of the whole of Southern France suffered and died in multitudes amongst their mountains, or were scattered abroad in distant lands ; it was then that in England the Methodists went forth, and in all the history of the Church there was no time when the coming of the Lord was so bright a hope, the object of so deep a longing."

Since then, it is true, the coming of the Lord has again been preached more scripturally and spiritually, and for this let us be thankful. But let us also thank God for these banished, despised, and detested witnesses, who in the forests of Westphalia "wandered in deserts and mountains, and in the dens and caves of the earth."

One more variety of the Wittgenstein hermits has, however, to be mentioned. Of this class many were to be found in all parts of Catholic and Protestant Europe. They were the Theosophists, the Cabbalists, the Alchemists, who were classed together by most men as mystics or magicians. Some, superstitious seekers after the secrets of the universe by the arts of "white magic"; some, inventors of many ways of satisfying the craving of the soul for intercourse with God, or with demons.

Pietists had here and there been fascinated by these dreams, and the marvels that were told by Rosicrucians, and Behmenists, and the disciples of Paracelsus. Reiner Copper was, we find, an adept in alchemy in his later days. And amongst those who buried themselves in the woods of Wittgenstein were here and there uncanny men, who built for themselves laboratories, and gave themselves up to the deciphering of the secrets of things on earth, and of the stars in heaven, who were learned in mystic numbers, and words, and signs, and in the sympathies and antipathies which ruled the course of men's complex lives, and whose mysterious theories broke out at times into strange forms of wickedness and blasphemy.

These also were by degrees expelled from the lands of the pious counts, though at first the skill in medicine, which was claimed by some of them, gave them a hold in the castles of both of the Wittgenstein families, to whom we must now return.

Chapter 33: A Visit to the Hermits

WHEN Count Gustave, the father of Henry V Albert, died at Magdeburg, his four daughters, Amalie, Anna Sophie, Henrietta, and Louisa, returned to their relations at Wittgenstein and Berleberg, where they too lived in huts in the woods, as Protestant recluses, not uninjured by the dreams, and visions, and wild imaginations, of some of the hermits around them, but at heart simple Christians who were glad to escape from the world of German courts and castles, described in our earlier chapters.

It is easy to believe that neighbouring nobles and clergy were filled with horror at the strange proceedings of Wittgenstein. " The Count of Lippe," wrote Henry Albert to his brother Augustus at Berlin, in 1700, "raves like a mad dog, and has stirred up the Landgrave of Cassel against me. But meanwhile such wonders have been wrought upon people from Lippe, from Brandenburg, from the Palatinate, and from Hesse, that I clearly see God is putting forth His power to bring back lost Christians by signs and wonders, who would not otherwise believe.

"The question is, What are we to do to resist the tide of rage and fury which is ready to overwhelm us ? Had the wonders we see been worked at Tyre and Sidon, they would long ago have repented and believed ; but all is in vain with those who oppose us, they only say it is witchcraft.

" We cannot wonder at this, for they accused Christ of driving out devils by the power of Beelzebub, and the servants must be as the master. I wish nothing more than that your Elector of Brandenburg " (Elizabeth's cousin Frederick) " and other godly princes could but once hear Mr. Hochmann preach, and be witnesses of the power of his preaching. I am certain they would believe, and alter their lives so as to help forward this work of God. Mr. Hochmann prayed earnestly for my brother. I long from my heart for the answer to this prayer."

Countess Louisa wrote at the same time to her sister Sophie, "I can tell you little to rejoice in just now, for persecution, oppression, and disgrace, and suffering even to death, have come upon us from the ungodly world. I own I have not the calm spirit I ought to have in bearing it—not that I am impatient, but I am often troubled and afraid, and this is wrong and sinful, for we ought to be fully satisfied and peaceful in mind, even if God allowed all our beloved ones to be massacred before our eyes, and we should give up our own lives joyfully.

" This last I can better imagine than being able to look on joyfully when God's servants are swept away. I fear, however, if it really came to giving up one's life, I should find I had deceived myself as to doing it gladly. I pray God from my heart that this bit of the old Adam may be forgiven me. But I think it necessary that you should write all particulars to Count Augustus at Berlin, so that if possible these calamities and horrors may be averted.

" Count Rudolf will be here in a fortnight at the latest," (this was Louisa's maternal uncle, the same as the Count de Lippe, who " raved like a mad dog "), "and some think Count Ferdinand will come too, and that they will bring with them a troop of soldiers, under the pretext that they are their honourable servants ; for Count Rudolf has sworn a great oath, and given himself up to the devil, to bind himself to make short work with all so-called Pietists or Quakers, whom he means to drive out wholesale. His brutality is capable of every conceivable insolence, as we know too well from his actions.

" He used the most villainous language in the public street, and in the court of the castle under the countess' windows, abusing Count Henry and all of us together, as the scum of the earth and toad-eaters, who had brought his sister to such a pass of folly. For all this I care not a pin, but it shows what his mind is, and that he throws overboard all reason and all decency, so that he is capable of anything.

" He and his people and all the servants here, act and speak as if he were a god, whom all men ought to fear, considering themselves only fit to be treated by him like small boys. But God orders all. He will carry out His own purposes.

" My darling Phique, [Sophie]

" I am your devoted servant,

" LOUISA.

" P.S.—I forgot to say Count Rudolf has commanded that if Schmitz preaches on Sunday after he has left, they are to drag him down from the pulpit. The countess, on the other hand, has ordered that he should preach in any case. Who will gain the day ?"

Amongst the archives of Wittgenstein is a description given by some unknown traveler of his explorations " amongst the Pietists," whom he appears to have most heartily despised and hated.

" I and a friend," he relates, " resolved, as we were in the neighbourhood of Wittgenstein, to visit the Pietists, or rather enthusiasts, who live there, and to find out how they live and behave themselves.

"When we arrived near Schwarzenau we left our horses in a wood, and went on foot to the castle. There we crossed the Eder, and went to the so-called laboratory." (It will be remembered that alchemy had found a refuge in these wild woods.) " Here we perceived a woman dressed in white from head to foot, whom Major Hackenburg, who was with us, recognized as the Countess of Leiningen Biesterfeld. He sent word to her with his compliments that he was come to call upon her.

"This countess, you must know, had left her husband some years before, to wander about with the Pietists, and had at last settled in this country. She was going to the mill, but turned back to meet us, and spoke in a friendly way to the Count of Wied, who was one of our party, and invited us into the laboratory.

" She took us without the least ceremony into her room, which looked very wretched and miserable ; begged us to sit down, but there were no chairs ; offered us coffee, for which we waited a long while in vain.

"The Count of Wied told her he thought she had done wrong in leaving her husband and children, and living in this wretched way. She replied she had not left her husband, but that he had turned her out of doors, and she was quite willing to go back to him if he would have her. She once went home to his castle, but was refused admittance.

" The Count of Wied answered that no doubt that was true, but she had such a number of good-for-nothing Pietists amongst her acquaintance, and had, no doubt, such strong intentions of lording it over her husband, that he was quite right in refusing to take her back.

" We then went on to see the other countesses, and she went with us, telling us as we went that she did not like us to give her her title, it only distressed her, for she had given up all for Christ.

"We arrived at the place where the other ladies were living. The eldest countess, Amalie, was standing at the door, and received us in a friendly way, taking us into her room, where we found the Countess Christiana Louisa, of Schadek, with her two children, a boy and girl, who stood there looking very wretched and unhappy. We pitied them heartily."

(This pity was wasted on the little girl, Sophie Charlotte, who grew up an earnest Christian, and loved the simple primitive life of her childhood, She thanked God for those happy days. For a time after her marriage she returned to the world, but was again awakened by the Spirit of God, and lived for many years as a faithful servant of Christ.)

" We saw also the Countess Henrietta, very badly dressed. The conversation was interspersed with Bible texts, and meanwhile coffee and bread and butter handed round. We all ate heartily, except a certain cavalier from Hesse, to whom Countess Amalie said that perhaps he was afraid something had been done to the coffee and bread and butter to change him to their religion.

" Afterwards we went to see one of the pastors, who had been turned out of his parish in Dillenburg, because he said little children ought not to be baptized, and also that the Lord's Supper is only for Christians who have a sound belief, who are born again, and converted.

" Just before this pastor's house we met a young man called Barthel, with a long beard ; for several of the men amongst these people let their beards grow, supposing that they are thereby doing something specially in accordance with the word of God.

"Generally the men amongst them are strong young fellows who hang about in their dressing-gowns talking to the women, going about with them in an unseemly manner, always in their company—here and there to be met wandering two and two in the woods, and building huts and hollowing out caves for themselves, under the pretense of serving God, and thus causing a great scandal."

It was, in fact, just at this time that the good Count Henry Albert, and the sober, God-fearing Pietists of Wittgenstein, were awakened to the sad truth that much that had appeared to them of the Spirit was in reality of the flesh. They found out too late that if we neglect to provide for honest things, not only in the sight of God, but also in the sight of men, unseemly behaviour will speedily grow into sinful courses, and those who make an excuse of Christian affection and Christian liberty for disregarding the earthly relations and proprieties of life, will fall lower than the people of this world, who are held in by the bit and bridle of ordinary rules.

" Use not liberty for an occasion of the flesh," was a precept forgotten by some of these young men and women.

The extremely unsuitable marriages of Count Henry's sisters, and of some others of the younger ladies, roused up the count himself, and the right-minded amongst the Pietists, to weed out from their community those who were setting evil examples, and bringing dishonour upon the cause of Christ.

We find warnings and lessons for ourselves in all the histories of the people of God, from the days of Noah till now. When true faith in God, and love to Christ, and zeal in His cause, are reviled as enthusiasm and excitement, the natural mind in the believer is ready to rush to the conclusion that any sort of enthusiasm or excitement is the work of the Spirit.

And when once the working of the imagination is allowed, and natural feelings are baptized by the name of spirituality, we are building up a house which will speedily fall, and great will be the fall of it.

True faith in God is not a delight in the marvellous, and true love to God and His people is not the indulgence of natural emotions. Nor need we fear that in yielding up ourselves to the guidance and wisdom of the Spirit of God, we should be any the more lukewarm or indolent, because a tight rein is kept upon our own inclinations and impulses.

But the world, incapable of receiving the Spirit of God, because it seeth Him not, neither knoweth Him, naturally classed together the faith and devotedness of the really spiritual amongst the Pietists, and the wild foolishness and wickedness of others who bore their name. Satan has never ceased to sow tares amongst the wheat, and only to the eyes of faith it is given to distinguish between them.

Amongst those who grieved most deeply over the sins and follies of the community, was the preacher Hochmann, named in the letter of Count Henry to his brother Augustus.

A short account of Hochmann is needful before returning to Mulheim on the Ruhr, where we shall hear of him again.

Chapter 34: Ernest Von Hochmann

AM I not enough, Mine own? enough, Mine own, for thee?

Hath the world its palace towers,

Garden glades of magic flowers

Where thou fain wouldst be?

Fair things and false are there,

False things but fair.

All shalt thou find at last,

Only in Me.

Am I not enough, Mine own? I, for ever and alone,

I, needing thee?

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

ERNEST Christopher Hochmann von Hochenau was the son of a nobleman, who in his later days settled at Nüremburg. Ernest's elder brother Henry was a member of the Imperial council, and a privy councilor at the little court of Gotha.

To Ernest himself was offered, when very young, the post of syndic in the town of Nuremburg. Henry, who was fond of his brother, was pleased at this opening for him, and urged him to accept it. But Ernest replied that "he had devoted himself to the service of a far higher Master; namely, the Lord Jesus, the King of kings."

He had been awakened and brought to Christ at the Pietist University of Halle, by means of the godly professor, Augustus Hermann Francke.

It has been said, perhaps truly, as a proof of our human imperfection, that he who never feels too much never feels enough, and we need not wonder that Ernest Hochmann appears to have been carried away by some fanatical outbreak, in which several students distinguished themselves by noisy demonstrations, and was for a time imprisoned.

Yet at this time it was more to religion than to Christ that he had been converted ; and, consequently, whilst he was one day led away by religious excitement, he was on other days carried along in the stream of pleasure and amusement.

God follows His own, and uses strange means for winning hearts to Himself. One day, when Ernest was out hunting, he leapt through a hedge, and left the scabbard of his dagger sticking on a branch. When he turned to take it, he saw that the scabbard and the branch formed a Latin cross, and in that moment the thought that the Lord had loved him, and given Himself for him, struck him to the heart.

He unfastened his belt, and threw it away with dagger and sheath. "No more of that !" he said aloud. " Henceforward I give myself up, wholly, determinately, to God my Saviour. I am resolved to risk all for Him, joyfully and gladly, body, life, goods, my heart's blood, all for Christ, fearing neither sword, nor fire, nor gallows, nor wheel."

For at that time tidings came across the Rhine of the brave people of the Cevennes, who were tortured, hanged, broken on the wheel, hunted and massacred for Christ.

A friend of Hochmann's relates, that after this memorable day his joy was constantly so great, and so full, that he could not refrain from singing aloud, and rejoicing like one who was already in heaven.

"I willingly confess," he wrote to his beloved brother, " that when the Heavenly Wisdom gives me a sight of the great glory of those who shall sit with Christ upon His throne, I feel so mightily stirred to the great conflict, that if I had a thousand lives, I would gladly give them all, and thank Him. It is but a trifle to suffer in this world, and who would not welcome the suffering, having once had a foretaste of the majesty and glory of the Son of God in the Father's house—the glory of Christ upon His throne ! My heart melts within me with love and delight, when I think that henceforward my daily task will be to lose myself in that love, in that love which is unto death, the love of Christ, to share His death, Who gave me life, in order that as a willing sacrifice I should offer up myself to Him."

Ernest Hochmann's love did not expend itself in ecstasies. He felt constrained by a mighty power to work for God, seeking first the conversion of his brother.

Amongst all awakened Pietists the blessed hope of the Lord's return was to be found; and joined to this, in all cases, a fervent desire for the conversion and restoration of the ancient people of God, the Jews, who had been, till now, simply the objects of the hatred and contempt of Christians.

Hochmann laboured diligently amongst the Jews of Frankfort, and so aroused them by his preaching, that numbers melted into tears and groans when he spoke to them of Jesus. He readily believed that the beloved people of God were now on the point of turning to Him whom they had pierced. But a more experienced Pietist, Gichtel, assured him that God's time for this great miracle was not yet come, and that for the present only here and there would some be gathered out for Christ.

It was in the year 1699 that Hochmann, then twenty-nine years old, took refuge in the forests of Wittgenstein. A violent persecution of the Pietists had broken out in 1698 in the neighbourhood of Frankfort, and in Hesse Darmstadt, where Hochmann was preaching, and he was marked out as being a heretic and an "enthusiast."

He built himself a hermitage in the woods near Schwarzenau, and lived much alone, but preached and taught in the castles of the counts. Through him it was that the Countess Hedwig was at this time brought to Christ. In consequence of this, Count Rudolf, her brother, dispatched his servants to thrash Hochmann within an inch of his life, and to drag him off to prison. After a while he let him go, sending after him a mounted servant to drive him at full speed from his territories. This was in August, 1700.

Hochmann wrote at that time to Count Augustus, "The Lord has strengthened me so wonderfully and so endlessly in all my persecutions, that nothing terrible or disgraceful seems capable of moving me ; for the uninterrupted peace of God, and the perfect joy of the Lord Jesus, give me constant cheer, and cause me to tread under foot all that is not of God and Christ. So that if God preserves me in this state, and gives me increasing strength, I do not doubt that all tortures and ill-treatments of His enemies would be unable to make my heart to fail."

After this we hear of Hochmann's wanderings, everywhere preaching the gospel, for ten or eleven years. He traversed the whole of Western and Northern Germany with several friends, who also preached and held meetings, in houses, in farm yards, fields, and forests, by day and by night. Crowds came together, drawn by the singing of hymns, as later in England, when Wesley preached through the length and breadth, of the land.

Not only so, but following the example of George Fox the Quaker, Hochmann would stand up in the churches, and call the preachers to account for their false teaching, his spirit being stirred within him when he saw the blind multitudes following their blind leaders.

When we read the accounts of the lives and the teaching of Lutheran and Reformed pastors of those days, we are inclined to think Hochmann's strange conduct far less strange than that of the men and women who sat in their seats Sunday after Sunday to listen in silence.

Great and blessed exceptions there were ; but when we meet with these exceptional preachers and teachers, we find that it was by their lips the loudest condemnation was spoken of the fallen Protestant Churches. " Christianity," writes one, " is become anti-christianity, because the lives of those who profess it are utterly unchristian. And the preachers are, in the first place, answerable for this, because many amongst them are themselves unconverted."

"The pastors in many villages," writes Goebel, "had to he warned not to encourage the tippling of beer and brandy in their own houses, and also not to frequent in such unseemly fashion the common taverns and beer-houses, lest tidings should be brought to the civil magistrate that they had been the cause, or the abettors, of drunkenness, debauchery, brawls, fighting, card-playing, casting of dice, dancing, rioting, unseasonable tobacco-smoking, and other disorderly practices."

On the other hand, amongst the Reformed clergy, to preach against the Lutherans, with long Latin quotations, was far more common than to preach the gospel of Christ ; to preach the law, than to preach the glad tidings of the love of God ; to warn men against "enthusiasm," than to arouse them from lukewarmness and from the sleep of death. If we compare the drunken, or the hard and dry preacher, the dead, sleepy congregation, and the Pietist Hochmann, is it more shocking to us that he raised his voice to witness for Christ, not only in season but out of season, than that pastor and people bore witness so loudly, and at all seasons, to the power of the world, the flesh, and the devil ?

Like George Fox, too, Hochmann was entirely regardless of consequences. We find him, in 17o2, in prison at Detmold ; next year, in Hanover ; in 1708 and 1709, in a dungeon at Nuremburg; 1711, imprisoned at Halle. From Ntiremburg prison he wrote, "My heart can find rest in nothing, but only in the one only love, the love of Jesus, and he who once has tasted what it is, will lose all taste for the things of this world. The Lord Jesus will henceforward do with me as He will, come what may. I have given myself up to the service of my gracious Lord, and His I remain. I shall find no better Lord and Master, turn where I will."

One day, as he sat by the road side, a nobleman with a train of servants rode by. Hochmann went up to him, and spoke to him of Christ. "Thrash him soundly," said the enraged man to his servants, "the fantastic enthusiast !" Hochmann was quite ready to be thrashed. " Thank you," he said to the servant, with a pleasant smile, when he could thrash him no more. The poor fellow broke down, and humbly begged his pardon.

During these years of wandering, Hochmann returned from time to time to his hermitage in Wittgenstein. This little hermitage was built on the side of a mountain cleft, not far from the castle of Schwarzenau. A steep, stony path led up to the quiet and beautiful glen, whence there was a glorious view of the wooded valleys below. There stood the solitary hut, amongst spreading fruit trees, " where," writes Goebel, " Hochmann lived alone with a servant. His furniture was scanty, his dress very plain and simple, but neat and clean, his food of the plainest sort. He lived in this solitude, in the company of the Saviour, a life still and quiet, peaceful, and more than satisfied."

In summer he had many visits from his scattered friends, and he spent much of his time in writing letters. To his little hut, which was only a few paces long and broad, and consisted only of a sleeping room and a kitchen, he gave the name of Fricdensburg, "the home of peace." He dated from Frieciensburg many of his beautiful letters, which accorded well, in letter and in spirit, with the motto he had taken for his correspondence : 1 Cor. 11:16, "'If any man seem to be contentious, we have no such custom, neither the Churches of God.' The rule of our order, to be observed in this hermitage is, the love of God and of one another."

"Not without feeling my heart much touched and moved," writes Goebel further, " did I succeed in the year 1849 in my search for the remains of this hut, and of others not very far from it. The outline of the foundations can still be traced, and the little glen is still called by the country folk, the "valley of peace," or the " valley of the huts."

From this sweet and solitary place Hochmann would go forth, strengthened and refreshed for his missionary journeys.

Chapter 35: Missions to the Orthodox

HATH not each heart a passion and a dream?

Each some companionship for ever sweet?

And each in saddest skies some silver gleam,

And each some passing joy, too fair and fleet?

And each a staff and stay, though frail it prove,

And each a face he fain would, ever see?

—And what have I?

An endless Heaven of love,

A rapture, and a glory, and a calm ;

A life that is an everlasting psalm—

All, O Beloved, in Thee.

G. TERSTEEGEN.

HERE is a strange resemblance between these journeys through Protestant Germany, and Wesley's journeys, fifty years later, through Protestant England. We have the same stories related of mobs and riots, of peltings with stones and mud, of indignant magistrates and clergy, and of many and true conversions to God.

When the burgomaster at Duisburg desired the chief magistrate to seize the preacher and stop the preaching, the magistrate astonished him by the answer, "It would be better to stop the drinking, and revelling, and gambling, than the preaching of God's word."

The burgomaster, however, summoned Hochmann to give an account of himself, which he readily did. " This I confess to thee," he said, " that after the way which they call heresy, so worship I the God of my fathers, believing all things which are written in the law and in the prophets, and have hope toward God that there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and of the unjust."

A preacher who was present then charged Hochmann with various offences, amongst them, that he refused to meet any at the Lord's table who were not, according to him, born again; also, that he neglected the services in the churches.

Hochmann answered, " The preachers are in the habit of preaching open blasphemy, falsehoods, and errors, therefore I no longer go to the churches, for if I did, I must stand up and protest." (This Quaker habit, it would therefore seem, he had now discontinued.)

"The Church," proceeded Hochmann, "can only consist of living members of Christ, and children of God, to be recognized by the mark of love. But no remains of the true worship of God is now to be found, either amongst Lutherans or Reformed. Therefore, according to the Epistle to the Corinthians, from such assemblies we must withdraw."

" What religion do you belong to in that case ?" asked the preacher.

" We belong to Christ, the Head of the Church," replied Hochmann, "and to no sect."

"The king of Prussia desires to unite the Lutheran and Reformed churches," said some one who was present.

"I desire to belong to those who are united by the Lord Jesus Christ," said Hochmann.

The end of the matter was, that Hochmann was forbidden to preach, and the clergy preached loudly against him. In consequence, crowds came in increasing numbers to hear the preaching of Hochmann.

At Wesel, in the winter of 1709–To, these crowded meetings lasted often a great part of the night. Here again Hochmann was summoned before the town council. He had written a letter to the preachers of Wesel, in which he had said that at the Reformation Great Babylon had not fallen, but had been divided into three parts—Catholic, Lutheran, Reformed. He had asked the preachers to search and try whether they were the true anointed priests of the Lord—whether God Himself, and the Lord Jesus Christ, the glorified Head of the Church, had sent them to preach His blessed gospel.

The description already given of the Lutheran and Reformed clergy, will prove that there was sufficient need for such questions. The witness of Spener, himself a Lutheran pastor, may also be given in this place.

" The art of preaching," he says, " is taught to the students of theology, as if this were the sum and substance of all that is needed for them. It is as though all were under a spell of enchantment, which blinds them to everything but the art of elaborate discourse, leaving them perfectly unconcerned as to the matter respecting which they are to speak. They are like people absorbed in the art of making artistic and ornamental shoes, entirely forgetting to enquire where the leather is to come from, or, indeed, whether leather is needed at all, so that for the leather they have to go begging and borrowing, and failing to obtain it, stitch together the most elegant shoes of paper, parchment, or other useless materials."

"It is not to be wondered at," writes Dr. Hoffmann, after thus quoting Spener, " that the Lutheran Church at that time, looked at from almost every point of view, presented the appearance of a vast ruin. The schools and universities, devoid of the spirit of piety, intent rather on heathen than on Christian learning, had become the abode of coarse lawlessness and wild extravagance, producing a fair stock of theological prize-fighters, of correct orthodoxy, and of stiff pedants, but few men of Christian piety fit to teach or guide the people committed to their care.

" On the contrary, the ignorance, the coarseness, the disreputable lives of most of the preachers, had an effect disastrous to the last degree, in corrupting society at large, already demoralized enough by the effect of the Thirty Years' War. Drunkenness, rancorous lawsuits, profligacy, and beggary gained ground everywhere, accompanied by just such a trust in a Pharasaical religion of ceremonial works, as the Protestants had so loudly condemned in the Roman Catholics,

" To receive the sacrament, quite apart from any effect upon the inner life, was regarded as a means of salvation ; and, as one of the most excellent of the earth at that time expressed it, modern Christianity has four dumb idols—-the font, the pulpit, the confessional, the altar. Men put their whole trust in an outside Christianity ; that they are baptized, that they go to church, that they get absolution, that they take the sacrament ; but as to the inward power, they utterly deny it,"

It was considered necessary that a preacher should be a theologian. That he should be a Christian in heart and life was of small importance.

" Miserable theology !" wrote Witsius, himself educated as a theologian, "good for nothing but to hide from men the knowledge of their wretchedness, and thereby to keep them at a distance from Christ and from their eternal salvation."

For Hochmann's letter to the preachers he was called to account. He said that in writing these things he had but directed them to Jesus the Saviour, exhorting them to believe in Him whilst yet it is called " To-day."

" No one preaches or teaches here without being ordained," said the burgomaster.

Hochmann replied, he could take his orders from none but Christ, and that he was constrained by the Holy Spirit to take every opportunity of bringing souls to Him—if hundreds, or thousands, so much the better. The burgomaster, after consulting with the town council, gave his final sentence : Since Hochmann belonged to no recognized sect, and since he was about to betake himself to the unorthodox territory of Wittgenstein, he must be banished from Wesel.

He wrote from his hermitage to the preachers of Wesel that he was praying earnestly for them, that instead of having their heads filled with theology, they might have their hearts filled with the love of Jesus, and that they might be thoroughly converted ; for it grieved him deeply that they should attempt to teach others the way of salvation, whilst they did not know it themselves, nor see that a man must be born again before he can enter the kingdom of God.

If Hochmann made many enemies during his journeys, he also made many friends, besides the counts of Wittgenstein and their families, who were deeply attached to him.

One friend, with whom he often spent a few days, describes his little visits with love and affection. " Hochmann," he says, "was very simple and retiring in his daily life, When he stayed with friends, he generally remained quietly in his bedroom all the forenoon, unless he was called for. After dinner he devoted himself to any friends who were there, and talked with them about the things of God and heaven, with much blessing to those who heard him. If a stranger came in, it was his custom to hold out his hand and say, in a manner most tender and loving, ' Do you too love the Lord Jesus ?'

" Otherwise he spoke very little, and in all his ways and habits he gave the impression that he was living in a holy seclusion, in the continual presence of God. He took little notice of outward things, much less did he interest himself in anything apart from God, and in worldly news. But he had no appearance of any forced silence or reserve. On the contrary, he always had a cheerful, unburdened spirit, and, at the same time, a perfectly well-bred and loving manner towards all.

"And because his whole inner occupation and object was this, to penetrate by love into the inmost depths of the sweetness and the love of the heart of God, and because his whole soul was so deeply buried, as it were, in that love, embalmed in it, and filled with it, no outward crosses and persecutions seemed to move or disturb him. He was dead to himself, and dependent as a little child upon God.

"And this fountain of the spirit of Christ being thus unsealed to him, the living water flowed forth from him ; and in the watered garden of his heart all manner of pleasant fruits and flowers grew and ripened and blossomed to the glory of God, and to the joy of His holy angels, and to the refreshment and for the sweet perfume of others of the Lord's members.

" For wherever he went he was the messenger of sweet peace, and left everywhere the sacred odor of the Holy Gospel. And because he lived lost, as it were, in seclusion of spirit, he was, in a measure, unfitted for outward and temporal matters. For this reason it was needful for him to have a capable servant, who looked after all his affairs, and who always went on first when he travelled from place to place ; and Hochmann followed his guide as a sheep follows the shepherd, otherwise he would never have found his way, for he took no note of the roads he travelled. Once, when he had an ill-conducted servant, he bore with him with the utmost love and patience."

Such was Hochmann. And as years went by, it seemed as though the longer visits he paid to his hermitage, the stillness and the rest of his Friedensburg, softened and stilled his spirit, and made him seem, it was said, as one already glorified. He spent much time in prayer, and became more deeply humble and loving, as he drew nearer to the end of his pilgrimage. For a while we will leave him in his peaceful hermitage, and return to the restless, pleasure-loving, but unsatisfied boy, now sent forth from his home into the busy life of Mülheim.

Chapter 36: The Dawn of Day for Gerhardt

IN Him we live, in Him we move ;

Seek not thy God afar ;

He is not prisoned in a height above sun, moon, and star,

But thou through strange dark lands hast strayed, and wandered far from Him ;

And therefore He, O soul, to thee, is distant, and is dim.

Lord, I was in the far-off land, I loved from Thee to stray,

And when unto myself I came, a swineherd far away,

One moment—then the welcome sweet, the kiss—the Father's Home ;

Far distant was the distance ; to Thy bosom I am come.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

THE little town itself, with the pleasant country round, had a charm for the boy ; for he loved all that was beautiful, and could therefore find beauty and loveliness where others might have overlooked it—in the fields and meadows and the summer woods, of which later he wrote as only poets can write.

But his life at Mülheim was not to his taste by any means. His biographer, Kerlen, writing in 1853, relates that he had known long ago a very old woman who had known Tersteegen. He had told her that between his hours of business he used his utmost endeavours to find a quiet place and time for study and for prayer ; for very soon after his arrival at Mulheim he made the acquaintance of one of "the quiet in the land," an " awakened " merchant, who spoke to him of the things of God. Gerhardt listened, and at times was almost persuaded to give himself to Christ. But the power of Satan and the world were armed against him, and he remained miserable and conscience-stricken, as he who was " sent into the fields to feed swine." Thus he describes himself at that time.

But none around him understood why he was restless and dissatisfied, and unlike the merry boy of former days. Good Matthias Brink was of opinion that reading and thinking produced evil results, many and great. And, therefore, when a spare hour was found, he employed Gerhardt in rolling empty casks across the yard ; "for Satan finds some mischief still, for idle hands to do," thought the worthy merchant, anxious for the welfare of his charge.

The Mulheim life therefore had few pleasures. Occasionally Gerhardt was allowed to go out to some of the conventicles, and took the opportunity of borrowing books, which he read at night. We can well believe his business training was very hateful to him. But later on he said, " The Holy Ghost used my outward employments as a good training and school for my mind."

No doubt it was in reality very much the thing needed for a boy who was apt to dream and lose himself in useless speculations about things in heaven above and earth beneath. A friend could say of him in much later days, "I know not that I ever knew a man more circumspect, more punctual and practical in words and deeds."

It was not strange that the conventicles soon had a great attraction for Gerhardt. He felt a marvellous power which reached to the depths of his soul when he heard the preaching of Ernest Hochmann, and of others of the "quiet in the land."

