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 LETTERS 
 
 TO AW 
 
 ANXIOUS INQUIRER, 
 
 DESIGNED TO RELIEVE THE 
 
 DIFFICULTIES OF A FRIEND 
 
 UNDER 
 
 SERIOUS IMPRESSIONS 
 
 BY T* CARLTON HENRY, D.D. 
 
 Late Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church, Charleston, S. C. 
 
 WITH 
 
 AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY, 
 
 <In which is presented Dr. Henry's Preface to his Letters, and his Life by 
 a Friend.) 
 
 BY G. T. BEDELL, D.D. 
 
 Rector of St. Andrew's Church, Philadelphia* 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 KEY 8c BIDDLE, 23 MINOR STREET, 
 
 1833. 
 
$! 
 
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 »* 
 
 ,v\* 
 
 i% 
 
 <b* 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and 
 thirty-three, by Key & Biddle, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of 
 the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 Printed by J. Crigsyand G. Goodman, 4, Minor street, 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 There are few among ministerial anxieties 
 more intense, than those which relate to the 
 proper course to be pursued towards persons, 
 in an inquiring state as to the interests of their 
 immortal souls. To one in the ministry of 
 the everlasting Gospel, whose heart is right in 
 the sight of God, there is no difficulty in pla- 
 cing out before the people the great plan of 
 salvation, and in giving the right proportion of 
 doctrinal statement and practical application. 
 But when, as a blessing upon the word preach- 
 ed, God in his mercy to minister and people, 
 sees fit to pour out his spirit, and bring men 
 to ask in deep anxiety of soul, "What shall 
 we do to be saved?" — it is then, that the real 
 difficulties and the painful anxieties of the mi- 
 nistry commences. It is easy in private con- 
 versation with an inquirer, to explain with 
 the most perfect clearness the terms of the 
 
IV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 Gospel — to state the necessity of repentance — 
 to tell him what repentance is — to urge the 
 necessity of faith, and to explain its character. 
 But these, are the generalities of the Gospel 
 which must be urged indiscriminately upon 
 all, let the difference be ever so great in the in- 
 tellectual or moral character of the individual 
 inquirers. The grand difficulty exists, in the 
 nice adjustment of the general requirements of 
 the Gospel to the shades of individual charac- 
 ter. And it is here, judging by our own ex- 
 perience, and the experience of many with 
 whom we have conversed, that the difficulty 
 principally lies. The inquirer will ask, how 
 am I to know that the feelings which now 
 rise up in my bosom, correspond with what 
 the Gospel means by repentance? How am I 
 to ascertain whether the emotion which now 
 engages me towards the Lord Jesus Christ, is 
 faith? How am I to tell whether the new set 
 of affections with which I seem to be anima- 
 ted, do in reality constitute that change of 
 heart, without which no man can see the 
 kingdom of God? I am agitated alternately 
 with hopes and fears— to deceive myself is 
 ruinous — 1 know not how to go on, to recede 
 1 dare not — I come to have all my perplexities 
 resolved. This at once is almost like throw- 
 ing the weight of a human being's eternity 
 upon the counsel which shall be given. Im- 
 proper encouragement may make an individual 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. V 
 
 a mere formalist for life, and he may there- 
 fore, die deceived. If the feelings are re- 
 pressed, and the individual left in doubts and 
 hesitation, the inquiry may be abandoned, and 
 he may fall into a state of entire neglect or 
 apostacy. In this situation the temperament 
 and moral habits should be understood, in 
 order that the truth may be applied with 
 the best success; and yet, during the urgen- 
 cy of an inquiring state, how is this know- 
 ledge to be acquired? Besides this, in a sea- 
 son of religious excitement, well understood 
 under the title of a revival of religion, it most 
 generally happens, that full conversations w T ith 
 all who seek instruction can not be expected. 
 It is under these circumstances, that some ex- 
 perimental treatise which shall assist the mi- 
 nister himself, or which may be put into the 
 hands of inquirers, becomes truly desirable, 
 and will be hailed as a valuable auxiliary to 
 the ministerial work. Just such a book we 
 apprehend the letters of Dr. Henry constitute; 
 indeed, it is one which leaves very little yet 
 to be desired. It is true, that there are works 
 intended for religious inquirers which, by long 
 possession of the public confidence have, as it 
 were, already occupied this ground, and our 
 remarks on the value of Dr. Henry's letters, 
 may seem to detract from the merits of these 
 previous efforts. This, however, is not intend- 
 ed. EdwardsontheReligious Affections, though 
 A2 
 
VI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 unequalled in some respects, is yet entirely 
 too intellectual for readers whose minds are in 
 a highly excited state of religious anxiety. 
 The individual whose heart has settled down 
 in its acceptance of the offers of the Gospel, 
 and who does not want his anxieties relieved, 
 but his affections animated and increased; and 
 who, therefore, has time - to look into the 
 depths of Edwards' investigations, may take 
 up his book with incalculable profit. But re- 
 ligious inquirers in their early state of mental 
 anxiety, want instructions which shall be 
 adapted by plainness and simplicity, to the 
 immediate urgency of their situation. What 
 the work of Edwards on the Religious Affec- 
 tions may want, will probably be supposed by 
 some to be abundantly made up by one of the 
 most celebrated, and most useful treatises in 
 the English language. We mean, ic Dodd- 
 ridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in the 
 Soul." It is almost impossible to speak too 
 highly of this work, the only one well known 
 and universally received as standing at the 
 head of the class to which it belongs. There 
 is no merely human work which has been 
 made, by the grace of God, more instru- 
 mental in the salvation of sinners, and no 
 man can with a clear conscience, or with a 
 respect for his own character, detract from 
 its reputation. It will probably outlive any 
 work which ever has, or ever will be writ- 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Vll 
 
 ten on this subject, because it has a hold 
 upon the public mind, which nothing but its 
 intrinsic merit could gain, and because it has 
 by translations into very many languages, taken 
 a start, which would render it impossible for 
 any other to outstrip or even to reach it. Af- 
 ter these remarks, which are meant to express 
 the high veneration which we have for the 
 "Rise and Progress," we shall be excused for 
 a few observations which may modestly express 
 our views as to some deficiencies which char- 
 acterize that celebrated work. In investigating 
 the subject of conversion, one thing has been 
 very much neglected, viz. the necessity of 
 taking into account the actual difference which 
 exists among individuals, as to their peculiari- 
 ties of temperament, their habits, views, feel^ 
 ings, opinions, and education. It is beyond all 
 question, that these must modify religious ex- 
 perience; and yet persons in an anxious state 
 jof mind are most generally treated as if con- 
 version was a process, which begun and w r ent 
 on and concluded in a certain uniform manner. 
 Now this is contrary to philosophy and expe- 
 rience. In the process of conversion there are 
 no two persons operated upon exactly alike, and 
 it is for this reason, that religious biography is 
 so little useful to anxious inquirers. The life 
 may describe an experience, but it may have 
 shades so opposite to that of the reader, that he 
 conceives himself entirely out of the way. The 
 
VUl INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 Rise and Progress of Doddridge has about it a 
 similar difficulty, excellent as it is. " He 
 marks out a single course, a single train of ex- 
 ercises, leading to certain results with little 
 variation." It is on this precise account, that 
 Doddridge's Rise and Progress, valuable as it 
 is, is apt to disappoint the expectation of in- 
 quirers. We have met with very many per- 
 sons into whose hands we have placed this trea- 
 tise, and they have returned to us with the 
 complaint, that its details did riot correspond 
 with the exact condition of their feelings. Un- 
 der these circumstances several have been dis- 
 couraged, instead of being relieved, because 
 finding no correspondence, or very little, in 
 their course with that marked out by Doddridge, 
 they drew the conclusion that their experience, 
 whatever it was, did not assume the character 
 of real conviction of sin, or did not amount to 
 genuine conversion. And we have found some 
 whose minds have been relieved from their 
 perplexities by a careful perusal of the " Ser- 
 mons on Regeneration," by the same author, 
 because these, though not so generally useful 
 as the "Rise and Progress," have yet less of the 
 evil of which we have here complained. 
 
 It was during a season of religious awaken- 
 ing, when the defects connected with the work 
 of Doddridge, became more apparent, that the 
 Letters of Dr. Henry fell into our hands, 
 and was read with peculiar satisfaction, and 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. IX 
 
 placed in the hands of others with the most 
 manifestly beneficial consequences. It is pos- 
 sible that this may have some influence with 
 us in estimating the work as highly as we do, 
 and which might not appear to others under 
 circumstances less exciting, so valuable as we 
 have ventured to pronounce it. But this oc- 
 curred at least five years ago, and more deli- 
 berate examination has increased, rather than 
 diminished our favourable opinion. And we 
 are happy to find that there are others, of 
 no mean reputation in our country, w 7 hose 
 opinions coincide with our own. In a review 
 of Dr. Henry's work which we find in the 
 Christian Spectator for Nov. 1828, there is the 
 following high testimony. "He," Dr. H. 
 6i seems to have experienced some of the diffi- 
 culties which he describes, and solves. He had 
 been much employed as a spiritual guide to 
 awakened and distressed sinners, and to doubt- 
 ing christians, and it is matter of devout gra- 
 titude that the great head of the church, directed 
 such a man to put the result of his own thoughts 
 and observations upon paper. From the im- 
 pressions which we had received of Dr. Hen- 
 ry's character, of his strength of intellect, his 
 delicacy of feeling, his christian simplicity, 
 and the warmth of his piety, we were prepared 
 to expect much from his pen : but his letters 
 have exceeded our expectations. We consider 
 him to have entered a field not hitherto suffi- 
 
X INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 eiently explored, to have laid open entangle- 
 ments and cleared away obstacles which have 
 often retarded those who would escape from 
 the city of destruction to Immanuel's land, 
 and to have erected clearer way-marks at the 
 opening of some of those devious paths which 
 have conducted bewildered seekers to the gates 
 of despair. We trust that these letters will be 
 blessed by the Spirit of Grace, not only as the 
 means of consolation and strength, but as the 
 instrument of saving many from ruin. Dr. H . 
 though dead, will long speak to the conscience 
 and the heart of the trembling sinner." This 
 is high praise, but we regret to say, that the 
 last remark of the reviewer, has hitherto been 
 frustrated by the fact that the work of Dr. H. 
 has been published in too expensive a form to 
 be available to the class of readers, whose cases 
 it more particularly contemplates, for as "not 
 many noble" so, " not many rich, are called" 
 into the condition of inquirers. It is only at 
 this date, more than six years after the publica- 
 tion of the first edition of the work, that per- 
 mission has been obtained to present the public 
 with a second, in a style which shall insure 
 readers, by its cheapness as well as merit, 
 and now we confidently look for the reality 
 of the anticipation stated in the close of fore- 
 going extract. 
 
