and Mr. Newton, and Mr. Cecil dug, quite large enough to be the immeasurable Gospel of the Lord of the universe.'

Dare to be alone with God, my dear

trust Him, and do not fear that He will leave you in darkness long, though His light may dazzle. Was not HE alone in this world?—unfelt, uncomprehended, suspected, spoken against? And before Him was the cross. Before us, a little tea-table gossip, and hands uplifted in holy horror. Alas! and we call that a cross to bear. Shame yet still I do admit, that for a loving heart to lack sympathy is worse than pain. Do not hesitate to ask me about anything that I say, if it seem difficult. I would gladly explain to any of my congregation anything I meant to say, if I said it obscurely, or if it seemed to conflict with their conceptions. But to you, at any time, I will with true enjoyment give such explanation, so never doubt about asking me.

CI.

To the Same.

Brighton May 21, 1851.

My dear,The question you put is by no means an easy one to answer: whether, namely, it be right and wise for you to read on both sides of the question—or rather, I should say, questions? for on this subject they are endless, and grow up like Hydra's heads.

I could not reply, No: for that is the very advice given by the Romish Church, which we so much blame; and it is very inconsistent in us to condemn their prohibitions of heretical or Protestant books to the laity, if we, Tractarian or Evangelical clergy, forbid, as is constantly done, the perusal of books which we judge heretical. We say they are afraid of the truth, else they would not forbid enquiry; and I do not see why Unitarians, Rationalists, or Sceptics, might not retort the same charge on

us.

The fact, however, that they who so condemn the Romish Church find themselves compelled to very inconsistently imitate their conduct, is a proof, I think, that even in that most anti

Protestant proceeding there is a truth, inevitably acted on by every one in his own way, if we could only disengage it.

Now, first of all, the questions of religious truth are interminable, and a lifetime would scarcely suffice to even pass the outworks of them all. Next, very few minds are in possession of the means or of the severe mental training which qualifies a man to set out as an original discoverer of truth; so that if we cannot begin with a large number of truths, which must be considered as first principles and settled, life must be one perpetual state of Pyrrhonism and uncertainty.

On the other hand, to refuse to examine when doubts arise is spiritual suicide; and I do not see how, on this principle, any progress in truth could ever have been made. Why should the Pharisees have been blamed for the views so long stereotyped, or the Jews for remaining in Judaism?

One consolation, however, at once suggests itself. The condition of arriving at truth is not severe habits of investigation, but innocence of life and humbleness of heart. Truth is felt, not reasoned, out; and if there be any truths which are only appreciable by the acute understanding, we may be sure at once that these do not constitute the soul's life, nor error in these the soul's death. For instance, the metaphysics of God's Being; the 'plan,' as they call it, 'of salvation;' the exact distinction between the divine and human in Christ's Person. On all these subjects you may read and read till the brain is dizzy and the heart's action is stopped; so that of course the mind is bewildered. But on subjects of Right and Wrong, Divine and Diabolic, Noble and Base, I believe sophistry cannot puzzle so long as the life is right.

I should say, therefore—

1. Remember how much is certain. Is there any doubt about the Sermon on the Mount? Whether, for instance, the Beatitudes are true to fact? Whether the pure in heart shall see God? Any doubt, whether to have the mind of Christ be salvation and rest? Well, if so, you may be content to leave much, if God will, to unfold itself slowly; if not, you can quietly wait for Eternity to settle it.

2ndly. I think the only thing that can be said is broadly this : I would not read controversially. In this bewildered age of 'Yeast' (by the bye, the author of 'Yeast' ought not to cry out about fermentation, unless he can show how it can be made bread, nor ought any one, duty now being rather to be silent)— in this age of 'Yeast,' an age in which, like Diana's worshippers, all are crying out loudly, the greater part not knowing why, or what the questions really are, it seems to me that the more we confine ourselves to simple duties the better. Be assured that there is little to be known here: much to be borne: something to be done. What you are, and what your life means, you do not know. God only knows. You must be content with twilight, except when contrast with darkness makes the twilight seem, as it really is in comparison, a blaze of light.

