Notes of a Sermon

BY THE LATE REV. CHRISTOPHER MUNRO, STRATHY.¹
Preached at Kilmuir, Skye, 13th November, 1868.

¹ From Mr. Munro’s own MS. and hitherto unpublished.—ED.

“And looking round about upon them all He said unto the man, Stretch forth thine hand. And he did so: and his hand was restored whole as the other.”—LUKE vi. 10.

THE account of the miracle recorded here is introduced by the writer narrating some of the circumstances connected with it. It happened that the Saviour went on another Sabbath day into the synagogue and taught the people. It seems, though they put others out of the synagogue for acknowledging Him as the Messiah, that they had no courage, at least as yet, to cast Him out, or to prevent His teaching the people. The reason why they did not attempt it was the favour which the common people everywhere showed towards Him; and together with this, there was an authority accompanying His teaching and presence that overawed them and kept them in check or under restraint so far that as yet none ventured to lay violent hands on Him. They, however, spoke against Him, and sought on every opportunity some grounds on which they could accuse Him, and get Him condemned by the law. They were here in the synagogue professing to worship God and to learn out of His law or word, for Moses and the prophets were read there on every Sabbath; but instead of worshipping God in spirit and in truth, they were watching Him who came from God in order to find occasion against Him to arraign Him before their legal tribunals.

It is to be feared these men have representatives in our modern assemblies for worship; that is, persons who come not to worship, not to be instructed, but to find fault, and therefore to have an excuse, according to their own view of matters, for neglecting worship and for condemning all gospel institutions and all who maintain them. Their presence and the sinful motives that actuated them did not prevent Christ from teaching. He knew their need of being instructed, and felt pity towards them and all others under the influence of ignorance and unbelief; and therefore, as one anointed to preach good tidings to the meek and declare the acceptable year of the Lord, He availed Himself of the present opportunity to declare the gospel of the Kingdom. This is the duty to which all ministers are called, namely, to declare the truth, whether men will hear or forbear.

Christ saw one person in the audience that attracted His particular attention; and what was it that drew His attention to him? It was a certain infirmity under which he laboured, which did not affect his whole body, but only one member thereof. But it was one of the most useful members, even the right hand, the use of which is well known to all, and the loss of which must be felt as a great calamity by everyone who labours under that disadvantage. From an expression in one of the Psalms—the 137th, verse 5th—we learn that its loss was counted a heavy calamity among the Jews, as well as it is among other nations and peoples, for one deprived of its use is almost unfit for any work, and so far for earning his bread. On seeing him, Christ no doubt was moved with compassion for him, for He pitied people who laboured under bodily ailments and wants, for we read of His pitying those who had stayed three days with Him and had nothing to eat. He resolved, then, on curing this man; but He knew how His enemies would endeavour to make a handle of this against Himself and His doctrine. He then endeavoured to correct them, and by reasoning with them lead them to entertain right views and cherish a brotherly spirit. He knew they would charge Him with a breach of the fourth commandment, and He addresses them with a view to convince them how groundless these charges were. In effect He says unto them, “Do you not think that ye yourselves observe this command?” To which question no doubt they would have answered, “We do, and have kept it from our youth.” “What would you do in the event of a sheep of yours falling into a ditch on the Lord’s day?” “We would take it out.” “Quite so; and I suppose you would not think that act any transgression of the law?” “No, we would not.” “Now, here is a poor man with a withered hand, who can do nothing to earn bread for himself, and perhaps for a poor, widowed mother or for a wife and helpless, starving children; and is not his case as deserving of attention as that of the sheep?” To this they make no reply. They could not answer Him. They were silenced, but not changed. They allowed works of necessity in the case of a sheep, but would not allow a work of mercy towards a fellow-creature. And by this cold indifference they were guilty of transgressing that very law for which they pretended to have so much holy zeal, for evidently they had no love to their neighbour as to themselves. Thus zeal without knowledge always misleads, for it led them at this time to that which was contrary to the spirit of the law, and therefore to the mind of the lawgiver.