 As the object of an introductory essay dif- 
 fers somewhat in details from a review, we 
 
author's preface, xi 
 
 shall neither analyze the work, nor present ex- 
 tracts. Our desire is to fix attention upon the 
 book itself. The reader will gather a more cor- 
 rect view of the treatise, by an attentive peru- 
 sal of the introductory remarks of Dr. Henry 
 himself, which we here present. 
 
 "While the religious public," says the au- 
 thor, "have been well provided with Doc- 
 trinal and Practical works, and furnished 
 with many valuable expositions of the Word 
 of God; and while the divine system of 
 Christianity itself has been ably defended 
 against the cavils of its assailants, it is a 
 matter of surprise to many, that a most inter- 
 esting department of sacred literature has been 
 either entirely neglected, or occupied by re- 
 marks of so general a nature as to answer very 
 imperfectly the end for which they were de- 
 signed. I refer to that department of instruc- 
 tion which is suited to the particular exigen- 
 cies of a Religious Inquirer, or an awakened 
 sinner. 
 
 "There is certainly no state of mind which 
 involves more interest in its issue, or presents a 
 more imperative claim on our sympathies, or 
 brings more effectually into exercise our hopes 
 and our fears, than that of the man who has 
 been partially aroused from the slumber of spi- 
 ritual death, and looks around him with an agi- 
 tated feeling, to ask — "what shall I do to be 
 saved?" 
 
 "To excite the conscience to at least a momen- 
 tary activity, is very often far more easy than 
 to meet that class of perplexities and cares to 
 
xii author's preface. 
 
 which such an excitement may lead. And 
 hence we see many who find it no hard task to 
 point the penalty of the law to the heart of the 
 sinner, and to bring in array before him the 
 terrors of an offended God; and yet whose 
 whole instructions to one in this interesting 
 state, are so vague, and so ill-defined, as to shed 
 no light upon his path, and to give him no 
 clear conceptions of his real condition. 
 
 "Two things strike an observer of the awak- 
 ened sinner, and call for all the prudence and 
 caution with which advice or counsel may be 
 given: These are— his difficulties and his 
 dangers. 
 
 "Among the difficulties of which he is ready 
 to complain, is that of the want of something 
 suitable to his own peculiar state. We follow 
 Apostolical example when we recommend him 
 to " believe and repent." But he is not unapt 
 to tell us that he requires a more explicit di- 
 rection than this. We commend him to prayer 
 and the Word of God. But even the effort to 
 regard this injunction, he informs us, furnishes 
 new cares, and exhibits new obstacles in his 
 way. His necessities multiply, and his de- 
 mands increase. 
 
 "Now it would be easy to charge much of 
 the evil upon himself, and prove to him from 
 the economy of grace, and the character of his 
 God, that all the fault lies within his own heart; 
 and this is a melancholy truth of which we should 
 not permit him to lose sight. But he returns 
 all this to ask the particular character of the de- 
 fault, its causes, and the means of its removal. 
 
 "If we put into his hands any of the valuable 
 little treatises which were designed to alarm 
 
author's preface. xiii 
 
 the unconverted sinner, he may assent to the 
 truths they contain; but while his convictions 
 are deepened, his personal difficulties are still 
 not reached. There is much, very much, 
 which remains unexplained; and which, while 
 it lasts, multiplies itself: or extends through 
 new ramifications, and creates new embarrass- 
 ments. And his demand is more importunate 
 than ever, for some instruction adapted to that 
 idiosyncrasy of character, which he conceives 
 to distinguish his present condition. Here is 
 an eagerness of appetite w 7 hich disposes him to 
 seize, with avidity, on all that bears a remote 
 resemblance to the fancied object of his wants. 
 And it is to meet this, that any counsel we may 
 give, should enter as far as possible into the 
 familiarities of the heart. And yet to do so, 
 important as it is, requires some further know- 
 ledge of the case than we may be able to obtain. 
 
 "Where the inquirer is disposed to present 
 the exact state of his mind; and where he is 
 able to define his feelings, the plain good sense 
 of a private Christian may enable him to say 
 all that is necessary. But the inquirer is not 
 always willing to do the former; and he is very 
 often incompetent to accomplish the latter. 
 And yet indisposed, or unable, as he may be to 
 do either, his solicitude is not the less to learn 
 the grand secret of the causes and remedy of 
 his moral disorder. 
 
 "Now if we were unable to meet this whole 
 question, there is one thing which it is not out 
 of our powor to do — I mean that of furnishing 
 to the sight of the sufferer, cases analogous to 
 his own; or cases which may possibly strike 
 him as similar. 
 
xiv author's preface. 
 
 "Even where we are at a loss to account, in all 
 respects, for the existence of a particular expe- 
 rience, we do much for the inquirer by de- 
 scribing it. We prevent painful conclusions, 
 which he is very apt to deduce from a supposed 
 singularit}^; and we enabled him to draw in- 
 ferences for himself, which may preserve him 
 from the extreme of presumption or despair. 
 We abstract his attention from extraneous 
 cares, and fix it on some thing which may give 
 a clue to the windings of his heart. The 
 sooner we can effect this desirable end, the 
 greater probability is there of a favourable is- 
 sue. And the longer he is detained from it, 
 the greater is his hazard of fatal self-deception; 
 or of an equally fatal relinquishment of the in- 
 terests of his soul. 
 
 "But the dangers to which the inquirer is ex- 
 posed, may often be commensurate with his 
 difficulties. And among these, not the least 
 may be found in the w T ell-meant, but injudi- 
 cious advice of pious friends. A work, then, 
 which will furnish Scriptural directions for 
 different states of mind, consequent on the na- 
 tural disposition, or temporal circumstances, 
 of the awakened sinner, is certainly a desidera- 
 tum. 
 
 "Or, if there be no hazard of a fictitious peace, 
 from such a source, it may be the lot of the 
 inquirer to be out of the reach of those to whom 
 he might impart his anxieties, and from whose 
 experimental knowledge, relief might be ob- 
 tained. And in such a dilemma it is easy to 
 foresee that all solicitude may be abandoned in 
 hopelessness; recourse may be had to error; or 
 postponement, to a more favourable issue, may 
 ensue. 
 
author's PREFACE. XV 
 
 "In the private musings, too, of one in such a 
 state, there may be imminent danger. Not 
 only from his false expectations, but from the 
 excuses which he secretly gives to his con- 
 science. Present disappointment induces him 
 to look somewhere else. And thousands in a 
 land of Gospel light have given up all effort 
 under secret pleas, as dishonourable to God as 
 they are destructive to themselves. To en- 
 umerate these pleas, and to exhibit their crimi- 
 nality, might be an important engagement for 
 one who acts as counsellor; but it belongs to a 
 field by far too large to be occupied in every 
 instance of application for advice; while the 
 particular parts in which the inquirer is pri- 
 vately wandering, may not be discerned. A 
 volume, then, which would answer this end 
 might assist the adviser, while it rendered the 
 folly and inconsistency of the awakened sinner 
 distinctly visible to his own sight. 
 
 "If it be asked, whether I give the following 
 pages to the public, with a full confidence in 
 their adaptation to remove all these difficulties, 
 and to obviate all these dangers, I answer — 
 No. Well informed readers, and perhaps some 
 who are not so, will observe defects which 
 have not escaped my own eye; and possibly 
 many w 7 hich have not occurred to me in a 
 hasty review. But although my expectations 
 of complete success in this effort, are not san- 
 guine, they are sufficient to warrant the trust 
 that it has not entirely failed. 
 
 " I am persuaded that there are few inquirers 
 who will not find something to meet at least 
 part of their difficulties; and if the details which 
 are given are considered too numerous and too 
 
xvi author's preface. 
 
 particular by others, they will be the last to 
 complain of them. Or if the nature of this 
 work seemed to require some little repetition, 
 it will be a small objection to one whose mind 
 is eagerly intent on learning all that relates to 
 his spiritual condition; and who must see that 
 the same perplexity or care, sometimes arises 
 from different causes. 
 
 "Part of the subjects which are discussed in 
 this volume, are not thoroughly canvassed. 
 Nor is it necessary that they should be. De- 
 signed as the work was for a certain class only, 
 it could hardly be expected that all in which 
 the Christian is interested should be examined. 
 And yet I would humbly hope that even the 
 child of God may find something in the pages 
 before him of interest to his own soul. 
 
 "As there are many who once belonged to the 
 former of these classes, and who are now num- 
 bered with neither — who have returned to the 
 world after hours of anxiety for their salvation; 
 to such the recalled feelings of former days, 
 and the reviewed excuses of a melancholy 
 apostacy, may not be without some practical 
 benefit 
 
 "It may be that the examples given will be 
 considered too numerous. But I have thought 
 that they might be an advantageous medium 
 through which some ideas would more dis- 
 tinctly appear. There is not one of them fic- 
 titious; and, excepting where marked by ex- 
 press quotation to the contrary, they have 
 fallen under my personal observation. And it 
 is of small importance that the language put 
 into the mouths of such examples, was not ex- 
 actly their own. This could not be recollect- 
 
author's preface. xvii 
 
 ed. But a faithful adherence to the substance 
 and spirit of titterings by them, has been in- 
 violably preserved. 
 
 "1 have availed myself of any advantage 
 which I could obtain, as far as I knew, from 
 the works of other authors. And where it has 
 appeared necessary to do so, I have named 
 them. But they have been few. I have at- 
 tempted to draw for materials rather on the 
 Word of God, and on life as I have seen it, 
 than on the writings of others. 
 
 " One more remark may appear necessary. 
 The following Letters are exactly what they 
 purport to be — written to a friend with a de- 
 sign to assist him in his inquiries for salvation. 
 If it be thought that they may be of service to 
 some under similar circumstances, I shall be 
 gratified in the concurrence of the hopes of 
 others with my own. If not, there is some 
 consolation, under the failure, in the thought 
 that they were written with a sincere desire to 
 aid the cause of religion. They are sent into 
 the world with few pretensions; but accom- 
 panied, — as they were in the act of writing 
 them, — with prayer in their behalf, to the 
 Great Head of the Church." 
 
 It may perhaps be expected that w r e should 
 present some view of the life and character of 
 Dr. Henry. We have no means of doing this, 
 inasmuch as we had not the happiness of a per- 
 sonal acquaintance with him. Still the public 
 w T ill have less to regret on this subject, as there 
 is a Memoir attached to the first edition of the 
 work, from the hand of an intimate acquaint- 
 b2 
 
XV111 LIFE OF DR. HENRY* 
 
 ance and friend — a Memoir which can not fail 
 to be read with interest and pleasure. It is 
 here offered verbatim as it originally appeared. 
 
