very feeling which occupied his bosom, on the failure of his hopes, betrayed a heart at variance with holiness.

ness.

If he saw no more, it was in his power to ascertain all this. But he acted on no part of it. He would have overleaped all that was intermediate between the first thought of religion and the evidences of a renewed soul. Evidences of another description-those of a latent depravity-he would not examine. With the same inattention, he saw his natural helplessHis growing distaste of devotion when the novelty of his pursuit was past, and his sad heartlessness in it before, ought to have indicated more than they did, and to have taught him a practical lesson of infinite value. he learned, it was only to misapply. He still laboured for-he knew not what; while he gathered no new motives for earnestness, or for directing his investigation into his own heart. Where, then, was the fault? Did he not evade the conviction which might have brought him, as a penitent, to God? And while conscience sometimes accused him of this, did he not retreat from the accusation, and secretly hope that some peculiar way would be found out for him-some distinguishing favour bestowed,

H

But if

-which selfishness is ever ready to promise even at the cost of the terms of the Gospel? Oh what hypocrisy of dealing may be seen flowing from the reasonings of a selfish heart! How much that lurks within him, he would conceal from his own sight! and how much are all his sacrifices, and the temper with which they are offered, like those of him who frowned on Heaven, because Heaven stood aloof from his self-complacent spirit!*

Let me repeat what I have already hinted, —and I may have reason to apply to other instances that, in the case before us, the Inquirer has no defined object in view. He is led to serious thought, but it is to no distinct purpose. He is in the condition of one who hears a vague report of personal alarm, without being able to conjecture its meaning, or its nature; desiring to anticipate the evil, without knowing where to direct his energies. Yet even from him, this Inquirer differs in one un happy respect: Such a man would examine all that could throw light on the truth: He would meet intelligence half-way. Not so here. There is a want of that candour to himself, which even the law of self-preservation should

* Gen. iv. 5.

suggest. And he continues brooding, with a half-affected sorrow, over an indefinite evil. And, perhaps, uttering secret murmurs to himself, which tend as much to harass his mind as to alienate his soul still more from his God. Has one in this situation a right to complain of his failure? Has he not stood back from the accomplishment of his own end? The adage of one who understood the heart is too easily verified-"the foolishness of man perverteth his way: and his heart fretteth against the Lord."*

But we will imagine such a one to have advanced further. We will suppose him to have seen enough to know that a more serious development awaits him: and that, if he continue his pursuit, he must encounter the spectacle of moral deformity which an unrenewed spirit always exhibits. He sees enough to create an alarm,—not on account of his danger, but on account of the pain which will accompany perseverance in his investigation. It is a present ill which he dreads. The terrors of Eternity are removed still further off, while he is engrossed with these apprehensions. If he go on, he must suffer:-and he has arrived at a point of reflection near enough to obtain some

Prov. xix. 3.

general idea what that suffering would be; and to see that the path to Calvary may be one of distress; that the call which invites him to Christ is one which reminds him of wretchedness and guilt. And that the act of obeying it must be one of self-abasement. To proceed, then, is, as it were, in search of sorrow. "If" says one in such a state-"if faith, and repentance would come of themselves,-or if conviction would bring, at once, that distress which would as immediately procure the favour of Christ, I should be satisfied to encounter it. But to go on making painful discoveries-becoming the executioner of my peace-it is requiring too much."

And what heart burnings ensue! And the secret thought is, "God ought to do more to help me!"

Now there are two reasons why this man gives up the important question before him: One of these, I have already said, is the dread of present suffering—the natural disposition to postpone a day of distress. He had been instructed to approach the Saviour directly; but no sooner had he seen a part of the path he was to have travelled, than he relinquished the design.

of

The second reason is found in a feeling common to this state of mind; and may be expressed in the following language-" I have certainly made some discovery into the state my heart: I have arrived within a certain distance of my object: I can reach this point again at pleasure. It is some satisfaction to see what I can do. I am encouraged, therefore, to return to the world.”

A third case may be found in that buoyancy of feeling which so easily rises, after a momentary depression, higher than ever: that temper, which, unless grief give it sobriety, it is difficult to arrest long enough to effect any important purpose. In such an instance, serious impressions come and go at the call of a trifle. But they come as the light cloud which flings a shadow over the gaieties of the heart: and the little circumstance of external temptation-joined, as it always is, to the reluctance of an unsanctified heart to the scheme of grace-removes them again. The remembrance of a favourite amusement-so unlike the present unwelcome sobriety-disheartens and discourages: and even the thought of a frivolous jest whets the appetite again for worldly amusements. This is a lamentable state, in which