PART V.

1792-1793.

"Truth, which doth only judge itself, teacheth that the inquiry of truth, which is the love-making or wooing of it, the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief of truth, which is the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature."--BACON.

"And a sign shall be mercifully given to the doubt of love, which shall be refused to the doubt of indifference."- ROBERTSON.

SEVERAL months have now slipped away, during which I have been prevented by illness from going on with this autobiography, and whilst it is my earnest desire to do so, I feel, even after this brief interval, that it is no light thing to continue my work.

At the end of seventy-five years, it is almost overwhelming to turn back to the vivid memory of the past, for though in age our perceptions become blunted, and that which is around us excites perhaps no keen emotion, and the converse of the heart is naturally amongst those whom it has known and revered in years long passed, yet we more naturally dwell amongst the anticipations and glorified views of which our earthly friendships were the germ, than on the literal recollections of what that germ was in its earthly envelope. Hence that view of the Church

triumphant, which is the real rest, and hope, and animating joy of the aged; in which, though memory is not without pain, it is merged into nearer and brightening hope. Widely different is it when the mind of set purpose leaves that celestial region, and returns to the scenes that have passed, and the inhabitants who once peopled them. This converse is no longer with the living; we traverse the vast cities of the dead; we seem again to listen to voices we shall hear no more on earth; we look upon countenances no mortal eye shall ever more behold; and as we recollect the motley train of good and evil in which they were connected with ourselves, we are like one traversing a vast cemetery, where the heart tremblingly says to herself, "Alas! in this vast multitude, Thou, Lord, alone knowest which amongst these sleepers have heard the voice of the Son of Man, and now live before Thee!" Yet as is the Majesty of God, so is His mercy; and how many persons who have been dear to us on earth, over whose lot an impenetrable veil has hung, may we one day find rejoicing in His love and mercy!

But this is by no means the only nor even the chief reason of the deep feeling with which I renew this occupation, and, as I believe, perform this duty. What I have to speak of next is full of evil. I have to mark the gradual and increasing darkness of the heart when it is alienated from God. Oh! the deep solitude and isolation of the soul which knows not God, or has abandoned Him! Who that has been rescued by His mercy, as it were, from the brink of the grave, can turn again after the long lapse of years to unlock once more the doors

of that dreary prison-house without shuddering? If such is the pain in following out the progressive fall of any human soul once created in the image of God, what is it when that soul is one's own? Such are my feelings at this moment.

I have no striking events nor remarkable exterior circumstances to record in my life; it has in a peculiar manner been a life of contemplation, not of action; one in which, therefore, I have had more leisure for self-observation than most, and for distinctly noting the effects of what may have seemed passing trifles upon the character; an observation which included the effects of not only what I myself selected as my mental food, but likewise of the different modes of training under which I fell.

It is not my intention to enter minutely into every detail of this period of my history. I should feel it impossible fully to describe a course with so little external, but with such great development of internal life. A heart where the Spirit of God reigns not is chaos, and who can tell its darkness and its contradictions?

After our return from Liverpool my father and mother went to pay a visit to Dr. and Mrs. Priestley, whilst I returned, in the same hopeless state I have before described, to the school-room. Occasionally I turned to my favourite Lavater. I again looked at the beautiful country, at the glorious sun, at the trees, and at the flowers, but it was always with a saddened heart; for I feared that the picture Lavater drew of the dignified destiny of human nature, and of a heart purified by faith, was perhaps but a poetical and ideal phantom.

I will, however, amidst the gloom, mention two recollec

tions which stand out prominently in the review of my rapid descent.

One evening during a sunset, when the bright light bathed the prospect in glory, I happened to open a book of beautiful prints (I think of the Florentine Gallery). The picture represented a sacrificial procession: there were long trains of priests; then came the oxen, the sheep, and the swine, the animals clean and unclean, all trapped out with gold and rich garlands of flowers, yet all led as victims, by those who conducted them to the altar, to pour forth their blood and die. "Oh!" thought I, "as these heathen priests of old did to these poor unconscious animals, so, if there be a God, is He perhaps doing to us; and even this beautiful face of nature, and wealth, and riches, and honour are but the gilding and the deceitful trappings with which He leads His wretched victim, man, the clean and the unclean, like the ox who licks the hand of his conductor, or the boar who with his tusks would destroy him, and hurries them alike and ruthlessly to one common doom."

I also recollect that, after a time, I determined to go on in this uncertainty no longer, but to come to a definite result. The religious books that I had from time to time enjoyed reading, either at home or at my grandfather's, whilst they expressed devotional feeling did not impart distinct religious knowledge, nor did they unfold the grounds of religious faith. I saw, indeed, that those who delighted in these books were the happiest people I knew, but also that they never gave accurate definitions of the doctrines of their faith, or of the basis on which it rested. From this

I, in my presumption, concluded that the writers were persons without sense, and that their opinions were of little value. It was not until many years afterwards I learnt that, having proved the value of Christian truth by experience, they had no necessity, on their own account, to dive into the philosophic grounds for the belief of that good of the efficacy of which they lived in a daily and hourly experience.

On the other hand, I knew that those who disbelieved were universally, at least in my experience, esteemed the most acute logicians, and the most highly gifted of men; they always spoke of a bright order of things to be achieved, which was in the progress of being realised; and though no signs of it appeared, I was wholly perplexed by their arguments, and caught as it were in a net. The only person I knew who was esteemed a man of high talent, and yet religious, and who was also our intimate friend, was Dr. Priestley, and his works were the only religious books I heard spoken of with respect amongst the intellectual society at Barr.

The writings of Dr. Priestley professed not merely to be devotional, but to contain instruction in Christianity. To these I now determined to appeal, as the only standard of belief within my reach, in order to satisfy my mind as to the truth or falsehood of Christianity. I would especially mention "The Institutes," and the "History of the Early Corruptions of Christianity," and some other works on Materialism and on Philosophical Necessity. All these books having become familiar to me about this period, I cannot positively say to which of them it was I appealed on