 "Thomas Charlton Henry was born 
 September 22, 1790, in the City of Phi- 
 ladelphia. He was the eldest son of Alex- 
 ander Henry, Esq. the benevolent and vene- 
 rated President of the ■ American Sunday 
 School Union. Originally intended for en- 
 larged mercantile pursuits, the subject of this 
 account went through an unusually extended 
 course of literature, and took his first degree 
 with distinguished reputation at Middlebury 
 College, Vermont, in August, 1814. Imme- 
 diately upon his graduation, the most tempting 
 and splendid prospects of affluence and distinc- 
 tion invited his entrance upon a secular career; 
 but having felt the power of renewing grace, 
 and having devoted himself to the Saviour, 
 while at the College, he " conferred not with 
 flesh and blood," But unhesitatingly embraced 
 the laborious and self-denying profession of the 
 Christian Ministry, Accordingly, he entered 
 upon a course of Theology in the Seminary at 
 Princeton, N. J. which was finished in 1816, 
 and he received license to preach the Gospel. 
 On his first entrance into the Ministry, his rare 
 endowments and polished eloquence attracted 
 uncommon attention, and opened before him 
 several very important and inviting fields of 
 labour. Having received, and ultimately de- 
 clined, invitations to the pastoral care of 
 churches in Wilmington, Delaware; Salem, 
 Mass. and Lexington, Ken. , he finally accepted 
 
LIFE OF DR. HENRY. XIX 
 
 the unanimous call of the Presbyterian Church 
 in Columbia, S. C, where he was ordained and 
 installed, by the Presbytery of Harmony, in 
 November, 1818. Upon the sacred duties of a 
 Pastor, Mr. Henry entered with a deep and 
 solemn impression of responsibility, and an un- 
 wavering determination to pursue a course of 
 untiring labour and unyielding fidelity. Tak- 
 ing a decided ground in defence of vital experi- 
 mental religion; urging the doctrines of the 
 Cross upon the consciences of his hearers, with 
 the demonstration of the Spirit and with power; 
 carrying his great work of winning souls to 
 Christ, to the frequent prayer-meeting, the do- 
 mestic circle, and the individual expostulation: 
 — the result was such as might have been anti- 
 cipated. The church rejoiced in spiritual pros- 
 perity, many were convinced of guilt and 
 danger, and yielded to the influence of renewing 
 grace; while many others clustered round the 
 standard of determined opposition. Conflicting 
 necessarily with those whose views and feel- 
 ings were in complete antagonism to his own, 
 his course afforded another severe test of char- 
 acter. The temptation to temporize was strong. 
 By softening the expressions of God's Word, 
 by yielding a few points of duty, he might 
 have enjoyed universal favour and applause. 
 But he had not so learned Christ. Unappalled 
 by menaces, unseduced by flattery, he nobly 
 maintained his ground, and willingly submit- 
 ted to the painful sacrifice of the kindness of 
 former friends, in stern fidelity to his Master's 
 cause. 
 
 "At the close of the 5th year of Mr. Henry's 
 ministry in Columbia, he received an unani- 
 
XX LIFE OF DR. HENRY. 
 
 mous call from the 2d Presbyterian Church in 
 the City of Charleston, which he accepted un- 
 der the full belief that it was a station in which 
 he could be more happy and useful than by 
 continuing where he then was. In this im- 
 portant and respectable Congregation, he com- 
 menced his labours in January, 1824, and was 
 installed by the Charleston Union Presbytery. 
 Here, untrammelled by opposition, and sur- 
 rounded by an united and 'affectionate people, 
 he enjoyed a field of action, worthy of his com- 
 manding talents and holy enterprize. Seldom 
 has there been presented a nobler model of 
 pastoral activity and fidelity; and seldom has 
 there been witnessed a more effectual accom- 
 plishment of the grand purposes of the Chris- 
 tian Ministry. In the stated serviees of the 
 Pulpit, and the crowded Lecture Room; in 
 the Bible Class and Sunday School, in every 
 family of his charge, and in the privacy of in- 
 dividual inquiry, his full soul was poured forth 
 in affectionate, earnest instruction, and ardent 
 supplication. Nor was the harvest long de- 
 layed. In the first and second years of his 
 brief ministry, considerable additions were 
 made to the church; but in the third, a blessed 
 effusion of the Holy Spirit was enjoyed, and a 
 goodly company of his spiritual children was 
 gathered to the communion of the faithful. 
 
 "The indefatigable labours and constant soli- 
 citude of Dr. Henry, during this precious sea- 
 son, so far impaired his health as to render a 
 period of relaxation indispensable. He there- 
 fore undertook a voyage to Europe, and em- 
 barked for Liverpool in April, 1826. 
 
 During the four or five months of his stay in 
 
LIFE OF DR. HENRY. XXi 
 
 Europe, he travelled through the principal 
 parts of Great Britain and Ireland, and visited 
 the Continent. Several weeks were spent 
 both in Paris and London. This tour was at- 
 tended by many very interesting circum- 
 stances, and produced important results. His 
 mind was intensely engaged. His heart and 
 hands were constantly full. In accumulating 
 valuable facts and observations, in closely ob- 
 serving national character, and in obtaining ac- 
 curate and enlarged views of the present state 
 of Religion, Literature and Science, in differ- 
 ent nations, his diligence and success have been 
 rarely equalled. Amid all these varied scenes, 
 the great business of his life was not intermitted. 
 Whether on the mighty deep, or on the rapid 
 journey, or in the crowded city; he ceased not 
 to plead the cause of his Redeemer, and to per- 
 suade men to be reconciled to God. In Paris, 
 he became intimate in a circle of devoted Chris- 
 tians, some of very high rank, who were 
 greatly delighted and edified by his sermons 
 and conversation. In London, his whole soul 
 was engaged in viewing the vast operations of 
 Christian benevolence, and in intimate associa- 
 tion with eminent evangelical Ministers, and 
 the best religious society. Here he preached 
 frequently; and in one of the large dissenting 
 churches, he delivered several familiar evening 
 lectures, which were attended by crowds, and 
 afforded the highest satisfaction. 
 
 " The high estimation in which Dr. Henry 
 was held in Europe, is evinced, by the solici- 
 tations for correspondence he received from 
 numerous distinguished Civilians as well as 
 Clergymen, and by the many valuable presents 
 
XXli I-IFE OF DR. HENRY. 
 
 and memorials of kindness, which were press- 
 ed upon him both by individuals and commu- 
 nities. A considerable collection of books, 
 which he had bespoken from a bookseller, was 
 paid for by one of the London Churches, en- 
 tirely without his previous knowledge. But 
 the richest blessingof his tour was the testimony 
 he received, that several of the attendants on 
 his preaching, and of the companions of his 
 travels, had been brought, through his instru- 
 mentality, to a saving experience of renewing 
 grace. 
 
 "About the beginning of October he took a 
 sorrowful leave of his English friends, and 
 sailed for the United States. Arriving at Phil- 
 adelphia, he paid a short visit to his venerable 
 Father and numerous relatives, destined, alas! 
 to prove a final one on earth, and early in De- 
 cember, was welcomed, with the greatest joy, 
 by his affectionate congregation. With re- 
 doubled vigour and engagedness, he re-entered 
 upon his labours among his beloved people, 
 and upon the prosecution of his studies. The 
 latter, indeed, had known no interruption. 
 For in no part of life, probably, had the acqui- 
 sition of knowledge been so rapid, or intellec- 
 tual exertion so unremitting and successful, as 
 during this season of relaxation. The effect 
 produced upon Dr. Henry's mind, by survey- 
 ing the splendid Theological establishments, 
 the vast treasures of sacred literature, and the 
 towering eminence of many of the scholars and 
 divines of the Old World, was altogether bene- 
 ficial and animating. Instead of being dis- 
 heartened and sinking into despondence, by a 
 comparison of our institutions in these respects 
 
LIFE OF DR. HENRY. XX111 
 
 i 
 
 with those of Europe, as has been the case with 
 others, he was stimulated to nobler efforts, and 
 refreshed by higher hopes. The inspiring 
 scenes, he had witnessed in the religious world, 
 caused a more intense conviction of the moral 
 grandeur and awful responsibility of the Gos- 
 pel Ministry. The noble achievements of the 
 learned champions in defence of the Gospel 
 abroad, disclosed to his mind more distinctly 
 than ever, the grand field of intellectual effort, 
 and enkindled an inconceivable ardour, to do 
 extensive and permanent good in the world. 
 He felt that the standard of clerical learning and 
 study was too low in this country; and fully 
 imbibed the spirit of that holy man, whose 
 maxim was — u attempt great things, and ex- 
 pect great things/' 
 
 "While, therefore, he remitted nothing of his 
 former attention to pastoral duty, he devoted 
 himself, with extraordinary zeal and diligence, 
 to laborious study and composition. He press- 
 ed forward, as under the constant impression, 
 that he had much to do, which must be ac- 
 complished, and that his time was short. The 
 following work, undertaken at the special re- 
 quest of an English gentleman who was his 
 travelling companion for some time, was com- 
 menced soon after his return. And towards 
 its completion, he could not have laboured 
 more unremittingly, had he foreseen, that, be- 
 fore its publication, his opportunities of use- 
 fulness to his fellow men would be closed for- 
 ever. " Blessed is that servant who is found 
 so doing." The Messenger, which came from 
 his Divine Master, to summon him away from 
 all his labours, found him in the midst of most 
 
2txiv LIFE OF DR. HEN&Y. 
 
 active and useful engagements. But his work 
 was done. It is the Lord's doing and marvel- 
 lous in our eyes. It is the duty of wounded 
 affection to bow down in silence before the in- 
 scrutable mystery of this dispensation. 
 
 "On the appearance of that fatal scourge of 
 Charleston, the Yellow Fever, in August, Dr. 
 Henry could not be persuaded, that it was his 
 duty to retire from the city, or intermit his 
 usual pastoral visits or his course of study. 
 Accordingly he continued to visit the sick and 
 afflicted, and to fill his pulpit regularly, until 
 the first of October, when, in the enjoyment 
 of perfect health, he w r as suddenly seized with 
 that dreadful malady, which, in four days, ter- 
 minated his precious life, at the early age of 
 37, leaving a bereaved widow and three chil- 
 dren to lament the loss of such a husband and 
 father as few ever had to lose. The scenes of 
 overwhelming distress, which attended and fol- 
 lowed this agonizing event, cannot be ade- 
 quately described. Suffice it to say, that amid 
 the alarm and consternation occasioned by his 
 fatal illness, he alone was calm and unappalled. 
 While around him were waitings and lamen- 
 tations, his expiring voice was employed in re- 
 joicing and praise. And while a "horror of 
 great darkness" fell upon others, at his sudden 
 and ^premature departure; he viewed it with 
 rapture, as the bright and cloudless dawning of 
 immortal glory. 
 