Christ, however, was not to be turned away from His own work by the opposition and cavillings of ignorant and wicked men. His course was like that of the sun, far above all created power and human malice to check or hinder. He calls the man, addressing him by name, or points him out by the circumstance of his right hand being withered. The man, in obedience to Christ, stood up. He was not of the same mind as the lawyers and scribes; he heard Christ teaching, and by the time He concluded, formed an opinion of Him very different from that which His enemies entertained concerning Him. He would say of Him, as others did, “No man ever spake like this person.” Christ during His teaching might have fixed His eye upon him, and from that eye that afterwards looked upon Zaccheus, or that cast a glance on Peter, with such effect, there might have gone forth a power that touched his heart, and gained his esteem and love and confidence. His Jewish prejudices were at all events subverted, and so he obeyed Christ. If he were of the same spirit as the opponents, he would not have acted as he did, for he would have looked upon himself as concerned in what he considered sin. He did not, then, conclude that there was any sin in obeying Christ, and so did not believe there was any sin in Christ Himself. And when he stood up, he thus publicly professed Christ to be a teacher sent from God. He knew what sentiments and opinions were entertained regarding Him by the leaders of his nation, by those to whom he used to look up as his teachers and leaders, and that the same would be entertained towards those who should countenance Christ in the least. He knew he would be accused of transgressing the law by them, and regarded as an outcast; but he formed such an opinion of Christ that he resolved to cast in his lot with Him. Seeing his former teachers, then, and knowing their spirit and conduct and authority, he was not in the least intimidated. He did not fear what this man or that might say regarding him. He did not fear what this scribe or that pharisee might bring against him, and if indebted to them for help in his disabled condition, he never thought of the loss of their patronage and favour. No sooner did Christ speak than he obeyed.

See him, now standing among the people who were sitting in the synagogue, with his hand hanging at his side withered and powerless, and not in the least afraid of the powers of the lawyers and scribes. And if he were not afraid, He at whose command he rose up was less so. Christ felt the peace of God filling His heart; He felt confident of thinking and acting according to His Father’s will. Here was work which it was His meat and drink to do from His bowels of mercy and compassion, work which was calculated to please and satisfy Him, and without being in the least disturbed by the presence of opponents, He proceeds to perform it. From the beginning He knew His enemies, knew their combination and their sayings against Him, but He heeded them not. Satan and his emissaries are always at hand, either when Christ is about to do any work of mercy or afterwards—to try and prevent Him in the former circumstances, or to cast a slur on it after He has performed it. He healed a man that was born blind before they knew that He did it, and also the man that lay at Bethesda; and as soon as both were known to have been healed, they did all they could to mar His work. But He was never moved by all that they did or said.

When the man stood up Christ asked them again, saying, “Is it lawful on the Sabbath days to do good or to do evil, to save life or to destroy it?” To this reasonable question there was no reply. “Then, looking round upon about them all, He said unto the man, Stretch forth thine hand.” This look was an appeal to their own consciences as to the reasonableness and justice of the remarks made by Him, and for the time their mouths were stopped; for they could not gainsay what had been said. He then said, “Stretch forth thy hand.” To this the man might have objected, and said, “Oh, I cannot do that, for my hand is withered, and I have not been able to move it for many a day; and it is a strange request on Thy part to ask me to do that which everyone knows to be impossible for me, and which Thou Thyself mayest know also to be beyond my power.” The rest of the audience also might be of the same mind, and look upon the command as unreasonable. Were he to give place to this objection, and sit down with a feeling of displeasure and anger at Him who spoke to him, many people would be ready to say that he did what was right and proper. Perhaps some here would be ready to join them in their views, for I fear that not a few act a similar part when they hear Christ’s command to do that for which they have no power. This man, however, did not act in this way. He believed that Jesus was able to cure him, or restore his hand and so enable him to stretch it out. The thoughts that went through his mind most likely were of the following nature: “I am not able to do this of myself, for I have had proof enough that my hand has lost all power; but here is one that can do all things commanding me to stretch it out, and therefore I will endeavour to do what He bids me.” And in attempting this he found his hand recovered strength, and that he could stretch it forth. And the consequence was that it was “restored whole as the other.” This filled His enemies with madness. How completely has sin perverted and blinded man’s mind! The teaching and good deeds of Him who came forth from the Father, instead of producing a salutary effect on these, only filled them with madness. A madman does not care what he does or says. He is ready to perform any work, evil work, and to speak the most awful blasphemies. These men hesitated not to consult about putting the Son of God to death.