Eight years before he arrived at Mulheim, a young candidate of theology, Hoffman by name, had been converted there through the preaching of Hochmann, and had since then been holding meetings every Thursday, which were originally held by Untereyk before Gerhardt Tersteegen was born. These meetings were in no way connected with the Established Church, and had therefore a suspicion of heresy attached to them.

Hoffmann was himself included in this suspicion, and all the more because he had declined to sign his approval of the whole of the Heidelberg catechism. He was therefore spoken of as one "who, under the pretext of zeal for true Christianity, was likely to lead many away from the regular services of the ordained preachers, and thereby cause divisions and disorder."

Hoffmann was warned that if he continued to carry on the Thursday meetings, he would be openly put away from fellowship with the Reformed Church. It would seem also that he had published a suspicious little book, namely, a catechism of his own, called Short Instructions for Little Children. "A simple, touching, childlike catechism," writes Goebel, "without the Ten Commandments, in which the example of Jesus is specially held up before the children's minds, containing also prayers, and hymns, and extracts from an English book, laneway's Examples of Early Piety,"

Whilst the elders and the whole of the synod of Cleves were considering the dangers of Hoffman's teaching, the rumour reached them that some of his hearers had collected money to build a large hall, as more accommodation was needed. A solemn admonition was therefore addressed to him to desist from his evil ways. But Hoffmann had his hall and continued his meetings notwithstanding.

Gerhardt not only came to the meetings, but attached himself warmly to Hoffmann, and felt more strongly that an irresistible power was drawing his heart to God. And yet, as long as he could do so, he held back, though, as he tells us, " threats and invitations a thousand fold" aroused him and allured him. We do not know at what moment the first spark of light and life broke in upon the darkness ; but it was not till the year 1717, when he was nearly twenty years old, that he could say, " God called me out of the world, and gave me the desire to belong to Him wholly, and to follow Him fully. His grace it is which keeps us in this mind up to the end."

It was in this same year that Gerhardt, having finished his years of apprenticeship to Matthias Brink, set up in business for himself His business, however, proved a failure. We can well believe, that with a sincere desire to be diligent and faithful, his heart was elsewhere. But it was necessary to support himself, and not to be a burden on his mother. He had made the acquaintance of an " awakened " linen-weaver, and by his advice he betook himself to the same employment. But the work proved too hard for him, and gave him little time to be alone. Later in the same year, 1719, he took a lodging, and began to weave ribbon. This he could do in his own room, and it was with inexpressible delight that he found himself now solitary and undisturbed. His only companion was a little girl who occasionally came in for a part of the day to wind his silk.

" How happy I was," he wrote afterwards, "when I found myself living all alone! I often thought no king in the whole world could be as fully contented as I was. I scarcely knew when it was meal time, or what I ate, or how it tasted, and often for a whole week I saw no one but the servant girl who brought me my food."

This food he generally cooked himself. It was of the simplest sort, for he saved his money to buy necessaries for others. Flour, water, and milk formed the ingredients of his meals ; and for the first few years of his solitary life he ate but once in the day.

He worked from five in the morning till nine in the evening; but earned, notwithstanding, so little, that he often lay down at night not knowing how to provide food for the next day. "No friends," he wrote afterwards, " knew anything of my circumstances," This was probably after the death of his mother, in 1721. She had been near enough to know something of her son's affairs, but may perhaps have been too infirm to visit him.

He generally went out after dark when he was not seen, to pay visits to the poor and needy. He also went to see the linen-weaver, and his beloved friend Hoffmann. He had now much time for prayer, and also much time for reading.

Chapter 37: Bye-Path Meadow

PEACE ! O restless heart of mine ;

Thou, the Still, the Blest,

Lead me to Thy Courts divine,

Thine untroubled rest.

Tossed upon the raving sea,

Still, fair land, I long for thee.

Lord, from Thee I went astray,

Lured by magic song ;

Through dim places far away

I have wandered long—

Now when lost are moon and star

Shines the light of Home afar.

O'er the waves that cannot rest,

O'er the drifting foam,

Wandering dove without a nest,

Weary-winged, I come.

From the lonely wastes of sin,

Blessed Noah, take me in.

Take me in, my heart implores,

Leaving far behind

All the thunder of the shores,

All the wailing wind ;