 "Dr. Henry was richly endowed with the 
 gifts of nature. In person, noble and attrac- 
 tive — in manner, polished and affable. He 
 possessed in an eminent degree, as to voice, 
 look and action, the attributes of a finished ora- 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXT 
 
 tor. In classical and theological learning, he 
 had few equals of his own age and country. 
 To a critical knowledge of the ancient lan- 
 guages, he added a correct acquaintance with 
 several modern ones. Especially with the ori- 
 ginals of Holy Scripture, and the writings of 
 the Fathers, he was quite familiar. In a word, 
 he was an honour and ornament to his profes- 
 sion — an accomplished divine. His devoted 
 zeal for the souls of men, and his pure evan- 
 gelical sentiments, will be most affectionately 
 disclosed by the present volume, and one or 
 two other posthumous publications. His in- 
 estimable worth as a Pastor is best attested by 
 the heart breaking, inconsolable grief of his 
 bereaved congregation. But the crowning ex- 
 cellence of his character consisted in an entire 
 self-consecration, with all his endowments and 
 energies, to the blessed Redeemer, and a deep 
 experience of the power of religion. Thus he 
 was rendered a rich blessing in his life, and 
 richly blessed in his death. And when every 
 earthly hope was extinguished, a light from 
 above irradiated the valley of death's shadow, 
 and he could enter it saying, i death, where 
 is thy sting, grave, where is thy victory!' " 
 
 ;y 
 
 - In drawing this Essay to a close, we can not 
 express our own views of the excellence of the 
 Letters of Dr. Henry in language which con- 
 veys our opinion more clearly than in the few 
 concluding observations of the review to which 
 allusion has before been made. " We have 
 perhaps never read a book, except the Bible, 
 with whose sentiments we could more exactly 
 c 
 
XXVI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 accord, and few which appear to us better cal- 
 culated to be useful, than these letters. Dr. 
 
 H appears to take a common sense view 
 
 of every subject in his letters, and these views 
 seem to have been formed from a practical ac- 
 quaintance with the matters of which he treats. 
 When these letters shall be known, they will 
 be esteemed an important treasure, not only by 
 anxious enquirers, but by those who have any 
 concern in religious instruction; and will be 
 regarded as a valuable closet companion to the 
 practical Christian." 
 
 G. T. B. 
 
 Philadelphia, May, 1833. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Feelings of privacy commonly accompanying" serious im- 
 pressions — The critical state of an awakened sinner — 
 An instance of abandoned convictions — Advice. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Mistaken views — Danger of reliance on feeling — The 
 duty of avoiding unnecessary association with the 
 "World — Counting the cost — On the opposition of 
 others — A melancholy instance — Advice — An instance 
 of the happy effects of Christian prudence — Discou- 
 ragements from luke-warm Christians — The folly of 
 relinquishing the subject in consequence of external 
 difficulties — Encouragement. 
 
XXV111 CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Those difficulties which are of least importance most 
 generally discouraging 1 — Impatience arising from dis- 
 appointed expectations — A complaint — Its causes — 
 The dread of increasing anxiety — A false conclusion — 
 Evils arising from natural buoyancy of feeling — Diffi- 
 culty in the doctrine of Election — Inclination and des- 
 pair aid each other — "I am seeking," a false plea — 
 "I am waiting for a day of power" — "I am waiting 
 for God to do his part." 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Previous misconceptions — Cause of delay — Any delay or 
 suffering the fault of the sinner — Mistake relating to 
 the necessity of a certain preparatory process — Scrip- 
 ture examples — Error relating to prayer — " I am not 
 prepared" — "I am not holy enough" — The incon- 
 sistency of the complainer — On insensibility — Want of 
 clear views of sin — Degrees of conviction not neces- 
 sary to be observed — Why conviction is more difficult 
 to be effected in a man of strict morality — The Gospel 
 invites without reference to the degree of conviction. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Complaint of irresolution — Nature of unstable resolu- 
 tions — Peculiarity of situation— The folly of speculat- 
 ing on the expected change — Vain fancies — (t God 
 will not pardon me." — "I do not see how the promi- 
 ses can be fulfilled in myself"— -The sufficiency of par- 
 don— Advice. 
 
CONTENTS. XXIX 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Our propension to extremes — Unpardonable sin — Ex- 
 planation of passages relating to it — An example of 
 the danger of error on this subject. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 The disposition to discouragement — Discouraging texts 
 in the Bible — An explanation of Luke, xiii. 24 — Prov. 
 i. 28 — Hebrew, xii. 17 — Hosea, iv. 17. 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 Perplexity in reading the word of God — Complaint of 
 the want of personal application — Natural aversion to 
 the Bible — Mistaken expectations — An impious prac- 
 tice — Failure arising from listjessness in reading — 
 Want of consideration — Forgetting that God is the au- 
 thor — Looking for an extraneous something — How 
 the Spirit imparts the right meaning — Duty of becom- 
 ing familiar with the plan of salvation —Caution rela- 
 tive to reading other books — Concluding advice. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 The folly of spending time in attempting to reconcile 
 difficult passages — The duty of diligence in examin- 
 ing the proper application of the truth — The question, 
 " what part of the Bible shall I read?" — Quotations — 
 Application of a Parable — A personal appeal to Christ 
 directed in Scripture — Conclusion. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 On right desires — The Young Man in the Gospel— A 
 complaint of the Inquirer — One of the marks of right 
 C2 
 
XXX CONTENTS. 
 
 desires— A misinterpretation of Romans, ix. 3 — Right 
 desires not a mere fear of Hell — The breathings of an 
 awakened sinner — Reformation of life connected with 
 sincerity — And the spirit of forgiveness on our part — 
 Right desires not fitful — Trials — Advice, 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 Difficulties in prayer — Causes — Mistake respecting the 
 nature of prayer — Confusion in the mind of the In- 
 quirer — False anticipations in prayer — Perplexity from 
 an ignorance of the person addressed — Directions in 
 prayer — The duty of describing personal trials — Habit 
 of attention — Remedy for wandering thoughts — Ap- 
 plication of special promises — Scriptural examples — 
 Seasons for prayer — Ejaculatory desires — Forms — 
 Does God " ever withhold his Grace, for a season, to 
 try the sinner?" — Answered. 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 A common error adverted to again— An evil from Theo- 
 logical distinctions — Different kinds of repentance — 
 The Scriptural distinction — Sorrow does not consti- 
 tute repentance — The perversion of legal sorrow to a 
 false hope — Examples — The error reproved in Scrip- 
 ture — Its cause — Causes leading to repentance — The 
 process — Evangelical sorrow follows — Difference be- 
 tween counterfeit and true repentance — Conclusion. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 An Inquirer reviewing his past cares — A remarkable pe- 
 riod in his life — The simplicity of faith — A temptation 
 
CONTENTS. XXXI 
 
 to hold back from Christ — Natural incredulousness— - 
 The afflicted Father's application to Christ — The case 
 -applied to the Inquirer — The working's of the In- 
 quirer's mind — His surrender to Christ — The change 
 — Difference in different cases — The act in which re- 
 lief most commonly arrives — Not always the same- 
 Valedictory. 
 
LETTERS 
 
 TO AN 
 
 ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Feelings of privacy commonly accompanying serious impressions— The 
 critical state of an awakened Sinner— An instance of abandoned con- 
 victions — Advice. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 How shall we account for that secrecy of 
 feeling which you have found it so difficult 
 to infringe, and which is so common to the 
 experience of awakened sinners? That deli- 
 cacy which guards the threshold of religion, 
 and restricts the conversation of intimate friends 
 to its exterior and general matters ? Shall we 
 attribute it to a greater degree of refinement, or 
 to a nicer sense of decorum? But it is as pre- 
 valent among the ruder, as among the more 
 polished classes of society. Shall we ascribe 
 
2 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 it to an unwillingness to obtrude our griefs 
 upon the sympathy of friends ? This would 
 be an apology in which fact would not sustain 
 us; for he to whom we unbosom our sorrow, is 
 supposed to take a deep and unaffected interest 
 in our spiritual welfare. And, moreover, this 
 privacy is discoverable in the very man, who, 
 instead of comprehending the sentiment of a 
 Christian poet, that 
 
 "with the soul who ever felt the sting 
 
 "Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing," 
 
 would, at other times, drag you rudely through 
 all the minutiae of his private woes. Nor is a 
 want of confidence the cause of this restraint — 
 for every other feeling may be imparted with 
 freedom. Nor can it be wholly, if at all, owing 
 to the confessed etiquette of irreligious society, 
 which proscribes the subject of evangelical 
 truth, much as a law of Athens prohibited the 
 name of Death: Nor to that disgust which 
 arises from a familiar and ill-timed use of scrip- 
 tural terms: Nor to any thing else which could 
 furnish an excuse, while it implies a compli- 
 ment to our refinement, our taste, or under- 
 standing. 
 
 These questions and answers, if they serve 
 no other purpose, may at least lead you- to the 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 3 
 
 conclusion that you are not alone: numberless 
 other voices utter the same complaint; and the 
 subject, in its different shapes, has given rise to 
 a thousand discussions; and has led to a variety 
 of artificial rules of Christian conduct. Pro- 
 fessors of religion who sincerely desire to pro- 
 mote the weal of their friends, have frequently 
 proposed such queries as the following: — How 
 shall I express my concern for one who is pre- 
 pared at all times to interrupt me, by saying — 
 " this, is a private matter between God and my- 
 self;" and who feels that he has reason for of- 
 fence in a rude invasion of his tranquillity? 
 How shall I introduce the subject of religion in 
 a circle where it may be received with symp- 
 toms of impatience, or with that listless silence 
 which hints its dismission? And after all that 
 can be said, there is an art in the successful in- 
 troduction of a religious topic, which is less 
 easily attained than zeal — a happy tact, which 
 even the profane often admire, but which re- 
 quires qualities that long experience and fer- 
 vent piety may not be able to confer. 
 
 But this delicacy of feeling — we will give it 
 its current title, although it belongs to that 
 class of things which have wrong names, and 
 which are embraced in the forbidden practice 
 
4 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 of calling evil good and good evil — this deli- 
 cacy of feeling, which, while it forbids the ob- 
 trusion of religious views, lest they create of- 
 fence, and shuts the lips of the awakened sin- 
 ner, is not a rare ingredient in the characters 
 of many who entertain a trust that they have 
 been the subjects of saving grace. There are 
 those who have sustained a long and tedious 
 struggle in their hearts — who, possessing a 
 faint hope that they have passed from death 
 unto life, relinquish the ordinary pleasures of 
 the world, and engage in all the duties which 
 are fulfilled by a lukewarm professor of religion 
 — except the duty of profession itself — and 
 who, while they lead a cheerless life, seem not 
 to consider that what they deem an apology 
 for neglect, is the very sin which keeps them 
 suspended between heaven and earth, unfit fop 
 the enjoyment of either. 
 