What a triumphant argument may be found here against the view of those who maintain that all the power of the gospel is of a moral nature. There were never more persuasive arguments used to prevail on men to turn from error unto the truth than those contained in the teaching and works of Christ, and yet no teacher ever met with greater opposition and hostility than the blessed Son of God. How clearly may be seen here the truth of what He said on another occasion, “I have not come to send peace on earth but a sword.” Christ did not intend that this should be the effect; but He knew man and how he hates the light, even the truth of God, and that even when it shows him what is good and what Jehovah requires of him. Man’s low, blind, and miserable state cannot be more clearly seen than by his hatred and indifference to the truth, and opposition to Him who came in the name of Jehovah to bless sinners.

Having gone over in this manner the narrative contained in our text, I shall now endeavour to draw some practical lessons from what has been stated.

I. Christ, who came to the world to heal souls from the disease of sin, is seen here engaged in that blessed and merciful work.

He goes from place to place, and loves to frequent those places where men meet in great numbers, thus proving the truth of what had been written of Him, namely, “Rejoicing in the habitable parts of the earth; and His delights were with the sons of men.” There was none ever on earth who loved men as men as He did. He showed no regard for those accompaniments of rank and station to which so much importance is attached by men in general. He did not court the society of the honourable and great in the world, He did not frequent the abodes of the great nor the palaces of kings, but He spent His time among the poor, the sick, and distressed. We do not read of His making any journey to pay court to Herod the king or the Roman governor, but we read of His going to the coasts of Tyre and Sidon to relieve a poor woman and her daughter. We do not read of His going to call on the governors of Samaria, but we read of His going there to meet a poor, wretched woman, to call her and convert her to the faith of the gospel. We do not hear of His feasting with the grandees of Israel, but we read of His entering into the house of one Martha, whose sister was Mary and brother Lazarus, and in their society enjoying rest and finding delight in their simple faith in and love to Him, and in the eagerness with which they drank in His heavenly message, the words of the Father which He came to declare. Here we find Him in the synagogue on the Sabbath day teaching the people, and taking notice of one who had need of healing, and exercising His divine favour to restore him. Christ is still present where there are two or three gathered together in His name, and takes notice of any sick soul that may be present, for nothing can escape the piercing glance of that eye that is like a flame of fire. And as He is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever, His pity for the wretched and helpless has undergone no change since the days of His flesh, since the day He saw this helpless man in one of the synagogues of Judea. Is this believed by all present? If so, wait His time to take notice of you and to heal you.

II. This man’s disease may be taken as an illustration of man’s helplessness as a sinner.

This man lost the use of his right hand by some disease or other that destroyed the nervous energy, which loss, although the hand still lived like a vegetable, deprived it of all power for work. Man by sin lost spiritual life, and therefore, though he lives an animal and rational life, yet he is dead spiritually; he can do no good; he can do nothing to please God; he sins and comes short of God’s glory in all that he does. Therefore, instead of meriting life, he heaps up for himself wrath against the day of wrath, and fiery indignation that shall destroy the adversaries.

Man may think that he does good, as the pharisees, who esteemed themselves righteous and despised others. One may think that if he be a good neighbour, kind and just in his dealings, that he lives in a way that shall infallibly lead him unto heaven. Another may think that if he performs the external duties of religion that he pleases God. There were some among the Jews who made long prayers, but at the same time swallowed up widows’ houses, and thought themselves very good men. Others, who hear of hypocrites, think they are themselves better because they have no form of any religion; and many more flatter themselves that though they speak and act foolishly to some extent, yet that they have far better hearts than those who pretend to be very religious. Thus many imagine that they are doing good, and will be accepted by God, while they never did any really good work nor thought any really good purpose. They know not nor believe that the imaginations of the heart by nature are only evil continually.