In the chambers of Thy rest,

Fold me, hush me, on Thy breast.

~~~

Still and sweet the silence deep,

Where no foot hath trod ; Softer than an infant's sleep

Rest alone with God ;

Closed on me Thy palace door,

Perfect peace for evermore.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

LET us try to realize the life in that little room at Mülheim. Gerhardt alone, with his regular monotonous work, a book open on his loom ; books on his shelves and his table; paper and ink, for he already wrote some of the hymns now known and loved so well. He wrote letters in a neat, clear hand, some of which, carefully preserved, are now in my possession.

But his books ? At that time they were perhaps but a small collection, yet a strange and bewildering medley. Passing over the Bible, the Heidelberg Catechism, and various hymn books, we find the Aurora of Jacob Behmen, and the History of Heretics, by Gottfried Arnold, and the Letters of Antoinette Bourignon, and the " Philadelphian " writings of Mrs. Jane Leade, and the Visions of Dr. Pordage, and the Torrents of Madame Guyon, and the Lives of S. Teresa, and S. Francis, and The Discovery of the Brotherhood of the Honourable Order of the Holy Cross, and the Sermons of Dr. Tauler, and the Book of the Eternal Wisdom, by Henry Suso, and the Divine Economy of Peter Poiret.

We cannot count them all, nor would it be possible to give an idea of the variety of their contents. Let us open that old book of Behmen's. "I saw and knew," we read, "the Being of all beings, the Byss and the Abyss, the origin and primal state of this world, and of all creatures through the Divine Wisdom. I knew and saw in myself all the three worlds: i.e., (1) the divine angelic or paradisiacal world ; then (2) the dark world, as the original of nature, as to the fire ; and (3) this external visible world, as a creation and outbirth, or as a substance spoken forth out of the two inner spiritual worlds."

And here are Gottfried Arnold's books. Gottfried Arnold, good and devoted man, but how often mistaking the wild enthusiasms of the natural heart for the deep and divine work of the Spirit of God. If he could stir up the soul of Gerhardt Tersteegen, he could also ensnare and mislead him. For one so impressionable, so hungry for love and for rest, many a strange, sweet voice might sound as the voice of the Shepherd, and lead him on into dark and perilous places, where the path was lost.

And here are the visions of Antoinette Bourignon. Could they lead him back to a true knowledge of the mind of God ? They had a charm for him, for Mistress Antoinette Bourignon was an earnest believer, a mystic, and a persecuted woman. But her Romanist education, and her faith in the workings of her own mind, had beclouded her faith in God. Her many writings were not the food which could nourish and strengthen his soul ; and her dreams and "inspirations" had far too much fascination for one who was so ignorantly searching for communion with God, and so liable to confound it with human imagination.

And Mrs. Jane Leade, who was she ? It is strange that, though little known in her native land, her influence amongst German Pietists can hardly, writes Goebel, be over-estimated. Mrs. Jane Leade was a widow of Norwich, who launched forth into the daring career of a prophetess. Had her errors been unmixed with truth, her revelation might have been less dangerous.

" The Protestant churches," said Mrs. Leade, taking up the thought already given forth by a disciple of Speller's, Frau Petersen, "are the Sardis of Revelations—dead, yet with a name to live. Laodicea is yet to come. Meanwhile, let all the awakened betake themselves to the mighty work of raising up Philadelphia."

And thus, by Mrs. Leade, her friend Dr. Pordage (an ex-clergyman of the Church of England), and a third disciple of Jacob Behmen, named Bromley, was the first "Philadelphian Society" founded in London, in the year 1695.

Other Philadelphian societies, also founded for the most part by wild and visionary women, arose speedily in Holland and in Germany. This strange movement, forming what is called the Philadelphian Period in the history of German Pietism, may be said to have lasted till the middle of the eighteenth century.

Frau Petersen, Mrs. Jane Leade, and others of this wild sisterhood, were of one mind in teaching the final restoration of lost souls, and of the devil and his angels. Amongst these " wandering stars " were some whose lives of utter depravity and wickedness, whose blasphemies and profanities, will not bear recording. But, strange to say, the truly Christian Countess Hedwig Sophie is to be found amongst those who formed Philadelphian societies ; and her devoted and excellent son, Count Casimir, read and valued the dreams of Mrs. Jane Leade.

May we give our hearts and minds into the keeping of Him who alone can keep them. The histories of these past delusions have a warning voice for all of us.

Let us return to the bookshelves of Tersteegen. Here are Pietist hymn books and books of devotion. And here are books of alchemy and ancient herbals, and the writings of Paracelsus, of Albertus Magnus, and Raymond Luny. And here are Labadie's hymns, and his Manual of Piety, and Spener's Pia Desideria, and the lives of S. Gertrude and S. Mechthild, and the Spiritual Guide of Molinos, and the autobiography of S. Catherine of Genoa. Old books borrowed from convent libraries, and from good old Precisian neighbours, and from the "Inspired," and from Mennonites and Quakers. French and Latin books, as well as Dutch and German, and some few in Greek and Hebrew. But it is well to note that the book which bears the traces of most constant reading is the well-worn, well-marked Bible.

After this review of the library of the strange, dreamy boy, we need not wonder at the next phase in his singular history.

"For five long years," he says (beginning apparently with the end of that year 1719), " the sense of God's grace was withdrawn from me."

Five years of darkness, trial, and temptation. He was often ill, sometimes lying in bed or on the floor for ten or twelve weeks. The people in whose house he lodged seem to have been aware of his frequent illness ; and he often longed that one of their maids, who had plenty of leisure time, might be sent up to him with a drink of water. But they passed and repassed his door, and none came in except at the stated time when his food was brought to him, and sometimes even forgot him altogether till the afternoon.

When his mother died, his brothers and sisters, who regarded him as a simpleton, and felt much ashamed of him, divided the property without referring to him in any way. As they were necessarily obliged to give him a share, they gave him only a house ; for," they said, "if he has money he will give it away at once." They were right as to this. He persuaded his brother John to give him the value of the house in money, paid in several instalments, most of which he gave to the poor. The anger of the remaining brothers and sisters knew no bounds ; and it was thus that during his long illness none enquired after him.

His illnesses seem to have arisen from suppressed gout, causing palpitation, violent headaches, and fainting fits, with occasional fever and cough. But the five years of darkness of which he speaks were in no way connected with his health. He was ill, perhaps, more frequently in later years.

"I read eagerly," he said, "the books of Jacob Behmen, lent to me by a Lutheran pastor. I cannot say I understood them, but I read them till I was filled with strange fears and bewilderment. I prayed earnestly for light and knowledge. Sometimes I put the books away. Sometimes I could not resist reading them again. The doubts and disturbance remained, and were like a wall built up across my path. At last I took the books back to their owner, and it was like a weight lifted off my heart."

The prophecies of Mrs. Leade and the visions of Dr. Pordage were not likely to dispel the mists raised by Jacob Behmen. Gerhardt read on, and became yet more miserable.

He found as he read, and as by degrees he knew more of professing Christians, that the sects and divisions amongst them were endless and hopeless.

He found also that some whom he had loved and reverenced proved to be utterly regardless of the morality which even the respectable of the world possessed. Strange tales from the woods of Wittgenstein must often have reached him ; and at times the wickedness of the " awakened " equalled the heathen wickedness of courts and palaces, and the "Christian" wickedness of Jesuits and monks.

Had Gerhardt been living in the early morning of Pietism, when thousands were turning simply to Christ, when the name of Jesus, as the historian of the Pietists expresses it, was disinterred from the ruins and the rubbish of theological controversies, there would have been rest for him in those green pastures of the flock of God.

But if impiety is hurtful, distortions and caricatures of piety are much more so. And the strange outgrowths of the first simple Pietism were standing as beacons on every hand. They were related to Pietism, it is true, as Mormonites and Jezreelites, and image and saint worshippers are to Christianity. But it was as natural that the orthodox of the Established Churches should judge of Pietism by its mad and immoral offshoots, as that the heathen should judge of Christianity by the worshippers of S. Peter's skull, or the followers of Joe Smith.

And, on the other hand, the " unawakened," with their dry theology, their hatred to life and warmth and devotedness, their self-righteous morality, their pride of orthodoxy, their name to live while yet they were dead—was it to them he could turn from the wild confusion of sects, and Philadelphian societies, and " inspired prophets and prophetesses, and from the dreams of theosophists and alchemists and stargazers ?

And the new philosophers of "enlightenment," who were rejoicing in the discovery of something more reasonable and more creditable to the human understanding than Christian faith, or who were fitting all that they did not despise in Christianity into the dissected map of human thought and wisdom —could such as they guide him through the dark paths into which he had wandered ?

On the contrary, he would feel at times the horror of the thick darkness, when the thought seized him, " Could it be that after all there was no God, no love, no truth to be found or known by men ?" He stood alone in the great universe, without a guide or a compass. Was it true that the Church—Catholic, Lutheran, Calvinist—was but one great Babylon ?

Equally true did it seem to him that the sects and the separatists, each following his own reasonings and dreams, were the Babel of confusion.

And the world without, those who made no profession of Christian faith, what was it but a cold region of ice and mist, or a slough of nameless abominations ?

It may be that Gerhardt, like the prophet Elijah in olden times, was living in ignorance of the existence of many godly men and women around him. He was not likely to know much of his neighbours, living as he did all alone in his little room.

Chapter 38: A Last Glimpse of the Valley of Peace

THE evening comes, the sun is sunk and gone,

And all things lie in stillness and in rest ;

And thou, my soul, for thee one rest alone

Remaineth ever, on the Father's breast.

The wanderer rests at last each weary limb,

Birds to their nests return from heath and hill ;

The sheep are gathered from the pastures dim—

In Thee, my God, my restless heart is still.

Lord, gather from the regions dim and far

Desires and thoughts that wandered far from Thee ;

To home and rest lead on, O guiding Star ;

No other home or nest but God for me.

The daily toil of this worn body done,

The spirit for untiring work is strong ;

Still hours of worship and of love begun,

Of blessed vision, and eternal song.

In darkness and in silence still and sweet,

In blessed awe my spirit feels Thee near ;

Within the Holiest, worships at Thy feet ;

Speak Thou, and silence all my soul to hear.

To Thee my heart as incense shall arise ;

Consumed upon Thine altar all my will ;

Love, praise, and peace, an evening sacrifice,

And in the Lord I rest, and I am still.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

HE had no more visits from his beloved friend and teacher Ernest von Hochmann. In the year 1721 the hermit of Wittgenstein had passed from his " home of peace" in the mountain glen to his home of peace with-Christ in Paradise.

His last years had been quiet and peaceful. His thoughts were less occupied with the fall and ruin of the Church on earth, and more constantly with the blessedness and glory of the Church united to Christ in heaven. He had learnt, he said, that it was easy to attack and oppose the Babel of sects and of National Churches, and yet to leave the inner Babel of the heart untouched.

"And many," he said, " leave the sects made by man, to make another, which is moved by the same spirit of popery as the sect of Rome. And many attack the authorities of the Established Churches, because they desire to be under no authority at all, but to follow their own will. And many make a loud boast of having come out of Babylon, and yet they have brought out with them their pride and self-righteousness and self-seeking.

"As for me, I stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ has made me free ; but in desiring to bring other men to God, I do not now begin with these outside things, but speak to them of true conversion of heart, and repentance from dead works, and lead them to Jesus Christ, the author and finisher of faith, desiring that men should storm and attack the inner Babylon before they trouble themselves about the Babylon outside.

"For myself, I desire to belong to no sect. I am a universal Christian."

We have a little picture of his last days, the childish recollection of a little girl of seven years old, who was taken by her mother to pay him a visit in his " home of peace."

This little girl, with her mother and aunt and several cousins, climbed up the rocky path to the mountain glen, and found Hochmann in his little hut.

" He called to his servant," she writes, " and said to him, 'Have you nothing to eat that I can set before my dear guests ?' The man brought a piece of honey-cake. Just when Hochmann was going to divide it between us, the Countess of Berleburg (Count Casimir's mother) sent from her castle of Christianseck a whole cake and some wine.

"At this he was greatly rejoiced, and praised God, and said, ' Who shall forbid us to eat the Lord's Supper together, just as we are ? The Lord will certainly be with us, according to His promise ?' And hereupon he prayed with such might and power, that it went to the depths of our hearts, and he divided amongst us the cake and wine, and we all joined in singing a hymn of praise. It was no little refreshment to us to have this blessed feast.

"Not long after this first visit, about nine months perhaps or a year after, I was with my mother at Schwarzenau. We heard that Hochmann was ill, and we visited him. And when my mother asked how he did, he answered, 'All vanishes ; only Jesus remains, and in the darkness there is light.' And so the next day he fell asleep.

"I am now (1771) sixty-eight years old, I alone remain of that little company here below, and I hope soon to be with them where they are gone."

Thus far the little maiden's recollections. Others who visited him in his last illness, said that his heart was filled with praise. He made them join him in singing hymns. The mountain sides echoed back the sounds of gladness. Let us listen to his favourite hymn.

"Thou Life of my life, blessed Jesus,

Thou death of the death that was mine,

For me was Thy cross and Thine anguish,

Thy love and Thy sorrow divine.

Thou hast suffered the cross and the torment,

That I might for ever go free,

A thousand, a thousand thanksgivings

I bring, O my Jesus, to Thee !

" For me hast Thou borne the reproaches,

The mockery, hate, and disdain,

The blows and the spitting of sinners,

The scourging, the shame, and the pain.

To save me from bondage and judgment,

Thou gladly hast suffered for me—

A thousand, a thousand thanksgivings I bring,

O my Jesus, to Thee!

"O Lord, from my heart do I thank Thee

For all Thou hast borne in my room ;

Thine agony, dying unsolaced,

Alone in the darkness of gloom;

That I in the glory of heaven,

For ever and ever might be ;

A thousand, a thousand thanksgivings I bring,

O my Jesus, to Thee !"

It is well to take note of these descriptions given by eye-witnesses of Ernest von Hochmann's last days. Histories of him exist written by those to whom that which was highest in him was the most contemptible, and that which was wisest in him was the most foolish.

One of these accounts, after describing his preaching in many places, concludes by telling us that at last he " disappeared altogether from the eyes of the world, and we can only imagine that he was cared for by some pious disciple up to the time of his gloomy death."

Sixty years later, Jung-Stilling, whose early home had been within sight of the mountains of Wittgenstein, wrote his recollections of childhood. " By means of the numberless visits of all sorts and kinds of people, we heard all that went on—we were quite familiar with the chronicles of the awakened.' All the men interested in this movement, their lives, their characters, were described to us so often and so vividly in our rustic little sitting-room, that still, when I recall those scenes, I behold again the pious narrators, the wide forest filled with the singing of birds all around us, seen through the little window, glowing in the golden light of the evening sun."

"And," adds Goebel, after quoting this description, " in order that one of these golden sunbeams may fall upon the pages of our history, I conclude the story of Hochmann in Jung-Stilling's words. Hochmann was, as I remember him, a thoroughly worthy man, always plainly and neatly dressed, and as excellent in character as it is possible to imagine. He was always looking out for opportunities of teaching, whether he could find few or many to hear him. He taught them the purest mysticism' (the word here means simply communion of the soul with God), the need of complete conversion, of a thorough moral change, after the example of Christ, and entire love to God and man. He spoke with astonishing enthusiasm, and with indescribable fire, but without inflated or wild language.

"'He spoke also in the dialect of the people, and of all that he taught he was the living example. He was completely master of his heart and of his passions, humble and gentle in the last degree, and he stole the hearts of all who had to do with him. He went wherever he was invited, and took the lowest place, if possible, amongst the servants. He remained perfectly silent till he thought there was anything to be gained by speaking. In a word, he was a glorious man."

Yet, after all, that which was highest in Hochmann was scarcely to be understood by Jung-Stilling. We must take his description for what it is worth, and sympathize with Gerhardt Tersteegen in the loss of such a friend at a time when he specially needed help and comfort.

Chapter 39: What Is a Quietist?

DRAW me to Thee, till far within Thy rest,

In stillness of Thy peace, Thy voice I hear—

For ever quieted upon Thy breast,

So loved, so near—

By mystery of Thy touch my spirit thrilled,

O Magnet all Divine ;

The hunger of my soul for ever stilled,

Because Thy Heart is mine.

For me, 0 Lord, the world is all too small,

For I have seen Thy Face,

Where Thine eternal love irradiates all

"Within Thy secret place.

And therefore from all others, from all else,

Draw Thou my soul to Thee . . .

. . . Yea—Thou past broken the enchanter's spells,

And I am free.

Now in the haven of untroubled rest

I land at last,

The hunger, and the thirst, and weary quest

For ever past—

Lord, to lose, in bliss of Thine embrace,

The recreant will ;

There, in the radiance of Thy blessed Face,

Be hushed and still ;

There, speechless at Thy pierced Feet,

See none and nought beside ;

And know but this—that Thou art sweet,

That I am satisfied.

IT was well for Gerhardt that he knew Hoffmann, the merchant, and the linen-weaver.

He could still believe in some who loved the Lord, and walked in his faith and fear. But his temptation seems rather to have been, that he believed too readily in those who claimed to be something more than their fellows.

The " Perfect," of whom we hear from time to time in our own days, already existed in those old times. And the " Pluperfect," who had their strange gifts, and revelations, and inspirations, in addition to their perfection, had at first an attraction for Gerhardt.

" The Inspired," as they were then called, had their origin in the mountains of the Cevennes. The persecuted Huguenots, driven to madness by the tortures and massacres of the dragoons of Louis XIV., were sometimes roused to a desperate revenge, as in the case of the Camisards, sometimes possessed by strange delusions, and worked up into wild excitement. They could readily believe, as they hid in the woods and caverns, or fled in the dark stormy night over the lonely mountains, that they heard unearthly voices, and the singing of hymns, and wild echoes of strange music in the glens and amongst the solitary peaks.

And they repeated the words and the songs, and added more, which to their minds, overstrained and unstrung, seemed to come to them from heaven.

The Huguenot preachers of the first half of the eighteenth century were much hindered by the wild utterances and the disorders of the inspired men, women, and even small children, who would disturb the meetings, and bring discredit upon the preaching and worship, by their cries and convulsions and mysterious prophecies.

Finding themselves silenced by Antoine Court and other preachers in the Cevennes, many of the " Inspired " fled to Germany and Holland. There, amongst the children of those who had grown up in ignorance and in terror, during the Thirty Years' War, the prophets found a soil ready prepared to believe in the wildest of visions and prophecies. At Halle, and at other places, many Germans were seized with the contagious malady, and in the neighbourhood of Mülheim they were not wanting.

Gerhardt was filled with awe and wonder when he first saw the wild eyes and heard the fearful voices of the Inspired. He felt himself scarcely able to refrain from speaking and singing in the same unearthly manner. Even when he was alone, fits of trembling would seize him, and some unknown power seemed to take possession of him.

"But," he says, "I knew God as the blessed, the gentle One, and in a more inward manner. I therefore gave no place to these strange, unrestful, and terrifying delusions, but went quietly to my work. And when it had thus happened to me once or twice the power was broken, and I had these visitations no more."

It would seem that it was chiefly through the teaching of Hoffmann that God was thus known to Tersteegen as the Rest and Stillness of his soul. Hoffmann was called a Quietist.

What was it to be a Quietist ? Perhaps even amongst those who have studied the history of the Quietists, scarcely two could be found who would give answers to this question, not contradictory to one another. Those people who were called Quietists at different times, and in different countries, had, it is true, something in common, and might be called by the same name, very much as a primrose and a daffodil might be called yellow flowers.

The Catholic nun Teresa, and the Calvinist Hoffmann were people far more unlike one another than alike; yet both were called Quietists, and in one respect at least both had a claim to the name.

But we must go beneath the surface of history if we are to understand how and why such a name existed. We can find in our hearts an explanation of the fact that the race of Quietists is one of the most ancient families of mankind.

Have we not all that nature which is as the troubled sea ? for the way of peace we know not. And the sad and weary craving for rest, begun when the gate of Eden was closed, and the life of toil became the doom of men ? Toil of heart and soul—far harder than the toil of the hands—labour to regain the lost peace, the unattainable mountain-top, where the weary climbing would cease at last.

And long before the name was thought of, there were those who bethought themselves of ways and means for reaching the still peak above the clouds—rest of conscience above the thunders and the fire of Sinai, rest of heart and soul in some calm place above the sorrows and confusions of the weary world.

Was Quietism, then, but a form of selfishness ? In many cases it was ; in all cases, except in those where God Himself had spoken to the soul, and self had been lost sight of in the glory of His presence.

We can therefore understand that forms of Quietism were to be found in the darkest of heathen religions ;

for as in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man, and the unsatisfied craving fOr rest is a necessity of the fallen soul.

But we can also understand that where the love of God had reached the heart, the craving would take another shape, and the thought of rest would no longer be merely that of deliverance from condemnation and fear, and sorrow, and toil, and dissatisfaction. The longing would stop short of no lower point than that of being well-pleasing to Him whom the heart loves, of rejoicing in the joy of Him whom the soul adores.

Therefore the Quietism of S. Teresa, of Mme. Guyon, and of Hoffmann, was a state to which the heart desired to attain for the love of God, rather than for the love of self. It was a desire to have no will but the will of God, to reach a point when self should be gone, and all that God should will and do be the delight of the heart, however painful otherwise to nature. Then would there be rest and quiet, for the soul would say unceasingly, "All is well."

But we may desire to do and suffer the will of God, and yet from want of being "filled with the knowledge of His will," we may be aiming at the wrong point after all. And to the Catholic Quietist the will of God meant, in most cases, that which stands in the most direct opposition, not merely to our fallen desires, but to our natural feelings.

To arrive, therefore, at a state of conformity to it, it was needful to deaden all natural feeling by constantly thwarting, and denying, every desire for that which was otherwise than painful. It was common amongst the Quietists to say, " If God were to cast me into hell, and His will were all my delight, I should rejoice that I was there."

Conformity to His will was thus constantly measured, and that not by a knowledge of what His will is, but by the amount of pain and suffering to which the soul and body could willingly submit.

And thus, if this "union with God," as the Quietists would incorrectly call the subjection of the will, was to be an attainment, reached by earnest endeavours, it was quite natural to put no limit to it, and to suppose the cases the most impossible to nature.

We must not, however, shut our eyes to the fact that the hearts of these true children of God desired something far beyond rest and joy for their own souls.

Granting this, we have also to admit, that they were seeking that which they could never find. They had moments of joy and peace when they forgot how far they had attained, when they forgot themselves altogether, and their hearts were filled and satisfied with God Himself. But when they turned to look at themselves, their hearts again misgave them, and they saw that the high peak was yet unsealed, and their toil and labour began afresh.

They were seeking in themselves that which God has found, and can only find, in Christ. They had not received consciously, as a free gift, the divine life that is in Christ. They had it, it is true, but they were not aware that in Him it was theirs. They had not seen their place in Hirn, the accepted and perfect Man in whom God the Father is well pleased.

They did not know that upon Him the eyes of God were set, and that in Him He had accepted them also, loving them with the same love, delighting in them for His sake with the same delight, "resting in His love, rejoicing over them with singing."

They did not realize that in Him they were already not only on the high and silent peak, but far above it, in the heart of heaven, in the bosom of the Father. Had they seen these things, the thought of being content to be in hell could never have been conceived by them, for it was in Christ that they were complete, in Christ accepted, in Christ welcomed into the Father's house. Could He be anywhere but there ? They regarded themselves as apart from Christ, and yet as seeking after unattainable union with God.

They did not know that, as believers in Jesus, they were already one with the divine Man who is the Son of His love, and that His peace and joy already granted them, were theirs already, because the peace and joy were His.

Had He not said, "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you." " These things have I spoken unto you, that My joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full " ?

But by faith do we know these things. We believe them on the testimony of God, not on that of our own changing feelings. And to a Quietist, we may say to a mystic in general, the feeling and experience was the measure of reality. They believed rather in their feelings than in the word of God. They began with themselves, and worked upwards to reach to God.

It was, therefore, on the plan of the builders of that ancient tower, whose top was to reach to heaven, that they built up one storey after another, of self-purification and self-renunciation, entirely unaware that it was with self rather than with God that they were occupied ; whilst at the same time it was the blind stretching forth of the heart and soul to God, whom they truly loved, that draws forth the love and sympathy of the heart that has known Him to these ignorant and devoted Christian men and women.

They were unaware that it is from top to bottom that the veil was rent, that the beginning of the work was on the part of God ; that His love it is, not ours, the blood of Jesus, not our own striving, that brings us into the innermost court of heaven.

And therefore we can trace back their error to this—they put love to God first, faith in the love of God next in order, and thought to reach God-by the love of their own hearts, rather than by believing in His perfect love to them—the love manifested in the gift of His Son, in the cross of Jesus.

They did not see that to believe Him, to hear and receive His word, must be the only foundation upon which that love can rest which is the fruit of the Spirit of God, and that all other love is but natural feeling, which may at one time grow cold, at another blaze up into wild extravagances.

How often amongst us is credulity called faith, indiscriminating kindness, love, and the not uncommon quality of hopefulness, Christian hope ; whereas the faith, love, and hope, which are the fruits of the Spirit, are known by their object ; and it is only where faith in the word of God is found, that true love and hope (the "blessed hope," even the looking forward to the glorious appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ) can exist.

Most of the mystics regarded the word of God as one of the external things which were to be revered, but to stand second to the feelings, by means of which they hoped to rise to Him, and hold communion with Him. They rushed to the conclusion that the only alternative to a religion of feeling was a dry, doctrinal theology devoid of all feeling, not perceiving that it is impossible to believe with the heart in the marvellous revelation of love given to us in the word of God, and to remain untouched, unmelted, untransformed in the glory of that light and heat.

To a Catholic mystic all external things—the word of God and the ceremonies of the Church—were thus set aside as hindrances, only to be used and reverenced as a matter of obedience when the Church commanded it.

And in the same way did the Protestant mystics regard doctrines and ordinances. They had been wearied by the preaching of doctrines, and the classification of men and women according to their assenting or objecting to these doctrines, whilst the heart might remain hard and cold as ice.

And, therefore, as our foolish hearts are apt to do, they rushed to an opposite conclusion equally dangerous, and overlooked the doctrine, if only the heart were warmed by love to God. They did not perceive that true love to God can only be called forth by that which we know of Him, and that all we know of Him is that which He Himself has told us. If, therefore, we believe that which is false concerning God, a true love to Him cannot be the consequence. We have in such a case fallen in love with our own conceptions ; and this warm attachment of the heart to its ideal has often been mistaken for love to God, and measured by its intensity rather than by its cause. " We love Him because He first loved us." But how do we know He loves us ? We must fall back upon His revelation of Himself in His word and by His Spirit to the believing soul.

It was natural, therefore, that the perfect and immeasurable love of God, which is an object of faith, was little considered by many mystics in proportion to their striving after perfect love to Him. They had not seen that the dryness and coldness, which they found in what they called doctrine, was really in the unbelieving heart, and had they believed the glorious truths and facts to which they incorrectly gave the name of doctrine, the warmth and light would have flowed into the heart from God, instead of being toilsomely struck out of the hard flint, the stony heart within.

Let us not blame them too severely, whilst amongst ourselves the same delusion is everywhere to be found. How often have we not heard the wonderful fact that Christ bore our sins in His own body on the cross, spoken of as a doctrine ? Other facts in history are not called doctrine by us. But this act of love, which should stand out from the pages of history as the great fact upon which all hinges for us for time and eternity, is to numbers amongst us nothing more than "the doctrine of the atonement."

And to numbers this fact exists only in books of theology, and much talk is made of "love, which is better than correctness of doctrine," whereas it is our own labelling of facts as doctrines, which makes them powerless to touch the heart, or save the soul.

We believe the great and marvelous facts, and the soul passes from death to life, and we find ourselves no longer climbing up the toilsome ladder of our own feelings to reach to heaven, but already, in the person of Christ in the bosom of the Father, in the center of that unspeakable love which flows to us from God.

" If this really happened," said an infidel, when Isaiah 53 was read to him, "I am saved." And from that moment his heart was given to Him who had saved him. He worked for God for four years, and passed away, saying, "I am going to be for ever with Jesus."

But the mystics passed over the open door of faith, and took many weary journeys till at last they were brought to see that the work was done ; and done, not by them, but by Christ. Then at last they knew the joy of God.

"1-lave you all you need, or are you in want of anything ?" a friend said to an old woman dying in an Oxfordshire village. "God loves His Son too much to leave me in need of anything," she said. This was a quiet beyond that of Quietism, as the heaven is high above the earth.

Chapter 40: The Door Into Heaven

NAME of Jesus ! highest Name !

Name that earth and Heaven adore !

From the heart of God it came,

Leads me to God's heart once more ;

Name of Jesus ! living tide !

Days of drought for me are past

How much more than satisfied

Are the thirsty lips at last !

Name of Jesus ! dearest Name !

Bread of Heaven, and balm of love ;

Oil of gladness, surest claim

To the treasures stored above.

Jesus gives forgiveness free,

Jesus cleanses all my stains,

Jesus gives His life to me ;

Jesus always He remains,

Only Jesus ! fairest Name,

Life, and rest, and peace, and bliss ;

Jesus, evermore the same,

He is mine, and I am His.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

To return to Hoffmann. We have said that between Hoffmann and the nun Teresa, the difference was greater than the resemblance. Both were Quietists, and both were alike unconscious that in Christ they were already complete, in Christ already made free from the law of sin and death. There was a present peace and rest, therefore, which neither the one nor the other could enjoy.

But Hoffmann knew that the eternal peace was assured to him in heaven. He knew that by the blood of Jesus he should one day enter into the holiest, as an assured fact, and in heart and spirit he could now draw near to God.

Teresa looked upon herself as one "who deserved hell, and whose only support against despair was the infinite mercy of God." She did not know that by the justice of God, the place nearest to Himself in heaven is assured to those who believe. The place won by Christ, when, having borne the judgment of God for sin, He ascended into heaven, and claimed for Himself, and for His own, the place above the highest angel, the place in the innermost chamber of the Father's house.

Teresa had imagined to herself the passing of the soul "through crystal chambers," further and further into the centre of love and joy. But the chambers through which the soul must pass were fivefold, before the inmost chamber could be reached—through self-knowledge, through conflict, through the fear of God, through restful prayer, through union with God, and then into the chamber of ecstasy.

Where was the blessed work of Christ in this wandering through the chambers of human effort ?

And was it not when man had done, not his best, but his worst, that, in answer to the dying cry of Jesus, the veil was rent, the third heaven, "the inmost chamber of ecstasy," was opened to all who come unto God by Him ?

For into the holiest do we enter by the blood of Jesus, and by that way alone, and find ourselves lost in the perfection of love, not of our love to Him, but of His love to us.

Thus Hoffmann had a rest and peace in looking forward to the great eternity—a rest and peace of which Teresa knew nothing. On the other hand, Teresa, by the overstrain of heart and soul, to reach the unattainable chamber, was further deluded by visions and ecstasies, of which Hoffmann knew nothing, for he needed them not.

That which he strove to attain, was the conscious peace and rest in troubles and conflicts here below, which should correspond to the eternal peace and rest to which he looked forward in heaven. He strove to attain to the victory over sin and self, and the world and the devil. And he did not know that this too is ours in Christ, not to be gained by the self-mortification which should deaden the soul to pain or joy, but to be accepted as God's free gift, so that to deny ourselves, will be the easy yoke and the light burden laid upon us by Christ.

Abraham, who knew that the land was his, could offer to Lot the green pastures to the right hand or to the left. He had not to seek for that which God had freely given. But let us, who see by a clearer light the green pastures not only beyond this present life, but around us now, take shame to ourselves that the striving of Teresa and of Hoffmann to attain that which God has already given, was often far more earnest and true than is ours to carry out His purposes of love, to deny ourselves for His sake, and for the sake of the souls He loves.

It does not seem that Gerhardt told all his doubts and misgivings to Hoffmann. He loved him devotedly, and sat at his feet to learn. But Hoffmann, who described Gerhardt, during his years of darkness, as "travelling on, under God's preserving care, to the still eternity," could scarcely have been aware of the comfortless days and nights during which Gerhardt was seeking the God he loved, but the fulness of whose love he had never known.

Even to his chosen friend he could not tell the bitterness of his heart ; but he could tell it to God. And later on he told his history in few and simple words. It is best that he himself should tell it to us now.

"Like one far away on the great sea, when in the stormy skies neither sun nor stars appear, who knows not where he is, so can I not say where I am. But my hope is that my Jesus has His hand upon the helm, and the breath of His Spirit will waft my ship along. It costs me no little to bring my thoughts into sufficient order to speak or write even this much."

About the same time he wrote, " How willingly would I be freed from the bondage of lusts and of empty pleasures ; but I find in myself no strength or capability for it. This cannot be," he added, with a marvelous realization of the truth so little known to the mystics, " till the Lord Himself reveals Himself in us, raises up His dwelling-place in us, and inhabits it, filling it with His life, so that we are clothed in Him, and He Himself thus fulfils in us all the righteousness of the law.

"Then we shall no more strive after this virtue or that, but all virtues will be there in actual existence, and will flow forth without force or compulsion, because of the new birth in us, the birth of the new man, who is the Son of God (John i. 12), and who therefore shares with Jesus the love of God which constrains us. Then we shall be at once delivered from the slavery of our affections and lusts and opinions, and from the terrifying accusations of our conscience.

"And in the place of them we shall hear the sweet and tender voice of grace and of the gospel speaking within us, We shall be led out of the horror of the great darkness of the law by Christ Himself; and shall be as little children at the breast, drawing in the fulness of His grace and love in glad and gentle stillness, and He Himself will be the refreshment and the rest of our souls.

" It seems to me," he wrote again, " that the great Captain of our salvation drives us at times into a corner, in order that we may utterly despair of our own miserable righteousness. But the Lord knows the right moment to deliver us. Even waiting is unconscious advance, and to lose heart is a proof of self-confidence."

It seems to have been in the year 1724 that the " right moment " came at last.

Gerhardt was sent on some business to the town of Duisburg. He had to pass through the wood we may remember in the story of William Penn's visit to the young Countess Charlotte. There in the wood he became suddenly and violently ill. He believed that he was dying. He threw himself on the ground a little way from the path, and implored the Lord to remove the pain, and "to give him time to prepare for eternity."

We see from this that he had not yet seen that God has already made His believing children meet for the inheritance of the saints in light, that it was out of heaven that the best robe was brought, prepared by God Himself, given by Him as a free gift to him who comes in his rags from the far country. The pain ceased; and there and then Gerhardt gave himself up unreservedly to the God who is love. But his darkness and bitterness of heart remained.

As he sat by his bedside in the morning, in a moment, he knew not how, the glory and the sweetness of the love of God poured into his soul as a flood of light from the innermost heaven. Let him tell us of this in his song of praise and thankfulness, written on that occasion, and sung since by many lips and many hearts amongst the "quiet in the land."

" To heart and soul how sweet Thou art,

O great High Priest of God !

My heart brought nigh to God's own heart

By Thy most precious blood.

" No more my countless sins shall rise

To fill me with dismay—

That precious blood before His eyes,

Hath put them all away.

"My soul draws nigh with trust secure,

With boldness glad and free;

What matters it that I am poor,

If I am rich in Thee?

"Forgotten every stain and spot,

Their memory past and gone,

For me, O God, Thou seest not,

Thou lookest on Thy Son.

" Is all a dream? Thou canst not lie,

Thy Spirit and Thy blood

Proclaim to sinners such as I