 And even after a public profession of faith 
 has been made, evils are multiplied from the 
 same cause: Not only when the Christian and 
 the Worldling, in their ordinary interviews, 
 consider the topic of religion forbidden ground 
 to both, but in the discharge of many of those 
 obligations which both reason and revelation 
 enjoin. A valued friend once told me, that 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 5 
 
 one of the most painful trials he had ever 
 known, was in founding the domestic altar. 
 On other matters he could speak freely; and 
 private devotion occupied a due proportion of 
 his time. But the conflict in his bosom was 
 long and severe before he could persuade him- 
 self to become " the minister to his family." 
 And can it be doubted that thousands of the 
 rising generation retire unblessed from the re- 
 straint of parental prayer ? Or can it be doubted 
 that this single neglect has checked the influ- 
 ence of many a parental example, which might 
 have led the offspring to serious thought, if not 
 to salvation? 
 
 There is another modification of this deli- 
 cacy, which attaches suspicion to it in all its 
 forms; social intimacy is often seriously in- 
 jurious to that Christian fellowship on which 
 the prosperity, if not the life, of personal piety 
 depends. This may seem a singular position, 
 and it would be so but for the very matter now 
 before us. The truth is one of every day's ob- 
 servation, that husbands and wives often con- 
 verse more freely on the experimental points 
 of piety, with those who are comparatively 
 strangers, than with each other. The bond 
 which nature has formed between relatives, 
 
 D 
 
6 LETTERS TO Atf 
 
 and which time has riveted, appears too fre- 
 quently loosened, when we find that incon- 
 gruous reluctance to converse together on mat- 
 ters of piety; and when we have seen even 
 children more ready to open their minds on 
 this subject, to friends less nearly allied, than 
 to the parent who has watched over them with 
 prayerful solicitude. How is all this? Is there 
 something defective in Christianity itself? or 
 something that changes the nature of our mu- 
 tual relations? Not at all. There may be dif- 
 ferent causes which produce different degrees 
 of influence towards these effects, but still the 
 mover of all this mischief is that most secret 
 of agents — pride. There is no need of de- 
 fining, no need of explaining the operation of 
 this principle; and it is wholly useless to quar- 
 rel with terms. Let him who speaks of this 
 delicacy, and continues to foster it, examine 
 the first feelings to which it gives rise: let him 
 compare these feelings together, and note well 
 their selfishness; and see if it be possible to 
 escape our conclusion. Yes, pride has its re- 
 tired habits as well as modesty, its seemly 
 aspect, and its very diffidence of manner. And 
 it is hence, that among the children of God, 
 the consciousness that their mutual infirmities 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 7 
 
 are known to each other, and the correspond- 
 ing fear that they might generate a distrust of 
 their sincerity, very often stand in the way of 
 a fulfilment of that prophecy which the latter 
 days shall complete — "then they that feared 
 the Lord spake often one to another." 
 
 You have sometimes seen the mind which 
 nature had rendered ingenuous and frank, 
 drooping under cherished woes — bending be- 
 neath a weight it strove to conceal— mingling 
 bitterness with domestic peace, and discontent 
 with outward prosperity — until the hand that 
 was about to set the spirit free from its taber- 
 nacle, laid bare to the sight the wounds that 
 festered within; and the nearing terrors of a 
 death-hour broke the spell of restraint — and 
 for the first time, the sufferer could ask, " what 
 shall 1 do to be saved ?" 
 
 Or where the mind dared not brood over its 
 disquietudes, and was equally unwilling to di- 
 vulge them, how often have religious impres- 
 sions which seemed nigh to some good hope, 
 left place to a spurious peace, which continued 
 unbroken through life! 
 
 "But there are moments/' — you say, — 
 66 when you are not only anxious to hear all 
 that can be said on this subject, but almost wil- 
 
8 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ling to inquire of those around you." A more 
 intense feeling of danger would certainly pro- 
 duce this effect. Even pride gives way in a 
 season of peril. A greater passion usurps the 
 seat of a lesser, when the two can not reign to- 
 gether. And you have, perhaps, witnessed in 
 another, that hardly-reprqssed anxiety of man- 
 ner, which solicited an inquiry into its cause 
 — that distant hinting at a subject there was 
 not quite boldness enough to introduce; and 
 you saw, plainly, the cause of all this, through 
 the miserable efforts to conceal it. But because 
 that hint was not taken, and that exposed 
 anxiety was not reached by a single question, 
 • — and the theme of religion was still kept 
 back — the half awakened inquirer suppressed 
 a murmur, at the disappointment, and, in the 
 petulance of a mortified child, gave up the 
 whole matter, with the self-consoling thought — 
 " It is partly the fault of others, if I perish." 
 Here is pride acted out. And puerile as it may 
 appear, it is a case of no uncommon occurrence. 
 I am persuaded that if the inquirer will take 
 pains to examine the ground he is treading, 
 he will find a scriptural admonition meeting 
 him at every step, and fitting the very dis- 
 position of mind which he then entertains. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 9 
 
 And it were well if, in the outset, he pondered 
 the meaning of the Saviour's admonition — an 
 admonition which strikes at a latent, but dan- 
 gerous principle of the heart — "whosoever 
 therefore shall be ashamed of me, and of 
 my words, of him also shall the Son of man 
 be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of 
 his Father, with the holy angels." 
 
 It imports nothing to the purpose to say, 
 that we would be willing to endure any public 
 dishonour for the sake of Jesus Christ. There 
 is a kind of heroism in this, which has its at- 
 tractions. And it is more than possible that 
 the very man who would give his body to be 
 burned, rather than abjure Christianity, may 
 be kept back far from salvation, by the petty 
 consideration of shame: While it is equally 
 certain, that thousands who now retire from the 
 blessings of the Gospel, — dreading the first dis- 
 closure of their feelings, — would be willing to 
 enter, if they could, into a confidential con- 
 tract, with the Redeemer. 
 
 How important it is, my dear friend, to be- 
 gin aright in any undertaking! And no where 
 is it as much so as in the great concerns of the 
 soul. An error here will follow us on; and 
 
 may effectually preclude all discovery of the 
 d2 
 
10 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 truth. There is an ingenuousness and candour, 
 for which the present state of your mind is 
 well prepared, and the exercise of which will 
 always furnish some relief. I have often 
 thought there was something touching in your 
 remark on an interview with W. — "his ap- 
 pearance at that moment, was like that of the 
 angel to Hagar, as she sat in the wilderness 
 mourning over her dying hope." And 1 do 
 admit that at such a season as this, we have our 
 personal preferences of those to whom w T e 
 w T ould present the burden of our minds. 
 Where there is good sense and piety in the 
 object of our choice, the interview may be 
 blessed. And 1 see no necessary reason, as 
 others profess to do, w r hy such a choice should 
 produce an undue leaning on human means: 
 For we entertain, with little apprehension, our 
 preferences in the ministrations of the Word: 
 And we are certainly bound to adopt those 
 measures which most directly reach our wants; 
 as well as to seek those instructions, which 
 most immediately meet the circumstances of 
 our particular cases. 
 
 And yet, after all, it is rather a principle 
 than & practice, to which I would direct your 
 attention. Whether we express our difficulties 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 11 
 
 to another, or adopt only those more direct 
 means which are prescribed in the Word of 
 God, is of secondary importance in many 
 cases, judicious as the former may be, in most 
 instances. But it is of primary importance to 
 know whether we are attempting to commence 
 this great concern, with a subdued temper, or 
 with fostered feelings of pride. 
 
 It is a question which has more than once 
 occurred to me, when I have reflected on your 
 inquiries, whether 1 shall congratulate my 
 friend on his present state of mind, or how far 
 I should sympathize with him in this new 
 species of sorrow ? But how could I do either, 
 alone ? This is a most critical era in his life. 
 It may look forward to the enjoyment of Hea- 
 ven; or it may produce an issue as positive on 
 the side of despair. Let us pause together for 
 one moment and examine the ground on which 
 you are standing. 
 
 The prejudices which you once carefully 
 guarded, and which seemed as a retreat when 
 conscience approached too near — how they 
 have dwindled away ! The objections to evan- 
 gelical truth, which possessed shape and mag- 
 nitude, with the very appearance of solidity, 
 have vanished as the light grew brighter around 
 
12 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 you. Difficulties which you thought deserving 
 of serious investigation; and petty objections, 
 which furnished an excuse for indifference to 
 the whole matter of salvation — have receded 
 without awaiting your scrutiny. Whence all 
 this? It was no mere deduction of reason. 
 You have arrived at a conclusion more irresisti- 
 ble, and by a process more rapid, than that of 
 argument. This is none other than the work 
 of the Spirit, whatever its end may be. You 
 are surrounded by a new and powerful exhibi- 
 tion of divine truth. You look far enough, 
 perhaps, into the doctrines of the gospel, to 
 see that they contain an energy, and a fullness 
 of meaning, of which you thought little before. 
 You discover more nearly, the worth of the 
 Christian's hope. You feel, in some measure, 
 as if awakening from a dream, to a sense of 
 want and danger. How will you account for 
 all this? "It is God that worketh in you." 
 You can look back with some surprise on the 
 past; while you compare it with your present 
 sense of conviction. The thoughtlessness of 
 your associates darkens your prospect by the 
 contrast it furnishes: and you are half dis- 
 posed to say, 
 
 I see a hand you can not see : 
 I hear a voice you can not hear. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 13 
 
 There are moments, too, when you feel isolated 
 in the midst of the world; and all its joys, and 
 its cares, are merged in the vast consideration 
 of your eternal fate; and your sensations seem 
 as the shadow of Eternity thrown over your 
 soul. 
 
 Now, whatever the degree of your feelings, 
 all this is an operation of divine power; and — 
 let me add — an effort of divine grace. But 
 still it presents only part of the scene in which 
 an awakened soul is the active or passive ob- 
 ject. There is much which that soul does not 
 see; and much of which it may seldom think. 
 Angels, who minister to heirs of salvation, re- 
 joice in the conversion of the sinner. Are an- 
 gels, then, listless spectators of a scene whose 
 result may gladden Heaven ? Hell never loses 
 a victim without a malignant effort to retain it. 
 And are these lost spirits idle in such an hour? 
 Do not imagine that these are the mere sug- 
 gestions of fancy. The value of an immortal 
 soul is not too small to deserve this interest. 
 