When Christ is to heal any or to save any, He first gives them a true sense of what their state is, shows them by His Spirit and Word how matters really are with them before God. He convinces them that they are sinners without any good and without power or inclination to do any good, and that all they do is sinful, and therefore that they deserve no better than death. This is not a mere opinion, but a matter of conviction and experience. They are to try all their thoughts and deeds by the standard of the divine law, and find that all these are contrary to the spirit and letter of that law. At the same time the conscience testifies clearly and powerfully that the law is good and that every sin deserves, according to the Word, eternal death. Then the sinner may try to do good and think according to the law, but this he finds impossible; for sin, by the light of the law, revives and operates more powerfully in the heart than ever, which deprives the convinced person of all hopes founded on his works of law. He now feels that he is low; all his high thoughts of himself are brought down; he cannot look up to God from this ground with any confidence; he rather fears that God may cut him down suddenly and unexpectedly, and cast him into outer darkness, where the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched. He sees then his need of mercy; he cries for mercy—and has to wait God’s time to help, for he now looks for none from any other quarter. He looks on his right hand and left, and lo, there is none to know him; all help fails him. Here is a helpless one, and yet if able to go about he is not idle; what would he not do and where would he not go if he could expect to find help? He cannot but cry and groan, for he is burdened with fear and guilt, and burns within with a vehement desire after salvation, after deliverance from the pit which he seems to see opening to receive him, and from the wrath which he sees revealed from heaven against him, and as if it were ready, like an overwhelming flood, to devour him. If he could find Christ he would think no condition too hard to bear, he would think no labour too heavy; and so he is found diligently using the means of grace. A cold, a windy, or a rainy day would not not keep him from going a short distance to the meeting or to the church. Many have travelled miles and miles in every kind of weather, and under many outward disadvantages to hear the gospel, and in hopes to meet Christ. And, oh, how frequently has He spoken a word in season to such when all hopes seemed clean gone!

III. The manner in which He cured this man is a very apt illustration of the manner He applies salvation.

When He does this, or rather when He is about to do it, opposition rises up to prevent this, if possible; sometimes by Satan directly, at other times he gets men to join him in this work so congenial to his nature. Here men were instigators in this work, but they failed. There are men still who are enemies to the cross of Christ, who do all in their power to cast reproach on Christ and His cause, who make a mock of all real earnestness, of all anxiety and sore trouble for salvation and for finding Christ as one’s Saviour, and who condemn the diligent and constant use of means. And others do the same work by their carelessness and hardened indifference, setting an example before young and old, and so strengthening their fellowmen by their open indifference to the things of the Spirit. But when Christ begins to apply salvation no power can hinder Him, and no helplessness on man’s part can baffle Him.

The gospel of salvation is called good tidings of great joy. The saying or tidings is that Christ Jesus came to save sinners, that He died and rose again to save sinners and such like. But this salvation purchased by Him must be applied to each individual. Christ must speak with power to every soul. In purchasing salvation, Christ had to obey and suffer; in applying it, He has to speak with power, imparting life to the dead, strength to the weak, light to those in darkness, and health to those sick unto death. This is what renders indeed tidings good. He comes to such a soul in all the fulness that it has pleased the Father to dwell in Him, and supplies that soul’s need. His wants are great, so great that none can supply them but one who has all the fulness of the Godhead dwelling in Him. He sends forth His word and this fulness, this virtue goes forth from Him and terminates on the needy. He says, “Live,” and then immediately life is there; He says, “Believe,” and then there is faith; He says, “Turn,” and then they turn; “Repent,” and that grace is both implanted and called into exercise; He says, “Let there be light,” and then there is light; “Stretch forth thy hand,” and immediately there is power to obey. In this way He saves the dead, the lost, the helpless. He gives them power to believe, to lay hold of Himself; and whosoever believes is saved, is healed, whatever may have been the nature of his disease. If a careless man, he is no longer one indifferent to the interests of his soul or to the realities of eternity. If he was altogether taken up with the world, he now sets his heart on things above; if carried away by carnality, he now crucifies the flesh; if selfish, he now feels an interest in his fellow-creatures, and prays for their salvation and does all in his power to bring them to Christ. He is now animated by a new hope which is that of the glory of God; he has now new desires which are after divine, spiritual, and heavenly things, even after God. He now delights in the exercises of religious duties; formerly they were but dead forms unto him, but now they are means in which he deals with God, hears Him speak to him, and in which he speaks to God. He delights in His word; this is one of the rich pastures in which he feeds, and what a treasure he has in this word; what light he now finds in it on God’s name and ways; what light on the path he should go. He delights to meditate on God’s laws, and at times enjoys that peace which passeth knowledge. At other times it seems to correct him; it serves as a medicine which in his mouth is bitter but in his belly sweet as honey. Though severe and sharp in accusing of sin and error, yet it is a medicine of sovereign efficacy to heal. He finds the grace that is in Christ sufficient for him. By Christ strengthening him, Paul could do all things. This is the effect of Christ speaking with power.