The boundless love of God.

"They tell Thy love so deep, so free,

They tell the Father's heart—

Not what I am, or I must be,

They tell me what Thou art.

" Come, weary sinners great and small,

The open door stands wide,

Thy blessed heart that welcomes all,

O Lamb of God who died."

This was on a spring morning of that year 1724. In the same spring he sat alone in his little room, on the evening of " Green Thursday," as the day before Good Friday is called in Germany. His heart was filled with the joy which had put an end to the five years of darkness. We can see him there with none to whom to tell it, but the Lord who had given it. He is sitting at his little table, and with his own blood he is writing the letter still preserved to us.

" MY JESUS,-I own myself to be Thine, my only Saviour and Bridegroom, Christ Jesus. I am Thine wholly and eternally. I renounce from my heart all right and authority that Satan unrighteously gave me over myself, from this evening henceforward.

" On this evening—the evening when Thou, my Bridegroom through the precious blood, when Thou, my God, didst purchase me for Thyself, agonizing even unto death, praying till Thy sweat was as blood falling to the ground, that I might be Thy treasure and Thy bride.

"Thou hast burst the gates of hell, and opened to me the loving heart of Thy Father.

" From this evening onward my heart and all my love are offered up to Thee in eternal thankfulness.

" From this evening to all eternity, Thy will, not mine, be done. Command, and rule, and reign in me. I yield myself up without reserve, and I promise, with Thy help and power, rather to give up the last drop of this my blood, than knowingly and willingly, in my heart or in my life, be untrue and disobedient to Thee. Behold Thou hast me wholly and completely, sweet Friend of my soul. Thou hast the love of my heart for Thyself, and for none other. Thy Spirit be my keeper, Thy death the rock of my assurance ; yea, amen, may Thy Spirit seal that which is written in the simplicity of my heart.

"Thine unworthy possession,

" GERHARDT TERSTEEGEN.

“On 'Green Thursday' evening, Anno Domini 1724."

The darkness was past, and the light was come, the glory of the Lord had arisen upon Gerhardt Tersteegen, to be to him an everlasting light, and the days of his mourning were ended. " It was," he said, " as if a sick child were alone, and far away in the dark night, and suddenly the door was opened, and father and mother and all the beloved ones came in, and the long, lonely hours were over, and all was love."

Chapter 41: The Mission From Heaven

His priest am I, before Him day and night,

Within His Holy Place

And death, and life, and all things dark and bright,

I spread before His Face

Rejoicing with His joy, yet ever still,

For silence is my song ;

My work to bend beneath His blessed will,

All day, and all night long ;

For ever holding with Him converse sweet,

Yet speechless, for my gladness is complete.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

SO now for Gerhardt was the winter past, the rain was over and gone, and the time of the singing was come, and the voice of the turtle was heard in the good land into which he had entered. He had still much to learn—he had yet to find that the promises of God, fulfilled to us in Christ, take the place of our promises and vows, so often broken. But the heart into which the love of God has flowed, and where the desire is strong to live for Him alone, may express that desire in ignorant and faulty ways. God's eyes are on the heart.

"Evangelical Christianity," men have said, "means a settling down in the selfish satisfaction that we are saved—folding our hands, and leaving others to sin and suffer, whilst we look on, happy and contented."

Gerhardt Tersteegen was at last happy. And the flood of joy and peace which filled his soul swept away there and then the selfishness of the past years. He had lived alone in his little room, reading and working, and toiling for the rest of God. And now that he had entered into that rest, his first thought was of Christ ; his second thought, the thought which was the thought of Christ in Him—he must live for other men.

It is the unsatisfied heart that is the selfish heart. When we thirst no more for ever, we can think of those who are athirst.

Gerhardt's brothers and sisters, as we have seen, regarded him as a simpleton. One of his brothers, however, gladly accepted his offer, made in this year 1724, to become tutor to his children. He lived in the house of this brother, probably the house which he had sold to him, and in which he retained the room where a part of his solitary life had been led.

He appears to have taught these nephews in return for board and lodging. But that his services were scantily paid, we find from the history of his frequent illnesses. He would lie alone waiting for the meagre supply of food and drink for which he had entreated the maid. But he often waited in vain.

His labours, however, for his nephews were by no means scanty. Not content with teaching them, he wrote during this year a catechism for their use, still to be had by any who desire to see how marvellously the Spirit of God had guided him through the labyrinth of his manifold reading.

It was to teach the simple truths of the gospel that this little catechism was written, teaching taken from the Bible only, that Bible which had been a lamp to his feet, and a light to his path, through the mists and shadows in which he had been wandering.

This catechism, found amongst his papers at his death, was edited, by some who had known and loved him, in the year i8oi. A few words from the preface of the editor may be given: "It has always been from days of old, when Christians turned away from God, the living fountain of life and wisdom, to the light of their own reason, and the muddy streams of their own wisdom, darkness fell upon their understandings and their hearts—they became vain in their imaginations, proud, and godless.

" And this is especially the character of our time, a time when more and more thickly does darkness cover the earth, and gross darkness the people ; although there was never a time when men made a louder boast of light, of the so-called Aufklärung (enlightenment). Never was a time when they were more fully persuaded of being lights to the blind and guides to those walking in darkness (Rom. 2) than now, when they can no longer endure sound doctrine (2 Tim. 4:3, 4), and when they are exchanging the foundation truths of Christianity, for a so-called philosophy and a powerless morality.

" It has therefore come to pass that the very light of the understanding, with which they desire to enlighten the world, has, according to the divine Word, become darkness itself. And how great is that darkness !

" Yet, God be thanked, we find in His word and in history, that when the darkness is the greatest His light has always shone forth with greater power ; and He has each time raised up witnesses to the truth, in order to bring back His wandering people. Let them not reject these witnesses, and judge themselves unworthy of eternal life, lest the candlestick be removed, and the judgment of a hardened heart fall upon them.

" Amongst such witnesses raised up by God in modern times we may especially count Gerhardt Tersteegen, a man prepared by God Himself as a guide and teacher, and placed as a burning and a shining light in Western Germany, so that by his means thousands were brought to God."

In reading this catechism, we can see that Tersteegen was truly one of these witnesses ; and whilst remarking in it some imperfect statements of truth, some expressions that might be altered with advantage, we must own that God only could thus have taught the heart and mind of His beloved servant, thus have preserved him from the errors and extravagances of Catholic and Protestant Christians around him.

The next year, 1725, Gerhardt at last listened to the advice of Hoffmann to live less as an ascetic, and also to give up the delights of his solitary room.

This was hard to Gerhardt. His little room had been a haven of rest to him when the lesson hours were over. But Hoffmann had seen the dangers of those minds who become necessarily self-absorbed, because they are living in ignorance of that which is passing in the minds of other men. He did not undervalue times of solitude, on the contrary, he knew it to be a necessity for the healthy soul to be often alone with God. " But Gerhardt," he said, "will be all the better for a good companion. He shall take young Henry Sommer to live with him, and teach him ribbon-weaving, and read and pray with him, and they shall comfort themselves together, and edify one another, and then come and tell me if they repent of it."

So Henry Sommer came, and forty-four long years passed by before they parted. When that time came, Tersteegen only left his beloved friend to depart and be with Christ. The nephews had found another tutor, so that Gerhardt and Henry Sommer had their time to themselves.

They began the day with singing a hymn. Then followed a cup of coffee, the one reading aloud to the other meanwhile in the New Testament. Then Tersteegen prayed aloud, shortly and simply. Then they both began their daily work. They worked at ribbon-weaving from six till eleven, and again from one to six. From eleven till noon they separated each to spend an hour alone for reading and prayer, and again from six to seven. The rest of the evening Tersteegen spent in translating edifying books from Latin or French, working at these translations till eleven o'clock. Then after prayer he went to rest.

The cup of coffee was the result of Hoffmann's exhortations to "treat the poor body more kindly."

We are to imagine Gerhardt dressed in a long brown coat, which had to be worn till it was threadbare. When that time had arrived, he would tell the Lord, who had commanded him to take no thought for his raiment, for he seldom had money enough to buy a new one. But he was never allowed to want. As time went on he won the hearts of many, who rejoiced in any occasion of ministering to his needs.

He had long been in the habit of denying himself, and now, when self-denial was no longer a means to an end, but the result of having reached the rest and gladness of God, he loved to deny himself for others. "I have to take care," lie said, " not to sit down on the sandbank of selfishness, but to leave all for the Lord to order it. If then I make shipwreck, it will be in the wide sea of God's love, the depths of which are as welcome to me as the surest haven. But nature fights against the thought of venturing forth we know not where, out of self into unknown regions."

Into these unknown regions he launched forth exhorted and encouraged by Hoffmann. In the year of his joy and gladness, 1724, he had begun to write his songs and hymns, since so well known and loved amongst German Christians.

"When he sang," writes one who loved him, "he sang from the depths of his heart, and he thus uncloses to us the door into the mysteries of the blessed communion between his soul and God. Therefore the impression made by his hymns is so overwhelming, we are led on by a strange compulsion into the sacred glow of the depths of God, in which his soul was for ever rejoicing. We are overshadowed with the awe of his worship, in presence of the eternal majesty of God, and with him we fall down in speechless adoration.

"Thus as a spiritual singer he stands alone, and out of reach, in the rest of God. It has been said that his songs are marred by sameness. We will grant that there is some truth in this censure. But the music of the sea is monotonous. It is a harp for ever sounding, to-day as yesterday, and yesterday as a thousand years before. And yet it is this monotony which is unspeakably grand. It is that which fills our souls with thoughts inexpressible. There is scarcely any sound more soothing, and at the same time more soul stirring and cheering, than that sublime monotony.

"But as at times the waves beat softly, at times roar loudly in their full grandeur, so in Tersteegen's songs, whilst the key-note is the same, there is a rise and fall which suits the many states of the heart and soul. But it is never the wild and raging sea ; it is never the earthquake nor the fire ; but it is ever the still small voice, before which Elijah the Tishbite hid his face in his mantle in the cave of Horeb—for the Lord is there.

"This it is that is the peculiar, the characteristic power of Tersteegen's songs. Whatever storms or strife may rage around, here in the song is a still undesecrated sanctuary—an eternal holy day."

" Many of his songs," writes Professor Lange, " have a beauty of form which reminds us of Goethe "; and Bunsen calls him the foremost master of spiritual song. But there is more than the bcauty of form in these simple words, so fresh, so pure, flowing from the heart that dwelt continually in the heart of God—at times childlike in their innocence, at times few and short, awed as it were by the great Presence that filled his soul with reverence, and all the more with love.

Tersteegen was now twenty-seven years old. It was not that he had outlived a young man's enjoyment of the world. But to him, as to Paul, the noonday had become dim, and the exceeding glory of the light beyond the sun had sealed his eyes to the glory of the world.

And, on the other hand, the light from the glory of God, revealed to him the misery and the death around him. It is the heart rejoicing in the love of Christ that yearns over the souls He died to save.

At that time there was a great and remarkable awakening in the town of Mülheim. Crowds from all parts came to the preaching and the prayer-meetings in Hoffmann's hall, and in any private houses where the owners were willing to give up rooms for gospel meetings.

Gerhardt came out of his solitude to preach, and with such power that many souls were saved. He did not then leave them to starve. He was gifted by God with an extraordinary wisdom in the guidance of those who believed. He was speedily known far and wide as a " Seelenführer," a "guide of souls."

His own difficulties and temptations of past years gave him insight and sympathy. He was deeply loved by those who loved Christ ; for he was tender and gentle, not only from the marvelous refinement of his nature, but from the indwelling of Him who is love.

But nearer conformity to Christ, means further separation from the world out of which He delivers His own. He soon found himself in opposition not only to the ungodly and profane world, but to the religious and orthodox world of Mülheim.

It was not that he had strayed away into heresies and delusions, as many of the Pietists had done. On the contrary, " Tersteegen was," writes Goebel, "a Reformed and Protestant Christian, and desired to be, and to remain such. He was thoroughly orthodox as regards all the fundamental and important truths of the gospel, as, for instance, in his belief in the atonement, and justification by grace, utterly opposed to all self-righteousness and justification by works, speaking only of the pure grace of God, and of man as entirely incapable of all good.

"He also insisted upon the acknowledgment of holy Scripture as the specially inspired and infallible word of God, and the most glorious and usual means employed for converting, awakening, and nourishing the soul.

" But he taught, as did other mystics, that there is another manner in which God, by the Holy Ghost, speaks to the soul. He studied and enforced the study of Scripture with great diligence and zeal ; but he blamed the evil habit of attributing to human creeds and formularies almost or quite the same amount of infallibility which belongs to the actual word of God.

"He also blamed yet more severely the pretensions of unconverted preachers, who expected men to listen to all their empty babbling in the pulpit as if it were the pure, unerring word of the living God, and to respect it as such, as if the Holy Ghost worked only by their ministrations.

"` God has nowhere pledged Himself to this,' said Tersteegen ; and He will not allow His hands to be bound by human decrees.'

" On the other hand, he owned it to be the word of God when an enlightened messenger of God, himself a child of God, spoke or wrote His message.

"In the same way did Tersteegen hold all the other evangelical doctrines of salvation more deeply, more spiritually, or, as it would be called, more mystically, than did his Church, without contradicting or denying the truths taught by the Church. He could thus write, Extraordinary mysteries are not to be looked for in my teaching. My way is to preach the gospel quite simply—God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto Himself.'

"At the same time he immediately adds, This God and Saviour is inexpressibly near to us, knocking at the door of our hearts, and entreating us to turn from our sins and be reconciled to Him. Every uneasy sense of our danger, every insight into our utter corruption, darkness and powerlessness, every sorrow and lamentation on account of sin, are the work, wholly and solely, of this love of God in Christ Jesus near us and in us.'"

Chapter 42: The Fear of the Lord Is to Depart From Evil

HERE on earth a temple stands,

Temple never built with hands ;

There the Lord doth fill the place

With the glory of His grace.

Cleansed by Christ's atoning Blood,

Thou art this fair House of God.

Thoughts, desires, that enter there,

Should they not be pure and fair?

Meet for holy courts and blest

Courts of stillness and of rest,

Where the soul, a priest in white,

Singeth praises day and night ;

Glory of the love divine

Filling all this heart of thine.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

THUS, believing as he did the great truths of the gospel owned and confessed in the Reformed Church, it was not on account of any difference in doctrine that he, as the Labadists had done before him, stood apart from that, and from all Established Churches.

It was, as we have seen, a common custom amongst the Pietists, who were also separatists, to speak of all the Established Churches together as Babylon, and of themselves as " stormers of Babylon." Tersteegen did neither. He said he had more important work to do than to storm and to attack ; nor would he consent to call the Churches Babylon whilst the Spirit of God was working in them.

But from the year 1726 he steadfastly refused to join in the communion of the Reformed or of the Lutheran Church. " That which is holy," he said, "is given to the dogs ; and by the reception of so many who are known to be unworthy, the indignation of God is aroused against the country and the professing Church."

As to those, who being themselves children of God, could yet join with the world at the table of the Lord, he thought it right, later on, to leave them to their own consciences. For himself, he remained apart.

"I do not believe," he said, "that either baptism or the Lord's Supper are necessary to salvation. I would not desire to attach such a prerogative to anything except to the work of my Saviour Jesus Christ. Were I not baptized, then, I think I should be baptized, out of respect and obedience to the command of Jesus ; but not from any idea that I should thereby be justified, or gain peace of conscience.

"On the contrary, I would not allow myself to be baptized by any person, or in any community, who would imagine that my salvation depended upon it.

" In the same way I regard the Lord's Supper, and the assembly of God's people. I have the desire to take part in both, when I have the opportunity for doing so rightly. But as far as I know, one cannot in these days join oneself to any assembly, or take the Lord's Supper anywhere, without joining oneself, not to pious people, for they are rarely to be found in any of these congregations, but to the whole mass of worldly-minded people, who could only be a hindrance to blessing.

"And it is therefore the question, whether it is not better to cease to communicate altogether, than to do it in a manner which leads to no good.

"I will not now go into another question, namely, that if we join ourselves to this mixed multitude in any sect or denomination, we are separating ourselves, (often unconsciously and unintentionally) from the love and fellowship of many pious people who do not belong to this sect or denomination.

"I have made this sad experience on many occasions, finding those standing apart from one another who once were walking in love. What should hinder us, beloved, from meeting together as Christians ? Two or three make a complete assembly, in the midst of which the Lord has promised to be present."

"You," he writes to a friend, "are of one mind with your wife, desiring to follow the Lord, and live to Him. Is not your house then an assembly ? Oftentimes you have other friends with you, who are fully of one mind with you in following the Lord. Is not that an assembly, even if you have but little preaching and teaching ?

"I assure you, I would rather meet with you than in any other place I know, where thousands might be assembled. And if we two or three, who are all one in the Lord, were to meet together, and eat the bread with the good intention of remembering the death of Jesus, and stirring one another up to love Him and one another, desiring to be wholly for Him and for one another with all we have, even to the last morsel of bread, would not that, in your eyes, be the Lord's Supper ? What would there be wanting to make it so ?

"I cannot believe that it would be the less pleasing to the Lord because it was not in a great church, with I know not how many ceremonies attached to it. Meet thus, dear brother, and meet often, and gladly will I in spirit sit down with you."

" At the same time," writes Goebel, " he gave a very high place to the holy supper, in fact, a place of the extremest importance ; but all the less did he regard it as being according to apostolic order that 'the preachers of these days make so little distinction between worthy and unworthy communicants, and receive, not only concealed hypocrites, but openly unconverted, ungodly, worldly people.' 'One may have patience,' he wrote, ' with honest preachers, who would gladly see a better state of things, but know not how to attain to it ; but they, on the other hand, ought to exercise equal patience with honest souls, whose consciences will not allow them to break bread with those whom they cannot own as members of the one Body, and who therefore stand apart, from the fear of displeasing God.'"

Chapter 43: In Labours More Frequent

THOU sayest, " Fit me, fashion me for Thee "—

Stretch forth thine empty hands, and be thou still ;

O restless soul, thou dost but hinder Me,

By valiant purpose, and by stedfast will.

Behold the summer flowers beneath the sun,

In stillness his great glory they behold ;

And sweetly thus his mighty work is done,

And resting in his gladness they unfold.

So are the sweetness and the joy Divine,

Thine, O beloved, and the work is Mine.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

AT the same time that Gerhardt Tersteegen came forward as a preacher and lecturer, he also became known for his skill in medicine. He had probably learnt all he knew from the treatises on chemistry and medicine which were contained in the writings of alchemist philosophers.

He had also studied the properties of herbs and roots, and his great love of nature must have made him well acquainted with the plants in the neighbourhood of Mülheim.

His patients soon became very numerous, and as a physician of soul and body he was in constant request. His beloved solitude was now at an end, except during certain hours in the day, which he kept sacred for communion with God, and for writing letters and books.

In the year 1727 he translated Labadie's Manuel de Piété, and the Imitation of Christ, by Thomas á Kempis. The time left for ribbon-weaving was very short. In the year 1728 he gave it up altogether, and lived entirely upon the sale of his books ; for he made it a rule to receive nothing from his patients.

His time was well filled up, for he prepared his own medicines with great care. As far as possible he did everything at a stated time, but the visits of his patients were allowed at all hours, and this gave him a continual exercise of self-denial, though he was willing to have his quiet hours disturbed, rather than to keep waiting any who were suffering. He often recommended exercise and occupation rather than medicine, and always recommended prayer.

"I use only a few sorts of pills, and some powders and essences—all of simple ingredients," he wrote to a friend. " God gives little blessing to secret and mysterious remedies, and often He gives much blessing to despised little herbs and roots. Do not trust yourself to discoverers of new secrets, nor wander into the labyrinths of alchemy, nor into the search for gold, which has led away so many."

He wrote his hymns in quiet intervals, and visited diligently amongst the converted and unconverted who came to the meetings. As time went on, his visits were extended to many at a greater distance, who had read his books, or heard of him through friends.

Amongst these were several Dutch Christians, both men and women. One of these, a member of the States General at Amsterdam, named Paaw, travelled to Mülheim to make the acquaintance of Tersteegen, and persuaded him to come with his friend Sommer to pay a yearly visit to Holland.

Very soon, we hear, that "from Sweden to Switzerland, from Berlin to the lonely forests of North America, he sought out and found (by correspondence and by means of friends,) 'partakers of the heavenly calling,' and it was a great joy to him when he could add a new name to his book of remembrance.'" In this book he entered not only the names, but some account of the life and work of these unknown friends, in order to remember them in intercessory prayer.

Thus he wrote to a friend in Essen : " It is impossible for me to see with indifferent or unappreciative eyes the smallest, weakest, most faulty beginning of a course, in which a single soul, or the Church at large, is pressing forward to live out the life of Jesus. I thank God for this interest given to me from the time when I first understood the work of God in our redemption."

A great revival followed the first preaching of Tersteegen, and the work of visiting, teaching, and guiding the numbers of the awakened was incessant.

" Notwithstanding my great weakness of body," he wrote, " I find myself called upon to work amongst these souls all day long. The hunger, the anxiety, the awakening continue, through God's goodness, and some of the awakened give the comforting proof that their conversion is deep and real. Oh, that it would please the Lord to send out faithful labourers into His vineyard ; for if they send themselves, they are good for nothing!"

"I cannot live as quietly as you do. I am obliged, against my will, to write and speak—the inward tendency of my mind, to solitude and stillness, seems only to have been given me to make the contrary more toilsome to me—or rather to preserve me by the counterpoise from being carried off into merely external activity."

" Had I twelve or thirteen years ago been able to foresee all the roads I should have to travel, I should have rather chosen to die, for I should have thought them hurtful to my soul, and leading to my ruin. But now I thank God that He often blindfolds me, and ties my hands and feet, so as to carry me where He will, and where I would not. And I can now bow down and worship Him with the deepest thankfulness, because He doeth all things well."

Chapter 44: A Mulheim Sermon

STILL! O soul—the sign and wonder

Of all ages see—

Christ thy God, the King of glory,

On the Cross for thee ;

From the Father's bosom come,

Wandering soul, to bring thee home.

Wouldst thou know if Jesus loves thee?

If He loves thee well?

See Him suffer, broken-hearted,

All the pains of hell—

Smitten, bearing in thy room,

All thy guilt, and all thy doom.

See Him of His God forsaken,

Hear His bitter cries

Rise unanswered through the darkness

Of the silent skies—

See the fountain of the Blood

Shed to bring thee back to God.

Mine the sin, O mighty Saviour,

Laid by God on Thee—

Mine eternal condemnation

In Thy cross I see ;

In Thine agony divine

See the curse that else were mine.

See the conquest and the triumph

Thou for me hast won ;

Justice satisfied for ever,

All God's pleasure done ;

Thus, O Smitten Rock, from Thee

Life eternal flows to me.

Unto me, the base, the guilty,

Flows that living flood ;

I, Thine enemy, am ransomed

By Thy precious Blood.

Silent at Thy feet I lie,

Lost in love's immensity.

G. TERSTEEGEN.

THE preaching of Tersteegen accorded with his saying, " Extraordinary mysteries are not to be looked for in my teaching." His sermons were very simple, and it was only as his words were received into the heart, that they were found to have a depth far beyond that of theological preachers.

It will be well to give an example of one of these Mülheim sermons, heard by so many in those days as a message from God, and since then read in German towns and villages from generation to generation, so that he being dead yet speaketh, and is still an instrument in the Lord's hand for awakening the dead, and comforting the sorrowful.

" To this end Christ both died, and rose again, and revived, that He might be Lord both of the dead and the living."

ROMANS 14:9.

THE gospel of Christ ; that is to say, the joyful news of His birth, life, sufferings, death, resurrection, and ascension, is in one respect quite different from any other history. In the case of other histories we need only read and remember them, and then we know all that is to be known about them. But the Holy Spirit tells us that the gospel is what other histories are not ; namely, "The power of God unto salvation to every one who believeth." That is, a power felt by the heart, a power that works faith in the heart, a power by which the heart is made happy, blessed, and safe for ever.

With faith in the gospel of Jesus is connected happiness, everlasting happiness. Certainly this is, then, a thing not lightly to be thought of This gospel is preached to us in the words of the text. I will now explain to you how, by the news of Christ's death and resurrection, the many hindrances to salvation are removed out of our way.

Godliness and the true faith of Christ have many hindrances, which proceed from our unbelief, and from our ignorant reasonings. Often, almost always, it happens to us as it did to the dear women who were going to the grave on Easter-day. A difficulty appeared in their way. As they went along, it struck them that a large stone was lying on the mouth of the grave. They said, "Who shall move us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre ?"

You must observe that this difficulty never struck them till they were on the road; and although when they were thus on the road it did strike them, they did not turn hack again. When they came to the grave the stone and the difficulty were both gone.

So it happens with all the difficulties which our unbelief or our little faith throw in the way of our conversions. By the true gospel of Christ all these difficulties are taken away, as the stone from the door of the sepulchre. I will speak of some of these difficulties, of some by which many souls are hindered, and kept away from conversion, from God, from Christ, and from salvation. I will also tell you how these heavy stones are moved away.

Firstly. One difficulty, and a very heavy stone it is, is the great weight of sin—the damning power of the law, and the wrath of God on account of our sins. The sinner thinks, "Ah! I have so many sins on my head—such awful sins! I have Sinned for so long a time ! I have committed this and that fearful sin ! My accusing conscience gnaws at my heart ; it torments me, leaves me no peace! When I think of God's justice, of God's anger, I am terrified ! Oh, ' Who shall take away the stone from the door of the sepulchre '—this heavy, heavy stone of sin, which lies upon the poor heart, crushes down the conscience, and leaves the sinner no moment's rest, no moment's peace ?"

Sinner, if this stone weighs upon your heart, if you do indeed feel the heavy burden of your sins, and if you do not go to seek Jesus, and to turn to Him with all your heart, I tell you that this stone can never, never be taken away. It shall lie there; and not only so, but it shall become heavier, till it sinks you into despair, into the abyss, into everlasting destruction !

But if you are really in earnest about this sense of sin, if you really long to be delivered from that accusing conscience, from the curse of the law, from the anger of God, and from the defilement of sin, then turn to Jesus ! Then I can say to you in the name of God, as the angel said to those dear women, "Fear not : I know that ye seek Jesus, who was crucified."

How then can this stone be taken away? By those mighty words, " CHRIST DIED." Christ died, dear soul therefore do not despair. When Christ died, His death, His precious blood, paid the everlasting ransom for you. Christ by His death paid the mighty debt all perfectly. He bore the penalty of the sin which we inherit from Adam. He took upon Himself that curse which Adam called down upon man, " In the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die." He took upon Himself the curse of the law.

Sinner, you have sinned, you are cursed. But Christ has become a curse for you ; so that now the penitent soul, the soul that toils under the burden of sin, may be assured that in Christ all the burden, all the curse, are taken away for ever. There is no more curse for the sinner who has come to Jesus.

Oh, soul, do not go here or there for help—go to Jesus only! Jesus died for sinners. He died specially for those who go to Him, and seek help from Him alone. Do not let people comfort you in any other way, by saying that your sins are not so bad, etc. This will not remove a grain of the heavy burden. No, plead guilty ; say, " Yes, my God, I have deserved death. I have deserved hell. All is true, my God, that is said in the law to condemn me. I have lived in this and that hateful vice, I have done abominable things, I have offended Thee justly. My God, I plead guilty at Thy bar. But Christ died for me. To His death, His blood, His great atonement I look in faith, and I look to that only."

Thus must every penitent soul, who feels the weight of this heavy stone, fly to the open arms of the mercy and love of God in Christ, waiting humbly, waiting in faith, and waiting untiringly till the great power of that love is felt ; till by the power of the death of Jesus peace comes down into the weary heart, and the stone is taken away from the door of the sepulchre.

Further, there is a second difficulty, another stone which often lies heavily upon the heart of the sinner.

The sinner thinks, "God is such a holy God. How dare I come before Him? How can I venture to pray ? How dare I draw near to so holy a God? When the soldiers were watching the sepulchre, and only an angel appeared to them, they fell to the ground as if they were dead. Even those dear, holy women were frightened when they only saw an angel. The holy John, the dearest, the very dearest of all the disciples of Jesus, when he saw Jesus in His glorified body, fell down as a dead man. If God then is so holy a God, what will happen to me if I go into His presence? How can I stand in His sight? Who can dwell in the devouring fire ? Who can abide in the everlasting burning of His glorious presence?"

Sinner, this is all true. We dare not trifle with the holiness of God. " It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." God is a consuming fire " to all the hypocrites in Zion," who shall become as stubble in the flames. So long as thou art not seeking Jesus, so long as thou remainest out of Christ, I tell you this stone can never be taken away. It must lie upon your heart for ever, and nothing awaits you but a "fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation which shall devour the adversaries."

But if what you feel is a true sense of sin, if you feel that you are altogether unclean and unfit to appear before God, and will give yourself up entirely to Jesus, then I can say to you as the angel said to those frightened women, " Fear not, I know that ye seek Jesus." If you seek Jesus, and come with Jesus, you need not fear the holiness of God.

Why not? How can this stone be taken away? Answer, "Christ died." Christ, by His sufferings and death, opened for us a free and unhindered way to God, to that holy God; not only a way into His perfect glory and blessedness after our death, but a way into His blessed presence here, during our earthly lives.

When Christ died, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom. The holy of holies was thrown open. Under the old dispensation, anyone who touched the ark of the covenant, which was most holy, and where the glory of God was seen, was at once struck dead. Whoever went into the holy of holies, were it a high priest himself (except on the day of atonement), was a dead man.

But now Christ has died. Now all truly penitent sinners, through the merits and the sanctification of the blood of Jesus Christ, have boldness of access into the holiest place, into the nearest and closest communion with God.

" Having therefore boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way, which He bath consecrated for us, through the veil, that is to say, His flesh . . . let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience."

Every believing soul who is determined to have nothing more to do with sin, can, through the sufferings and the death of Christ, notwithstanding its unworthiness, go close to God, and rest in Him with the confidence of a little child in the arms of a tender father. Oh, let us use this blessed privilege more than we do ! Christ died, therefore the holy God, before whom the angels veil their faces, is become our joy and delight. We need no more fear and tremble before Him. We can come, we may come, we shall not die, we shall not be consumed by His holiness.

In love, in faith, in prayer, we may go into the holiest place, and there we shall learn by our own happy experience that the holy God is honoured by His believing people as a dear father is honoured by his children, that the holy God has no terrors to those who draw near in faith, looking unto Jesus.

Thirdly. There is a third difficulty, another stone which often stands in the way. The sinner thinks, "Satan has such a great power over men ! My cruel enemy Satan holds me so fast, I cannot possibly get away. The world holds me fast. This, and that ungodly companion, hold me so fast, I cannot get free. Now, ' Who shall take away this stone from the door of the sepulchre ?' How shall I ever get rid of it ?"

Sinner, if you are not seeking Jesus, if you do not give yourself up entirely to Him, I tell you this stone shall never be lifted from your heart ; but you will remain in prison, and Satan, the gaoler, will keep you there for ever.

It is true that Satan has all unconverted people under his rule, in his power, groaning under his tyranny ; he keeps them here in his kingdom of darkness, he shall keep them hereafter in hell. So long as you do not thoroughly give yourself up to Christ, there is no help for you ; you must follow the devil all your life, and go to him at your death, there is nothing else for you to do.

But if you are hungering after Christ, if you are heartily seeking Christ, if you honestly desire to be set free from the power of the devil, then fear not. Christ not only died, but also He is risen again, and by His resurrection Christ is "exalted above all principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and every name that is named not only in this world, but also in that which is to come."

Look ! by His resurrection, our dear Saviour has gained the victory over the devil, and over all the dark, devilish powers of hell.

When the dear Saviour died, the devil thought, "Now I have conquered Him ! Now I shall keep men in my kingdom, under my power, in my clutches." The wicked world, the rulers, the Pharisees and Scribes, were glad also, and they thought, " Now it is all up with Him. Now the people can no longer run after Him as they did. Now they will have to follow us. Now we shall have it all our own way with them." They thought the time was come when they might abuse and revile Him with impunity. "Ah !" they said, "this deceiver said, when he was yet alive, 'In three days I will rise again !" Christ was now the deceiver, the seducer.

But what did they say on Easter morning when Christ rose again, and the soldiers brought them the news? And what did the devil feel when he saw the King of glory burst the doors of the grave, and come forth in a glorious body, into a glorious life, completing the redemption of His people from the power of Satan for ever ? The devil and his armies must have fallen down then as Dagon before the ark of the Lord.

Are we seeking Jesus? Are we truly giving up ourselves to Him? Then we need not fear the devil, no, nor a whole army of devils. Let us fear Jesus, and own Him as our Captain and Leader.

That which Moses said in the name of God to Pharaoh, that Christ now says to the devil and his armies, "Let My people go, that they may serve Me." Pharaoh wanted to keep the people. He had no idea of letting them out of his slavery, and releasing them from their heavy burdens. God sent him a message, " Let My people go !"

Look how the devil, the Pharaoh of hell, begins to resist. He too will not let souls escape from his kingdom, from his power. He will keep his subjects, his miserable slaves. But Jesus, the risen One, says, " Let My people go ! It is now My people ; it is now My purchased possession. Thou hast had them long enough in thy service, in thy clutches. Now thou hast no part or lot in the matter, no claim upon them, no right over them for ever. Let My people go, that they may serve Me."

Further, when Pharaoh saw that the people of Israel were really in earnest, that they actually were going away, in fact, that they were already gone, he thought he would have one last blow at them. He would after all get them back into his power ; or else he would drive them into the Red Sea, and there would be an end of them.

Just so the devil does, when he sees that a soul is really in earnest about getting away from him. He flies after it. He uses force or fraud, or any means he can think of to get the soul back into his power. He says, " You will find it impossible to get away. You will find such endless difficulties. You will have to give up this and that amusement, and be always denying yourself and making your life wretched. It is much better to give up the whole thing altogether, and follow your natural inclinations, and do what you find pleasantest, and not trouble yourself any more about it.

" Besides," the devil says, "if you begin, you will never be able to go on ; you will soon think better of it, so it is not worth while to start with anything which you are sure to give up."

But, dear soul, I charge you not to go back. The Lord will make a way for you, and bring you safely to the end. Do not stay arguing with the devil about it. Moses did not let the people of Israel stand and fight with Pharaoh. Moses said, " Fear not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord. . . . The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace."

This is just what we must do. We must let our risen Saviour fight for us. With Him we shall go forward, and go straight through all the difficulties ; and our enemies shall be put to shame, just as Pharaoh with all his armies was drowned in the Red Sea, whilst the children of Israel went through, and sang a song of victory on the other side.

Therefore fear not. Take courage, poor soul. If you feel your bondage, and come to Jesus to be freed, neither Satan nor the world can hold you; they must let you go ; Christ shall deliver you, and you shall come off victorious. Turn then to the risen Saviour.

