of the arguments on both sides, would lead to a maturity and establishment of faith not usual in the present condition of the Christian church.

While I believe that the Bible is a revelation from God, I cannot, however, conceal from myself, and I would fain impress it affectionately upon you,-that the doctrines of Scripture are not to be understood and appreciated independently of certain moral and spiritual qualifications; and that these are only to be secured by a devout, sincere, and believing application to the throne of grace. To the natural man, whose mind is entirely without the enlightening influence of divine grace, the spiritual revelations of the evangelic system are foolishness. Being discerned only by spiritual senses, he who is destitute of such a power of perception remains in a state of ignorance of, or aversion from, them, deep and dense in the proportion in which his mind is destitute of divine and heavenly light. Yet, "if any man lack wisdom," he is encouraged to "ask it of God," with the assurance, derived from the divine character, and confirmed by the experience of all ages, that

"He giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth

not."

Such being the condition on which divine illumination is made to depend, I cannot but feel concerned to find that you are at all dis-posed to waver upon the doctrine of the atonement of Christ, because, in the nature of things, your doubts must exert some degree of influence upon the spirit in which you approach God, to seek for the assistance which you need. Of this I find you are already sensible. In adverting to your past feelings, you will recollect that you came to the duty of prayer with a strong and delightful confidence. You felt humbly assured that you might successfully plead the merit and intercession of Christ, not only in seeking pardon for sin, but also in petitioning for any spiritual good, of your need of which you were sensible. Nor were your prayers without success. You will remember how delightfully your faith in Christ was confirmed; how frequently you were enabled to realize views of divine truth, which were at once surprising and refreshing to your spirit; and how sweetly you were strengthened to pursue a course of

humble obedience to the will of God. But this is past. You have not, I trust, abandoned the duty of secret prayer; but your approach to God is no longer marked by the confidence which once distinguished it: you are embarrassed in the presence of Him to whom it was once your delight to draw near. You no longer feel the prevalency of the name and the virtue of the blood of Christ, as you once enjoyed them. Duty and suffering are comparatively irksome; and of your closet and your home it may well be said, "The glory is departed."

There is something in your circumstances indescribably affecting to my mind; and that, not merely because you are already a sufferer, but also because your position is at present so extremely critical. You are not, I believe, yet the subject of that pernicious latitudinarianism which represents every system of belief as equally acceptable to God, provided it be not accompanied by any gross outrage of morality. You are still ready to admit, that Christianity is not only the best form of religion, but also that there is no other by which you can attain the enjoyment of eternal happiness. But suffer

me, my dear friend, to remind you, that, in all essentials, there is but one Christianity. He who rejects the doctrine of the atonement, and he who believes in it, cannot both be Christians. They have, in fact, no community. He who worships Christ as God, and he who represents him as "fallible and peccable man," cannot be partakers of the same religion: both, it is true, believe that there is a God; but they are essentially at issue as to who and what God is. If we be right, the Unitarian is a blasphemer; if we be wrong, we are idolaThere is no alternative, there can be no alternative. Nothing, therefore, can be more serious than your present circumstances; and any decisive change in your opinions will obviously involve consequences more momentous than you are at present able to calculate. I need not, then, urge upon you the necessity of deep deliberation, of solemn concern, of earnest prayer.

ters.

But suffer me to suggest to you the reproach which your conduct will cast upon those whom you so deeply love, should you unhappily take that step to which your doubts at present tend. You have enjoyed the communion of saints,

any

and with deep reverence have you looked up to those Christians of mature and ripened piety, with whom it has been your happiness. to be associated. Of some of them you have thought almost as you would think of angels of God. Their simple faith, their earnest zeal, their pure benevolence, their strict integrity, their gentleness and spirituality, have conspired to impress you with so exalted a view of Christianity, that you have wondered how I could resist its attractions. Some of them you have visited in their last hours, and your tears even now are ready to start, when you recur to the scenes of more than mortal peace which you then witnessed, of "joy unspeakable, and full of glory;" the triumph over death, and all its associated terrors; the resignation of those best loved into the hands of God; the clear, cloudless anticipation of eternal blessedness. It is impossible that you can ever forget how resolutely you determined, "This people shall be my people, their God shall be my God." But continue to cherish the doubts which now agitate you, till they are matured into certainty, and till you feel yourself bound to renounce all connexion with