member of society, and more particularly of a religious society, to make a public profession of such principles as a diligent inquiry and mature reflection have taught him to respect as most nearly allied to truth, and most beneficial to mankind, I have resolved, not without reluctance, to separate myself once more, on quitting the church at Tonbridge Chapel, from a large and respectable portion of the Christian community.

My reasons for this step I venture to submit to your candid and serious consideration, offering them with that deference which every one must feel who has no object in view but to dissipate error, and whose fondest wish is to see the pure and amiable religion, which we alike profess, growing in the estimation of mankind, and contributing more and more, by it's increased purity and general diffusion, to their happiness and welfare.

For some time previous to my becoming acquainted with you, I had been giving considerable attention to the principles of our holy religion, with which I was desirous to become better acquainted. After an attentive perusal of the sacred volume, I could not help laying down in my own mind what appeared to me to be the leading features of the Christian revelation; and to this I was farther urged by a knowledge of the widely different views, which different denominations of Christians have taken of the subject. I was not, in the outset of my inquiry, destitute of that awe, with which every subject connected with the revelations of the Supreme Being ought to be approached; nor was I without the persuasion, so

commonly entertained, that there are many points of our religion, as it is taught in the Scriptures, which, surpassing human comprehension, are to be received with implicit belief; and that the example of the ancients is a sufficient authority for the modern interpretation of those passages, in which such doctrines are thought to be inculcated. To the fathers, therefore, next in order to the writers of the New Testa ment, I submitted my own judgment upon all such points; and, in deference to an authority, which I had yet seen no reason to impugn, became a zealous fol+ lower of the established religion, both in doctrine and worship. But, however impressed with respect for the established church, it occurred to me frequently and forcibly, during my attendance upon it's worship, that the language of its service differed in many im portant particulars from that of the Scriptures. The more I reflected I felt the more convinced, both upon that head, and that many of it's prominent doctrines are liable to the same objection. At last I found myself reluctantly compelled to withdraw from it's communion, in order that I might no longer be compelled to join in forms of worship, which appeared totally unauthorized, and to give my assent to the principles of a theology, of the soundness of which I had begun to entertain the most serious doubts.

It now became an important object with me, to be united to a congregation of Christians, if such I might be so fortunate as to find, whose public wórship should be free from like objections. Under

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such circumstances, and actuated by a disinterested regard for the interests of religion, I offered myself to become a member of the church at Tonbridge Chapel. I hoped, that in a congregation which had no established form of worship, and which professed in all things a strict adherence to Scripture, the most scrupulous Christian would find nothing to give him uneasiness. But I had not long taken my seat among you, before the same feelings of distrust and suspicion were awakened, which I had before experienced in the church, but from a widely different cause. I did not fail to discern, amidst the figurative language in which the preachers of evangelical religion are accustomed to express themselves, that the value of a virtuous and moral life was depreciated, in a degree which I little expected to find in a Christian society: or, in plain terms, that it was a fundamental principle of the gospel preached at Tonbridge Chapel, that the most virtuous life, however it may promote the happiness of mankind in this world, has no influence in securing their happiness in a future state. Taught, by the past, the necessity of a more deliberate and measured conduct in my public profession of religion, I determined to suspend my judgment upon this momentous question until I should be better able to view it in all it's bearings, and to acquaint myself with the arguments for and against it. In the meantime, an opportunity of promoting a cause, which I had very much at heart, presented itself, in the proposal made about this time for forming a

Sunday school, under the protection of our church, for instructing children of the poor of all denominations of Christianity in a knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, in which the views of no sect or party should form any part of the scheme of instruction. I need not say how zealously I entered upon this work, nor how steadily I pursued it, as long as the pledge given to the public at it's commencement was adhered to. The pleasure I derived from a close attention to the infant establishment, could only be equalled by that I felt in witnessing it's rapid growth. But the introduction of the Assembly's Catechism into the school (a decidedly sectarian work, and the class-book of the Calvinistic dissenters), in opposition to the strong remonstrances both of my respectable associate in the superintendence and myself, having left no doubt in my mind, that the truly liberal plan upon which the school was formed would no longer be adhered to, I found myself compelled to resign a charge, which I was debarred from executing with satisfaction to myself, or in conformity to the pledge I had given to the parents of the children and the public. I am, however, indebted to this disappointment for having impelled me to resume an employment, which this and other avocations had interrupted, of tracing the origin and connection of the several doctrines commonly received under the name of the gospel, which seemed most repugnant to general principles, and to the common sense of mankind; an inquiry that has convinced me, that they have, for the most part, one and the same origin. I at length dis

covered, that I had changed my church more in name than in reality; that the articles prescribed by the church of England, as the measure and test of a Christian's faith, are even more scrupulously adhered to by the generality of dissenting churches; that every troublesome and revolting opinion of the former is, in the latter, studiously selected and ostentatiously displayed, under the idea of reviving the decaying influence of piety and religion; and that, so far from having given to God and my fellow Christians a pledge to support, for the future, no religious dogmas, but to leave opinions to stand or fall by their own merit, I had unconsciously subscribed, in the one article of the church of Tonbridge Chapel, to the whole body of theology which I so much disapproved.

I shall have an opportunity in the course of these Letters to elucidate these observations, as I propose to consider some of the chief points of the religion commonly professed by Christians of the present day. But there is a preliminary position, which it seems absolutely necessary to establish, I mean, the sufficiency of the human understanding, when not under the influence of any undue bias, to investigate such subjects for itself; and, with no greater chance of failure or mistake than is incidental to inquiries into other branches of knowledge, to arrive at some clear and satisfactory conclusions. It is possible, that there may be a great mistake in regard to the common persuasion of the hopelessness of such inquiries, which, if it could be done away, not only would