Here we may find correction for an error into which men are apt to fall concerning the gospel. When they hear that they can do nothing, then they are apt to ask why are they commanded what they cannot, and so convert the gospel into a covenant of works in which all depends on man’s own ability. The gospel is not a law, but the word of salvation, a word that brings salvation with it when spoken by Christ Himself. But are not men responsible for their disobedience to the gospel? They are; and one way in which they disobey it is by trying to convert it into a covenant of works, and then imagine that they can and do obey it independently of Christ’s grace and Spirit.

If, then, the gospel has come in power unto you, it has found you lost and helpless and put life and strength into your soul. Are you now helpless? None can strengthen you but Christ. He is still in His Church. He still goes about doing good, He comes in due time, He hears prayers, He sees the low state in which you are. Let Him hear your voice, and pray unto Him to send forth His power. There is nothing too hard for Him. Wait for Him, and in waiting for Him be not negligent, forget not your need, plead His promise, plead His love, plead His work, cast yourself at His feet, beseeching Him to have mercy on you. Let not any man scare you away from Him; rise up in the midst and acknowledge Him; in spite of all opposition acknowledge Him as the Son of God, the only Saviour, one in whom there is no sin, one able to save, and one that ought to be obeyed in all that He commands. If challenged and asked either by enemies within or without, Why do you read God’s word, why do you pray, why do you use means? Tell them that Christ commands you, and that you dare not disobey Him.

You, who are dead in sins, who can do no good, and who do not obey Him, remember that you are doing all that lies in you to reject Christ and His salvation. Without Him you can never have life, you can never have peace, pardon, and hope, you can never be healed, never be prevented from going down to eternal death. Let me earnestly ask you, Will you choose this death rather than listen to Christ, rather than forsake your own ways, rather than renounce the world, the devil, and the flesh. He comes in His word to you once more, saying, Wilt thou be made whole, wilt thou be saved from sin and wrath? Without salvation from the former there is no escape from the latter. Let me once more beseech you to be reconciled unto God, to come unto Him who now calls, invites, and welcomes him that cometh.

Three Years’ Experience as a Nun.

THE following interesting narrative appears, along with a preface by the Rev. G. W. Weldon, Chelsea, a Church of England minister, in The Evangelical Advocate and Protestant Witness of October, 1880. It sheds instructive light upon the inner life of the Church of Rome:—

NARRATIVE BY CHARLOTTE MYHILL.

I think it a duty towards God to give a little sketch of my life as a Roman Catholic; trusting through the grace of God to prevent others from being led into such utter darkness. At the age of fifteen I went to Leamington; there I made the acquaintance of a young lady, G. H., a Roman Catholic. I was at that time a member of the Church of England, but very insufficiently instructed in its doctrines. No wonder then that my friend succeeded after a little time in drawing me to her church in Warwick—the first time in my life I had ever entered a Roman Catholic Church. The beautiful music and singing quite overpowered me. The Sabbath following I went to my own church; but no, it had not the same charm for me, I wanted something to fascinate my senses. Being very fond of Miss H., I had the misfortune to open my heart to her. Immediately she told me that it was my duty to see a priest, but at the time I scorned the very idea, as I knew it would be going against my parents’ wishes, and disobeying them in every respect. But what was I to do? I could not remain as I was. At last I told Miss H. that I would write to my father and explain to him my feelings; but she assured me I was placing my soul in a most dangerous position, and that God would not bless me unless I saw a priest first, and then I could follow his advice. Consequently, I did so, and after his advice took instructions to be received into the Roman Catholic Church, without letting my family know; during that time God alone knows all I suffered mentally. Six months after, I returned to my home. I tried to continue receiving instructions from another priest, but it was impossible, as I seldom went out alone. I then wrote to Miss H., who was at that time residing at Chipping Camden, Gloucestershire, keeping a school under the Earl of Gainsborough. I told her how unhappy I was, and that it was impossible to continue my “instructions.” After a long correspondence she at last told me that I must sacrifice my home and go to her to be received into the Roman Church; but I told her it was impossible, as my friends would never give their consent. Finally, she wrote and told me that it was my duty to run away, as the Commandment, “Honour thy father and mother,” was only meant when there was no question of religion, and that I was also to remember our Lord said, “He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me.” In the letter was enclosed a post-office order, more than sufficient to pay my expenses there. She told me to start at once, and she would meet me at the station. The letter, in a sense, so frightened me that I consented. As may well be imagined, I passed a night of most bitter anguish. At 5 A.M. I left my home and all those that I held most dear on earth. On arriving at my destination I wrote to my family, but my absence had been soon discovered. My poor father and mother were nearly mad with grief, not knowing what had become of me. On the reception of the letter, they sent friends to fetch me home, but acting under the influence of Miss H., notwithstanding the broken-hearted letter I received from home, I refused to return with them; this was in the month of June, 1869. In the month of August following—Feast of St. Lawrence—I openly renounced the Protestant Church, and was baptized a Roman Catholic. I felt a sort of external joy or fascination, but inwardly I had no peace. Then Miss H., not content with seeing me a member of the Roman Church, wished me to become a nun. That I looked upon as quite impossible, as I was of a naturally gay character; but my love for her was great, and as usual I could not resist her, and consented to make a tour of different convents. In September we started for York, St. Mary’s Convent (where she is a nun), from there to Ireland, etc., etc. In all we saw about 12 different Orders, but I did not like any of them.

