A CHAPTER FROM MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY. "On religion in particular, the time appears to me to have come when it is the duty of all who, being qualified in point of knowledge, have on mature consideration satisfied themselves that the current opinions are not only false but hurtful, to make their dissent known."-JOHN STUART MILL. NEARLY twenty years have elapsed since my silent withdrawal from the quiet duties and unpretending social position of a curate of the English Church. Increased acquaintance with theological controversy has served only to strengthen the convictions which necessarily resulted in this withdrawal. At length the time appears to have arrived for giving audible expression to those reasons which impelled me to recede from the circle of orthodox belief, or which still preclude my return. Abstaining from a formal and systematic investigation of the claims of dogmatic Christianity, I content myself with a recital of the reasons which induced me to abandon a creed consecrated by the traditions and services of two thousand years. This recital will naturally assume the form of a mental autobiography. Some few fragmentary passages from the imperfectly-recalled history of early years will best illustrate both the devout faith of childhood and the ignorant scepticism of boyhood, which, transitory as it proved, yet served as a rehearsal for the instructed unbelief of mature age. A strong natural bias, if not to doctrinal religion, at least to religious sentiment, not unaccompanied with a certain imaginative activity, was a leading characteristic of my early years. I recall an incident of those years which, trivial in itself, exercised a powerful and permanent impression on my mind. Wandering, after the fashion of children, over the house in which I lived, I chanced to stray into a room where a woman sat reading, in a low voice, of strange sights and beautiful shapes beheld in vision-I knew not where, or when, or by whom. I listened as one enchanted. The Book from which she read was the Bible. Thirsting to know more of the glorious phantom-world of which I had caught a glimpse, I one day carried off the coveted volume, and henceforward, morning after morning, I sat alone, evoking splendid pictures of Oriental life and adventure from the magic pages of the mystic book, or peopling my solitary retreat with the visionary forms of dreaming prophet, majestic patriarch, heroic king, or pastoral princess. This grave delight in the poetic and narrative portions of "The Old Testament" was succeeded by the severer interest which the story of "The New Testament" awakened. Though the religious enthusiasm thus excited endured through many years, it was not destined to survive the development of the sceptical tendencies which had been dormant in my mind. At this distance of time, I can but reunite the scattered traces of half-conscious thought or obscure feeling, which preceded and prepared the determinate scepticism of advancing years. A schoolfellow had once avowed in my hearing his disbelief in a material hell. Another young acquaintance had objected to the anti-scientific cosmogony of Genesis, instancing the existence of light, with the division of day and night, before the creation of the sun. A volume of theology had been given me to read, containing an elaborate argument to prove, what I had never doubted, the being of a God. The conception of God as a First Cause, on which the author laid great stress, appeared to me destructive of the personal and affectional nature of the Deity, and to leave in its place a cold impassive entity. Speculation on the possible fate, in another world, of Lord Byron, the favourite poet of my youth, pronounced by the pious to be hopelessly lost, probably inclined me to wavering views on the subject of posthumous retribution. The general productions of this volcanic genius captivated me with the spell of a congenial gloom, rather than directly educated me into unbelief. Cain, a Mystery," indeed, proved exceptionally provocative of doubt. Among the many passages which suggested that there was something wrong in the popular theology was one in which Cain, conversing with his sister Adah, insinuates that the love "not yet a sin" in them would be so in their children—a doctrine which seemed to make morality, varying in different ages, depend on the arbitrary decree of Supreme Power. In another passage, Cain argues, "to produce destruc |