REMINISCENCES OF AN IRISH No. VI. THE SCRIPTURE READER. IT is curious to mark how the very same circumstances will produce different, and even contrasted effects upon man, according as he is, or is not taught from above. Take two persons educated alike-alike in habits, tastes, feelings, dispositions, and acquirements; let one be truly converted to God, and the other continue such as he was by nature, and then let them be exposed to precisely similar difficulties, temptations, sorrows, hopes, gains, enjoyments, allurements, the one will be as in the garden of the Lord, the other, as in a waste howling wilderness ;the one will be waxing riper and riper for glory, under the summer sun and autumn rain, by which the other is scorched or decayed;-the one, in outward distress or want, rejoicing in the comforts wherewith he is comforted of God, the other, however vast his power or his wealth, the victim of disappointed ambition or avarice, or the hopeless pursuer of receding pleasure: the one will, with thankfulness, find a fresh evidence of his Father's love in that all things are made to work together for his good, the other, at every step of his way, has cause to exclaim, "All these things are against me." But, alas! though here the contrast is most striking, it is not here alone that it presents itself: how many, even among the real disciples of Jesus, prefer the crooked, selfish, and, consequently, miserable course of Jacob, to the smooth, placid, and peaceful, because heaven-directed walk of Abraham; and, consequently, experience, during their whole life, the fulfilment of scarcely any promise save that blessed, but afflictive one, “If his children forsake my law, and walk not in my judgments . . . . then will I visit their transgression with the rod, and their iniquity with stripes. Nevertheless, my loving-kindness will I not utterly take from him, nor suffer my faithfulness to fail." In no case does this contrast more strikingly appear than in that of those who are called to suffer for the profession of the truth! In my last letter I endeavoured to give a faint, and but a very faint, idea of the sufferings of those who, from the conviction of their understandings, or an awakened conscience, leave the church of Rome. I say faint idea,—for few, very few, can form a full one of the sufferings of our poor. The stranger sees but a small portion of them; indeed, many residents know but little more, and those who do, become hardened to scenes of wretchedness. I bless God that it is so: were it not for the insensibility thus mercifully attached to frequency, I must have left the country in which I was born, or the profession to which God has called me. I only regret it when I have an opportunity of revealing our woes and wants. I find then, not that I want words, but that I want ideas: that the fireless hearth, the dripping roof, the wringing garments, (rags, I should say,) the damp bed, the harassed or deserted sick or dying couch, the insulted grave, the desecrated ritual, appear to me as ordinary circumstances, to be thought of with little pain, and related with little emotion, or altogether omitted. I feel, however, that having had to tell much that is painful and dispiriting, I owe it to those whose bosoms throb in sympathy with the sufferings of our suffering people, to those whose eyes wait upon the Lord, and love to see the stretching-forth of his arm, or the operations of his Spirit, to turn a brighter side, and to shew, not what he can do, for what Christian wants to learn that? but what he has accomplished, and is accomplishing, for many who were sitting in the very valley and shadow of death. In doing so I must, contrary to my wont, travel beyond the bounds of my own ministerial sphere, and speak of scenes removed from my personal observation. Thomas Mahony was the son of a Protestant father and Roman Catholic mother; his elder brother was a Protestant, but he was his mother's, darling, and was brought up in her own faith. While he was yet a very young man, it pleased God to send into his benighted parish a very devoted minister; his teaching was blessed to many, and among others to Mahony, whose heart at once opened to receive the truth, and who turned from dumb idols to serve the living God. His was no middle character, and his was no middle course; not that there is any thing in character that marks of necessity the Christian conversation, for we often see the most decided natural dispositions peculiarly unsteady and unstable in their Christian walk; but it pleased God at once to bring him out, and to make him an instrument of good from his first very awakening. The clergyman who was the happy means of his conversion soon left the parish, and was succeeded by one who walked in the same spirit, in the same steps. A large Sunday school had been formed in one of the wildest spots the sun ever looked on; it was numerously attended, by both Protestants and Romanists, and Mahony was entrusted with a class; and when the clergyman could not be present, for it was many miles from the church, and he had other services and other schools to attend to, the chief management of this school devolved on Mahony. He did not rest here; though labouring hard for his daily bread, he contrived to visit his pupils in their houses, and not them only, but their families, to whom he proclaimed, in English and Irish "the words of this life," and by whom he was joyfully received. After some time, and having been proved and watched by his minister, he was at length recommended to one of the societies who employ persons in the humbler classes to read the scriptures to the peasantry, and received from them a salary sufficient for his support. From this time he gave himself solely to the work, and the Lord has so blessed his labours, and the labours of his pastor, under whom, and by whose advice he acts, that multitudes, both of men and women, have already cast off the yoke of Popery, and taken, in deed and in truth, so far as human eye can judge, the yoke of Christ. At first there was no persecution; even his mother did not shew any marked opposition to his change; after a time, however, a spirit of very violent opposition did arise; but how was it met? not by irritation or despondency, but by faith, by patience, and by prayer; and, like the sandal-wood, which is said to perfume the axe that cuts it, the persecutor, the opposer, the scoffer has heard from the mouth or seen in the life of the object of his scorn, that which has been the means of bringing him to his right mind, of making him sit down at the feet of Jesus. On one occasion, at the time when the tithe war was raging, a party surrounded a house, where many Protestants and converted Romanists were gathered together for prayer, with the intention of burning the house and all that were in it. Those within, unconscious of the danger, had left the door on the latch; the murderers approached; it was necessary to reconnoitre; they listened; curiosity or some better feeling, was awakened by the sounds that reached them; the door was gently opened-one went in and knelt down, another and another followed, till the greater number of the party had entered. The more hardened went away; and the first the objects of persecution knew of their danger was from the penitent confession of those who had been kneeling with them before the throne of God; and some of those very individuals are, I believe, now rejoicing in that faith which once they endeavoured to destroy. One example among many, will give an idea of the mode in which the work has been carried on, the difficulties, and the grace. Tim Hagen was what is called 'a boy,' that is, a farm-servant, in some poor farmer's house. Mahoney was attached to him, and thought he perceived in him some hopeful symptoms; he was at least inclined to listen; but both were so occupied that it was difficult for either to gain a spare half-hour, and scarcely possible to arrange it to the moment when the other would be disengaged. Mahoney's plan was soon formed; he |