On our return to Chipping Camden, Miss H. began to be very anxious about me (as I talked of returning to my home at Christmas), for she intended entering the convent then. She begged of me to accompany her to Stroud, St. Rose’s Dominican Convent there; I consented. On our arrival we were introduced to the Mother Prioress, whom I found to be very amiable, and, in consequence, before leaving, I asked admission into that Order; I was at once accepted, and the day was fixed for my reception. The next day we returned to Chipping Campden, I feeling most home-sick.

As Christmas drew near, I told Miss H. that I neither could nor would enter the convent until I had bid farewell to my parents. She tried to persuade me from it, showing me the danger I had of losing my vocation, but in vain; this time my will was too strong. Accordingly, the week before Christmas we parted for ever, she to enter the convent at York, and I to spend a few days at home before shutting myself up for ever; but when once at home I had not the heart to leave my family again, although continuing a firm Roman Catholic. My friends showed me the greatest kindness, and although I went daily, against their wishes, they did not forbid me to continue my religious duties. My friends had a most bitter hatred against the doctrines of Romanism. All went on well until 1871, when I was introduced to a French Order that had come over during the war. I went to see them with the permission of my confessor, and was at once enchanted with a most fascinating sister, “Sœur Marie”—who also spoke broken English. She spoke to me about the “religious life;” she quite won my affection, and I confided to her all that I had suffered during the time that I had been a Roman Catholic, and that I had tried to find peace, but could not. I asked her if she could tell me how I could find that peace; she told me that it was not difficult, that she saw plainly God was calling me to devote my life entirely to Him, and that I had only to answer to that call, and should at once find that peace I had so long sought for. My joy was beyond bounds, to think that that peace was within my grasp. I at once told my confessor, thinking he would rejoice with me; but he strongly objected to my entering into a French Order, though he firmly believed I ought to become a nun, but had designed an English Order for me. Feeling greatly disappointed, I told all to Sœur Marie; who said she believed God had called me to their Order, and advised me not to listen to my confessor. The same day I saw the Mother General; she accepted me, and desired me to enter at once; but my trouble was not all over: I had to break the news to my dear parents. From advice given me, I wrote my father a letter (dictated by a priest), telling him of my intentions, and that if he refused to let me go, he would only be able to prevent me until I became of age, as nothing could turn my mind from becoming a nun. My poor father, broken-hearted, gave no consent, but at the same time did nothing to prevent me, for he knew my strong self-will; then, against everybody’s wish, I entered the Convent De Marie Auxiliatrice, 4 Ivy Lodge, Kentish Town, April the 24th, 1871; I was removed the same day to Kennington Oval, where the convent still remains. I was a Postulant until the 5th of August; during that time I felt deeply the loss of my family, and spent many a day of bitter weeping. The Mother of the Novices told me to banish the thought, as it was only a temptation from the devil; I tried to do so. During that time they allowed me to write and receive letters from my friends, but they were all read beforehand. On the 5th of August I took the habit and white veil. I felt happy, but that true internal peace was wanting. I received no letters from my friends although I wrote many.