Specially, in your own case, would not this be your duty? You have regular appointed teaching with which you are not dissatisfied. I should be the last to urge you to blind yourself by it, or refuse to receive light from any other quarter which, presenting itself, might make that teaching seem wrong; but so long as it appears to you not darkness, but light, surely it would be wisest, for your own peace and the harmony of your life, not to go out of the way to investigate and seek for views which may make that little light questionable. Try, rather, to live upon the truths you have for certain, and let them become firmer and firmer. How can you expect to fathom questions in which the wisest of the age have been sounding in vain? This conviction once settled, I think we shall become content to wait -a great lesson; and let God teach us by degrees, instead of fancying we can find it all out by effort. Do you remember Wordsworth's

Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum

Of things for ever speaking,
That nothing of itself will come,

But we must still be seeking?

We do not trust God; we trust ourselves. We do not believe that He seeks us; we fancy we have to seek Him. We are

anxious to know all about God, and meanwhile we never think of knowing God. God, instead of religion, and much more, God, instead of theology, is what we need to believe in.

I would avoid all controversy, written or spoken, if I were you. Controversy with acquaintances mystifies, renders you suspected, and embitters your own heart. Besides, how can you explain what you think or feel with no endorsed words which will be honoured, as the bankers say? Then the controversial books of the day are so merely 'Yeast,' that they will leave your mind bewildered. I myself follow this plan as much as possible. I mix little with the religious world, and so avoid discussion. I read little of divinity, much more of literature, though that, from mental prostration, is now next to nothing. And I try to trust in God-God and my own soul; there is nothing else to trust to. And I am sure I should be giving you dreary advice were I to say, read on all sides of the question. No, I rather say, trust in God-live in Him-do His will-and rest.

CII.

is a very sensible, good, and, I should think, wise man. I like what he says about the impossibility of any man being comprehensive, and not French, German, English, &c. There has been but one Son of Man.

Poor Comte! I recollect that there is in his work the usual amount of French vanity and nationality, which mars everything great. They have not a world-wide man: with all our egotism, we have. And, indeed, I think all our greatest men are more universal, more submissive to eternal and not merely conventional laws. Compare the Duke and Napoleon, though the talent of the latter was probably far greater.

Well, I care very little for the progress of society, if that only means that, some centuries hence, individuals will eat, drink, and sleep more abundantly and more cleanly than the masses now, those individuals being mortal, perishable, and dying out for ever. They take away all that makes humanity grand, and then ask you to care for it and its progress. I care for religion

-for the hope of a church; that is, a society more united in each other, because more united in God. But separate from that, and the possibilities of nobleness which that involves, the destinies of the race appear to me little more interesting than the contemplation of the prospects of a tray of silkworms-obscene and crawling reptiles, which may hereafter become moths, and die, when the eggs are only laid. The whole universe, in this aspect, is to me a hideous phantasm—the cruel practising-shop of some demon experimentalist, who creates Frankensteins to be wretched and accursed, and makes them better every new attempt. Pleasant consolation for us-no! me, the Frankenstein, to know that some centuries hence there will be no more anomalous, semi-noble, semi-banned, and blighted Frankensteins. No, no, no! There is some better thing than that; and French atheism must get a human, humble, loving heart before it can even guess what.

CIII.

May, 1851.

I send you a letter which I received from Mr. Drew, pressing me into the service. This morning I had a long visit from Mr. Maurice, which kept me from writing to you at length. His countenance is benign, full of thought, marked with sorrow-but conquered sorrow. Probably, from knowing his mind beforehand, I read large powers of sympathy with Humanity. He told me, simply and strongly, that he had seen and been pleased. with my published addresses. I ought not to have said a long visit; it was under an hour, as he had to go off by the eleven o'clock train. I again declined joining in the course of lectures -this time chiefly on the ground of health, for, indeed, I feel shattered, mentally unfit for such an effort, nor have I any desire left for prominence; the valley of existence is most fit for me. I am young enough in years, but too grey in heart, to buffet with the mountain tempests which blow on more lofty situations. Maurice, gentlemanly and calm, about fifty years of age, spoke less than I did. I was ashamed to feel that I had the talking to myself, and learned nothing except a lesson of humility. He thinks