of
the Bible and Christianity. I had met with untenable views on the
inspiration and infallibility of the Scriptures. I had, besides, adopted
a defective method of reasoning on religious matters, which exerted an
injurious influence on my mind. All these things, and many others which
I cannot at present mention, had proved occasions of doubt and unbelief.
But the probability is, that none of these things would have destroyed
my faith in Christ, if I had been in a proper state of mind. There was
nothing in them to justify unbelief to a mind unprejudiced,
undistempered, calm. There was attractiveness enough in Christ, if the
mists which passion had thrown around Him, to hide His worth and glory
from my view, could be cleared away. And there was truth and goodness
enough in Christianity, and there were evidences sufficient of its
divinity, if one could have the films removed from one's eyes, and be
permitted to behold it in its own sweet light. The great difficulty was
in the disordered state of my mind, and the trying nature of my
situation. What was wanted, therefore, to make it possible for me to
return to my former faith, was not so much an explanation of particular
difficulties, as a better, happier, calmer state of mind. Explanations
of difficulties _were_ desirable, but they were not the first or
principal things required. The great, the _one_ thing needful, at the
outset, was a fitting state of mind,--a mind sufficiently free from
irritation, painful excitement, and consequent unhappy bias, to enable
me to do justice to the religion of Christ. And the circumstances in
which I was placed in Nebraska were calculated to bring me to this
desirable state of mind; and many things which befel me there were
calculated to stimulate my return to Christ.

1. In the first place, I was in a region favorable to calm and serious
thought. True, we were infected for a time with the fever of speculation
so prevalent in new countries; and we shared the hardships and toils,
the cares and anxieties, of a border life: but there were seasons when
serious thought and salutary reflection were inevitable. I was often
alone amid the quiet and solemnity of a boundless wilderness. The busy
world of men was far away. There was no one near to foster doubt or
unbelief, or to reopen or irritate afresh the closing wounds inflicted
by bigotry and intolerance in days gone by. And the loneliness of my
condition seemed to bring me nearer to God. It all