At the end of October I was ordered to Bourges (France), with several others. This was a dreadful blow to me, for it seemed that I was then indeed to be torn from dear old England and all those whom I loved. Being the only English nun then in the convent, of course, I was alone in my grief. The eve before we were to start, my sister having called, the Mother of the Novices told me to go to the parlour, and forbade me to say I was going to France. My sister was much upset to see me, for I was looking very ill from fretting, and sitting up at night to work. I had scarcely been with her two minutes, when a Sister came and said I was to leave the parlour. It seemed to me most un-Christian like to be allowed to remain only two minutes with one whom I never expected to see on earth again, but I obeyed. At 5 p.m. next day we started for Bourges—I with a most heavy heart. The Mother of the Novices seeing the feeling I had for my family, resolved to detach me entirely from them. I should say that during the three years I was in the convent, I never knowingly let a month pass without writing to my father and sister, and very often wrote to different members of my family; but during the whole time I never received more than about four letters from my sister, and two from a Roman Catholic friend. Since I have been home I have been told the number of letters that have been written to me, and the few received in return. I understand perfectly well the reason my letters have been detained; it was to reconcile me to that cruel detachment from those who claimed my first affection on earth. I have always known the convent authorities to act with very little heart in all such cases. Strange to say, my eyes were not yet open to the truth, notwithstanding my bitter sufferings day and night. I spoke of this separation often to my confessors, and the only consolation they gave was, that I was not generous enough towards God, for He wished me to be detached from my family. I tried to make myself believe this, but in vain.

In June, 1872, I returned to England, accompanied by two Sisters. During the time I was at Bourges I saw very little of penances, and the novices were very agreeable one with the other. I did not like the idea of leaving to go to another house of strange Sisters, but the Mother of Novices assured me I should find the Sisters the same in all houses. On my arrival in England I found everything very nice, all seemed working for their salvation; but alas! it was only a blind. After a few weeks things soon began to take a different turn. The Mother Superior, who was a young novice, very little older than myself in religion, but the cousin of the Mother General, foundress of the Order, showed me the greatest unkindness. The house soon became a house of discord and jealousy. She had not the slightest regard for my feelings in any respect—she would not allow me to receive letters or write any. My sister wrote to tell me she was going to be married, and wrote again to tell me she was married; she also sent me her card and a piece of wedding cake, but of all this I was in utter ignorance, and have only learnt it since I have been home; also letters subsequently written have been torn up before my face, and cast into the fire without one particle of their contents being communicated to me. My mother came to see me for the first and only time, but the Mother Superior refused me to stay more than a few minutes with her, and asked an account of all that had passed between us. During that time I was suffering very much from my heart and chest, and often from weakness turned faint. I told her of it, but she said I was not mortified enough, and took no more notice. My sufferings increased, but I did not complain. I was then mistress of the workroom, and had the whole charge of the work, taking it in and carrying it home. After a time she left the convent. We had another Superior, who seemed to be very fond of me, but she had the misfortune to break her shoulder. Again I found myself in the midst of most violent women; one through jealousy (because she thought the Superior liked me better than her) did all she could to set everyone against me. One day in a rage she threw the heavy top of a refectory table upon my back. I was under medical treatment for some time, and suffer in consequence to this day. I was most wretched at this time, and resolved to leave the convent, for I had met with nothing but deception. I entered the convent expecting to find peace and give up my time to serve God, but instead of that I found my heart hardening both towards God and man, and less peace than ever. At this time I had the most earnest desire to return to my family, but, as I had left them against their wish, I felt too much pride to approach them and ask to be received back.

I wrote to the Mother General in June, 1873, telling her how unhappy I was, and my intention of leaving the convent. She at once answered, telling me that it was only a temptation from the devil. She commanded me to return to Bourges. I did so, and on arriving there I found the novices very agreeable—in fact, I found everything much the same as when I left it. The Mother General told me I was to make a “retreat” and prepare for making the vows and taking the black veil, for to leave the convent would be damnation to my soul. I spoke to the priest; he told me the same. I then consented to follow their advice, and accordingly made the three vows—Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience—September 19, 1873. The next day I was sent to Paris as assistant to the Mother Superior. I had endured many bitter trials during my life as a novice, but they were nothing in comparison to those I had to endure as a professed nun after taking the black veil. After a few weeks the fearful penances began. The following are a few:—

1. Discipline with a cord of knots.
2. The same made of iron, with sharp points that tear the flesh.
3. An iron chain with sharp points to be worn tight round the waist.
4. The same to be worn on the arms.
5. Same, in shape of a heart, to be worn on the heart.
6. Same to be worn on the chest.
7. Hair shirt.
8. To lie on the ground and be walked over by all the Sisters.
9. To kiss their feet.
10. To lick the ground in the shape of a cross.
11. To dine on your knees.
12. To beg your dinner.
13. To wear an immense white paper on the head with the most predominant fault written on it.
14. To rise a little time after you have been in bed, say a prayer on the cold stones with the arms stretched out in the shape of a cross, etc., etc.