 Nor is this all. There are two other con- 
 siderations which attach importance to this 
 state of mind, beyond that of any former period 
 of life. The light which shines so clearly from 
 the Law and the Gospel, not only aggravates 
 
14 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 the guilt of every sin committed in it, but ren- 
 ders every hour's delay more criminal in the 
 sight of God. This is an awful truth, however 
 little it may have occupied our thoughts. The 
 sins of other hours, their neglects and follies, 
 are committed under less restraint, and with 
 less compunctions of conscience. And sad as 
 is the record they bear against us, they are 
 comparatively small. But when the Spirit of 
 God has flung his brightness around duty and 
 sin, and rendered them both unequivocal in 
 our sight — when we are feelingly sensible that 
 we are arrested in a career of danger — even 
 the unchecked sin of thought has a power to 
 blind the understanding, and to sear the con- 
 science, beyond the act of iniquity, on another 
 occasion. 
 
 The other consideration is this: Every trifle 
 in your circumstances is likely to produce some 
 positive effect upon your condition as an In- 
 quirer. At other times, the influence of little 
 events may reach but a little way. But at this 
 period, when the heart receives an impression 
 from every thing that can reach it — when ten- 
 dencies of good or evil supplant each other so 
 easily — it is not impossible that the eternal 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 15 
 
 doom of the soul may be suspended by an ap- 
 parently negative matter. 
 
 There are political moments when the fate 
 of an empire hangs on a trifle, and the welfare 
 of its millions is to be secured or lost. It is so, 
 too, in the struggle of an awakened sinner; 
 when hope may be won or abandoned, even 
 without the interference of a ruling passion. 
 Here, then, 1 can not omit saying, that there 
 is no idea more erroneous than that which is 
 sometimes held by the friends of one who has 
 been aroused to a sense of danger, and led to 
 some seriousness of thought: I mean the idea 
 that all is now well; that the convicted is "in 
 a good way:" as if piety had already com- 
 menced its reign in the bosom, or a credible 
 assurance were given of its future influence. 
 
 And are all these things really so? Are you 
 singled out from the rest of the world, and 
 placed on a spot which is soon to witness a 
 change of infinite magnitude, in your present 
 and future being? Yes; and your own mind 
 meets these realities as they approach. There 
 are hours when you feel as if every thing de- 
 pended upon an immediate decision: when the 
 conflict is plainly perceptible within you. And 
 you sometimes ask yourself, " what will the 
 
16 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 end be ?" You testify to the truth of all this. 
 You are to yourself a witness of the doubts, 
 fears, hopes, and painful suspense, which agi- 
 tate the bosom of one whose heart is contend- 
 ing with the Spirit of God. Other events may 
 be of little value, even if they completely 
 change your temporal condition. But all that 
 is transpiring in this period of your history, 
 will possess a mighty influence, and may give 
 an unalterable tone to your future character. 
 
 I admit that there is something fearful in the 
 reflection, that so much may depend upon mat- 
 ters, which, at other times, produce a less 
 alarming influence: or that there should be a 
 critical period of life, in which our future 
 destiny is likely to be fixed : or that a present 
 unhappy decision may possibly be final. But 
 it is not indispensably necessary to appeal to 
 any special doctrine of Scripture, in order to 
 substantiate this truth. Every one who is ac- 
 quainted with the human mind under the con- 
 victions of conscience, must have noticed the 
 increased insensibility which succeeds a fruit- 
 less struggle; and the loss of moral power, after 
 a violation of serious resolves. But this in- 
 sensibility, and this loss, increase in a melan- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 17 
 
 choly ratio, in the once-awakened sinner, who 
 returns to the world. 
 
 Nor is it an extraordinary case, when we 
 find a man whose mind has been the field of 
 this conflict, utterly unsusceptible of serious 
 thought, under the most alarming providences: 
 Or even passing into the extreme of bitter practi- 
 cal hostility, against all that is evangelical. And 
 it is even possible for him, in the midst of all 
 this, to review his steps, and to remember the 
 very goal at which present help and hope were 
 abandoned together. 
 
 Such an instance occurs to my thoughts this 
 moment; and I shall do you no wrong if I fre- 
 quently attempt to illustrate my remarks by 
 examples taken from life. The one to which I 
 now refer, was that of an acquaintance, in 
 whom a disposition naturally volatile, and feel- 
 ings always impetuous, rendered the struggle 
 more visible and marked. His unrepressed 
 anxiety, and his impassioned resolutions, were 
 known to his friends around him, and they 
 awakened a general solicitude in his favour. It 
 was impossible to be indifferent to the spectacle. 
 Hopes and fears occupied the hearts of a prayer- 
 ful circle. Expectations were raised and baffled, 
 again and again. There was something fright- 
 
 E 
 
18 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ful in the operations of his mind, and in the 
 earnestness of his manner. It almost reminded 
 us of what we should have fancied in the days 
 of evil-possession. But, even from this, we 
 gathered some encouragement, to hope that 
 this change would be as marked as his con- 
 victions. The result appeared at last: And it 
 might have been foretold by the workings of 
 wavering thought, as if the light of divine 
 truth, that had shone so full, was now dimly 
 flickering. The world laid a less disputed 
 claim to his affections than ever. The voice 
 of prayer was hushed: And the concern of 
 many gave way to indifference. 
 
 Let me digress for a moment to say — this is 
 all w T e usually know of such a case. In sight 
 of the world he would stand just where he was 
 before. Pious friends would sigh and hope for 
 the best hereafter. But, in the meanwhile, a 
 work is going on in his own bosom, part of 
 which he may not understand; while another 
 part plainly communicates a secret ominous of 
 the future: for there is ever something, in this 
 condition of the once-awakened sinner, which 
 tells a foreboding tale. That brief and thought- 
 less prayer, contrasted with the aroused ener- 
 gies, w r hich so lately directed every petition 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 19 
 
 to the throne of grace — that satisfaction when 
 it is over, betokening the reluctance of the of- 
 fering, and contrasted, in its turn, with the cry 
 into which the whole soul had once been in- 
 fused, " God have mercy on me a sinner!" 
 — that change of meaning and of character, 
 which appears in the services of the sanctuary — 
 that — what shall I call it? — that conscious and 
 renewed deadness to all that is sacred or spi- 
 ritual — that feeling of one*s own weight again, 
 on returning to the world, until the world has 
 taken part of the burden on itself — that half- 
 desperate, half-hopeful self-communion with 
 the soul — or that u dash of the die," which in- 
 dicates a spirit hazarding all, in almost con- 
 scious infatuation — no matter what the sensa- 
 tions or signs may be, there is an obvious sense 
 of a dealing between God and himself, in the 
 breast of the apostate Inquirer, on his first re- 
 turn to the world. And although he take his 
 rank among those around him, only as one of 
 the impenitent of the earth, he is not insensible, 
 himself, that his past experience has rendered 
 his situation peculiar, and that it is possible to 
 call a testimony against him, whenever events 
 may awaken his conscience from its slumbers. 
 In the instance now before me, I question 
 
20 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 whether the light of conviction ever went out 
 altogether. There was a witness within his 
 own bosom which continued to prophecy, al- 
 though it was clothed in sackcloth. But his 
 cavils were frequent and many, whenever evan- 
 gelical truth was named: and they were always 
 tempered with that acrimony of expression, 
 which displays the unsatisfied condition of the 
 utterer; and which reminds us of the desperate 
 state of a fallen combatant, who flings the dust 
 at his antagonist, in the vexation of his spirit, 
 before he bites it in the agonies of death. 
 
 The subject of these remarks would con- 
 verse, with all the eagerness of one who held 
 an interest in the prosperity of the kingdom of 
 darkness, — on the uncharitableness of Chris- 
 tians, on the discrepancy of sects — or on the 
 unhallowed example of professors of religion. 
 How wide a field! And he seemed to have 
 left behind him all his personal cares, when- 
 ever he traversed it. But why should I detail? 
 — A voice arrested the caviller. It was not 
 that which confounded Saul on his way to the 
 Christians of Damascus. It was that of Death; 
 death, too, at a juncture in his temporal affairs. 
 This, however, was of least importance. The 
 crisis of an eternal fate he considered as past. 
 But what of that ?— Survivors put the best con- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 21 
 
 struction on the remorse of the deceased. Be- 
 sides — there is a natural disposition to identify 
 remorse and evangelical repentance. And 
 there is something revolting to the minds of 
 most of us, in scrutinizing evidences on the bed 
 of suffering. We are prone to reflect on what 
 Almighty power can do, in an hour of ex- 
 tremity; and we willingly take the possibility 
 for a hope. Who, then, would not have looked 
 for the best? It was what he called " these il- 
 lusions," which he endeavoured to dispel. 
 "X have always believed," said he, " that 
 there was a horrible thought in dating the 
 possible departure of the spirit of God from 
 the soul. We shudder at the idea of desertion, 
 without reflecting on its particulars. But it is 
 tolerable while wrapt in the mystery of igno- 
 rance — ignorance of its manner, its cause, and 
 its time. And yet, at this very hour, 1 can 
 look back to the turning point of my hopes. I 
 can remember my struggles under conviction. 
 1 can recall the weariness of effort — the dis- 
 taste — the compunctions, which preceded the 
 first bold act of worldliness; and which, in 
 their departure, declared the issue decisive. 
 In all the confusion of my thoughts here is an 
 
 unchanging spot in the survey of the past. 
 e2 
 
22 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 There it remains — and no hand can blot it out. 
 No — you are not to imagine my judgment im- 
 paired in such a review. I can deliberately 
 retrace the seasons departed. My return to 
 the world was not designated by an act which 
 the common rules of morality would impeach. 
 But it was by one, which, it is plain, put an 
 end to the struggle. And I could not renew 
 the conflict when I would willingly have done 
 so. Conviction did not leave me. But it sat 
 on my spirits like a lifeless weight, that in- 
 stead of giving them activity, crushed them 
 down. My judgment is as much convinced as 
 ever. But it avails me nothing. The bright- 
 ness of a holy law, and that of the world which 
 I am approaching, only render my condition 
 more awful, as the midnight lightning does 
 that of the wrecked mariner, by showing him 
 the impossibility of escape. I can see, — 1 can 
 comprehend, — but 1 can lay hold of nothing. 
 I can compel no play of that interest which 
 the near approach of the Holy Spirit once 
 created in mv bosom." 
 
 We will drop the curtain here — for, in less 
 than an hour, the sufferer knew more of Eter- 
 nity than you or I. 
 