Fourthly. There is another stone, another difficulty. It is this, The sinner says, " I have such a bad heart ! such a wicked nature ! I have lived in sinful habits all my life. I am grown quite hardened in sin. My sins hold me so fast, I cannot possibly leave them off. If I were to try my best, if I were to take endless trouble to cure myself of them, nothing would come of it ; I should be just as I am. The next temptation I have would be too strong for me, and I should fall into sin just as before. Who shall take away this stone from the door of the sepulchre ?

Sinner, if you only say this as an excuse ; if you are not in earnest ; if you are glad to find a reason for continuing in sin ; if it is a relief for you to say, " it is my nature, I cannot help it ; " then I tell you plainly you cannot help it. The stone shall lie on your heart for ever, because you do not really wish to have it taken away. But if you do wish from your heart to be freed from your sinful nature, your wicked habits, your chains of vice ; if you wish to leave them oft, all, every one of whatever sort—gross vice or hidden sin, great sins and small sins ; if you wish to be thoroughly set free, hear this news, Christ is risen !

When Christ arose He broke all the bands which held Him in His grave ; and just so, by His resurrection, He breaks all the bands which hold us in the death of sin.

When a sinner becomes aware that he is held captive by sin, when he sees in himself evil habits and wicked ways, which he cannot shake off, let him go to God for the resurrection-power of Jesus Christ, by which every chain is broken in which the soul can possibly be held. Paul says, " Sin shall not have dominion over you, because you are under grace," because you have given yourself to Jesus.

If you see your weakness, if you see that you cannot mend yourself, only open your heart wide to receive the resurrection-power of Jesus, He will come into your heart, cleanse you, and deliver you. Thus will this stone be taken away—you shall be made free, no matter how strong your chains are, nor how long you have been held fast by them.

Fifthly and lastly. There is one more difficulty, one more stone in the way. The sinner thinks "After all, holiness is a very unpleasant thing ; Christian people are a very wretched sort of people. I am always hearing about their afflictions, and their trials, and their crosses. Very often it seems as though the more pious people are, the more misfortunes and miseries they have in this world. And besides all their outward afflictions, I hear them talk about their inward temptations, their trials of faith, and so on. Altogether it seems to be a most miserable thing to be a Christian."

Now this is indeed a heavy stone lying at the door. It is a misgiving that many people cannot get out of their minds. " Who shall take away this stone from the door of the sepulchre?"

Answer, Christ is risen. Christ before His resurrection was a despised man, a man of sorrows, a man of grief.

Oh, how sad a life He led during those years on earth ! But He is risen—then all His sorrow was at an end for ever—all His sufferings were over. He had overcome and was victorious.

See now, dear friends, how Christians should look at sufferings and sorrows. When they are afflicted, or mocked

at, or despised, they should look to Jesus; Jesus who,

though He might have been enjoying perfect happiness, endured the cross, despising the shame, and is now set

down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Heb. xii. 2.)

Let us consider Jesus, and the glorious end of all His sufferings. Let us keep fast hold of this risen Saviour, and

through Him we too shall overcome; as Paul says, " In all these things we are more than conquerors, through Him that loved us."

Whatever happens to Christians, or whatever might yet happen, should never frighten us. The stone is taken away by these words of power—" CHRIST Is RISEN."

Do you think you ought to be better off than Jesus was ?

Besides, all these things which seem to you so dreadful, are after all for a very little while. All the Christian's outward and inward troubles, all his shame, and contempt, and everything else which may befall him, are only troubles which last just for the moment. Not only so, "our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worked) for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."

Yes, even now, out of every cross, every sorrow, every shame, every disgrace, every temptation which the Christian has, a glory flows forth, and he can rejoice by faith in all these things.

And when the day comes, when the everlasting morning appears, we shall see all these things transformed into eternal glory, eternal beauty, and eternal joy.

Such was the sermon. Let us thank God that He sent to the weary and heavy-laden of desolated Germany such a stream of living water. All around the dry theology, the learned discourses, the rhetoric of the Churches—and in the despised meeting-room these words, simple as those of a child, yet a living message from the living God.

To many in those dreary days did these simple words bring life and gladness, to many since, to the writer of these pages, who, through this MUlheim sermon, was turned from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God. And when we look back to the death and darkness which spread over Germany after the devastating war, here and there only some gleam of light, in the shape of such rough and ready Protestantism as that of the women of Lowenberg, we can trace the tender care of God in leading on " the quiet in the land " to a deeper and fuller knowledge, not of His truth only, but of His heart.

It was something more than Protestantism that the " awakened" had sought and found, and. thus the old wells were unstopped, and the living water sprang up afresh, the same which had revived and refreshed the saints through the dark ages of Roman teaching, and which was needed none the less when Lutheranism and Calvinism had taken the place of Romanism. For from the lack of it had Protestantism at large become a dead letter, a body without a soul, Do we need it less in these our days ?

Chapter 45: The Pilgrims' Hut

(PILGRIM SONG.)

COME, children, on and forward !

With us the Father goes ;

He leads us, and He guards us

Through thousands of our foes

The sweetness and the glory,

The sunlight of His eyes,

Make all the desert places

To glow as Paradise.

Lo ! through the pathless midnight

The fiery pillar leads,

And onward goes the Shepherd

Before the flock He feeds.

Unquestioning, unfearing,

The lambs may follow on,

In quietness and confidence,

Their eyes on Him alone.

Come, children, on and forward !

We journey hand in hand,

And each shall cheer his brother

All through the stranger land.

And hosts of God's high Angels

Beside us walk in white

What wonder if our singing

Make music through the night ?

Come, children, on and forward,

Each hour nearer home !

The pilgrim days speed onward,

And soon the last will come.

All hail ! O golden city !

How near the shining towers !

Fair gleams our Father's palace

That radiant home is ours.

On ! Dare and suffer all things !

Yet but a stretch of road,

Then wondrous words of welcome,

And then the Face of God.

The world, how small and empty !

Our eyes have looked on Him ;

The mighty Sun has risen,

The taper burneth dim.

Far through the depths of Heaven

Our Jesus leads His own—

The Mightiest and the Fairest,

Christ ever, Christ alone.

Led captive by His sweetness,

And dowered with His bliss,

For ever He is ours,

For ever we are His.

—G. TERSTEEGEN,

THE name "Guide of souls," commonly used amongst Mystics and Quietists, had been'—derived originally from Catholicism. A Protestant Mystic would not apply this name more specially to a pastor than to a layman. It was a question of spiritual wisdom and knowledge.

Tersteegen was called so against his will. "I quite approve," he wrote, "of a certain subjection to experienced guides, but this must have its limits; a blind subjection exposes the soul to great danger, of which we have many examples in our days." He did not regard himself as at all qualified for such an office, and refused to own the name when applied to him.

"Alas !" he wrote, " what a living and painful proof it is of the little light, and the wretched condition of God's people in these days, when I see that such a small amount of grace in me (though far more than I deserve) is respected by others, who look up to me, whereas I cannot see that I should be the least missed, if I were no longer down here."

To Frau von der Leyen, who wished to bring her brother to hear him, he wrote: "For God's sake, direct your brother to our beloved Saviour, instead of urging him to come to me. It is distressing to me to the last degree that you have written to him as you have done about me, however good your intention may have been. It is not right to use such expressions of a wretched man, and if you care for me at all, remember that I have enjoined it upon you before God, never to do the like again. I am a poor sinner saved by grace. That is honour enough. But I will willingly remember his soul before the Lord in my imperfect prayers."

"I am not a guide of souls," he wrote again ; "I am much too insignificant for that. At the same time I do not refrain from bearing witness to the truth of that which God has given me, to the grace by which He has saved me ; and I am glad to reach out my hand, when occasion offers, to help another brother onwards, just as one child may do to another child.

" But as to teaching or guiding others, I am far too small. Years ago I should have thought myself far more fitted for it than I do now."

" Yet," writes Goebel, " with what deep and tender heartfelt and burning love did he lead on the souls so precious to him, according to his old rule, ' Narrow outwardly, wide inwardly."

Thus he wrote, in 1731, " Whilst the Lord in His grace has shed abroad in my heart this love to all His people, yet I feel it is incomparably deeper and stronger to the few choice souls who have given themselves up to the Lord Jesus and His service wholly and fully in spirit and in truth. In these saints that are on the earth and these excellent ones is all my delight ; and it is not in poetical exaggeration, but from the bottom of my heart, that I can sing-

"' Oh, how love I, Lord, Thine own !

Those who see but Christ alone,

Oh, how dear are they to me !'

" I do not know what sort of unaccountable being I am. I am myself full of faults and badness, so that I sometimes think I am badness itself. Yet at the same time the perfecting of these precious souls is so very near to my heart, that I believe if any amongst them, who love me, were aware of it, they would turn away from everything else but God, if not for His sake, at least for mine, to gladden and refresh me. They would give themselves up with closed eyes entirely and eternally to Christ alone."

And again he writes : " Shall I for once join you in lamenting ? I know a man who has to carry a thousand crosses belonging to others, and who once grieved himself into an illness because others did not love God as much as he desired, or did not believe and follow that which he knew to be right, till all at once his own foolishness and sinfulness struck him to the heart. He could do nothing then but cast himself and others into the endless depths of the love of God, and end by singing a joyful song of praise,"

Thus he did not spare himself, either in writing or speaking, with the tenderest brotherly love and affection to those who would lend an ear, at the cost of rest of body and mind, and of health and strength.

" What a burden, what fear and sorrow, lie heavily upon me," he said, "when I see God's people walking unfaithfully before Him. It pains me so deeply that I can only fall on my face before God and remain speechless. Oh, if they could but know what it costs me to see them going on so unconcernedly !"

At the same time he was ready to make every allowance for others that could be made. "if I had been in the same circumstances," he wrote on one occasion in reference to the sin and weakness of a friend, "perhaps I should have done far worse."

The preaching of Tersteegen was followed by a great revival, not only at Mülheim, but in the neighbouring towns.

The revival was more properly so-called than many awakenings in the present day to which the word is applied. Not only were many sinners converted, but many converted persons awakened to a deeper sense of their Christian position, and aroused from lukewarmness and worldliness.

This was shown in many ways. As in English history we read of the "family" at Little Gidding, under the rule of Nicholas Farrer, so in Germany were such families formed, and many of " the quiet in the land " found a peaceful retreat in these houses, where they lived in common, and apart from the world.

About the year 1727 two friends of Tersteegen's, a merchant named Otterbeck, and his sister Elsie, gave up their house and garden to a "family" of Christians. This little property lay on high ground between the rivers Ruhr and Wupper, some miles from the nearest town.

Between the house and high road was, and is, a walled garden, with a summer-house. From the back of the house is a beautiful view of hill and valley. All around was peace and stillness ; it was such a Protestant cloister as would have delighted the heart of Father Lodensteyn.

The inmates had each separate rooms, but met together at mealtime, and for prayer and devotional reading, being called together by a bell still hanging as in those days. They called it the " Pilgrims' Hut."

The account of their life, secluded as that of Little Gidding, gives an impression of far greater spiritual communion ; being devoid of ritual and forced times of devotion, perfectly simple, the worship and Bible-reading being but the unrestrained expression of their faith and love.

They were all employed in manual labour, chiefly weaving, their stuffs being sold in Holland by the merchant Otterbeck. The "Pilgrims' Hut" was placed under the special direction of Tersteegen, who, however, did not live there, but paid occasional visits, spending sometimes a few weeks, or even months, in this quiet retreat.

It remained in its old form until the year 1853, when the owner, "a true Tersteegenite," writes Goebel, made it over to the " Brethren " meeting in Elberfeld, by whom it was enlarged—a roomy meeting-hall being added to it. Except a caretaker living on the spot, the other rooms remained unaltered and uninhabited, the " family " life having ceased there since the year i800, though it had been constantly used for devotional meetings by the " Tersteegenites " of neighbouring towns.

It was visited in the year 1888 by one who loves the memory of Terstcegen, and by whom the following description was sent to me, accompanied by some cornflowers from the sweet old garden:

"I walked over to Heiligenhaus and Otterbeck, which adjoin each other, and where Gerhardt Tersteegen laboured much in the work of the Lord. He visited Otterbeck a great deal, and there, sitting by a little window in his bedroom, wrote most of his works. The house remains in perfect preservation, and the bedroom just as it was when he used it—bed, table, and his own chair standing as they did then.

" His little library interested me the most. It consisted of about one hundred books, all of a religious character, mostly in German ; one or two in Dutch, and about the same number in French, being memoirs. I was somewhat surprised to find amongst them Barclay's Apology, and also the life and writings of William Penn, with other Quaker books. All the books were very old, mostly published between 1629 and 1735, and apparently well read. Some very old Bibles, (the earliest printed in Germany), were amongst his little collection.

"His name and memory are still revered, both there and at Mülheim, where they also show the house he inhabited. The country in which he laboured is very rural, with the exception of Mülheim itself, and such large towns as Dusseldorf and Elberfeld. It is not mountainous, but richly-wooded. In the neighbourhood of Mülheim the Ruhr winds about in a most picturesque manner, and from high ground can be traced for miles gleaming in the sun."

Goebel also describes the books in this old library, and the portraits of beloved friends of Tersteegen's which hang in his room—Poiret, Bernieres, and Evertsen. Underneath a print of the crucifixion is written in his own hand-

" Hanging in Thy shame and anguish,

Words of love and grace

Welcome the forgiven felon

To Thy holiest place ;

Guide Thy mother, broken-hearted,

. To a home of rest ;

Comfort him who yestereven

Lay upon Thy breast."

Such was the "Pilgrims' Hut," and such were the old memories attached to it, How much is changed now in these days of restlessness and of many works, we learn to realize in those deserted rooms and the quiet of the ancient garden.

At the same time that the Otterbeck family was formed, the separatists in Wittgenstein and Berleburg, were actively working for the spread of Philadelphian teaching.

In the year 1728 one of them, the learned "Magister" John Haug, began to work at an edition of the Bible, with numerous notes and comments collected from the writings of Mystics. It was completed in fourteen years, in eight volumes.

At the same time a " Philadelphian " magazine was set on foot for circulation in Germany, and a call to united prayer was sent forth from Berleburg. All these movements were under the direction of good Count Casimir, who, though a hopeless invalid, and seldom able to leave his room, was unceasingly active according to his light and knowledge.

The invitation to prayer was addressed to all "who had tasted the sweetness of the word of God, whose ears had been opened, and who had come out from the bondage of fleshly ordinances and human theology."

They were to meet every evening in spirit from five to seven, and whatever their sect or denomination, regard themselves as one body, and pray earnestly that all the awakened should be brought together and become visibly one. There was to be no register of the names of those joining this prayer union. " Should anyone wish to know their names, let them be told that their names are written in the book of life, 'the hidden name which no man knoweth save he who receiveth it.' "

They were to use no forms or ceremonies in this invisible prayer-meeting, but leave the Spirit of God to work freely in them, looking to Him, and hungering for that for which they were led to pray.

One further event of the year 173o was the founding of a Philadelphian society in Elberfeld, near Mülheim.

Much of error and of ignorance were mixed up with all these undertakings. But any longing after God, and any desire for the revival of His work in the fallen Church, could not but be owned by Him ; and the preaching of Tersteegen gathered in many who had been awakened by the labours of Count Casimir and his friends.

Chapter 46: The Saints of Old

THERE it is fair,

Where thousand thousand flames for evermore

In God's high palace glow.

No more they light the dark and misty shore,

As long ago :

They burn, a crown of every radiant stone,

For ever and for ever round the throne,

Christ's diadem.

Eternal lamps that never can be dim,

Fed by the golden oil that flows to them

For ever from the Heart whence flowed the Blood,

They shine with light of every precious gem,

Light of the joy of God.

Passed, pain and sorrow, and all sighs and tears,

All shadows and all stains,

The former things of all the ancient years,

And Christ remains.

All swallowed up in fulness of the joy

Where Jesus is—

For spirit, soul, and body one employ,

To share His bliss.

There do the lips of babes tell forth His ways,

His wonders deep ;

And sweet their song, and innocent their praise,

For they have known but Heaven's unsullied days

And earth's short sleep,

To wake in everlasting gladness there,

Where all is fair.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

SOON after this eventful year, Tersteegen began to write his largest book, The Lives of Holy Souls, This book occupied him for no less than twenty years. It consists of the lives of Mystics, all nominally Catholics, though many of them victims of persecution by the Roman Church.

These lives were compiled from records preserved in convents and ancient libraries, amongst which Tersteegen made diligent research. The object of this hook should he described in his own words.

In the dedication, which is addressed to "The Lord Jesus Christ," he writes, " Thou, Lord, seest my innermost heart. Thou knowest that I have only undertaken this work, in order to set before the souls of men the truths of the inner Christian life, the sure, real, heavenly truths to which these saints of Thine bore witness."

In the preface he writes, " If I am asked, To what purpose is this book ? I answer shortly, For the glory of God, and the building up of the Church of Jesus Christ. I would describe these saints as the work of the great Master, to His glory and praise. If we regard them in reference to ourselves, they are members of the Body of Christ. All that God gave to them, He gave to the whole Body. All that He wrought in them belongs to the Body of Christ ; whether Paul or Apollos, or Cephas, all is yours, and ye are Christ's.

" What is there more needful in our days, than to bring forward the cloud of holy witnesses, who not only in the first days of their conversion turned their backs upon the Egypt of this world, but also journeyed through the great wilderness, and reached at last the blessed rest that remaineth for the people of God, the land of promise, the reality of communion with God; and who bring to us the fruits of that blessed land, to show us its delight, and to assure us of victory. For the land is an exceeding good land ; let us go up at once and possess it, for we are well able to overcome it.

" But in these days how is it that souls stop short after the first days of conviction ? Is it not that they are entangled in outward religious observances and critical learning ? or with an untimely zeal for the conversion of others, with violent zeal against the Babel of outward Churches, with their own peculiar notions or high speculations—each after his own manner ?

" Or they get hold of some mystical language, and admire it, and prattle about it, letting slip the reality which lies beneath. Not to mention those who, having dived into theology, stray away amongst the golden hills of the alchemists.

"And is it not well to turn to look at those who had the reality, true and actual communion with God Himself?

"An objection may be raised to these histories ; namely, ' Why should Roman Catholic persons be chosen as examples ? Are there no examples to be found amongst Protestants ?'

"I reply, Let not our eye be evil because God is good; He regards those who fear Him under every name, and in every nation. If He loved them, should we not love them also ? And if we consider the express testimony of these saints, rendered to the weightiest truths of the gospel, we must admit that they have a full claim to be called evangelical Christians. Their lives are a proof of the hidden ways of God leading on to the perfecting of the saints in Christ.

" Not that God has not also such souls amongst Protestants. He has, praise be to Him, such souls in all Christian sects, though they are few in number, and mostly hidden and unknown. Amongst Catholics, however, the custom of providing spiritual guides has been the means by which these lives have been observed and written down.

"It is commonly believed amongst Protestants, and it is a truth much to be insisted on, that God has a hidden seed in the Roman Church, namely, the Mystics ; that is to say, those who walk in the secret paths of God. And such souls are the salt which preserves the mass from utter corruption.

" How needful is such salt ! It is the main cause of the fall of every Christian denomination, that the truths of the inner life have been neither known, nor believed, nor loved amongst them.

"As regards the ceremonies, and human decrees, and will-worship of the Catholic saints, far be it from me to call that good which God has not called good. But seeing that He loved these saints of His notwithstanding their errors, why should not we love them also ? Who shall condemn these elect of God ? For it is God who justifieth, who is he that condemneth?

" Oh, the lovingkindness of our God ! He saw their hearts and their desires, that they longed after Him, and He stooped down to them in His tenderness and love. If we have better means of grace than they, let us thank God for His goodness.

" The last objection which I have foreseen is this, that by editing and commending such writings and such persons, there may be danger of leading others into popery, and that this is especially dangerous in the present day, when many have again and again been misled and ensnared by popish teaching.

"God knows for what reasons, political or otherwise, these persons have adopted popery. I fear, however, it was not with any desire of living such holy lives as these old saints, for this they could have done without joining the communion of Rome. I fear that few of these proselytes would read such writings or feel attracted to such a life. I leave them to the Lord, but by no manner of means would I commend them.

"Therefore, in order that none may make a bad use of these memoirs, by deriving from them a Rome-ward tendency, I would here remark, that between these unquestionably holy and pious souls and popery, as popery, not only a difference exists, but a contrast.

" It is evident from these records that these souls, inwardly taught and enlightened, not only saw, but witnessed to and practiced, the great foundation truths of the gospel in a way which the doctors and the great mass of papists would neither admit nor tolerate.

"The authorities of the Roman Church (would God it were they only l) have at all times, under various pretexts, blamed, oppressed, and persecuted these souls beloved of God, and living an inner and spiritual life. The lives of Teresa, Fenelon, Madame Guyon, and others, may convince any who read them of the truth of this statement. Though it is true that for other purposes many are found to adorn the graves of the prophets.

"Many of their writings are now prohibited ; and those who approve these writings come also under the ban of Rome. We see, therefore, that they are not the true children of this step-mother. Who then would wish to be received into her arms ?

"Let every one judge for himself whether those who are outside of the Roman Church cannot more freely enjoy and turn to profit, not only the holy Scriptures, but all the gifts and graces which God bestowed upon His saints in the Church of Rome, than can those who remain in her communion under bondage of conscience.

"For not only that which is good, but much that is unprofitable and useless, is forced upon all who are in bondage to Rome ; and nothing that the Roman Church rejects may they so much as look at, unless they wish to experience the rigour of her tyranny.

" Not to mention that love to all the children of God and the true communion of saints are nowhere more difficult to carry out than in the bosom of the Roman Church, which recognizes nothing good which has not grown up within her pale ; and in joining her the proselyte has to condemn and reject everything else.

" This ought to be enough to serve as a beacon to every Christian soul, to deter them from selling their birthright of spiritual freedom, and breaking the holy bond of Christian love.

" Let no one lay the blame upon his position, his place of abode, his necessary business, or any outward thing not contrary to God's will, if he is not living such a life of holiness as these beloved saints ; for although faithfulness to the Lord demands that we should lay aside, not only sin, but every weight and hindrance which would make us slothful and slow in the Lord's service, yet even in this we must not follow our own self-will.

" God exercises His saints in various ways ; the cause which hinders us is to be sought at a greater depth. These histories show us that God's inner working is independent of outward circumstances—we find saints in palaces and deserts, in married life and in cloisters, in the church, in the chamber, in the kitchen, in the streets, in all employments and all places.

" Let none then, however difficult his position, regard himself as debarred from the way of holiness. Have we but God, and the cross of Christ, we have means for becoming altogether holy in our walk and conversation. What dungeon is there that can shut us out from this ? Only let us use the present occasions and means faithfully and truly, taking them from the hand of God, and we shall find Him able to free us from all that is really a hindrance. Let us each one desire to be a saint in his own place and calling, instead of building castles in the air of future holiness.

"I would conclude with the weighty words of the ninth chapter of German Theology (written by a medieval knight), 'Although it is good to ask and learn what good and holy men have done and suffered, and what it was that God worked in them to will and to do, yet is it a hundredfold better that a man should ask and learn how it stands with himself, and what it is that God wills and works in him, and for what purpose God would use him, and from what hold him back.

"'Therefore it is a true saying, No going out is so good as staying at home. For all the works and wonders that God has ever worked, or even will work, as far as they are outside of me, and remain outside, will not make me blessed, but will do so only, so far as they are wrought in me, owned by me, loved by me, experienced and tasted by me. To this end alone may God accompany the writing and reading of this book with His blessing. Amen.'"

It will be seen from these remarks that Tersteegen had no desire to lead men in the direction of Rome ; that, on the contrary, he regarded the power and rule of Rome as opposed to God and the gospel of Christ. He was all the more thankful to find in the midst of so corrupt a communion souls taught by God and saved by the precious blood of Christ. And we must admit that by the grace of God such true saints have been found in all ages, in times of the greatest darkness and ignorance.

We know also that the teaching of God the Holy Ghost can never vary, and that as far as the souls of men have been subject to His teaching, they have alike owned the blessed Person and the glorious work of the Lord Jesus Christ. Though found in a variety of sects, they have been alike in their faith in God, and their love to Him who died for them and rose again. And we can well sympathize with the joy of Tersteegen in finding in the old convent records the expressions of their faith and love.

Thus do we read in his history of Mechthilde of Hackeborn, born in the middle of the thirteenth century, that peace was given to her soul whilst praying to the Lord Jesus that He would intercede for her with the Father. The answer came to her in words spoken of old by Him, not to her, but to God : " Thy fierce wrath goeth over me ; Thy terrors have cut me off." (Ps. 88:16.)

And then to her heart He spoke, saying, " It is I upon whom the wrath of God was poured out. It is I who have reconciled men to God by My blood ; for Me, His only Son, He did not spare, but He delivered Me into the hands of the wicked. And so fully have I borne the judgment and the curse, that whosoever will may find that no wrath remaineth for him."

And when she considered how small was her love to God in return for this unspeakable love, He said to her, " All Mine is thine ; be not afraid." Then did she understand that it was with His love that God the Father was well pleased, and that in Him, not in herself, she was well-pleasing to God.

"It is I," He taught her, "who sing praise to the Father ; and thine imperfect praise is offered up by Me, so that the song is perfect. Even so all desires, all works and prayers of My own beloved ones, I offer up to God the Father ; and, joined to My prayer and praise, they are a sweet incense ascending up to Him.

"And all other prayer, though so fervent as to ring through heaven, would never reach to God. And thus with all hearts and all works that are offered up by Me to God; for the hearts of My own are one with Mine. And all works done by them—all sleeping, eating, drinking—if done in unison of heart with Me, are accepted as perfect with My perfection before God the Father."

And at another time she told the Lord that she desired to bring Him a gift that would be sweet to Him, And He answered her, "Thou canst give Me no gift so dear to Me as a house wherein I may dwell and delight Myself. But this house must have a window out of which I may speak to men, and from whence I may give to them My gifts and treasures."

And she was made to understand that this house was her heart, and this window her mouth, out of which the Lord would give His gifts to all who came to her.

And at another time she asked the Lord if He would Himself give her a gift ; and He answered, "Behold, I give thee Mine eyes, that with them thou mayest see ; and My ears, that with them thou mayest hear and understand; and My mouth, that therewith thou mayest sing and pray and speak ; and My heart, that therewith thou mayest remember Me, and love Me and Mine with Mine own love.

"And in separating thyself from earthly things, thou shalt learn the height of My majesty ; and in stretching forth thy hands in love and pity and tenderness to all, thou shalt learn the breadth of My love ; and in humbling thyself, and sinking thy soul in Me, shalt thou learn the depth that is unfathomable, and drink sweetly of the river of My pleasures."

Thus did Paul say of old, "I live, but no longer I, for Christ liveth in Me."

Let us compare these words with others recorded by Tersteegen, those of the Marquis de Renty, in another land, and four hundred years later. " It is about a fortnight ago that these words were laid upon my heart, ' Seek the fountain of living water.' And whilst I thought upon these words they were clearly explained to me as in a picture. It was as if I followed a great river up to its fountain-head, and there did I see Jesus Christ. "And my soul followed up His course from the beginning of His pilgrim life to the heights of His glory, where He sits on the throne at the right hand of God the Father—-from whence He sent down His Spirit to live and move in His Church, and to quicken the dead souls that are His. I saw that He is the Fountain-head whence the stream of living water flows down, and that it is to Him therefore, to Him only, that we must turn."

"I own," he said later to a friend, " that nothing is pleasant to me, in which I do not find Jesus. If I saw a man working miracles, and found in him nothing of Christ, I should wish to hear no more of him ; and all conversation from which he is absent appears to me an idle waste of mind and time, and a dangerous pitfall for the soul."

Can we not rejoice with Tersteegen to trace this stream of living water through the wasted fields and neglected vineyard of God—the teaching always the same, of the Holy Spirit who testifies of Jesus, and who dwelt in all, however ignorant, who came to God by Him ?

Yet it must, notwithstanding, be admitted that Tersteegen's book is painful to read, and by no means to be recommended as a guide to souls. He did not succeed, even if he attempted it, in taking the precious from the vile, and the accounts of visions, dreams, and delusions with which the histories abound, bring discredit upon all that is of God in the experience of these saints.

Tersteegen said he copied out the histories as he found them in the archives of the convents, considering that truthfulness demanded that he should give them as they were originally written. He probably did not reflect that they had already, in most cases, been altered and re-altered by ignorant priests and monks ; nor did he further reflect that the ignorant and unwary would in many cases retain the evil and folly, and overlook the gems which lay scattered in the mire.

And upon himself the writing of such a book must have had a most hurtful influence. No doubt most of that which is the great defect in his teaching may be traced to it. It may here be observed once for all, that although Tersteegen had a deep sense of the work of Christ for us ; although, in contrast with the older Mystics, he was continually insisting, "If we had no Christ for us, we could have no Christ in us ;" yet the danger is great in blindly following his teaching without testing it in all points by the word of God.

He never clearly saw, that as all our salvation is of the Lord, so also all our holiness and perfection are to be found in Christ, and that it is by fixing our eyes upon Him we are changed into His image ; that in Him we are created unto good works, and that a continual endeavour to bend and shape the old nature into conformity with God—to deaden the flesh instead of reckoning ourselves as dead with Christ, and alive unto God through Him—must end in disastrous failure.

At times, to judge from his hymns, Tersteegen felt, and marvelously experienced, rather than saw this. His teaching will profit us, if we are stirred up by it to the earnest, devoted, whole-hearted love to Christ which filled his soul ; if we learn from it more than our cold hearts are apt to learn of the beauty and glory and love of the Lord Jesus, so that, beholding Him, we may have our eyes blinded by the glory of that light, as Tersteegen's certainly were, to the world in its noonday splendour.

It is not simply the knowledge of the great truths overlooked by Tersteegen that will lead us into a deeper communion with God than was his. On the contrary, the effect of light and knowledge is to puff up and to chill the heart, unless it is by the Spirit of God that we are taught, and as He teaches us, we are humbled in proportion to our light, and warnod in proportion to it also.

Let us take shame to ourselves that our lukewarmness, our worldliness, our self-indulgence, our pride and self-importance, are put to shame by the lives, the longings, the endeavours, however ill-directed, of these old saints of whom Tersteegen tells us ; whose love was deep, but whose light was a flickering flame. Their examples were followed by many Mystics in later times, as far as self-mortification goes, but the object of that self-mortification was, in the case of many, the attainment of a condition in which they could be satisfied with themselves.

The difference between this self-love, and the simple but unenlightened love to Christ of many in the darkest days, can hardly be better exemplified than in the life of a remarkable man, well-known and loved by Tersteegen, who, setting forth with an earnest purpose to acquire holiness by strenuous efforts, found it at last in Christ.

Chapter 47: A Wittgenstein Hermit

OFT say we, we are weak and poor,

But which of us believes

Truth so unwelcome can be true?

And he who knows it grieves.

He only who is naught loves low estate

For who is nothing seeks not to be great.

This nothingness shall be my home :

Lord, something let me never be,

My joy and glory Thou alone,

My all eternally.

Let me pass out of sight, no more to lie,

"Thou only seen and heard, O Lord, in me.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

IT was in 1734 that Tersteegen set forth to visit the "awakened," in the region now———familiar to us, of Schwarzenau and Berleburg. Here he made many new friends, and was two years later invited by a family named Fleischbein, whose acquaintance he had made during his travels, to stay for a time in their house,

The Fleischbein family consisted of an old couple with several children—one a daughter who was married to a pious Baron von Prilschenk, living in the neighbourhood.

Besides parents and children, the household included a " spiritual guide," the friend and teacher of the young Fleischbein, who had made his acquaintance in the woods of Wittgenstein. In this man, Count Charles Hector de Marsay, Tersteegen became deeply interested. His strange history, too long to be given in detail, may serve as a beacon, and latterly as a guiding light, to many in our own time.

Charles de Marsay was the son of a persecuted Huguenot noblemen in the neighbourhood of la Rochelle. This good man died when Charles was an infant. His mother, now a widow, fled with her children from the dragonnade persecution, and took refuge at first in Germany, later in Switzerland.

In Germany, Charles was committed to the care of a couple named Castell, who became his devoted foster-parents. Later on he entered the army, deeply impressed by the Bible teaching and exhortation of the Castells, who were amongst " the quiet in the land." The young soldier set apart several hours in the day for the study of the Bible and of Thomas á. Kempis, and lived a strictly moral life, praying continually at stated hours, and denying himself even needful food and rest.

In consequence he became seriously ill and melancholy, and the more so as he found that his mortifications were labour lost, his evil desires becoming stronger, instead of dying out as he had expected. He therefore owned himself vanquished, and gave himself up to worldly pleasure with an evil conscience which tormented him continually.

At this point a young fellow-soldier, Lieutenant Cordier, wrote to him, sending him the writings of Antoinette Bourignon, and at the same time reproaching him severely for his return to the world. Cordier proposed to his friend that they should both leave the army at once, and live as recluses in some solitary place, taking with them a young field-preacher named Baratier.

Count de Marsay was convinced that Cordier was right. He agreed to go with him and find some lonely forest where they could build a hermitage, but in which direction to go to find such a solitude they knew not.

At this moment de Marsay remembered that his foster-parents had had a son, who, having been originally a barber, had finally married a countess, and that this singular couple were living as hermits in a wood.

On enquiry, the countess proved to be the sister of Count Henry Albert of Berleburg, the same Sophie to whom the Countess Louisa wrote the account of her uncle Rudolf's evil ways. Caste11, the former barber, was, later on, in the service of Count Henry Albert, who had been, as the reader may remember, extremely annoyed at his sisters' unsuitable marriages.

To the hermit Caste11, Count de Marsay sent a message by his foster-parents, asking if he might be allowed a retreat in the woods of Wittgenstein. Having received a warm invitation from Caste11 and the Countess Sophie, the three friends hastened to Wittgenstein, and were much astonished to find so many hermits and hermitesses already peopling the woods. But just a week before their arrival Caste11 had died, and only Sophie remained to welcome them, now a middle-aged lady of forty-six.

They began at once their life of mortification, each one being pledged to make it his object "to break his will, deny himself, and do the will of the other two." They got up each morning at four, and read several chapters in the Bible, Cordier and de Marsay then worked in the fields till seven, whilst Baratier united in himself the offices of housemaid and cook. The cooking was but nominal, for their seven o'clock breakfast consisted only of dry bread. De Marsay then carded wool and knitted, whilst Cordier span. Afterwards Cordier went out to cater for the remaining meals, and de Marsay collected fern and dry leaves, which were to supply beds for the three hermits.

At noon they dined on bread and soup, which varied each week, ringing the changes upon peas, barley, buckwheat, and oatmeal. During dinner Antoinette Bourignon's books were read aloud. Field work and other manual labour lasted till seven, when they supped upon vegetables, either salad, carrots, or radishes, or sometimes water gruel. When Baratier wished to give them a treat, he made milk gruel. They drank only water.

They never spoke except as a necessity, and during their work they were pledged to unbroken meditation and mental prayer. De Marsay confessed later that his meditations were very commonly on the subject of dinner, as he was living in a state of semi-starvation. He therefore determined to demolish the propensity to such unspiritual thoughts by mixing wormwood with his food. On one occasion he yielded to the temptation of eating a potato between meals,