I showed a great repugnance to all these penances; not because I felt too cowardly to use them, but because it seemed so unchristian-like, neither could I understand why I should mortify the flesh thus, as it gave me no peace. I began to pray very much that God would make known to me what I ought to do.

One day, whilst suffering the torture of one of those instruments of penance, I began to think on the last words of our dying Saviour, “It is finished.” I felt there was some mystery which I could not understand, for what could be the meaning of these words if we were obliged to do such fearful penance in this life to atone for our sins, and to look forward to a fearful purgatory hereafter. I wanted to open my mind to some one, but dared not do so to a priest or nun; and, as a rule, all “Catholics” are forbidden to have a Bible. What was to be done? At last, almost in a state of despair, I prayed to God to give me light, and strength to act. In a few days Divine Providence sent one of my friends (Mme. C.) to stay a few weeks at the convent in Paris. I did not hide from her that I was unhappy, but at the same time gave her no reasons for my unhappiness. She at once communicated with my brother-in-law (Mr. M.), who made it known to my family, who desired him to act in whatever manner was best to reclaim their long-lost child. He at once wrote, and ordered me home, but the Superior of Paris telegraphed to the Mother General, and immediately I was ordered to Bourges. On my arrival I was told to take no notice of my brother’s letter, for it would be damnation to my soul to renounce the vows I had made by returning to my family. During a week fearful curses were held over my head, which put me in such a state of despair that I was frightened to leave the convent; and at last consented to go to Angers for a few weeks to try to find a little peace. A few minutes before starting I saw one of the Sisters with three letters in her hand from England; one was addressed to me in my family name, from my sister, entreating me to come home, and appealing to my feelings of love to my family. The other letters were addressed to the Mother General, the first from my brother-in-law, who, acting for my parents, commanded her to send me back to England by the 9th of March, failing which he should make the affair known to the English Ambassador in Paris, and claim his protection for me as a British subject, and stating that the family solicitor had been instructed to take such proceedings as were requisite to ensure my return. The other letter was also directed to the Mother General from the solicitor who had taken the case in hand, stating that proceedings would be taken immediately, as I was under age. The letters were so severe and determined that, after reading them, I positively refused to go to Angers as ordered, and when the Mother General knew my decision, she told me to go to the chapel and reflect upon the action I was taking. I did so, and became more convinced than ever that if I could get away I must do so, and return home. The Mother General, finding how very determined my family and I were, stood out no longer. She then acted very unkindly towards me, and gave me to well understand that there was no hope of my salvation, and that hell was paved with nuns who had renounced their vows; and another mother’s parting words were, “It is a blessing to think there is mercy for the greatest sinner.” I arrived in England March 9, 1874, and was received into the bosom of my family with an affection that for three years I had not known, and I have every day greater cause to thank God that He has brought me back.

My family did not influence my religious thoughts, but God has shown me since, not only the errors of a convent life, but the utter darkness of the whole system. Within her pale I sought peace, but found it not, and when I read my Bible quietly at home, it spoke in words of tenderness to my soul. I saw in it the words of eternal life, and by it I was led to the fountain opened for sin—the precious blood of Jesus so freely shed for every poor contrite sinner. I attended a Protestant Church on Sabbath, March 15, and was strongly impressed with the beauty and simplicity of the service, and after the unknown tongue of the Roman Church it was refreshing to my spirit. I have now found that peace I so vainly sought before. In conclusion, I will simply say that my feelings were akin to those of Luther before his conversion, who when journeying towards Rome expected to find it a heaven upon earth—a celestial city—and when he beheld it in the distance fell upon his knees and thanked God he was permitted to behold it; but when he arrived there, he found how great was its corruption, and that there was no peace within its walls; deception was written upon the gates thereof. Like him, I have had experience of that system, and rejoice that I have been brought out of darkness into light, from the power of Satan unto God through Jesus Christ.

Jesus said, “I am the light of the world; he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”