argued from the Old Testament; but that “faith in the book” was no part of Paul’s gospel, is manifest from his giving no list of sacred books to his Gentile converts.  Twice indeed in his epistles to Timothy, he recommends the Scriptures of the Old Testament; but even in the more striking passage, (on which such exaggerated stress has been laid,) the spirit of his remark is essentially apologetic.  “Despise not, oh Timothy,” (is virtually his exhortation) “the Scriptures that you learned as a child.  Although now you have the Spirit to teach you, yet that does not make the older writers useless:  for “every divinely inspired writing is also profitable for instruction &c.” In Paul’s religion, respect for the Scriptures was a means, not an end.  The Bible was made for man, not man for the Bible.

Thus the question with me was:  “May I still receive Christ as a Saviour from sin, a Teacher and Lord sent from heaven, and can I find an adequate account of what he came to do or teach?” And my reply was, Yes.  The gospel of John alone gave an adequate account of him:  the other three, though often erroneous, had clear marks of simplicity, and in so far confirmed the general belief in the supernatural character and works of Jesus.  Then the conversion of Paul was a powerful argument.  I had Peter’s testimony to the resurrection, and to the transfiguration.  Many of the prophecies were eminently remarkable, and seemed unaccountable except as miraculous.  The origin of Judaism and spread of Christianity appeared to be beyond common experience, and were perhaps fairly to be called supernatural.  Broad views such as these did not seem to be affected by the special conclusions at which I had arrived concerning the books of the Bible.  I conceived myself to be resting under an Indian Figtree, which is supported by certain grand stems, but also lets down to the earth many small branches, which seem to the eye to prop the tree, but in fact are supported by it.  If they were cut away, the tree would not be less strong.  So neither was the tree of Christianity weakened by the loss of its apparent props.  I might still enjoy its shade, and eat of its fruits, and bless the hand that planted it.

In the course of this period I likewise learnt how inadequate allowance I had once made for the repulsion produced by my own dogmatic tendency on the sympathies of the unevangelical.  I now often met persons of Evangelical opinion, but could seldom have any interchange of religious sentiment with them, because every word they uttered warned me that I could escape controversy only while I kept them at a distance:  moreover, if any little difference of opinion led us into amicable argument, they uniformly reasoned by quoting texts.  This was now inadmissible with me, but I could only have done mischief by going farther than a dry disclaimer; after which indeed I saw I was generally looked on as “an infidel.”  No doubt the parties who so came into collision with