and spent days in self-reproach and repentance, almost in despair, for he "felt that God had given him up to his evil ways." After confessing his sin to his friends he felt relieved, but joy or peace were unknown to him.

He feared he did not know the will of God as exactly as he ought to know it, and betook himself to a shoemaker in the neighbourhood, who was known as an "enthusiast," to ask his advice. The shoemaker wisely advised him rather to go to the Lord for counsel. De Marsay now reproached himself the more for having done the wrong thing in asking human advice; and as a penance, he determined to learn shoemaking from his friend the shoemaker.

But he was now becoming so weak from bad food that work was impossible, and he reproached himself anew for having set his heart too keenly upon shoemaking.

He therefore determined to do nothing but pray, feeling at first a relief and satisfaction in prayer, but by degrees reasoning and arguing with himself, till he found that he was in a labyrinth of confusion.

Meanwhile his two friends had also been making the discovery that their rules and austerities had the effect only of withering and maddening them, and were, in fact, a spiritual treadmill, of which they were becoming heartily weary. Almost unconsciously they began to neglect their regulations ; and before they were aware, they found themselves chatting and joking at all hours. They therefore owned to one another they had been aiming at impossibilities, and now their days were spent in uproarious mirth. They laughed and sang, played games and played tricks, like riotous schoolboys.

De Marsay sometimes had a moment of terror and remorse when he realized the downfall of his endeavours after holiness. A spark of life seems to have been glimmering in his soul all the while, but he felt himself in the power of his now ungodly friends. He determined to give himself up into the hands of God, and betook himself to the reading of Madame Guyon and of Gottfried Arnold.

Cordier, however, was awakened to a sense of his folly by the reproaches of his conscience soon after, and betook himself to a stricter life than before. He left his two friends to live alone, and to give himself up to unlimited mortifications. But, alas ! for his best endeavour—those best endeavours of which so many talk, but to which so few betake themselves with the zeal of Cordier.

Near his new abode there lived a hermitess. Cordier admired her holiness and devotion, and very shortly after married her, and gave himself up thenceforth to a life of luxury and self-indulgence, together with his wife. As a salve to his conscience, he determined to take her on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. They stopped short, however, at Damascus, and after a while returned to the neighbourhood of Wittgenstein—Cordier having become a freethinker, proud, profane, and notoriously foolish. He sank at last into atheism.

De Marsay took alarm at the fate of his friend, and in order to strengthen himself in the ways of godliness, he also married, in his turn, a lady who would, he trusted, be a spiritual helpmeet.

This lady, Clara von Callenberg, was thirteen years older than himself, had led an erratic life, at times of the greatest worldliness ; but latterly, in order to regain peace of mind, she too had become a hermitess, living not alone, but at first in the house of a married hermit, who allowed her a corner in a loft, up to which she climbed each night " like a hen."

Afterwards a lady who inhabited some rooms in one of Count Casimir's castles had taken her in ; and for two years she had lived a quiet life, spinning with an old peasant woman, fetching her own wood out of the forest, and believing herself to be on the way to perfection.

When she married Charles de Marsay their united fortunes amounted to a crown ; but friends having provided them with some small sums, they bought from Cordier the hut, about two miles from Schwarzenau, in which he had lived before his marriage, and for which they paid him twelve crowns. They took possession of this abode on New Year's-day, 1713, bringing all their worldly goods in a wheelbarrow (a proof, says their biographer, that a bed was not amongst their possessions).

Their house was eight feet long. It had no window but a pane of glass stuck into the whitewashed wall. The floor was the bare earth, and the damp so great that the stove had to burn three hours before the room was in any degree warm. Not a creature lived anywhere within two miles, except the widow of a pastor, Frau Gruber, who, with one daughter, inhabited a lonely hut.

Here De Marsay and Clara were so happy, and so lost in "pious meditations," that they merely existed in a passive state without any household cares. In order to save time, which might otherwise be expended on cooking, they lived on bread and butter and drank cold water. This trance-like existence lasted, however, but a short time. Clara's health broke down, as might be expected, and the ecstatic feelings upon which their happiness was built, proved a sandy foundation.

To gain peace of soul they wandered forth, both bitterly disappointed at their failure. De Marsay went on foot to Geneva, hoping to convert his mother. She was also anxious to convert him ; being deeply grieved at his marrying against her expressed wishes without visible means of subsistence. She regarded him as a fanatic, and almost as a lunatic.

After ten days spent in fruitless arguments, De Marsay returned to his hut with a fresh project in hand. Clara, who had wandered about during his seven weeks' absence, and who now returned to him, was enthusiastic as to the new plan.

De Marsay was to start on an evangelistic walking tour all over the world, dressed in poor apparel, to be like the apostles. Clara was quite ready to walk all over the world also. But Baratier interposed, and assured his friend it was a suggestion of Satan acting upon his natural pride and self-will. De Marsay was struck with remorse, and spent months in self-reproach and humiliation. He came to the conclusion he had never been converted at all.

Next year the widow's daughter married a pastor, and the De Marsays left their hut to live with Frau Gruber in her solitude. The good lady, who was of a commanding nature, ruled her guests with a rod of iron. She kept them hard at work in the hut and in the field ; and De Marsay was glad of such a hard discipline to break the self-will and pride over which he had been lamenting.

Frau Gruber fed them only on pulse, goat's milk, and coarse black bread. Sometimes for a treat she gave them a cake of black corn. Meat was never seen in her establishment. In spring they were allowed boiled nettles and dandelion leaves ; and in summer there were a few vegetables in the little garden, and wild strawberries in the wood.

After awhile another married daughter proposed to live in the hut, and the widow left it. The De Marsays were now free to start on a fresh stretch of their zigzag course. Count Charles betook himself to nursing the sick for a short time. Then, on receiving thirty crowns as a present from his mother, he was again seized with a fervent desire for her conversion, and he and his wife set off together on foot to tramp to Geneva.

The result was the same as on the former occasion; but this time Charles was persuaded to stay for a time in Switzerland amongst Christian friends of his mother's. These good people were much edified by the spiritual conversation of this pair of anchorites, and gave them credit for much more wisdom and knowledge than they possessed. In consequence the heads of both Charles de Marsay and his wife were fairly turned, and they became intoxicated with the praise and adulation bestowed upon them.

During this time one of their Swiss friends gave them the books of Madame Guyon, of whom they became at once fervent disciples. The writings of Antoinette Bourignon now seemed to them something which they had quite outgrown—she was, they said, with unconscious profanity, but the John the Baptist who preceded Madame Guyon.

As on former occasions, their joyful experiences were followed by a time of remorse and repentance. When they had returned to their hut in the forest, they had their eyes opened, they said, to a long array of faults and delusions in which they had been indulging in Switzerland. They therefore reproached themselves unsparingly, and did penance actually and literally in sackcloth and ashes. They resolved to mortify themselves for their pride and vanity by living on bread sprinkled with hot water, and a little butter. They gave away all the money which had been given to Charles by his mother and brother, and also their under linen, and every pot and pan, or cup or plate, which were not absolutely indispensable. They sold their hut to a weaver, and bought a little room near the castle of the Countess Hedwig Sophie, chiefly because it was on damp and unhealthy soil.

Very soon Charles de Marsay repented bitterly of this fit of self-abnegation. He saw that to reduce himself to beggary, and to live upon alms, was to take the alms from the poor who had no rich relations as he had to supply their wants. He and his wife, therefore, set forth again to visit their relations, borrowing money for their respective journeys. Charles went to his brother, who was staying at Paris; Clara to her brother, near Cassel. Charles hoped to find Madame Guyon at Blois, on his way to Paris, but she had died just before he started.

Bearing in mind how on former occasions he had been accustomed to treat his relations with bearish rudeness, by way of expressing that lie regarded them as unconverted heathens, he determined to atone for his past spiritual pride by a display of supernatural humility. His brother was astonished at the excess of his amiability. Charles was ready to go with him to preaching and to the communion, and each time he expressed his sense of unworthiness, and his conviction that none were so unfit as he to be received at the Lord's-table. Yet all this time his conscience reproached him for overdoing his voluntary humility.

His brother invited him, with his wife, to take up their abode near him in Switzerland, in the town of Vevey, and promised him a yearly pension. The Swiss friends who had so admired and flattered him on the former occasion, were now much altered. Their zeal and devotedness had been a hero-worship of favourite pastors and preachers. Now they had all cooled down. Some had returned to the world, some had become freethinkers. De Marsay felt very much bewildered amongst them, and as far as his light went, he warned and exhorted them.

At the same time, now that he had a fixed income, he became anxious and careful, as he had never been when he was penniless, lest he should not be able to provide for his needs, Both he and his wife wished themselves back in the woods of Schwarzenau, and thither they returned. They did not like to turn out the weaver who was installed in their one room, and therefore built for themselves a new and tolerably comfortable house.

Happily they had just escaped, by their absence in Switzerland, an invasion of the " Inspired," who had paid a flying visit to Schwarzenau. Had they fallen in the way of prophets and prophetesses, their history might have become even less commonplace than it now appears to us,

Chapter 48: More Turns in the Zigzag

WHERE is the school for each and all,

Where men become as children small,

And little ones are great ?

Where love is all the task and rule,

The fee our all, and all at school

Small, poor, of low estate?

Where to unlearn all things I learn ;

From self and from all others turn,

One Master hear and see?

I learn and do one thing alone,

And wholly give myself to One

Who gives Himself to me.

My task, possessing naught, to give ;

No life to have, and yet to live—

And ever losing, gain ;

To follow, knowing not the way ;

If He shall call, to answer, "Yea—

All hail all shame and pain!"

Where silent in His Holy Place

I look enraptured on His Face

In glory undefiled ;

And know the Heaven of His kiss,

The doing nought, the simple bliss

Of being but a child.

Where find the school, to men unknown,

Where time and place are past and gone,

The hour is ever Now?

O soul, thou needest ask no more ;

God tells thee of His open door

Still—hearken thou.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

As usual, they began this fresh chapter in their lives by a season of penance for the faults committed at Paris, at Cassel, and at Vevey.

For the first time Charles reproached himself for the fault of disobedience to his mother, and disregard of her wishes. He wrote her a deeply penitent letter, and promised that henceforth her will should be law to him, always supposing it did not interfere with his duty to God. This return to natural affection was followed by a return in some measure to natural good sense. The consciences of Charles and Clara no longer reproached them when they drank tea, coffee, or wine, and they ate meat daily at dinner. Charles also made the discovery that some regular and steady employment would be useful and profitable to him. He betook himself to a Swiss watchmaker, on a visit at Schwarzenau, whcm he describes as " an Israelite indeed, in whom there was no guile." He asked this man, whose name was Koch, to teach him watchmaking. He in return read aloud to Koch the books of Madame Guyon and of other Mystics.

Seven peaceful years followed, Meanwhile Clara's health suffered much from the bleak climate of Christianseck ; and in the year 1724, the death of Count Henry Albert was followed by bitter persecutions of the "awakened," Count Augustus having succeeded his brother, who left no son. The wanderings of Charles and Clara began afresh.

They passed some time in Switzerland, where the enthusiasm of their early friends had quite died out. Charles, notwithstanding his resolutions, did not find himself of one mind with his mother, and their travels ended by a return to Wittgenstein, Count Casimir of Berleburg having invited them to stay with him.

Count Casimir, though a humble, practical Christian, was not altogether the best friend for Charles de Marsay. " He was," writes Goebel, "above everything, a whole-hearted Christian, in the truest and best sense, a shining example for his own and after-times." We have a pleasant picture of him, always an invalid, but bright and cheerful, spending quiet hours morning and evening in prayer, and after his morning prayer, in private praying with his household. Each morning, at family prayers, one of the parents, elder children, or friends read aloud from the word of God, or sometimes read portions from Tauler, Arndt, Fenelon, Francke, or from Mrs. Leade's or Madame Guyon's books. From these books the Count copied out with his own hands notes for the Berleburger Bible.

From the year 1714 he kept a daily journal of his inner life, "showing," writes Goebel, "the deepest work of the Holy Ghost in his soul." But this journal also explains in what manner he may have rather hindered than helped Charles de Marsay. He carefully noted the smallest unfaithfulness to God in his family life, or in the management of his affairs, severely blaming himself for his sins of thought, word, and deed.

"I went with my dear mother and wife," he writes, " to spend some days at Schwarzenau. I found there many reminiscences of my pious ancestors, who served God in their day in thorough renunciation of the world, in chastisement of their flesh, and in seclusion and separation. And I saw the same thing in the huts and chambers of many of the inmates at the present time, whose hearts I will not judge, but rather believe in their sincerity, for God alone trieth the hearts and reins. It stirred me up to long for more zeal and earnestness in following Jesus, in renouncing the world, and crucifying my affections and lusts."

In the same way he reproached himself for his natural love of splendour and display, which ill-accorded, he said, with the recluse life of a strict and decided Christian. " Lord, give me courage," he wrote, "to overcome myself, and to give up boldly and gladly all that chains me to the earth or conforms me to the world. Let me do it in spite of all inconvenience, mockery, contempt, persecution, or suffering, casting away as dung and dross all that hinders me. Show me of what I should rid myself, either superfluous servants, or carriages, or horses, or plate, or books, music, weapons, equipages, pictures, carvings, furniture, or houses. Be the temptation and excuse ever so subtle, show me what I should discard through Thy gracious power granted to me."

He deeply reproached himself when, on the occasion of a shooting-party, a girl in the forest was shot by accident. "This blood is at my door," he wrote ; and never again would he join in sport of any kind.

He was a strict member of the Reformed Church, but allowed a Lutheran service to be held in the castle for the sake of his second wife, who was a Lutheran. He was present on one occasion when she was making her confession to the Lutheran pastor Struensee, who gave her absolution. Count Casimir looked on with a humble respect for the convictions of his wife, and wrote in his journal, "And though Herr Struensee did not pronounce over me the forgiveness of my sins, or lay his hands upon me, I feel sure that my dear Saviour laid His gracious hands upon my head, and forgave me all my sins."

All the household of the good Count was under strict rule—no gambling, or drinking, or desecration of the Lord's-day—and regular conferences of the Reformed preachers were held in the castle, to determine cases of Church discipline. Any sins committed in the neighbourhood lay heavily on the conscience of the Count, who reproached himself on these occasions for possible neglect of duty in the government of his territory.

On the occasion of a yearly fair he wrote, "O Thou loving and tender Lord Jesus, forgive the many sins which have been displeasing to Thee amongst this multitude gathered together, and lay them not to my charge. If I have failed in my office, either unconsciously or through negligence, blot Thou out my sin, and forgive me in Thy lovingkindness."

He was careful to fill every important post in his household with godly persons, whose faults and troublesome ways he would bear with the greatest gentleness, as long as it was possible ; but he allowed none to come between himself and his peasants, whose causes he always attended to in person.

It will be perceived, from this description, that Count Casimir, in the excess of his humility, would remain blind to the errors and delusions of the De Marsays. In all matters upon which they differed, he would rather reproach himself for being less spiritual and less devoted. He collected friends and neighbours to hear De Marsay preach and exhort, and in the lowliness of his mind he gladly esteemed his visitors as far better than himself.

To relate the various turns and windings in the course of the De Marsays after the year 1724 would be wearisome, especially as in their case history was continually repeating itself. De Marsay repented of his preaching and teaching, as being an " outside work." He returned again to his solitude, resolved to go to Pennsylvania, and bury himself in the forests, though his mother entirely refused her consent. Of this project he repented, however, before starting, although Clara assured him that if he gave it up she would go alone. She, however, was persuaded to remain, and at that moment Count Zinzendorf, who hoped to form the Pietists of Wittgenstein into a Moravian community, arrived on a visit to Count Casimir.

Count Zinzendorf's plans were entirely unsuccessful, but De Marsay attached himself warmly to this new teacher, whilst Clara took a great aversion to him. The tables, however, were soon turned. Clara became, after a short time, a wildly enthusiastic Moravian. Count Zinzendorf was her prophet and apostle, and she severely blamed her husband for his coldness and want of energy in carrying out the Count's plans. She felt herself awakened to be a prophetess of the Herrnhuth community. She spoke and taught incessantly, and resolved at last, when Count Zinzendorf had left, to follow him alone to Herrnhuth.

This journey was prevented by her serious illness, brought on by constant excitement. Charles prayed at her bedside that her eyes might be opened to her folly. And now they both confessed their sin in having allowed Zinzendorf to gain such power over their hearts and minds. Clara saw herself to be " the most detestable and polluted of all creatures, unworthy to be received into any Christian community." She said she had given to Zinzendorf a place in her heart which belonged only to the Lord Jesus. Her husband could scarcely prevent her from doing open penance for the sin with which she reproached herself.

They now both regarded Zinzendorf as a dangerous enemy to the gospel, as "the haughty Sennacherib who led Israel captive ; " and they were confirmed in this unfavourable judgment by a letter from the Count's own sister, a "pious woman," addressed to the Countess Sophie, in which Zinzendorf was described as Nebuchadnezzar, and as a forerunner of the antichrist.

As many in Wittgenstein were still warmly attached to Zinzendorf, many disputes arose between his friends and his opponents. De Marsay withdrew from all alike, and stood apart, reproaching himself, and considering himself unfit for spiritual work, or for fellowship with any other Christians.

At this moment the young Fleischbein, who had been recently converted, brought a watch from his sister, the Baroness Prüschenk, to be repaired by De Marsay. The baroness wished by this means to introduce her brother to De Marsay, for whom she had a great respect. The acquaintance thus begun, young Fleischbein became so deeply attached to De Marsay, that he proposed after awhile to leave his parents and take up his abode with him. De Marsay would not consent to this. The Fleischbein family therefore invited the De Marsays to form part of their household, and Charles was installed as "spiritual guide," whether he would or no, to the whole party.

He deeply felt his unfitness for such a post, for his own devious course was an evident proof to him that he needed a guide for himself. But he remembered how God had once used the jawbone of a dead ass in order to prove that the work which He carries on in the souls of His chosen people is His own work, and therefore good and true.

Encouraged by this thought, he cast himself on the Lord. And now it seemed to him that he was "like a man who had been led blindfold for many years on a very long journey through unknown lands, and having his eyes at last unbound, was lost in wonder to see all the ways by which he had been led, and all the long journeys which he had taken, not knowing the way he was going."

It seems to be at this time that Tersteegen, who Carrie to visit the Fleischbein family at their house at Hayn, first made the acquaintance of De Marsay. The Hayn household won the heart of Tersteegen. They were a simple, pious family, of whom it had been said, " The castles of the nobles were formerly called ravens' nests " (in the old days of the robber counts) "but Hayn appears to be a dove's nest."

" Some doves though have strange feathers," said Clara de Marsay when she heard this remark.

Clara was perhaps a trying inmate even to a dove ; but, with Charles de Marsay, Tersteegen said he felt much sympathy ; and as regards self-denial, inward prayer, and the following of Christ, he was of one mind with him. "But God," he said, "is leading this dear man, as time goes on, in ways by which he must be brought to the end of himself."

During the five years in which Charles de Marsay filled the post of spiritual guide at Hayn he did, no doubt, learn more of God ; and, perhaps guided by those whom he had undertaken to guide, he was led to look to God, rather than to his own laborious efforts, for the power to walk in holiness and righteouness.

At the end of these five years it seemed to him that the Fleischbein family also, would do well to depend more entirely upon God for guidance, and he returned with Clara to the hut at Schwarzenau. The Fleischbeins implored him to come back to them. He had scarcely done so when old Herr Fleischbein died, and shortly after Clara de Marsay, after a terribly painful illness of seven weeks. She bore her sufferings with wonderful patience and submission, knowing from the first there was no hope of relief but by death.

Charles forgot his own sorrow when he saw her at last released from pain. "I am glad the dear child is dead," he said. Week, a friend of Tersteegen's, says of Clara that "she was a dear, childlike soul, with much grace, and almost always carrying a heavy cross. During her last years at Hayn she passed through much spiritual suffering ; and in this darkness and desolation she gave herself up to God, only desiring to be conformed to the image of Christ." "She had a double nobility, of birth, and of mind," said another.

We may remember her as one who, with a sincere desire to please and serve God, consigned herself to constant gloom and sadness, by seeking in herself for that which was only to be found in Christ.

Charles returned alone to Schwarzenau, and lodged in the house of a pious widow named Pratorius. He felt alone, and very sorrowful, for the children of the old Pietists, who were taking the place of their parents, were very unlike them in their ways and thoughts, and the good old times seemed past and gone, as Clara was, and the beloved old Countess Hedwig Sophie, who died in 1738, and good Count Casimir, who had died in 1741.

Charles wished to find another home, but he lingered on, till one morning he found that the house of the widow Pratorius had been visited by burglars, and the property of the widow, as well as his own, had been carried off. That very day the brother of Frau Pratorius sent his carriage to fetch his sister and Charles ; for he had been taken suddenly ill, and was for a time in great danger.

After this visit Charles moved about from place to place with the widow, her daughter, and her sister, visiting sometimes the baths of Pyrmont. Six years passed by. Charles de Marsay was now growing old ; his long years of earnest toil, and of many works, and many bitter self-reproaches, had left him weary and sad, and all was dark to him ; for he had laboured in vain, and found himself now, in his old age, no further than when he first began his round of fruitless endeavours.

At this time he met at the baths of Pyrmont three Lutheran pastors, well known amongst the Pietists. These pastors held meetings, or conventicles, at which several of Charles' relations had been converted. Charles attached himself to these good men, and to their Pietist friends at Pyrmont. And for the first time, when talking with them, Christ shone forth into his heart, and his eyes were opened to see the face which had been hidden from him by the thick mist of his own righteousness and his own religion. He looked at Christ, as the dying Israelite to the serpent that was lifted up. He saw the blessed work done for him fully and completely—he saw himself accepted according to the value of that glorious Saviour, and that precious blood ; and perfect peace came at last to the heart which had so truly desired to follow Christ, but had so little known the Christ of God. All this while had Charles de Marsay walked in the way that was right in his own eyes, and had found it the way of darkness.

Where had Christ been in all those toilsome days and dreary penances ?

Where had Christ been in those long strivings after holiness and unbroken prayer ?

He saw that all had been the fitful religion of the natural mind, sometimes a trance of ecstasy, sometimes, more often, a wearisome plodding along a hard and winding road. And now he had ceased from his own works, and entered in thankful faith into the rest of God.

"For me," he said to his friend Koch, the watchmaker, "is henceforth but one retreat, the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the free favour won by Him for me, which I take thankfully, and am at peace. And now, according to the gospel teaching of our Church, the old beaten track, all my hope of salvation is in Jesus only, and through His precious work alone do I draw near to God, notwithstanding that all the more I find in myself nothing but sin and weakness, nothing in myself, but all in Christ."

In the year 1753 Frau Pratorius died ; and in 1755 Charles de Marsay, who was then living with one of his converted nephews, felt his end draw near. He sent for his friends, and told them that his last wish for them was, " that they should trust themselves in stillness and humbleness of heart, in living faith, to the eternal redemption and reconciliation wrought out by Jesus Christ, therein resting, enduring, and dying."

To his nephew, Major von Bottiger, he said, "I bathe myself in the depths of joy, knowing that I shall soon be in possession of that for which, through the grace of our Saviour, I have waited and longed."

Thus died Charles de Marsay, of whom it could be said in his last days, that he lived no longer, but Christ lived in him. His bitter self-denial, his marvelous earnestness, his voluntary humility, had landed him in darkness and despair. He had perhaps despised that which he called doctrine, in order to devote himself to practice. He found at last that the old doctrine, taught in the old words, was but the revelation of a marvelous fact, the fact that God Himself, become man in His infinite love, had borne the judgment of sin, and had opened heaven, not to the righteous, but to sinners, and had brought out from thence to them, the righteousness they could not bring to Him, and the life and power which should transform them even down here in their mortal bodies into saints set apart for God.

He had learnt that the only practice pleasing to God is to walk even as Jesus walked, and that it is only the life which is in Him that can thus act and move and speak in the members of His body. And that it is from the Rock, smitten by God, that this water of life flows into the dry and thirsty soul, who comes at last from the broken cisterns of human endeavour to the living fountain, full and fresh, flowing from "the great depths " of the heart of God. "He clave the rocks in the wilderness, and gave them to drink out of the great depths" of His unfathomable love. (Psalm 78:15, 16.)

Chapter 49: Wayfaring Life in the Rhine Provinces

THE travels of Tersteegen now took up a great part of his time. " In journeyings often " included in those days much of the " weariness and painfulness " of which Paul the apostle speaks.

Neither roads, vehicles, nor inns were much improved since the time when William Penn journeyed through Northern Germany and the Rhine provinces. " We travelled two hundred miles," he wrote, " in three days and nights without lying down or sleeping, otherwise than in the waggon, which was only covered with an old ragged sheet."

Many years later, in 1768, an Englishman travelled through the very country so often traversed by Tersteegen on his missionary journeys. A short account of the Englishman's experiences may give us some idea of what these journeys must have been to a man so inured to a quiet life, and so constantly ill and suffering, as Gerhardt Tersteegen. Nor had he, as the English traveler had, a long purse, which in some measure supplied the deficiencies of the journey. Nor could he choose his road ; for where there was a call he went, and found no place for rest, being everywhere surrounded as soon as he arrived by those who desired to talk with him, or to collect a meeting at which he should preach.

Let us hear the tale of the Englishman, and then picture to ourselves Tersteegen, thirty years before, travelling over the same country.

The Englishman on arriving at Cologne had such a description of the roads and inns he might expect to find between that place and Osnabruck, that he bought a chaise, roomy enough to be well stocked with provisions. He also took the precaution of stowing away in his chaise sheets, pillows, and a mattress and counterpane. He sent on his chaise to Duisburg, whither he himself went by water. At Duisburg he was assured that no better fare would be found at any inn between that town and Osnabruck than a slice of bacon and a piece of black barley-bread. He therefore laid in a stock of bread, cold fowls, ham, beef, and half a dozen bottles of wine.

"The first night," he says, "I stopped at a house here called an inn, but which was in reality a small farmhouse, standing alone in the fields. I arrived at this mansion about five in the afternoon, and immediately took a survey of the premises. What I had taken for a house I found to be no more than a large barn, which served for parlour, kitchen, bedchamber, stable, cowhouse, and hog-stye. A man very readily came out, and unharnessing the horses, conducted them to a rack and manger, but nobody took the least notice of myself."

The poor Englishman stood dismayed. Meanwhile his servant went to the landlord, who was working in the fields, to ask for some separate room or shed in which his master might sleep. The landlord however replied, his master must do as other travelers did at his inn, or he might, if he pleased, go seek a better. It was evident the room which was destined to so many uses was the only one.

"We fixed," reports poor John Bull, " upon a part of it, the least offensive from unsavoury smells, and spreading a napkin on the ground, began to devour a part of the provisions we had brought. One table, which was the ground, served both master and man, and served us also for chairs,"

A couple of fowls, a piece of beef, and some slices of ham had disappeared, when the landlord came forward and offered an addition to the repast in the shape of dried tongues and brandy. John Bull and his man continued to devour several tongues, and a piece of hung beef, in addition to their first course. Their host meanwhile kept them company by drinking the brandy, during which process he described to them his farming operations, especially recommending to them the fattening of hogs upon baked potatoes.

The servant then went out to collect fern, of which he made a layer on the ground in the cleanest spot he could find in the one apartment. Over this he placed a layer of straw, then the mattress. John Bull would have slept sweetly, despite his ample supper, had he not been nervous lest one of the seven oxen, ranged to their racks within three feet of him, should break his halter, and invade the space allotted to the bed. On the other side was a cow, and a large sow with a litter of pigs. But the near neighbourhood of these quadrupeds was preferable to that of the landlord, his wife, and family, the post-boy, and a labourer, who were crowded at the other end of the room. " The animals," thought John Bull, "are the cleanest, and the least unsavoury."

Another traveler had arrived, who preferred human companionship. Our traveler writes, "In the middle of the night, having fallen comfortably asleep, I was suddenly awaked with a great weight dropping at once upon me. I supposed it was nothing less than my friend the ox, and directly belaboured his bones with a large cane ; immediately a voice, not less sonorous than that of the ox, resounded through the apartment, and all was in confusion, oxen and cows bellowing, the sows grunting„ the horses neighing, the pigs squeaking, the women shrieking, the landlord cursing and swearing." Nor was the discord quieted till the case was explained by the wounded traveler, who, having found his companions undesirable, had wandered to the other end of the room, and taken refuge upon the inviting mattress.

John Bull found it best after this to picnic by the roadsides, and spread his mattress wherever he could find a promising spot. Sometimes he slept in his chaise, and when golden opportunities offered themselves, he replenished his stock of provisions. He appears to have led this gipsy life perforce, till he reached Hamburg, where he procured a good bed and tolerable fare for a guinea and a half a day.

Such was wayfaring life in the Rhine provinces in the last year of the life of Tersteegen. We have to imagine it from thirty to forty years earlier. Amongst other places Tersteegen visited, in 1737, Count Casimir in his castle of Berleburg, and the good old Countess Hedwig Sophie, who died in the following year. At the desire of Tersteegen, the Countess put up a simple monument on the tomb of Ernest von Hochmann, so dear to them both. Many other friends delighted in Tersteegen's visits, so that we may hope that his experience of German inns was only an occasional dark page in his history. Many hospitable houses, great and small, were open to him, and his many letters still preserved are a proof to us of the great number of his friends.

Thus, between preaching, travelling, writing, and doctoring his patients, the time was amply filled up till the year 1740. In that year, by order of the government, all conventicles were forbidden in the territories of Cleve, Mark, and Meurs, and this order was renewed two years later by Frederick II. of Prussia. The extravagances, and abandoned lives of some who classed themselves amongst the "awakened," were the main cause of this interference on the part of the government. But it was not amongst those taught by Hoffmann and Tersteegen that these sins and follies had sprung up. It was scarcely to be expected that those in authority should distinguish between wild fanatics and other separatists from the Established Churches. The evil was laid at the door of all conventicles alike, and the preaching was stopped for ten long years.

During this time Tersteegen had more time for teaching from house to house, and for writing books and letters. By this means his work continued without interruption, and more were reached than could have been brought within the sound of his preaching.

His special mission was one which needed times of quiet and solitude. For the message with which he was entrusted was given to him in those still hours when alone with God. It was the message of God to His beloved people, to whom the most precious and glorious truths of His Word had become a dead letter ; to whom His inner sanctuary was a strange place ; to whom the depths of His heart were as a land unexplored, or rather unknown.

As Protestants, they had been taught to retain the great truths still held by Catholic Christians ; and in addition, the way of salvation by the blood of Jesus, had been taught them even in their catechisms and formularies. They had been taught that moral lives and good works were to be looked for in those who were born again. And beyond this, all thought of the supernatural intercourse of the soul with God, of the fulness of joy that is in His presence, a blessedness, not future only, but present, was spoken of as "enthusiasm," or "fanaticism," or "mysticism." Any name would serve the purpose, if vague enough to mean some indescribable folly.

It is true that the extraordinary and disgraceful follies of the vile and the mad fanatics who had crept in amongst the Pietists gave ample ground for all accusations of their enemies. And according to the common custom described in German talk as emptying out the child with the bath, all the highest and most sacred privileges of the children of God, all thoughts of actual intercourse with Him, and of spiritual sight and knowledge and joy, were cast away with the dreams and delusions and insane wickedness of the men and women who claimed to be prophets and prophetesses, and to have been set free from all law but that of their evil hearts. Tersteegen came from his hours of intercourse with God to tell that there was a true communion with Him, not for a select few, but for all who believe in Jesus. Let him tell this in his own words.

Chapter 50: The Inner Sanctuary

OFT comes to me a blessed hour,

A wondrous hour and still—

With empty hands I lay me down,

No more to work or will.

An hour when weary thought has ceased,

The eyes are closed in rest ;

And hushed in Heaven's untroubled peace,

I lie upon Thy breast.

Erewhile I reasoned of Thy truth,

I searched with toil and care ;

From morn to night I tilled my field,

And yet my field was bare.

Now, fed with corn from fields of heaven,

The fruit of Hands Divine,

I pray no prayer, for all is given,

The Bread of God is mine.

There lie my books—for all I sought

My heart possesses now ;

The words are sweet that tell Thy love,

The love itself art Thou.

One line I read—and then no more ;

I close the hook to see

No more the symbol and the sign,

But Christ revealed to me.

And thus my worship is, delight ;

My work, to see His Face,

With folded hands and silent lips

Within His Holy place.

Thus oft to busy men I seem

A cumberer of the soil ;

The dreamer of an empty dream,

Whilst others delve and toil.

0 brothers ! in these silent hours

God's miracles are wrought,

He giveth His beloved in sleep

A treasure all unsought.

I sit an infant at Isis feet,

Where moments teach me more

Than all the toil, and all the books

Of all the ages hoar.

I sought the truth, and found but doubt—

I wandered far abroad ;

I hail the truth already found

Within the heart of God.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

AMONGST the souls called by God, most remain at a standstill after the first workings of the Spirit. They are led to repentance, to conviction of sin, and sorrow more or less deep, and are awakened to a sense of the awful danger of the unsaved. They are led to long for the grace of God in Christ, to hunger after forgiveness, and to cease from dead works in the shape of outrageous sins. They are led to betake themselves to a life and walk in some degree pious and outwardly blameless. And they are then apt to think that this is all that is comprised in the scriptural expressions of being converted or born again.

" And when, in addition to all these things, they have from time to time an experience of refreshment, or sweetness, or joy, they remain all the more firmly rooted to the spot to which they have advanced. They imagine that the whole treasure is now theirs—they have passed over the mountain ridge, and have reached the place of communion with God. They then take to themselves the precious promises and titles and privileges which are given to true Christians by God in His word. And here the wheels of their chariot stand still.

"I do not mean to say that this is their plan, or deliberate intention, or determination, as if they had now reached the goal of holiness, and need press forward no longer ; but I mean that their imaginary progress is really standing still, if not going backwards.

" Observe in what their progress usually consists. They are in the practice of reading, hearing, speaking, singing, praying, and such-like exercises, all in themselves useful practices and duties. They consider the truths of God by thinking over them, and trying to get a clear idea of them, or, as people are apt to say, to acquire a fund of knowledge. In such and similar activities they seek to delight themselves and to enjoy themselves. And when they are conscious now and then of a passing feeling of delight, or a good inclination which stirs or moves them, they are glad, and regard it as an edifying experience, and often do not know how to make enough of it. But if such experiences arc wanting they become mournful, as if God had forsaken them, and venture to compare their condition with that of Job, David, or other saints, when passing through deep spiritual troubles.

"I do not know whether the practice and progress of these religious people consist in anything more than I have described ; for as to those faults and sins which remained unaltered after the first change, they still remain in all their former strength. It may be that they sometimes fight against them more or less, but they never overcome them, and therefore acquire a habit of looking at them as ' failures' or infirmities,' from which they can never hope to be free here below.

