after night souls were
awakened and saved. The vicar's wife was in a towering rage of
opposition. Poor woman! she declared that she "would rather go to Rome
than be converted ;" and to Rome she went, but remained as worldly as
ever.

It matters very little whether unconverted people join the Church of
Rome or not; they are sure to be lost for ever if they die in their
unconverted state: for nothing avails for eternal salvation but faith in
the Lord Jesus Christ.

CHAPTER 30

Secessions, 1856.

After mission which Mr. Aitken had held, people came out so decidedly,
that the vicar and curate, who had all along kept aloof, doubting, fell
back into a kind of revulsion, and began to read and lend Romish books.
Eventually, they themselves decided to join the Church of Rome. Whether
they were ever really converted or not, I cannot tell. I thought and
hoped they were, but they seldom stood out on the Lord's side. They
certainly had light, and may have had some experience. At any rate, they
chose such a harlot as the Church of Rome for the object of their love,
instead of Christ Himself.

I loved the curate. He was the man who had the unopened letter in his
desk,* of which he harboured such a dread. Sad to say, he ended by
falling away at last. Poor man! he went over to Rome, and never held up
his head any more. Evidently disappointed, and ashamed to come back, he
lingered on for some months, and then died.

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* See page 256.
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Not long after his secession, we accidentally met in a quiet lane, in
another part of the county, where I was walking for meditation. Perhaps
he was led there for the same purpose. Meeting so unexpectedly, there
was no opportunity to evade one another. I felt a trembling come over me
at seeing him, and he was none the less moved. We held each other's
hands in silence, till at last I said, "How are you? I love you still."

"I cannot stand it!" he said; and snatching his hand out of mine, he ran
away.

I never saw him again, but mourned for him till he died. I cannot help
thinking that he is safe, and that he died in a faith more scriptural
than that of the Church of Rome.

Why do men secede; and break their own hearts, and the hearts of those
who love them? Rome seems to cast a kind of spell upon the conscience,
fascinating its victims much as the gaze of the serpent is said to hold
a bird, till it falls into its power; or as a light attracts a moth,