 Now it is not necessary that exactly such an 
 example be adduced, in support of our position. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 23 
 
 It is still true, whatever the nature of the feel- 
 ings under conviction, that to realize the near 
 interest in salvation which once gave energy 
 to desire and force to our resolution, will be 
 far less easy, after the mind has been brought 
 to a certain closeness to spiritual things, and 
 has retreated from them again. And the de- 
 gree of actual guilt, in the commission of sin, 
 may have less to do with such an effect, than 
 have a sense of warning gone by, and the con- 
 sciousness of past divine interposition. There 
 is an agency between the Sinner and his God. 
 And however little the former may say on the 
 subject, or however indistinct it may appear, 
 in the bustle of his thoughts, he will not be in- 
 sensible to it, nor will he ever wholly forget 
 it, in the remainder of his life. 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir, for the present. Re- 
 member what eyes are upon you. Remember 
 what interests are at stake. Recollect that all 
 your anxiety is known to One who can afford 
 you relief: and that every fluctuation of hope 
 and fear is noted, with an earnest concern for 
 your welfare. This single reflection carries 
 with it both admonition and encouragement. 
 Be much in prayer. Make the Word of God 
 your principal study. Maintain a vigilant 
 guard over your thoughts: and avoid every 
 
24 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 engagement which might unnecessarily divert 
 them from your present pursuit. 
 I am, truly, Yours, &c. 
 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Mistaken views— Danger of reliance on feeling— The duty of avoiding un- 
 necessary association with the World— Counting the cost — On the oppo- 
 sition of others — A melancholy instance — Advice— An instance of the 
 happy effects of Christian prudence— Discouragements from luke-warm 
 Christians— The folly of relinquishing the subject in consequence of ex- 
 ternal difficulties — Encouragement. 
 
 That ardour and perhaps vehemence, of 
 feeling, which exist in some Inquirers, fre- 
 quently preclude all suggestions of the judg- 
 ment or understanding. To such a one no ob- 
 stacle in the matters of the world appears of 
 magnitude: No temptation seems worthy of 
 thought. He believes himself fortified against 
 all the seductions of common life. The great 
 end of salvation he conceives to engage, not 
 only the emotions of his heart, but the facul- 
 ties of his mind. Without a single fear from 
 external impressions, he is ready to encounter 
 any temptation: and thinks himself prepared to 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 25 
 
 oppose the feelings of his present anxiety to 
 all that could be set in array against it. The 
 allurements of time have disappeared. All 
 that belongs to earth has assumed a character 
 of insignificance. 
 
 But is such a state always one of safety? 
 May there not be danger in this overweening 
 confidence? There is, certainly, imminent dan- 
 ger. The same susceptibility of temperament 
 that exposed his bosom to its present agitation, 
 lays it open to insidious encroachments from a 
 quarter whence he apprehends but little dan- 
 ger; and the strong holds of his security are, 
 generally, his weakest and most vulnerable 
 points. 
 
 Nor is this a matter of surprise when we re- 
 collect that there is no state of mind more de- 
 ceptive, or more treacherous, than that which 
 is produced by certain kinds of serious impres- 
 sions. The recession of the world is not, as 
 may be imagined, the effect of a love of holi- 
 ness: and the disinclination to pleasures re- 
 cently dear, does not arise from a positive taste 
 for piety. There is no new principle planted 
 in the heart; and the powerful feeling which is 
 supposed to govern it, is without any rule of 
 control, or any defined place of direction* 
 
26 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 The scenes of a single hour may produce a 
 rapid and perceptible return of the current. 
 
 Is there, then, any thing more unwise, or 
 more hazardous, than a confident reliance on a 
 condition so precarious, in the midst of temp- 
 tations that present a strong appeal to the natu- 
 ral heart? And yet it is to this we are to attri- 
 bute the failure of many an Inquirer, whose 
 earnestness had inspired us with every hope of 
 his success: but who, in mistaking an unor- 
 ganized feeling for a substantial principle, was 
 taken in the snare which presumption had 
 placed in his way. And then his astonish- 
 ment is, that a state of mind which he con- 
 sidered the dawn of religion, should have 
 passed off so easily, and all that is unspiritual 
 resumed its sway in his bosom again. 
 
 If the remarks which I communicated in my 
 last letter, have increased your apprehensions 
 from the circumstances under which Provi- 
 dence has placed you, I trust there will be no 
 reason to regret that they were written. There 
 is, indeed, much to excite a jealousy of our- 
 selves. And it is well to discover its opera- 
 tion upon our conduct; when that operation is 
 not carried to an exclusiveness of the very ob- 
 ject we are labouring to reach. And yet such 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 21 
 
 an effect, my dear friend, is more than possible: 
 We may exert our whole efforts to keep up a 
 certain condition of feeling, without any direct 
 or practical reference to its ultimate design. 
 The evil of this shall be the subject of a future 
 page: At present, 1 have only to express my 
 hope, that, while you entertain such serious 
 fears lest your anxiety be diminished, and 
 while you retain "this unaccountable timidi- 
 ty," on the subject, you may be enabled at 
 once to cast yourself upon him who will un- 
 derstand all your infirmities, and who beholds 
 not without much concern, a single one of his 
 Creatures "in the gall of bitterness." 
 
 That you should abandon all unnecessary 
 intimacies which are unfavourable to your 
 spiritual welfare, is not only the dictate of 
 imperative duty, but it is the prescription of 
 ordinary policy. A judicious physician would 
 always, if practicable, remove his patient from 
 an infected district, and place him w T here the 
 air is more favourable to his recovery. But 
 the atmosphere of worldly associates is as in- 
 auspicious to spiritual life, as is the spot of in- 
 fectious disease to the health of the human 
 frame. The gaiety, or even indifference to 
 religion, which prevails in the society of 
 
£8 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 worldly men, will not always give intensity, 
 by the contrast it furnishes, to the convictions 
 of the awakened sinner: Its more legitimate 
 effect will be, that of unsettling all that gave 
 promise of future good. He should remember 
 that the tone of his mind, unformed as it is, 
 subjects him to a more positive effect from the 
 society in which he moves, than from other 
 and more suspected causes: and that he re- 
 quires every possible check upon dispositions 
 which are now restrained by a rein that is weak 
 at the best. 
 
 " lam a companion of all them that fear 
 thee"* said one of old, in evidence of his de- 
 light in the counsels and commandments of 
 God. Such, too, should be the language of the 
 sincere Inquirer, when he enters up his reso- 
 lutions to espouse the cause of the Redeemer 
 as his own: a resolution which he is likely to 
 make in the outset; and which he is to con- 
 nect with the discharge of every sacred duty : 
 For if there are certain duties which he sup- 
 poses can be accomplished only by the Chris- 
 tian, he is persuaded there are others which it 
 is in the power of the unrenewed man to com- 
 plete. But the simple truth is — and it de- 
 
 * Psalm, cxix* 63. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIREH. 20 
 
 serves our most serious consideration, — that he 
 is under as much obligation as the Christian 
 himself, to obey the whole law of his God; 
 and his line of duty extends not one jot less 
 far than that of the heir of grace: and all ne- 
 glect or inability is charged upon himself; just 
 as the temper and disposition which are op- 
 posed to holiness are condemned, as guilty, on 
 the part of the sinner. 
 
 Yet whatever uneasiness a position presented 
 in such a form, may create in your mind, it is 
 conceded that a choice of associates is fully 
 within your power; or, at least, that a retire- 
 ment from an unnecessary intercourse with 
 worldly men, is perfectly practicable. And it 
 is equally certain that a disregard of precepts 
 to this purpose, is in opposition to one of those 
 petitions which should form a part of all our 
 prayers — " lead us not into temptation." In 
 the meanwhile, there is not a more deleterious 
 effect observable on the mind of the man ac- 
 customed to devotional seasons, than that which 
 he discovers when he comes to the chamber of 
 retirement, reeking with the influence of world- 
 ly society. And it not unfrequently demands 
 the full influence of a living principle of piety 
 to restore him to a devotional frame. If such 
 
30 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 be the experience of one whose principles and 
 habits are confirmed, how much more impor- 
 tant is the choice of society to the Inquirer. 
 
 Much has been said on the trials w T hich deci- 
 sion on this subject are supposed to produce; 
 and in some instances, with great reason. But 
 may it not be true that, in most cases, no small 
 share of these evils is imaginary; and a con- 
 siderable part of the difficulties of our own for- 
 mation? I assure you I have often thought so. 
 There are few in a land lighted by the Gospel, 
 who have not had their serious moments — 
 not to say seasons of painful conviction — and 
 whose judgments do not secretly approve the 
 course of the returning sinner. Even he who 
 professes to be satisfied w T ith a cold system of 
 morality, and who disavows a belief in the 
 transforming influence of the Holy Spirit, is 
 not always perfectly contented with the part 
 he has adopted. There is, I have no doubt, a 
 latent feeling of insecurity, brought into action 
 by the separation of a former companion: and 
 he may feel the reproach which that separation 
 tacitly conveys: but whatever deportment he 
 may manifest, depend upon it, there is no de- 
 cline of true respect towards him. Apprehen- 
 sions on this subject, therefore, are very fre- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 31 
 
 quently groundless; and the unhappiness they 
 create entirely gratuitous. And so, it might 
 be added, are very many of the external cares 
 which harass the awakened sinner. 
 
 That excuse for neglecting the concerns of 
 the soul which so often follow the solemn ad- 
 monitions of conscience, and which assumes 
 such a shape as the following — " / am afraid 
 to begin the inquiry for salvation lest I be 
 tempted to abandon it at last 77 — is not with- 
 out a partial operation here. There are those 
 who are unwilling to forego society which 
 they know to be prejudicial to their best in- 
 terests, from a doubt of their future success in 
 the inquiry, and a fear of the consequent shame 
 on coming back to the world. And it is this 
 which, while it produces a compromising spirit 
 and conduct, effects the very failure they ap- 
 prehend. Such a man is attempting to secure 
 two irreconcilable interests; or at least, to re- 
 tain one, in the peradventure of ill-success with 
 the other. Here can be no sincerity of heart 
 in the application for divine favour: no fair 
 value set upon it — neither conviction of sin, 
 nor a true disposition to surrender every thing 
 unreservedly to God, and to relinquish all that 
 stands in the way of such a sacrifice: A dispo- 
 
32 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 sition of which you should never lose sight, 
 and to which I would have your mind habitual- 
 ly directed. 
 
 There is not a more important scriptural di- 
 rection to the Inquirer, than that which bids 
 him " count the cost" of the pursuit in which 
 he professes to engage. Any reserve, which he 
 may desire to make, in the great obligations of 
 duty, will as effectually bar his success as an 
 avowed spirit of worldliness. And in this 
 matter, with language that seemed designed to 
 anticipate all such difficulties, the Saviour has 
 expressly said, "If any man come to me, and 
 hate not (a comparative term) his father and 
 mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, 
 and sisters, yea and his own life also, he can not 
 be my disciple. And whosoever doth not bear 
 his Cross, and come after me, can not be my 
 disciple."* Here the dearest affections we are 
 supposed to entertain, are considered secondary 
 in the heart of sincerity. And the remainder 
 of the chapter from which this passage is se- 
 lected, — let me add, — deserves your attentive 
 consideration. The awakened sinner has no 
 right to form any calculations for the issue of 
 his failure. Nor should he, for a single mo- 
 
 * Luke, xiv. 26, 27. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 33 
 
 ment, count on the possibility of such a result: 
 For if this be the termination of his anxiety, 
 the event is of his own accomplishment, and 
 not that of his God. He should be willing to 
 withhold nothing; but to make a cordial and 
 immediate surrender of all that he has, and is. 
 