"If the life and walk of such souls is observed, it will be found that in their religious observances they are tolerably devout ; but as to the rest of their time, and their daily intercourse with others, they are under very little restraint. To be absorbed in making money, and growing rich, they regard as harmless—to talk by the hour about perfectly unprofitable external things, and to mix themselves up needlessly with the world, they regard as a part of Christian liberty. To indulge their senses in seeing, hearing, and tasting, they consider too allowable to be curtailed. As to thoughts, I will not take up that part of the subject, for they are not in the habit of taking any note of them, and without any rhyme or reason they allow them to wander where they will, by the hour, or the day.

"Thus their heart is divided between many objects, though they scarcely may be aware of it. For how little do these well-meaning people care to restrain their pleasures and inclinations, and their love for the external things in which they hope to find amusement, or comfort, or enjoyment ! and how little do they suspect themselves, when they are following their own inclinations and self-will in one way or another under the most plausible excuses ! So that often there is scarcely any mark of distinction left between themselves and the world around them.

"Is not this the truth ? and will not many a one who reads this be constrained by his conscience to answer 'Yes ' ? For is it not plain enough that such souls have never experienced more than the form of godliness, and know nothing of its power in a real overcoming of the world, in them, and outside of them—nothing of its power in delivering them from the sins, the disorderly affections and tempers, the selfishness, the self-seeking, the self-will of the old nature ?

" Is it not plain that they do not yet possess the great privilege of the new covenant ; namely, that God Himself writes His law in their inward parts, so that no longer from fear or the compulsion of an uneasy conscience, but from the love of the inmost heart, from delight, and from the clinging of the heart to God, the soul fulfils His will as one set free to please Him ?

" Such souls, therefore, never attain to a true and settled peace, or to a personal knowledge of God in Christ, and communion with Him. And that which from time to time is spoken or written, of joy, of the blessed satisfaction and delight of the soul in Christ, is to these poor hearts something of which they know little in their own innermost experience. It is to them something they have read about, or of which they have heard other Christians speak. And despite the performance of all their religious duties and observances, their hearts remain sad and unsatisfied, and their consciences ill at ease. And if perchance they find some satisfaction and pleasure in the duties and good works that they perform, it is not a well-founded, nor constant, nor by any means a pure enjoyment.

Very soon the old accusations of the uneasy conscience will again disturb them, after having been silenced or disregarded for a time ; for all the work that is done in such a condition springs for the most part (though they are little aware of it) from their own natural faculties and efforts, which are soon wearied out. They lead, therefore, either to discouragement, or to a high degree of self-satisfaction and self-righteousness ; but they bring little glory to God, and no true and settled peace to the heart."

There were many then, there may be many now, who will own to this portrait of themselves. " And the question," writes Tersteegen, " needs to be answered, How it is that these men and women, who have received light and grace, and who have no desire to deceive themselves, can for a moment suppose that their state is the true Christian state, and one pleasing to God, whilst it is so evident, even to themselves, that it is a miserable and faulty state, a state of universal shortcoming and failure ?"

" The answer," he says, " is to be found in the fact that it is very common for those who are awakened and converted, to form their own ideas of divine truth and of the true Christian state. And having formed their own conception with the best intention of laying hold of the true ideal of Christianity, they are thenceforth limited to their ideal, which is bounded by human wisdom and human thought. For having this fixed conception of their own by which to measure all they may afterwards hear and meet with, they consider all that goes beyond it to be false, and therefore to be rejected ; and they remain sitting firmly in the place they have taken, though it must necessarily, as it is according to human thoughts, be a condition of weakness and of imperfection.

"And they never arrive at a thorough knowledge of their inward corruption and their hidden self-love, nor of the perfect, holy, secluded, hidden life in Christ which is the life of the new creature. Nor do they know the power of the Spirit of Christ working in His own members, and bringing forth in them the outward life of holiness to God. For all these things are taught to the soul by God, and would never have entered into the thoughts of man ; and they have limited themselves to their own thoughts and conceptions, and are, thus to speak, imprisoned in their own ideal.

"And how is it that any are brought out of this prison of their own building ?

" It may happen," writes Tersteegen, " to some suddenly, to others gradually, that all their outward and inward activity and energy, upon which, unconsciously to themselves, their Christianity was mostly built up, become dulled and spent ; their reading, and hearing, and speaking, and praying, come, as it were, to a standstill ; and all they do has to be done with weary toil and force ; and where before they found pleasure and contentment, they find only a dry and barren land, dreary and empty.

"At the same time they become conscious by degrees of an unusual yearning of the soul for stillness and solitude, and for a rest and quietness in which all the natural powers are hushed and silent. And their hearts seem to them to be drawn away into a region where all external things become distasteful, and pass into forgetfulness. And they are drawn sweetly and gently in the hidden power of love, to God Himself, and awaken to a sense of His presence.

" This is the needful point to which I would draw attention ; for when this is reached, the soul gives itself up to God, waiting upon Him in blessed simplicity and stillness. And from all the former distraction, and reasonings and workings of the mind, is it weaned and quieted, and can listen humbly and silently to the inward teaching and counsel of the eternal Wisdom, and is guided into the path of the life hidden with Christ in God. And gradually does the constant dying with Christ to self, and to the power of created things, become the experience of the soul.

"And from thenceforward all the pompous, reasoning, unreal Christianity which gains favour with the world, or exalts us in our own eyes, falls like the withered leaves in autumn, and the soul becomes simple and childlike, and delights in the poor, despised, and hidden path of the cross of Christ. And the suffering and the poverty and the shame of Christ are lovely to such a soul ; and all worldly honour and glory and wealth are suspected and unsought."

And Tersteegen describes further, how the soul now lives in the constant presence of the Beloved, fearing by any idle or hasty word, or wandering thoughts, or anxious cares, or selfish motives, or self-commendation, or rising of temper, to grieve the heart of the divine Guest ; and as He abides in the soul, so does the soul abide in Him, as a creature in the element to which it belongs—as a fish in the water, or a bird in the air.

" Nor is this simply an imagination or a parable, but it is literally true that the soul breathes in divine life and strength from Him in whom it dwells, not only being dead with Christ to the old things that are passed away, but alive with Christ to God, living the life hidden with Christ in Him.

" Yes, hidden ; so that the reason of man perceives nothing of this life—sense knows it not, fleshly eyes see nothing of it—for poverty, contempt, and suffering are three veils that hide it from the world, which knows not and conceives not that the King's daughter, all glorious, is within, veiled from the eyes of men. Therefore the world looks upon all such hidden ones, as a poor, wretched, despised, afflicted people—as a sect everywhere spoken against—foolish, absurd, weak simpletons, making crosses and troubles for themselves, whilst others enjoy life and have a good time.

" Such people were the first Christians in the days of the apostles, such people have a glory and an honour and a blessedness in time and in eternity ; for of them God's word declares it. I will give a few passages regarding them, and let the reader who seeks God consider them well before His face, and esteem it no small thing should he feel his heart drawn with a hidden force, with the drawing of love, to this seclusion and separation, the signal grace and holy calling, the glorious privilege and blessedness which God bestows, now and for ever, on His beloved ones.

"` With Him will I speak mouth to mouth, even apparently, and not in dark speeches; and the similitude of the Lord shall he behold.'

" ' Levi hath no part nor inheritance with his brethren ; the Lord is his inheritance, according as the Lord thy God promised him.'

"` With gladness and rejoicing they shall be brought, they shall enter into the King's palace.'

"` Blessed is the man whom Thou choosest, and causest to approach unto Thee, that he may dwell in Thy courts : we shall be satisfied with the goodness of Thy house, even of Thy holy temple.'

"' 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.'

"'Henceforth I call you not servants, for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth : but I have called you friends, for all things that I have heard of My Father I have made known unto you.'

"'There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars ; for one star differeth from another star in glory. As is the earthy, such are they also that are earthy, and as is the heavenly [man], such are they also that are heavenly.'"

Let it be clearly understood, that when, in the writings of Tersteegen, we find the word "Mysticism,"

it is simply to this communion of the believing soul with God that he applies the name. All other definitions of Mysticism may be laid aside in reading the letter that follows, where it will be observed that he is speaking of a spiritual knowledge of God, learnt not from the old books read in his early years, but from the Bible only, taught to his heart by God the Holy Ghost.

Chapter 51: The Mysticism of the Bible

ALLURED into the desert, with God alone, apart,

There spirit meeteth spirit, there speaketh heart to heart.

Far, far on that untrodden shore, God's secret place I find,

Alone I pass the golden door, the dearest left behind.

There God and I—none other ; O far from men to be !

Nay, midst the crowd and tumult, still Lord, alone with Thee.

Still folded close upon Thy breast, in field, and mart, and street,

Untroubled in that perfect rest, that isolation sweet.

O God, Thou art far other than men have dreamed and taught ;

Unspoken in all language, unpictured in all thought.

Thou God art God—he only learns what that great Name must be,

Whose raptured heart within him burns, because he walks with Thee.

Stilled by that wondrous Presence, that tenderest embrace,

The years of longing over, do we behold Thy face ;

We seek no more than Thou hast given, we ask no vision fair,

Thy precious Blood has opened Heaven, and we have found Thee there.

O weary souls, draw near Him ; to you I can but bring

One drop of that great ocean, one blossom of that spring ;

Sealed with His kiss, my lips are dumb, my soul with awe is still ;

Let Him that is athirst but come, and freely drink his fill.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

" GOD invites us, my dear brother, to the communion of His love. He desires that our spirits should be dwelling-places and temples prepared for Him to inhabit. There, in the inner sanctuary, we may behold Him and adore Him. How great a mercy !

" To be wholly for God, is the true secret of the inner (mystic) life, of which people make to themselves such strange and fearful pictures. And thus do we live, when Christ Himself has become our life. A self-made Christianity, a Christianity of which Christ, living in the inmost soul, is not the source and the life, is not Christianity at all. It is a dead carcass ; an outward form without life and power.

" There is nothing simpler, safer, more lovely, more fruitful, than this life of the innermost heart. It is not reached by reading and effort of the mind, but by dying to all else but God, and is known and experienced by love only. It is, therefore, rather the work of the Spirit of Christ in us, than our own work. This Spirit of love, when we yield ourselves up to Him, pours into us the mind of Jesus Christ, and forms us according to His image, unconsciously to ourselves—leads us ever into a deeper renunciation of all things, and of ourselves, and into an unconditional surrender of ourselves to God.

"God does not require this of us with the severity of the law, but He leads the teachable soul into the mystery of this surrender, and gives to her supernatural longings, so that despite her natural selfishness she delights to do His will, and to follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth.

" It is the chief object of prayer and of a seclusion of heart from outward things, that we should be brought to attend to the guidance of this tender Guide, and be wholly in His power, and according to His will. No human plans or forms can help in this matter—they only hinder. The soul must be as the clay—formless and passive in the hand of the potter.

This Hand of love forms us according to His own heart.

"And thus we are brought into a simplicity of being, entirely unartificial, and into a lowliness of spirit, which is gentle, and devoid of self-will. All our own objects are given up, and God is our object alone. And we are drawn away from the hold which things around us, and our own hearts, have upon us ; for God has become the one only treasure of the soul, wherein He can glorify Himself as He will. Oh, blessed are they who forget their own house ever more and more, and dwell in the house of God ; for in his temple every man speaketh of his honour !

" Let this be our all in all, dear brother, blindly and simply to follow Him who has called us with so holy a calling. This true and inner life is no questionable or new thing. It is the old primeval service of the heart to God ; it is Christian life in its beauty, and its own peculiar form.

" These souls, alive with the inner life, form no special sect. If each one were simply to follow the teaching, and live the life of Christ, the world would be full of such mystics ; that is to say, people who have not only an outward show of Christianity, but also the hidden man of the heart, the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, so precious in the sight of God.

" Were I to say to you, the mysticism I speak of is that hidden wisdom which God makes us to know (1 Cor. 2:7), you would perhaps answer, 'That is not explaining to me what it is.' Were I to say (and this is simply the truth) mysticism is nothing more than Christian blessedness in its highest power, its most divine beauty and fulness, you would perhaps say, 'That sounds well, but you have not yet told me in what it consists.' I will see if I can explain it more clearly.

"Mystics are not a sect. They have, as such, no doctrines which distinguish them from all sound Christians. They are by no means to be classed with 'enthusiasts.'

"The harmless word ' enthusiast ' is nowadays only used in a bad sense. It is used to signify men or women, learned or unlearned, who give themselves out as special instruments or messengers of God, expecting others to receive their ideas and fancies and opinions as something divine, something to be regarded as the word of God itself. But they show plainly enough in their acts that they are not moved by the Spirit of God, but by their own spirits. Such people are most hurtful enthusiasts.

"But to this fraternity those by no means belong who are called by Paul the ' sons of God,' and of whom he says, in Romans viii., that they truly and necessarily have the Spirit of God, who dwells in them, leads them, rules them, and works in them all that is good and holy and blessed—a fact which is proved by the fruit they bear.

" Is it not rightly to be called a pitiable folly, that many theologians, when they enter the lists against their opponents, such as Pelagians, Socinians, &c., make a valiant fight for the necessity of the inner working of the Spirit and grace of God, for this is inseparable from the doctrine they would defend. But when they have actually to do with people who have the real practical experience of this work of the Spirit, they at once assail them as enthusiasts and visionaries.

"Yet they are in the habit of singing out of their hymn books on Sundays-

"' Lord, all good in work or thought

By Thy Spirit must be wrought.'

" Mystics are not people who make a great talk of spirituality. They affect no mysterious, high-flown, dressed-up language, but speak of that which they know in those words taught by the Spirit, which most simply and clearly express their meaning. They speak little, but do and endure much. They deny themselves in all things. They pray without ceasing. Their one only secret is their secret intercourse with God in Christ.

"In a wide sense, one may describe mysticism as practical theology, or the carrying out into practice the blessed life of Christ. In order to this, the grace of God must have transformed the heart, for it is not merely natural morality which is in exercise.

" In a narrower sense, mysticism may be described as that condition of the experimental knowledge of God which Paul, and all mystics who have followed him, have known as `enlightenment.' The apostle prayed specially for believers that the eyes of their understanding might be enlightened. This therefore is something entirely distinct from the first opening of the eyes at conversion.

" Many other things are connected with this blessed life—abiding in Christ, cleaving to the Lord, walking in His presence, worshipping Him in the Spirit and in truth, cleansing ourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit (which is something quite distinct from the first purging of the conscience from dead works), the shedding abroad of the love of God in the heart, a love which casteth out all fear, the anointing which teacheth all things, the beholding the glory of the Lord with unveiled face, the revelation of God to the soul, His dwelling in the soul (which was a promise made to the believing Corinthians), the life of God, when it can be said that the man, the I, lives no longer, but Christ lives in him, the citizenship of heaven, the peace of God which passeth all understanding, the being made perfect in one, and much besides.

"These, and countless other passages, which we find printed in black and white in our Bibles, describe that which I would call mystical theology, of which people make to themselves such alarming pictures.

"It is not, however, the case that even advanced Christians are in practical possession of all these things in the same way, in the same measure and fulness. But accordingly as a vessel is emptied, according to its size and capacity God fills it with the supernatural gift. (Supernatural and mystical are the same thing.) God is very rich, and very ready to give. Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.' But man, alas ! poor as he is, is unwilling to receive.

"After the first fall of the Church from her primeval fervor and purity, there were still always to be found pious and God-seeking men, here and there in Christendom, from whom God, the Saviour of all men, did not withdraw Himself, but did them good, and kept alive the faint flame which warmed their hearts. He accepted graciously the little service they rendered, and answered to their faith and courage as far as it went.

" But they nearly all remained stationary at a certain point. They used what they called the means of grace,' they had a knowledge of the letter rather than of the spirit of the word of God, they performed well-meant religious exercises, and they had from time to time a passing enjoyment, arising rather from natural feeling than from the Spirit. Their teachers knew of nothing better, and therefore desired nothing better.

"Thus the inner life, that which I call mysticism, became rarer, and more unknown, and at last was looked on with suspicion. For shortcoming, and for all spiritual deficiency, a plaster was prepared ; but to look for the working of the Spirit of God, and to leave room for it in the plan of Christian life, was called heresy and enthusiasm. And so has it continued in Christendom up to the present day.

"A mystic takes for granted, to begin with, as the immovable foundation, all the truths of Holy Scripture, especially the work of redemption wrought out by Christ. But he does not therefore assume that we should be continually and only insisting upon this foundation, and praising God for that alone. He is aware that gold and pearls and precious stones should be built upon it. And, therefore, he is unwilling to tolerate the wood, hay, and stubble that take their place.

"At the same time a true mystic can and does, in the right season, speak, read, and hear of the first A B C of Christian truth with unfeigned adoration of heart, and with the deepest reverence. A proud and haughty mystic is a contradiction in terms.

"Finally, I recall with deep sorrow the fact that, in our days, in the case of newly-converted souls, the necessity of advance and pressing forward in holiness of life, is not sufficiently insisted upon ; whereas, the Scripture is so clear and full upon this subject. In the Scripture we find that holiness includes a real and actual cleansing from sin and pollution, in the renewing of the inner man, in a changing from glory to glory after the image of Him who created us, in conformity to Jesus Christ. Let us seek after all these things, praying earnestly, and withdrawing ourselves into the seclusion of the inner sanctuary of communion with God, who is so inexpressibly near to us, who desires, by the power of the resurrection of Christ, by the spirit of holiness, to sanctify us wholly, to work by us, to live and move in us."

It will be seen by this letter that the " Mysticism " of Tersteegen is, in other words, the simple childlike intercourse of the believing soul with God, by no effort of the mind, but by the working of the Holy Spirit. We find nothing of Jacob Behmen, nothing of Mrs. Leade, in this teaching, taken as it is from the Bible only.

And therefore it was a teaching that met the need of those to whom God speaks in His Word—the poor, the sinful, the ignorant, and the simple. The manufacturers of MUlheim, the peasants in the villages, the weavers, the swineherds, learnt from the lips of Tersteegen that there was another life which could be lived by them, not by going apart into some solitary place to see visions and dream dreams, but by entering in at all times into the holiest place, through the blood of Jesus, into the meeting-place of the child with the Father, of the redeemed with the Saviour.

"If we speak of miracles," wrote Tersteegen, "the greatest miracle in the lives of the saints is that which they worked continually, and which we through grace must also work. It is this : They lived in the world ; but were not of the world. They carried about with them a weak and corrupt nature, but at the same time they did not live according to its desires, but, on the contrary, they lived a life above nature, a supernatural life.

" Their best and highest ecstasy was this, that their heart was detached from the enslaving love of the creature and of themselves, to cleave to God alone in pure and fervent love.

" The most glorious revelation granted them was that of which the Lord Jesus speaks in John xiv.: He that loveth Me shall be loved of My Father, and I will love Him, and will manifest Myself to him.' These are miracles, and ecstasies, and revelations which must necessarily belong to each one of us, if we are the children of God, according to the measure of our faith and love."

It was a strange surprise to many a man and woman in the busy little town, when the message came to them that there was a life for them to live here below amongst the sound of factory wheels, and mongst toils and cares, and buying and selling, which was a higher life than the life of the angels in heaven, and a sweeter life than the first life in paradise.

"O man," Terstecgen said, " whoever you are stand still for a moment, and think earnestly of the high dignity for which you were created and sent into the world by God. You were not made for time and for passing things, but for God and eternity, and to have your heart filled with God and with the things eternal.

"You are here for a while that you may seek the blessed face of God, from which sin has turned you away, so that you fix your eyes only on the things below ; whereas if you were turned to Him, you would be filled through and through with light and holiness, and God would have in you His pleasure, His joy, His peace, and His contentment, and you would have yours in Him.

" In this one thing all your gladness and blessedness consist, in time and in eternity, which nothing beside God can give you. The outside things of this world can scarcely bring you any pleasure, even for the short time of your weary life. You have within you an eye that is not satisfied with seeing, a mind that can find no rest except in that which is all-sufficient, and of endless loveliness, and this is in God alone.

"Have you a true desire to find Him, and to see face ? See that you do not hinder yourself by your own endeavours. God is a Spirit, and near to your spirit. You need not seek and wander far abroad, and weary yourself with the reasonings and reflections and questionings of your mind, and the straining of your head ; for by these means you will wander farther from God and the knowledge of His truth.

" God is a Spirit, apart in the seclusion of His holiness from this coarse world, apart from the domains of the senses and of reason. And it is when your spirit, your love, your delight, and all your thoughts are withdrawn from this world, and it is as a strange land to you, that you will see His face, and hear His voice.

"God dwells in eternity. He is evermore the same. To Him there is no before nor after, but an everlasting now. And if you would have communion with Him, avoid all needless looking back and looking forward ; lay down all your questionings and reasonings and cares, and be as an innocent child in His presence, enjoying the blessed moment of the present, leaving it to Him to lead you and to care for you.

" God is a Being with no parts, no limit, beyond all thought and comprehension. He is neither this nor that, but all in one. Therefore, if you would have communion with Him, yield gently up all your this and that, all your own peculiar, limited, childish thoughts and imaginations of Him. Let your reason be taken captive by simple faith, and enter with your spirit into the wide, boundless land of stillness and of peace, with nothing to shape and limit your thoughts of Him, especially when you draw near to Him in prayer.

" God is purity itself, true and clear as the unclouded light. And in fellowship with Him all that is in your heart must be pure and clear and true.

Let the single eye of your heart look straight to God, with no other object besides ; no mixture of self-seeking, and of side aims and purposes; no known or unknown hypocrisy or pretense or show. And should any false or mixed motive rise up involuntarily, bring it honestly and restfully into His presence, and lay it before His face, where it will vanish away ; and let the clear sunlight of His countenance shine down upon all your thoughts and purposes, spread out in simplicity before Him.

" God is a Being, loving, gentle, and tender. He is love. And he who dwells in love dwells in God, and God in him. Therefore, if you would walk with Him, be gentle and tender and full of love in all your works and ways. Let the spirit of the love of Jesus tame and sweeten the rough, oppositious, crabbed tempers of your natural mind, melt down your hardness, and bend your obstinate self-will ; and should any of the bitterness of the old nature rise up, let yourself sink down at once into the deep sea of the gentleness and love of God.

" God is a Being, still, and peaceful, dwelling in the still eternity. Therefore should your mind be as a still, clear mountain tarn, reflecting the glory of God as in a mirror, where the image is unbroken and perfect. Avoid, therefore, all that would needlessly disturb or confuse or stir up your natural mind, from without or from within. Nothing in the whole world is worth being disturbed about. Even the sins you have committed should humble you, but not disturb you. God is in His holy temple. Let all that is in you keep silence before Him—silence of the mouth, silence of all desires and all thoughts, silence of labour and toil. Oh, how precious and how useful is a still and quiet spirit in the eyes of God !

" God is a Being, joyful, satisfied, and blessed. Let your spirit therefore be glad and satisfied. Avoid all anxious cares, all taking of offence, all murmuring and gloominess, which cloud the heart, and make it unfit for intercourse with God. Turn gently away when you perceive any of these things likely to beset you. Let the world and passing things be strange and foreign to your heart ; but let it be at home with God, in the intimacy of love. Be as strict as you will with yourself, and your evil passions and self-love and self-will ; but with God be free as a loving child with a Father, confiding restfully in Him, seeing in Him the Friend of your innermost heart, and imagining in Him nothing but perfect love.

" Let things around you all go to pieces. Let your body bear the cross and pain and weariness. Let your soul be sorrowful and barren. But let the spirit be untouched by all these things, still and glad, dwelling above the clouds and mists of lower things, satisfied and at peace with God within, and His will without.

" I would give you some advice which is important as to all this. First, since outward things and needful business are apt to distract the heart when it is still unpracticed in communion with God, it will be good and useful for you purposely to set apart a little time now and then during the day, when you may shut your eyes to the things that are seen, and shut out from your heart all worldly business, and collect yourself in the presence of God, each one as often as his circumstances will allow.

"And, secondly, above all things bear in mind that all is of grace, and not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth. Therefore we must not imagine that by our own diligent striving and racking of our brains we shall find and see God. Our part in drawing near to God can be only an inward, gentle, still, and peaceful yielding or bending of our will, our love, and our heart, the force being in the working of God, in the hidden drawing of His love, which we must take notice of and follow in simplicity of heart, all our own working being still and silent.

" When we perceive that the Lord would raise us up to Himself, or collect our thoughts, or still us and soothe us ; or when we feel the deep blessedness, the childlike fear, which marks His presence with us, then we should yield ourselves up fearlessly to His mighty working, and be still, and welcome Him, in all simplicity, into the seclusion of our hearts.

" Thou wouldst thus, as time goes on, make the experience that thou hast not only an outward man, with body, senses, and reason, a man belonging to this present time and to outward surroundings ; but an inward man, a spirit of high nobility, whose home and birthplace are in eternity, and having faculties and powers to see and to enjoy God and eternal things, to be satisfied completely, to be at peace in the gladness and the rest of God.

"Thy love, thy heart, all the fervour of thy longings and desires, would at last (and this is the end and purpose of our creation and redemption) be emptied of all else ; and the heavenly delight, the immeasurable God, would be poured out into this measureless vessel, and fill it and possess it.

" To this everlasting love, this all-satisfying Being, thou wouldst cling with all the united powers of thy love and delight, with the tenderness of the innermost heart. As an innocent child embraces his well-beloved mother, and draws her to himself, so wouldst thou embrace the Eternal Love, and be embraced by Him with the blessed embrace of the everlasting arms. With this the bosom Friend of thy soul thou wouldst delight to sit alone, shut into the innermost chamber, the depths of thy heart far, very far, from all outward things, from all beside the Beloved.

" In this sweet solitude thou wouldst be satisfied from thyself (as it is written in Proverbs xiv. 14), because of the nearness of the all-satisfying joy. That is to say, thou wouldst be so perfectly satisfied, and filled and soothed alone with thy God, that thou wouldst not turn to give a moment's glance at all the glory and the riches and the pleasures of heaven or of earth. But filled with the glow of His mighty love, thou wouldst become gentle and loving and tender—thou wouldst thyself be love.

"In the light of God wouldst thou see light, even the truth itself ; and this light would be mirrored in the stillness of thy glad and peaceful soul. Thy face, without shame or fear, would meet the blessed, unveiled face of thy God. His eyes would meet thine eyes in the fulness of the depths of love, God and the soul redeemed rejoicing together in that tenderest embrace. As a little child thou wouldst look into His face with joy, with the unquestioning eyes of innocent love; and His eyes would rest upon thee as the eyes of a tender mother who delights herself in her child ; and thus it is that all the soul is sanctified, and we are changed from glory to glory by beholding Him.

" Thus wouldst thou have thy mind and memory filled to the full with the purest and the deepest joy and peace. All thy delight, thy joy and blessedness, would be in God ; and His delight and pleasure would be in thee. He would dwell in thee and rest in thee, as on His throne of peace and stillness ; and thy spirit, that had wandered so long as a homeless orphan in strange lands, would sweetly rest at last in its own home and resting-place, and lie down on the bosom of the Father in untroubled peace, hidden far from all strife and turmoil in the still eternity of God.

"In this immeasurable, this boundless land of peace, thou wouldst dwell untouched and untroubled by the stormy winds of the old passions and desires, far withdrawn from all disturbing joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, which rave outside the haven of perfect peace.

" Be not, therefore, so foolish, so perverse, 0 glorious creature, made after the image of the eternal God, in making thy royal—I will not say, divine—spirit, with its glorious faculties, the degraded slave of the small and poor and empty things of this passing world ; of the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. For it was for this God sent His Son, to redeem thee from such slavery, and to bring thee into the liberty of the glory of the children of God.

" Think that, according to thy noblest faculties, thou art a child of eternity ! God Himself the Father and the Fatherland of His redeemed. There is thy city and thy home ; the world a place of exile ; thy body a prison and a dungeon. Wilt thou not open the door at which the King, the Lord of hosts, is knocking, that He may come in, and abide for ever in His glory and His love ?"

If it touches our hearts to read the message of love sent by God to His enemies—" Christ died for the ungodly "—is it not yet more touching to read in His word, and to hear from the mouth of His servants, His message to His own children who had lost even the need of communion with Him ? How few were there then—are more to be found now ?—who having drawn near to the great altar of sacrifice, were even aware of the holy place, and the most holy place beyond it — the holy place into which the priest-worshippers might enter, and the holiest into which the High Priest entered alone ; but now no more alone, for His own are one with Him.

It is to be remembered, in reading Tersteegen's words, that he was not describing to lost sinners how they might be brought near to God ; but his message was to the dim-sighted, lukewarm believer, who was content to know his sins forgiven, and to set out on a course of good works having man for their object, whilst the heart of God remained an unexplored, an unknown land. But the need of the heart of God is not satisfied without communion with His own, though their hearts so little know the need of communion with Him. Far and near were many guided by Tersteegen to the secret place of the Most High, and they found there strength and guidance for their outward service.

Chapter 52: Tersteegen's Friends

O PAST and gone !

How great is God ! how small am I !

A mote in the illimitable sky,

Amidst the glory deep and wide and high,

Of Heaven's unclouded sun.

There to forget myself for evermore ;

Lost, swallowed up in Love's immensity,

The sea that knows no sounding and no shore,

God only there, not I.

More near than I unto myself can be,

Art Thou to me ;

So have I lost myself in finding Thee,

Have lost myself for ever, 0 my Sun !

The boundless Heaven of Thine eternal love

Around me, and beneath me, and above ;

In glory of that golden day

The former things are passed away—

I, past and gone.

—G. TERSTEEGEN.

DURING the ten years in which the conventicles were closed many joys and many sorrows marked the life of Tersteegen. His friends multiplied greatly ; and frequently from morning to night his house was beset with visitors, who came from far and near for help and counsel.

In the year 1743 two young men came to the smaller meetings in Tersteegen's house, and had many private conversations with him. The younger of the two, Engelbert Evertsen, describes the awakening of his soul at that time.

" On May 2nd, 1744," he says, " God blessed me by drawing me to Himself in His love and grace."

Abraham Evertsen, the elder brother, was awakened and converted at the same time.

"I was never," adds Engelbert, "very much inclined to reading, or meditation, or acquiring knowledge, but rather to love and adoration. The pity was that I did not sufficiently overcome all the hindrances in the way."

From this time the brothers became the devoted friends of Tersteegen. They determined to live a single life, in order to give themselves up in all their spare time to the service of God. The young men were employed in their father's business, that of ribbon-weaving. Engelbert was of a very social disposition, and had to be warned by Tersteegen not to betake himself to the company even of his Christian friends whenever he felt dull, but to learn what it was to have a companionship far more gladdening than that of any other.

It was at this time that Engelbert Evertsen thus describes his friend and counsellor:

" He won my respect so completely that he soon became far more to me than all other godly men that I had as yet known. Yet at that time he seemed to me somewhat too still and devotional, so that I had a certain fear of him, which was perhaps very useful to me. For two or three years, till about 1747, my brother became more intimate with him ; and I had visibly gone back, yielding to the temptation of thinking too much about my body and my health. But with what great love, at the same time how solemnly, did he unveil to me this temptation, and my too great love for myself. By means of his love and help I was rescued from this danger ; and from that time I was filled with a much greater love to my God and Saviour, and also to my friend Tersteegen, which from the spring of that year 1747 never again wavered, for which I thank God heartily. What a blessing he was to me during the remaining twenty-two years of his life the Lord only knows. How often I came to him burdened and cast down, and then the very sight of his face cheered and gladdened me. When I came with much upon my mind about which I wished to talk and to complain, the burden often fell off of itself, so that I had no occasion to speak a word, but felt myself drawn into the quietness of perfect peace. From one single visit I often gained so much strength, that I felt myself able to go on for weeks in a heartfelt enjoyment of self-denial and prayer."

Soon after the conversion of their two sons, the old parents were awakened through reading Tersteegen's books, and implored him to pay them a visit in the year 1747. This was his first journey to Barmen. He describes it as follows:

"I wished to perform this journey incognito, but this was impossible. In Barmen, and in other places, numbers of people, whom I have never seen before, were so awakened and moved by the preaching that I could scarcely tear myself away from them, or behave manfully in the midst of so many who were weeping bitterly. I was obliged to travel about eleven days in the province of Berg, surrounded with enquiring people from morning to night. Once I thought of a quiet place about four miles from the road, where I might spend a little time alone; but they were all on the watch, and when I arrived there I was taken into a barn, in which there were about twenty people, mostly unknown to me, who had gone on before and were waiting for me.

" When I started on my return journey, about eight o'clock in the morning, being very unwell, my horse was surrounded by a crowd, some of whom had come ten or twenty miles to see me before I left. There is hunger everywhere, and no one to hand out the food."

The testimony given by some of these people remains for us : " His love, his forbearance and patience with the weak and the fallen, his extraordinary wisdom in leading everyone to speak truthfully that which was in his heart, his helping hand in all trials and temptations, and also his great power of intercession, could never be effaced from the memories of those who heard him."

One of them says, "Before I knew him personally, I heard from an impartial friend of mine, a learned man, this remarkable testimony, Tersteegen is truly a friend of God,' and this testimony I can fully endorse. He was most truly a friend of God. I have often seen and experienced that the love and the grace of God flowed into him and from him as an overflowing stream. His life seemed to consist of nothing but loving intercourse with God. What solemnity, what devotion and peaceful stillness have I not felt in my own soul when in his company ! As he was a friend of God, so can I also truthfully call him a friend of man. He never wished to keep for himself any of the gifts that God gave him. It is impossible for my pen to express how much I and others gained from his companionship, especially when I was the first to visit him in the morning, and he had just come out of his room—it was as if he came forth from the immediate presence of God. God was always so present to him that he was living in perpetual love and reverence, and this communicated itself to me in some measure when I was with him. Oh, that I could but say what God has given me in this His friend ! I thank the Lord Jesus with my whole heart who gave me the gift of such a friendship, and blessed it in such a remarkable manner to my soul."

The ribbon factory of the Evertsens made an extraordinary profit, 5o per cent, being regarded as small, 300 per cent. not unfrequent. The brothers, when they succeeded to the business, devoted their income to the service of God. They founded a "Pilgrim’s Hut" which was inhabited by a family similar to that of Otterbeck till after the death of Engelbert in 1807. In 1854 it was inhabited by Engelbert's nephew, William Eller. This was the third "Pilgrims' Hut" which had been founded—the first at Otterbeck, the second was at Mülheim, in the house where Hoffmann, Tersteegen’s beloved friend and teacher, died in the year 1746.

