“It is my business to avoid giving offence to the world, especially in all matters merely indifferent. I shall therefore stick to my old uniform, blue and buff, unless God see fit to change it for black. I must be as attentive to my dress and to household affairs, as far as cleanliness and comfort are concerned, as ever—and indeed more so. Let us take care to drive none away from God, by dressing Religion in the garb of Fanaticism. Let us exhibit her as she is, equally removed from superstition and lukewarmness. But we must take care, that while we avoid one extreme, we fall not into the other—no matter which. I was born and baptized in the Church of England. If I attend the Convention at Charlottesville, which I rather doubt, I shall oppose myself then, and always, to every attempt at encroachment on the part of the Church—the Clergy especially—on the rights of conscience. I attribute, in a very great degree, my long estrangement from God, to my abhorrence of Prelatical pride and Puritanical preciseness; to Ecclesiastical tyranny, whether Roman Catholic or Protestant—whether of Harry V, or Harry VIII—of Mary or Elizabeth—of John Knox, or Archbishop Laud—of the Cameronians of Scotland, the Jacobins of France, or the Protestants of Ireland. Should I fail to attend, it will arise from a repugnance to submit the religion, (or church) any more than the liberty of my country, to foreign influence. When I speak of my country, I mean the Commonwealth of Virginia. I was born in allegiance to George III—the Bishop of London (_Terrick!_) was my diocesan. My ancestors threw off the oppressive yoke of the mother country, but they never made me subject to _New_ England in matters spiritual or temporal—neither do I mean to become so, voluntarily.” I have been up long before day, and write with pain from a sense of duty to you and Mrs. B., in whose welfare I take the most earnest concern. You have my prayers. Give me yours, I pray you. Adieu! J. R. of R. P. S. You make no mention of Leigh. I was on the top of the pinnacle of Otter this day fortnight—a little above the Earth, but how far beneath Heaven! _Roanoke, Sept. 25, 1818_. LETTER III. Your obliging promptitude deserved my speedier thanks, but you will excuse me I am sure, my dear sir, when you learn that I have been for several days confined to my chamber by something very like _angina pectoris_. It is the most distressing sensation I ever felt, although not the most painful. It is during a remission of its attack that I take up my pen to put some of my nothings upon paper.