Hoffmann's death had been a great sorrow to Tersteegen. He nursed him and watched over him during his long and painful illness, and remained by his side till all was over. Hoffmann was peaceful, and happy, and said the Lord had delivered him from all fear and anxiety. But when suffering greatly he said to his friend, "David and Job complained often of their pain and sorrow, should not I do the same ?" " You and I," said Tersteegen, "have less reason to pity ourselves. Job had a righteousness which perplexed him greatly when trouble came upon him, and he knew not what to make of it ; but you and I have no righteousness to trouble us." Hoffmann died at last quietly in his sleep. He had sometimes been afraid of the act of dying, though rejoicing in the thought of going to be with Christ. He was never to taste of death.

After his death Tersteegen rented his house, in order to use it as a " Pilgrims' Hut " on the plan of Otterbeck. But soon after he found that it was best he should himself inhabit a larger house, for he had no room for his dispensary, to which one hundred patients would sometimes apply all together. He wanted a room too for preparing his medicines. The house, still to be seen, is very plain and simple, and Tersteegen only reserved two rooms for himself and Sommer. "A royal palace," he said, "is too small for a man who lives for himself, but a little hut is great and splendid for one who is living to God." The rooms were made to communicate not only with those on the same floor, but with those above and below, so that Tersteegen, preaching in one room, could be heard in five or six others, which were constantly filled. He and Henry Sommer lived in the upper story. The lower rooms he made over to a friend, Sibylle Emschermann, who in return undertook the house-keeping and daily cooking for the poor and sick. Her brother and his wife lived with her, and helped in the work. "Billiken," as Sibylle was usually called, was devoted to Tersteegen, and served him faithfully thirty years. She was occasionally cross, when too many visitors came, and she feared her master would be overdone, upon which occasions he would sing a cheerful hymn, and say, " Tersteegen is not to be spared, never mind Billiken."

In the year 1750 Tersteegen's labours were suddenly increased. During the years when the preachers were silenced in Miilheim and the neighbourhood, Tersteegen had still preached in Elberfeld and other towns at some distance, though he was chiefly employed in writing and visiting. But in 175o a young student of theology at Duisburg named Chevalier, who had come there from Amsterdam, began to preach the gospel not only at Duisburg, but at Miilheim, where crowds collected to hear him.

Without waiting for leave, the meetings were begun afresh, and a great awakening followed. Tersteegen was delighted and thankful. He went himself to Chevalier's meetings, and found him, as he said, earnest and true, " though he and I," he added, "have both a good deal to learn."

In November, 1750, Tersteegen himself spoke in Chevalier's meeting. The mayor, the pastor, and the chief magistrate now thought it was time to interfere. Tersteegen undertook to plead for the meetings.

"Can you think it would be right," he said to the magistrate, " if you were to stop these good and profitable meetings, and at the same time allow all sorts of quacks and rope-dancers to collect crowds, and leave people free to meet as much as they like to gamble and drink ? How do you think it will look to you on your deathbed if you do so ?" The magistrate was convinced, and the preaching continued.

It was a great strain upon Tersteegen to preach to the crowds who came, in a voice loud enough to be heard in five or six rooms all filled, whilst many brought ladders and sat on the window-sills outside.

Chevalier himself remained little more than a year at Duisburg, and then returned to Holland. He considered it right to have an occupation by means of which he could earn his living, especially as he was betrothed to a young Dutch lady. Tersteegen did not see this, and wished Chevalier to give himself up to the work of the gospel, looking to the Lord to provide for him. However, their differing views of the matter made no breach between them, and they remained fast friends, loving one another warmly and truly.

When Chevalier was gone, Tersteegen's work was naturally increased. Often when he got up he would find sixty or seventy people already waiting to speak to him, and the time he could call his own was very short. His journeys to the neighbouring towns, and to Holland, still continued. A rich Dutch lady offered him a carriage and horses, but these he refused ; he was accustomed to ride, and preferred doing so.

As may be supposed, he sometimes met with a rough reception, but nothing disturbed him. When a bottomless basket was thrown over his head in one little town, he merely remarked, " That is far from being a crown of thorns." "Stop in the devil's name!" shouted some soldiers whom he met in the Duisburg wood. " I am not under the devil's orders," replied Tersteegen.

Sometimes when strangers came to see him, he would take them out to a pleasant place in the wood, to sing hymns and to pray. The tree is still shown, and still called Tersteegen's tree, under which he often sat, and where he wrote one of his best-known hymns.

" Sweet shades and fields that glow with summer flowers,

How dear are ye to me ;

Alone with Jesus Both my heart adore Him,

That ye are fair to see.

Sweet shades and fields that glow with summer flowers,

How dear are ye to me ;

Nought seen in you but tender grace revealing,

How fair His thoughts must he.

Sweet shades and fields that glow with summer flowers,

How dear are ye to me.

How soft the breathings of Thy love, Lord Jesus ;

I rest my heart on Thee.

" All, all that buds and blossoms and rejoices,

Hath my Beloved made ;

His wisdom and His tenderness and gladness

Told forth in leaf and blade.

All, all that buds and blossoms and rejoices,

Hath my Beloved made ;

All moves unto the music of His power,

That fills the woodland glade.

All, all that buds and blossoms and rejoices,

Hath my Beloved made ;

But heaven and earth, in all their radiant glory,

To Him are midnight shade.

" Lord Jesus, Thee to meet, and to adore Thee,

I sit here all alone.

All else may vanish as the mists of morning,

Thou art mine all, mine own.

Lord Jesus, Thee to meet, and to adore Thee,

I sit here all alone ;

To drink afresh the river of thy pleasures,

Know more of the unknown.

Lord Jesus, Thee to meet, and to adore Thee,

I sit here all alone ;

And lose myself and find that Thou art only ;

Beside Thee nought and none,

"Alone with Thee to dwell, O my Beloved,

Is heaven on earth begun ;

Whilst vanity of vanities outwearies

All hearts beneath the sun.

Alone with Thee to dwell, O my Beloved,

Is heaven on earth begun;

Above the midnight and the noonday glory,

Our resting-place is won.

Alone with Thee to dwell, O my Beloved,

Is heaven on earth begun ;

And heaven in heaven through all eternity

Our pilgrim journey done."

The crowds who came to the preaching still increased. From the castles of the nobles, from the farms and factories, from the towns and hamlets, came thirsting souls, who went back not only satisfied with the living water, but to become fountains of living water in their turn.

It was not, as Tersteegen said, that his preaching was of deep mysteries and learned love. It was strangely simple. The Pietists, who would have reformed the Protestants, and who had themselves strayed away into wild imaginations and caricatures of Gospel teaching, needed in their turn to be reformed. And the compassionate, long-suffering God who loved them, who could see where the world saw only folly and delusion, a true longing of the bewildered heart after Him, had raised them up a teacher and a pastor, faithful, and simple, and humble. They heard again the Gospel of God stripped of the dreams and vagaries of deformed Pietism, stripped of the hard shell of book learning, of the delusions of Catholics and the formalism of Protestants.

Chapter 53: The Philosopher of Sans Souci

"WHERE is a God ?" doth weary Reason say

" I see but starlit skies."

" Where is the sun ?" So calleth at noonday

The man with sightless eyes.

Thou little child, from thee God is not far ;

Look inwards, not above

Thou needest not to roam from star to star,

For God is Love.

—G, TERSTEEGEN.

SUCH were the simple sermons of the reformer of Pietism. They are to be had in print under the title, Discourses for awakening and for the awakened, intended for their furtherance in Christian life, and their growth in holiness. "They are," say Goebel, "spoken from heart to heart, impressive, powerful, and concise, and read to this day with much blessing by a large circle of readers. They are in strict accordance with the text, the language is dignified and beautiful, deeply scriptural and Christian, the thoughts clear and true, and the illustrations very striking." The words spoken so simply remained fixcd in many hearts, and a single sentence would bear much fruit.

" Let us not have a Christianity without Christ. A Christian without Christ is a lamb without a shepherd, a sucking child without a mother, a dead corpse without a soul."Thus, till his increasing weakness prevented his constant preaching, did he point the souls around him to Christ, and Christ alone.

Tersteegen was now growing old. He could no longer make the long, rough journeys of former years. He limited his visits to neighboring towns, and meanwhile received the numberless visitors who came to him from far and near with a loving welcome, though he was often spent and exhausted from the want of quietness and rest. After the year 1756 his more distant visitors were fewer, for the unhappy country was again overrun by the troops of France and Prussia, during the third Silesian war of Frederick II., known to us as the Seven Years' War.

It was about this time that Tersteegen read, at the request of a friend, the French poems and other writings of Frederick the Great. His friend desired his opinion of them, and for this purpose sent to him the book published in 175o, and entitled (E uvres du Philosophe de Sans Souci, revised and corrected by Darget and Voltaire.

"I admire the author's keen intelligence and voluminous reading," wrote Tersteegen, "his flowing and attractive style and poetical gift. . .. He describes the nothingness of life, the errors and follies, the vain imaginations and toil of men in all classes, with lively colours, and a skillful, well-practiced hand. But setting aside the style and the poetical gift, I do not think that the wisdom of Solomon is required to remark upon the foolishness and vanity of all men and of their doings. A small amount of experience and honesty teaches these things to a very ordinary man.

" His moral teaching is this, 'Here on earth every mortal must enjoy the little pleasures of the present moment ; for this is the only true good. As to the sad future, we must not trouble ourselves concerning it, but leave it hidden in its darkness.' Why, great man, why then a sad future ? Does thy heart, perhaps, tell thee more than thy pen dares to express ? Poor philosophy that has no counsel for this dark future !

"'As years go by,' writes the author, 'in this passing time, I will at least strew flowers along my path, paint everything in its brightest colours, and make life pleasant. Disagreeable truth is of less value than these my sweet delusions.' This sounds little like philosophy, not to mention Christianity.

"Our observant author, who deifies the poor freethinker Voltaire, has doubtless found many stumbling-blocks amongst those who are called Christians, but are not ; who are called clergy, ministers, and pastors, but who serve not the Lord Jesus Christ, but their own belly. And why should one call black white, and folly the worship of God ? Is not a man right in casting away the refuse, the domineering pride, the bitter dissensions, the senseless violence with which consciences are fettered, the errors, the superstition, the credulity, the hypocrisy ? But let us not cast away the child in emptying the bath. This is a folly on the other hand unworthy of an intelligent man.

"It is said Christianity arises from fear. Supposing it does, if Christianity is good, the fear from whence it sprang must be good also. But to my mind, atheism and deism spring much more truly from fear. It is a bad conscience which makes a man desire to get rid of God and of eternity. That is a bad fear. The one fear leads to homage, the other to rebellion, a very different thing.

"I observe also that our author does not write consistently with the rules of sound philosophy ; for on the one hand he rightly and honestly admits the weakness of our understanding, and the narrow limits of our powers of thought ; on the other hand he disposes of the most solemn, of the deepest, the most important matters, in the most arbitrary manner, without assigning the smallest proof of his assertions. He considers that all knowledge must be communicated to the understanding by the senses. As regards material things that is true, but the knowledge of spiritual divine things needs to be communicated to man by a higher power than himself.

" This higher power is also granted to us by God, If we are as yet incapable of using it, we act reasonably by doing as a blind man does. He has to regard others as competent witnesses till his own eyes are opened.

"The author is right in admitting the weakness of human reason, but it is making an unfair use of this admission, if we put it forward to prove that we are not in duty bound to see certain things which we are determined not to see. And he entirely forgets the weakness of the human understanding when it suits him to deny the things which he is unwilling to admit. For example, he excludes all divine rule and forethought from the ordering of this world, and from the circumstances of life ; for his understanding, which he admits to be extremely limited, cannot perceive any divine government of things.

"On the other hand he supposes a certain vague abstraction which he calls destiny — fate, chance, necessity, upon which the course of circumstances depends. And in supposing this, a hundred other things, which he has previously supposed, necessarily topple over. He who is destined to act as a fool in this world is unfairly treated if you require of him wise conduct. A man destined to be a thief and a villain must needs play his part on the stage of this world. Away then with all moral rules, with all law, with all penalties, with all government. How is the author to proceed, if perchance he be a prince or king ?

"I should like to learn what it is that he means by destiny. Should he seriously endeavour to answer this question, I think he would find himself in a labyrinth. Such men remark a great deal of physical and moral evil in the world. They cannot, without contradicting themselves, ascribe it to God. They will not ascribe it to themselves. Therefore there is something, called destiny, that is answerable for all evil. Now what is destiny ? and where is it ? Is it an evil deity, as the Manichaeans imagined ? This would not now be regarded as reasonable. Are we to understand by it the eternal and unalterable chain of events, the one the necessary consequence of the previous ones ? Still the question remains, Who made this chain ? Look at it which way we will, the difficulties about the origin of evil remain unanswered by man.

"Are we not speaking in a clearer and more reverent manner when we say, All that God has done is in order, and is good ? Disorder and evil are not from God, but have arisen from the opposition of the will of reasonable creatures to God and to His will.

" But it is the will of God, in His goodness, to deliver His creature, man, from the power of evil by fitting ways and means which He has Himself prescribed. Amongst other means, He makes use of physical evil (which He has not created, but which He makes to subserve His purposes) as a remedy for moral evil, in the case of those who trust themselves to His healing power. If we cannot understand all His ways in this respect, let us remember that it is not necessary for a patient, in order to be cured, to understand the why and wherefore of all the prescriptions of his physician. For him it is needful only that the prescription should be legible and clearly expressed.

"As to the immortality of the soul, our author denies it, because the ' limited understanding' of which he speaks cannot understand it. He does not assign any other reason for denying it ; for his comparison of the soul to a flame, and his theory that as we are conscious of nothing before we were born, so we shall be conscious of nothing after our death, are purely unfounded fancies.

"The comparison of the soul to a flame is besides extremely inappropriate, and by no means supports the idea he means to express. The being of the flame is derived from the wood or oil which nourish it. The being of the soul, on the contrary, is not derived from the body, but just the reverse. The wood would last longer and remain longer whole without the flame than with it ; but the body only acquires life by the existence of the soul. The flame destroys the being of the wood. The soul does not destroy the being of the body, but maintains it. The flame can retain its existence as long as any of the wood remains ; but the soul leaves the body in many cases when the body is in its most perfect condition.

" Let us on our side regard the soul as a flame, but the ground of its being, the power of God, the ground of the blessedness of its being, the love of God. But if the soul rejects the love, the power remains ; and the inextinguishable power remains the ground of the immortal soul.

" Our author calls it pride and presumption to assume to have any knowledge, or to desire any knowledge, of divine and unseen things, and of our future lot after death. 'For man,' he says, 'has no organs capable of perceiving such things.' But is it less presumptuous to proceed at once to deny these things, of which he has just said we have no organs capable of perceiving them ?

" We might say, ' Would it not be better to remain in doubt ?' were it not that one contented to doubt will soon be fearless in denying the truths of God. In ordinary matters we do not turn into ridicule all that is beyond our own powers of observation. Newton and others have discovered and inferred many things in the universe that I and others cannot perceive. If in the case of these things, I preferred to remain a sceptic, it would scarcely matter. But were it as important for me to make sure of the existence of the moons of Saturn as of heaven and hell, I should certainly procure for myself the best telescope that was to be had, even if I had to go begging to pay for it."

Such extracts from Tersteegen's criticism of the " philosopher of Sans Souci " will give some idea of this letter. It was addressed in all probability to his friend Hecker, at Berlin, who was in a position to show it to the king. It is said that Frederick read it carefully. " So the quiet in the land ' are capable of that ! " he said. He desired later, when he was at Wesel, to see Tersteegen, and speak to him. But Tersteegen was incapable of even this shorter journey. His constant illnesses increased during the last years of his life, and that conversation never took place.

Chapter 54: Nearing the Haven

How good it is, when weaned from all beside,

With God alone the soul is satisfied,

Deep hidden in His Heart !

How good it is, redeemed, and washed, and shriven,

To dwell, a cloistered soul, with Christ in Heaven,

Joined, nevermore to part !

How good the heart's still chamber thus to close

On all hut God alone—

There in the sweetness of His love repose,

His love unknown'.

All else for ever lost—forgotten all

That else can be

In rapture undisturbed, O Lord, to fall,

And worship Thee.

No place, no time, 'neath those eternal skies.

How still, how sweet, and how surpassing fair

That solitude in glades of Paradise,

And, as in olden days, God walking there.

I hear His voice amidst the stillness blest,

And care and fear are past ;

I lay me down within His Arms to rest

From all my works at last.

How good it is when from the distant land,

From lonely wanderings and from weary ways,

The soul bath reached at last the golden strand,

The Gates of Praise !

There, where the tide of endless love flows free,

There, in the sweet and glad eternity,

The still, unfading NOW :

Ere yet the days and nights of earth are o'er,

Begun the day that is for evermore—

Such rest art Thou!

—G. TE.RSTEEGEN.

OF the latter years of his life we know most from his letters. It was a life hidden with Christ in God—a life lived in heaven, but yet concerned lovingly and tenderly with the souls around him, and wherever a letter could reach them.

Amongst his friends and correspondents were men and women in all classes, and in many Christian sects. It is pleasant to find amongst them the Countess of 13roich, who inhabited the castle in which so many years before the young Countess Charlotte had spent the days of her lonely girlhood.

The letters of Tersteegen are the more remarkable from their extreme simplicity. For it is the simplicity which relates that which the soul of the writer had seen and heard, not reasoning about that which the mind had worked out, and not merely expressing or describing the impressions of his own heart. They remind us of the simple and innocent descriptions of the travelers of the middle ages, when writing of the strange countries into which they had wandered, and where they had seen and heard many things unknown and unimagined to their fellow-countrymen at home.

Tersteegen lived in the land unknown and unseen to the men of this world—little known and seen even by the Christians around him. He told them, in his childlike manner, of the things so familiar to him, and to many of them so strange and new, of that which had refreshed and gladdened him.

He told them of the fountains and depths springing out of the valleys and hills of that good land into which the Lord had led him ; of the green pastures and still waters in which his Shepherd had made him to lie down and rest. He had nothing to relate of visions or dreams, but he had to tell of the reality of those things of which the lips of his Lord had spoken.

"To walk before God, and in His presence," he said, "is the ground, and the costly jewel of true Christian living. I would have you above all things to grasp this firmly, because, when it is rightly understood and practiced, it includes all else."

He therefore regarded it as his special mission to teach, insist upon, and act upon this neglected truth. He saw all around him that those who believed themselves to be Christians, and in most cases even those who had believed in God, were living practically in ignorance of all that is supernatural in Christian life. They professed to believe in the most stupendous miracles and marvels of long past ages. They professed to believe that the great universe was created by the word of God, that God Himself, in the form of man, had worked as a village carpenter till the time came when He went forth to heal the sick, cast out devils, and raise the dead. They professed to believe that He was crucified and rose again, and that He ascended in His human body into heaven. They professed to believe that God the Holy Ghost had come down from heaven to take the place of the ascended Saviour.

And looking on to the future they professed to believe in miracles and wonders no less tremendous. They repeated with their lips that the dead should arise in their bodies, that Christ should return again from heaven, and they looked forward to being with Him some day in eternal happiness and glory.

But as to the present they regarded themselves as living in an interval between the supernatural past and the supernatural future, except so far as any belief in magic or in ghosts and omens clung to their minds. They attached no solid meaning to such promises of the Lord as they read in John 14:

" If a man love Me, he will keep My words : and My Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." " He that loveth Me shall be loved of My Father, and I will love him, and will manifest Myself to him." "A little while, and ye shall not see Me : and again, a little while, and ye shall see Me. . .because I go to the Father."

They saw no difference between such a special presence of God as that spoken of in these, and numberless other, passages, and the Omnipresence of God, of which they would perhaps remind their naughty children, as a warning not to do wrong things when out of sight of their parents.

" It is really true," wrote Tersteegen to a friend, " as you expressed it in your last letter, the secret of God's presence is actually believed by very few. But are you aware, that if each one truly believed it, the whole world would at once be filled with saints, and the earth would be truly Paradise ? If men really believed it as they should, there would need nothing more to induce them to give themselves up, heart and soul, to this loving God. But now it is hid from their eyes. Let us pray, my beloved, that God may be made known and manifested to many hearts, and thus in the light of His divine presence the darkness of mere human life may be dispelled, and all things cast away, both without and within the heart, which hinder the growth and life of the soul, and which this light alone discovers and unveils. In all Christian practice there is nothing more universally needful, nothing simpler, sweeter, and more useful, nothing which so sums up in itself all Christian duties in one blessed act, as the realization of the loving presence of God."

"If, dearest friends," he said in one of his sermons, "I had nothing further to speak of than the great truth of the presence of God, I should therein have said all that we have to say to one another as believing Christian people. Oh, the great, the weighty, the touching, the divine truth, not only of the Omnipresence, but also, and above all, of the special inward presence of God in Christ, which must be our all in living, our all in dying.

"All Christian life is comprised in this, to walk in the presence of God. Faith in the inner nearness of our God, in the most blessed name of Jesus Immanuel, leads us on through anything and everything. This is the true Shechinah of the people of God. The least shadow of the manifestation of the Lord Jesus to our hearts, one only touch of His divine love reaching to the center of our being, one single movement of the Spirit of God in the inmost soul, however contemptible such things may be to sense and reason, give more assurance to the soul, and weaken the dominion of the evil one far more, than twenty years of work carried on without conscious abiding in Christ.

" What miracles of divine strength, grace, and love become the experience of the most miserable sinner the moment that, with closed eyes, he sinks down into the depths of the heart of Christ, and thenceforward watches at His gates, waiting at the posts of His doors.

" Love is simply this, to look upon the face of God, and to be looked upon by Him. What is there easier and simpler than to open the eyes and see when the light is all around us ? God is far more really present to us than the light. In Him we live and move and have our being, and He fills the believing soul, steeping it in light. He is nearer to us than we are to ourselves. Simply to believe this, and to realize it in all our need, is true prayer."

"I sit here and talk to you," he said to Evertsen, "but within my heart is the eternal adoration, unceasing and undisturbed. I thank God that He has given me a little chamber into which no creature has entered besides."

Had the supernatural life ceased for Gerhardt Tersteegen ? Was he living in the waste and barren interval between a past and a future of wonder and of glory ? Or was it that he had entered by faith into the glorious land reached through the death and resurrection of the Lord ? Were those great miracles of the past to lead to nothing in the present, above and beyond the things which the natural eye can see and the natural heart can understand ?

Is it not written, that whilst "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him, God hath revealed them unto us by His Spirit: for the Spirit searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God."

It was well that the Protestants around him declared their belief in justification by faith only, by the blood of Christ, by the grace of God. But was this justification to lead to nothing more except happiness in heaven by-and-by, and a harmless, moral, and perhaps outwardly useful life now ?

" Tersteegen was careful," writes Goebel, " never to put the truth of justification by faith into the background ; but he was also careful never to separate it from the necessary consequence of holiness and communion with God." To him the secret place of the Most High was the greatest reality, continual intercourse with God not a figure of speech, but the truest of all intercourse.

Why was it that whilst for centuries men had believed in legends and dreams of the imagination, they now looked upon the spiritual intercourse of the child with his Father as some wild enthusiasm ? "The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God ; for they are foolishness unto him ; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned."

" The children of this world," wrote Hasenkampt, " the miserable men who fain would judge the blessed ones, regarded him as a rhapsodist, a spiritual idler, a self-willed stormer of Babylon,' a schismatic. We know the contrary. The blessed Gerhardt Tersteegen was no rhapsodist. A rhapsodist casts away reason and Scripture, and follows his own imagination. Tersteegen did nothing of the sort. He was a very sensible man—and not only sensible ; he was an enlightened, a holy man, anointed with the Spirit of God, and therefore all the more sensible and sober-minded. He was very much afraid of his own mind and imaginations. The ordinary ways of God he regarded as the surest. In the case of extraordinary things he was unusually careful. I do not know that I ever met a more discreet, a more careful, man in speech and in action. Of his manifold services to the weak, the sick, and the poor, of his untiring industry, though he lived so quiet and retired a life, Mulheim will render an eternal testimony."

It was, therefore, no love of the marvelous, no craving after occult mysteries, which marked Tersteegen. It was simply that he truly believed those great revelations of God, which all the Christians around him professed to believe when they repeated in their confession of faith the tremendous words, 'I believe in the Holy Ghost." Yet to how many of them were the things of the Spirit of God foolishness ! To how many would any man who acted on this belief be a wild enthusiast—if not a lunatic !

" Lord, show me the things that are foolishness to me." This was the first prayer of a French atheist, studying for priest's orders in the Church of Rome. A Testament had been given him in the street ; he opened it at the words, " The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness unto him." " Therefore," he said, "are not some of the things that are foolishness to me the things of God ?" And he went home to pray. He is now a preacher of the gospel of Christ, a witness to the miraculous power which opens the blind eyes, and makes the deaf soul to hear the voice of God.

Let those who rightly crave for something higher than the dead level of man's reason, man's religion, and man's knowledge, turn not to spiritualism, but to the Spirit, who testifies of Jesus ; and enter within the veil into the secret place where the Lord God reveals Himself to all who enter in by faith in the blood of His Son.

It was to be expected that the communion with God which humbled Job would also humble Tersteegen. Often when he had been sitting amongst Christian friends, and speaking with them, he would say when taking leave, " Children, when I sit amongst you it seems to me as if I were unworthy of it. And so must you be taught each one for himself."

Thus did the later years of his life pass on. Constant labour up to the last, and strength gained for it by still hours alone with God. His voice had so failed him that to preach became at last impossible ; he could converse and write, and pray long and fervently for the souls he loved. Henry Sommer said that he would sometimes spend the night in praying, with many tears, for the souls so dear to him.

His friend Hasenkampt writes : " Oh, if the walls of his sitting-room, his bedroom, and his workroom could speak, what would they not have to tell of victories won by fervent prayer ; of secret, holy intercourse with God, ever present with him ; of prayers, intercessions, and supplications for his friends and for others !"

Those who heard his prayers in the meetings, often spoke of the sense of the presence of God which filled them with awe, when he spoke to Him who was so near to him. A short time ago, an old woman was still living at Kronenberg, who had heard in her childhood from her uncle how Tersteegen had once visited Kronenberg. Her uncle could well remember those marvellous prayers. He said, " It seemed to me as if he had gone straight into heaven, and had lost himself in God ; but often, when he had done praying, he was as white as the wall."

It is not Moses alone who has come forth from the presence of God, bearing in his face the glory of heaven. Those who saw Tersteegen knew this ; and even those who had no love for his God and Saviour felt the power of the risen life when they saw him and heard him. A tavern-keeper in Mülheim said to his friend, " When I pass by that man's house, a great awe comes over me of some holy presence. And when I think about him, it has more power over me than many a sermon."

But of himself he said, in preaching to the people of Mülheim, "You can see in me what the Lord God is, who works wonders and miracles, who makes the dead to live, who melts the hard stone, and makes the dry rod to bud and blossom. He has made me a sheep in His pasture, lying down even now in the green meadows of eternal spring ! May the God of mercy grant this grace to all who hear me to-day !"

Lying down in the green pastures, yet working, labouring for his Lord. This was not quietism, but the quietness of the soul at rest in God. "A Christian must be," Tersteegen said, "as a revolving circle, the central point fixed and immovable, whilst at the same time each point of the circumference performs its constant round. Thus, for the Christian, the central point is the still abiding in the presence of God, and with the outer man, with all the powers of body, soul, and spirit, must he ever be occupied in the work of God. But all that is good and divine that is found in our outward life is purely the effect of the supernatural power of God ; therefore it is needful to abide quietly and fixedly in Christ, that this power may be manifested in us. The outer man should move as a door does that is fixed upon its hinge, but move in quietness and without violence, for the door might be wrenched from its hinge by the energy of nature."

This warning was addressed to a friend who had distinguished herself by doing all things, not by halves, but by doubles, in the exuberance of her activity. " God is the center of gravity for the spiritual life ; if force is used, we may be diverted from our center, but the simple, childlike soul will return to its equilibrium, letting go all that draws it aside."

" Once did I seek the time and place

For stillness and for prayer ;

Now everywhere I see His Face,

Secluded everywhere."

Chapter 55: The Welcome

ONE with Christ—within the golden City

Welcomed long ago,

When for me He passed within the glory

From the depths below.

Still the gladness of that blessed welcome,

Mystery of that kiss,

Meeting of the Son and of the Father,

Floods my soul with bliss.

That sweet welcome mine—and mine for ever

That eternal home,

Whereunto when all these wanderings over,

I shall surely come.

There my heart is resting, and is joyful,

With a joy untold—

Earth's dark ways lit up with that fair glory,

Gleam as streets of gold.

Words of blessed greeting as I wander

Fall upon my ear,

As a song aloft in palace towers,

Deep and sweet and clear.

In the midnight steals o'er him who saileth

On a lonely sea,

Then I know I near the blessed country

Where He waits for me.

God, my Father, waiteth there to greet me,

Child of His delight ;

In the well-beloved Son presented

Faultless in His sight.

Loved with all the love that fills the Heavens

With eternal song—

Weep not, weary heart, how short the sorrow,

And the love how long !

AS old age came on, the many infirmities which had so long made his life painful and burdensome, continually increased. He mentions in his letters many days of great suffering, many sleepless nights, fever and pain and weakness. " I might say I was something like Lazarus, except that I have less endurance, and better food, drink, and bed, and numberless other comforts; besides which the sympathy and kindness of others do not accord with the condition of Lazarus. But none the less am I the care of angels ; yes, cared for by the love of God, and going the same way that Lazarus went. All the suffering and weakness are a part of the way, and we pass on, leaving behind now a rough bit, and now a miry bit of road. The sweet eternity is our home, and Jesus who makes all things sweet our companion on the road. What grace and love !

" Once, I remember, I had some idea I could suffer as a hero. Now what I wish for you and me is to suffer as a child. A child cries when it is in pain, and laughs in a moment when it sees its mother. When the pain is over, it thinks neither of what is past nor what is coming—-it is happy with its dear mother, and has no thought for anything else."

Up to the last he laboured on as far as his strength permitted. One labour after another had to be given up. " When the mother is going to put her child to bed, she takes off its clothes one by one,"

he said to an old friend. "Paradise and eternity are much on my mind. God is preparing me for that."

In March, 1769, dropsy came on, which made his breathing difficult and painful. He had to remain sitting day and night in an armchair, suffering greatly. " But," said Pastor Engel who was with him, "he was always heavenly and cheerful." Many friends came from far and near to take leave of their beloved teacher. For each one he had a word of cheer and of affection. "0 sister," he said to one, "the way is a good way. Follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth."

"I have no great things to say of feelings and experiences, but suffering as I do, God gives me grace to forget myself. Malachi has been preaching to me : ' He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.' (Chap. 3:3.) That is what He is now doing. He finds much to purge away."

" You ask me to bless you," he said to another. "May the great High Priest Jesus bless you, and give you peace and joy, and comfort and power."

Three days before his death his beloved friend, Engelbert Evertsen, arrived unexpectedly from Barmen. He had heard nothing of Tersteegen's illness, but an irresistible impulse had led him to go to Mülheim and visit him.

" He suffered terribly," said Evertsen ; "but his endurance, and his child-like intimacy with the God into whose hands he commended Himself, strengthen me to this day."

On April 2nd it was plain that his end was near. He slept almost continuously, and the waking intervals became shorter. He spoke little. Once he said to himself, " Poor unsightly Lazarus ! Yet the holy angels are not ashamed to bear thee away."

On April 3rd, at two o'clock in the morning, he departed in his sleep. "Those present," writes one, "seemed to feel all around them a company of angels, who welcomed his spirit with joy into the eternal kingdom of blessedness, peace, and glory."

On April 6th he was buried in the churchyard of Mülheim, where, in the year 1838, the monument now standing there was raised to his memory. Great multitudes from far and near followed his remains to their last resting-place. Many were the lamentations over him, still preserved in letters, and in sermons preached at the time of his death.

" He was a great and faithful witness for the truth in our fallen Church," said Hasenkampt, "a great saint, and a true and consistent friend of God. When I last had the happiness of hearing the words of wisdom from his gentle lips, he spoke with a majestic simplicity of his delight in God. ' I would rather,' he said, not exist, I would rather that nothing existed, than that God should not be.' "

Another eye-witness of his death relates how for forty-seven hours he sat leaning forward on a pillow, at first suffering much, but latterly sleeping constantly. In waking moments he would say, " O God, O Jesus, beloved Jesus ; " and " at last," writes one, " it was as if the kiss of heavenly love released the imprisoned spirit, and to him was the prayer of the great High Priest fulfilled : " Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me where I am."

So passed away the Mystic who was no visionary —the simple childlike believer in the words of Christ. He had cast aside the wisdom of the world for the wisdom of God ; the righteousness of man for the righteousness of God. And to him the God who loved him "spoke face to face as a man speaketh to his friend," and sent him forth to tell the blessed secrets of the heart of God to. all those who had ears to hear, and hearts to understand.

Even now his work is not yet done ; for in the land of his birth, above the scoffing of infidels and the disputes of theologians, and the boastings of human religion and human righteousness, the still small voice is yet heard, which spake by his lips, and called in weary souls from the darkness and confusion, the delusions and the misery of the world, into the still chamber where Christ stands to welcome His beloved.

Sketches Of The Quiet In The Land

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1: A Swamp in German History

Chapter 2: How It Fared With the Pastor's Wife

Chapter 3: Further Adventures of Pastor Botzinger

Chapter 4: Some Brave Women

Chapter 5: The Better Part of Valour

Chapter 6: Fallen Germany

Chapter 7: French Germany

Chapter 8: The Quiet in the Land

Chapter 9: The Precise Dr. Voet

Chapter 10: The Laborious Dr. Koch

Chapter 11: Reformers After the Reformation Jer. 33:18

Chapter 12: Father Lodensteyn

Chapter 13: A Child-Crusader

Chapter 14: The Snare Broken

Chapter 15: Last Hopes for Rome

Chapter 16: A Reformer of the Reformed

Chapter 17: The Princess Elizabeth and Her Friend

Chapter 18: Réné Descartes and His Pupil

Chapter 19: Dr. Koch Once More

Chapter 20: Labadie and Anna

Chapter 21: The Churches and the Church

Chapter 22: A Sect Everywhere Spoken Against

Chapter 23: The Abbey of Herford

Chapter 24: Elizabeth's Guests

Chapter 25: Ast Days of Labadie

Chapter 26: Elizabeth and the Quakers

Chapter 27: Journal of William Penn

Chapter 28: Countess Charlotte of Falkenstein

Chapter 29: A Last Glimpse of Elizabeth

Chapter 30: The Reformation of the Reformed.

Chapter 31: The Boyhood of Gerhardt Tersteegen

Chapter 32: The Counts and Their Guests

Chapter 33: A Visit to the Hermits

Chapter 34: Ernest Von Hochmann

Chapter 35: Missions to the Orthodox

Chapter 36: The Dawn of Day for Gerhardt

Chapter 37: Bye-Path Meadow

Chapter 38: A Last Glimpse of the Valley of Peace

Chapter 39: What Is a Quietist?

Chapter 40: The Door Into Heaven

Chapter 41: The Mission From Heaven

Chapter 42: The Fear of the Lord Is to Depart From Evil

Chapter 43: In Labours More Frequent

Chapter 44: A Mulheim Sermon

Chapter 45: The Pilgrims' Hut

Chapter 46: The Saints of Old

Chapter 47: A Wittgenstein Hermit

Chapter 48: More Turns in the Zigzag

Chapter 49: Wayfaring Life in the Rhine Provinces

Chapter 50: The Inner Sanctuary

Chapter 51: The Mysticism of the Bible

Chapter 52: Tersteegen's Friends

Chapter 53: The Philosopher of Sans Souci

Chapter 54: Nearing the Haven

Chapter 55: The Welcome