 Let the Inquirer continue in the practice of 
 worldly association, and the instance will be an 
 exception to a general rule, if he do not ulti- 
 mately abandon his object; if a certain, not to 
 say a rapid, change, do not mark the transition 
 of his feelings in a return to thoughtlessness 
 again. The innocent cheerfulness, as he deems 
 it, to which he is exposed, and which is here 
 the levity of an inconsiderate mind, easily be- 
 comes an object of attraction: or the apparent 
 amiableness of demeanour, which he beholds, 
 inspires an unscriptural charity for those who 
 exhibit it: — a charity, which, on comparing his 
 conduct with theirs, he very naturally annexes 
 to his own condition: And all this, especially 
 when the unrenewed heart so easily grows 
 weary of its burden of sorrow, and longs to de- 
 posite the load of its care on the first offered op- 
 portunity. 
 
 Let your companions, I pray you, be those 
 
 whose conversation, and whose aims are spirit- 
 F3 
 
34 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ual. Or, if this be impracticable, confine your- 
 self as much as possible to the society of Him 
 whose eye you can not escape, and who may be 
 equally your Friend, your Counsellor, and 
 your God. 
 
 It is indeed a melancholy truth, that, in the 
 concerns of the soul, a man's enemies may 
 sometimes be "those of his own household ;" 
 or, of the very group with which he is daily 
 and necessarily associated. And favoured in- 
 deed are they, whose family and friends are 
 all of the household of Christ; and whose 
 progress in holy attainments is forwarded 
 by a pious intercourse! But such is not the 
 lot of all. Strong, and sometimes effective, 
 opposition is made to the advancement of 
 others, less advantageously circumstanced. 
 The air of seriousness is mistaken for an un- 
 warrantable melancholy. The sedate deport- 
 ment, and perhaps abstracted thoughtfulness, 
 disturb the vivacity of the domestic circle; or 
 even excite some alarm respecting the mind, 
 or health, of the Inquirer. Parental anxiety, 
 or that of attached friends, suggests a thousand 
 unhappy surmises; and measures are taken to 
 arrest an event which affection itself is appre- 
 hending. Among these, are those misconcep- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. S5 
 
 tions of doctrine, those mis-statements of the 
 character of religion, and those appeals to a re- 
 ligion of nature, which the natural heart is al- 
 ways prepared to furnish; or those false ideas 
 of the attributes of God, and that unscriptural 
 advice, whose end is rather to hide than to heal 
 " the leprosy of soul. " No where is the world- 
 ling so willing to advise on a subject which he 
 does not understand, himself — no where so 
 willing to " daub with untempered mortar," 
 as in the complaint of the corruptions of the 
 heart. The convicted sinner, who has some 
 fair insight into his own evil, detects the fal- 
 lacy of this interference; and while he knows 
 that his disorder is misunderstood by those 
 who, without being sensible of it, are perish- 
 ing with the same disease, he can exclaim with 
 a sigh, like one in distress before, " miserable 
 comforters are ye all?" But where the view 
 of his condition is more imperfect, and the 
 wound has never been deep, the end of this in- 
 terference may be fatal to hope. Affection will 
 inspire a strong confidence in those whom we 
 love. A child is very apt to attach an equivo- 
 cal character to the rules which a father may 
 violate, rather than suspect the integrity of his 
 parent. And this very principle, not unfre- 
 
36 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 quently, gives an undue influence to the un- 
 scriptural and most injudicious counsel of 
 friends; and that too, it may be, where the mo- 
 tive is not fully understood by themselves. 
 
 It is a cruel kindness which would sacrifice 
 the interests of the soul to a temporary plea- 
 sure; or hazard them all for the sake of its own 
 selfishness. And yet we have reason to appre- 
 hend that the scenes of another world will tell 
 many a story of woe in the history of the soul, 
 touching this very point. 
 
 " I was present," — said a worthy minister 
 of the Gospel, on an occasion which introduced 
 this subject — u I was present where an instance 
 of this kind made a painful and indelible im- 
 pression on my memory: An accomplished and 
 
 amiable young woman, in the town of , 
 
 had been deeply affected by a sense of her 
 danger. She was the only child of a fond and 
 affectionate parent: And the deep depression 
 which accompanied her discovery of guilt and 
 depravity, awakened ail the jealousies of the 
 father. He dreaded the loss of all that spright- 
 liness and vivacity, which constituted the hap- 
 piness of the domestic circle. He was startled 
 by the answers which his questions elicited; 
 while he foresaw,— or thought he foresaw — a 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 37 
 
 fatal encroachment on a hitherto unbroken tran- 
 quillity. Efforts were made to remove the cause 
 of disquietude: but they were such efforts as 
 unsanctified wisdom directed. The Bible, at last 
 — Oh how little may a parent know the far- 
 reaching of the deed, when he snatches the 
 Word of Life from the hand of a child! — the 
 Bible, and other books of religion, were re- 
 moved from her possession; and their place 
 was supplied by works of fiction. An excur- 
 sion of pleasure was proposed, and declined. 
 An offer of gayer amusement shared the same 
 fate. Promises, remonstrances, and threaten- 
 ings followed. But it was the unhappiness of 
 the father which completed the inducement to 
 compliance — Alas, how little may a parent be 
 aware that he is decking his offspring with the 
 fillets of death, and leading to the sacrifice, like 
 a follower of Moloch! — The end desired was 
 accomplished. And all thoughts of piety, and 
 all concern for the future, vanished together. 
 Less than a year shifted the bright scenes of 
 domestic peace. The fascinating and gay 
 
 L M was prostrated by a fever that 
 
 bade defiance to medical skill. The approach 
 of death was unequivocal; and the countenance 
 of every attendant fell, as if they had heard the 
 
38 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 flight of his arrow. I see, even now, that look 
 directed to the father, by the dying martyr of 
 folly. The eye seemed glazing, — and it was 
 dim in hopelessness; and yet there seemed a 
 something in its expiring rays, that told re- 
 proof, and tenderness, and terror, in the same 
 glance. And that voice — ; its tone was decided, 
 but sepulchral still — "My father — last year I 
 would have sought the Redeemer. — Fath — er 
 — your child is" — Eternity heard the remain- 
 der of the sentence; for it was not uttered in 
 Time. And the wretched survivor saw before 
 him the fruit of a disorder, the seeds of which 
 had been sown when his delighted look fol- 
 lowed the steps of his idol in the maze of a 
 dance. Oh how often, when I have witnessed 
 the earthly wisdom of a parent banishing the 
 thoughts of eternity, have I dwelt on that ex- 
 pression that seemed to arise from a season of 
 departed hope — " last year I would have sought 
 the Redeemer!" 
 
 But there are instances in which the opposi- 
 tion is of a more distinctive character; and 
 when, instead of arising from an avowed re- 
 gard for the temporal welfare of those concern- 
 ed, it collects and concentrates the malignity 
 of a heart inimical to grace. And this may be 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 39 
 
 observable in the very individuals who pay an 
 outward respect to the ordinances of religion. 
 And the taunting sneer, or the lower, but not 
 less bitter, ribaldry, aims to transfix a spirit 
 already fallen by another hand. For that very 
 temper which applied to the Saviour epithets of 
 ignominy and falsehood, and then condemned 
 him under the charge, is not less disposed, at 
 the present day, to apply false terms to all that 
 opposes its interests, and then to hold up the 
 object of its slander to contumely and reproach. 
 And should the sincere follower of Christ hope 
 to live ever unassailed, when his Master was 
 accused as an Epicure, and executed as a Trai- 
 tor? 
 
 There is one consideration here which should 
 not be forgotten; it is this: If the thoughtless 
 opposer were compelled to assign his true mo- 
 tive for active repugnance to the operations of 
 truth, that opposition, instead of proving an im- 
 pediment in the way of the Inquirer, would 
 form a strong ground of encouragement. He 
 would see its source in an ignorance alarming 
 in the extreme — or in a selfishness w 7 hich arro- 
 gates to itself a right to new-modify the Gos- 
 pel-plan — or in the disguised malice of a heart 
 that partakes of the rancour of the Lost. Be- 
 
40 LETTEHS TO AST 
 
 lieve me, this language is not too strong. The 
 passions of a bosom unreconciled to God, are 
 never displayed under more plausible pretexts, 
 or with more decided energy, than when they 
 are called into action by an example of piety, 
 warning while it enlightens the conscience — 
 or by an instance of departure from worldli- 
 ness, forming a gap in the circle of association 
 that may more admonish of danger, than the 
 very instructions of the Sanctuary, Yes; if 
 the Inquirer would ponder these truths, of 
 which he may have the clearest conviction, 
 every hand that would oppose his progress 
 would appear to beckon him on. 
 
 Religion is indeed the only sure basis of do- 
 mestic peace. But whenever it comes in con- 
 tact with a spirit of worldliness, or threatens 
 to encroach upon its territory, we are to pre- 
 dict nothing less than the fulfilment of the Re- 
 deemer's prophecy — " For I am come, to set 
 a man at variance against his father, 
 and the daughter against her mother, and 
 the daughter-in-law against her mother-in- 
 law"* 
 
 To an affectionate bosom, it must be ad- 
 mitted, there is a peculiar painfulness in a situ- 
 
 * Matthew, x; 35. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 41 
 
 ation which involves a contest between natu- 
 ral attachment and Christian principles, or 
 convictions of duty. And it is far more than 
 possible that it has often thwarted the great 
 purpose that appeared to have begun in the 
 bosom. But to all this, my dear friend, may 
 you be able to say, — "none of these things 
 move me, neither count I my life dear unto 
 myself, so that I might finish my course with 
 joy."* To you, a voice has come significant 
 and earnest, as that to one in former days: 
 "Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, 
 neither stay thou in all the plain."t 
 
 In some instances of severe opposition, the 
 fault may be, in a considerable measure, in the 
 Inquirer himself. His own conduct may pro- 
 voke an array of hostility where it would not, 
 otherwise, have appeared. Let me then sub- 
 join the following injunctions : 
 
 Jlvoid all that unnecessary appearance of 
 gloom, which may be mistaken for austerity, 
 or may give rise to a suspicion of rooted me- 
 lancholy. The effort to exhibit a hilarity which 
 you do not feel, and which would be produc- 
 tive of mischief, in your present state of mind, 
 even if unfelt, is certainly one extreme. But 
 
 * Acts, xx, 24. t Gen. xix, 17. 
 
42 LETTERS TO AK 
 
 a cultivated dejection of countenance, or air, 
 is another, which may be injurious to your- 
 self, as well as to others. And there are those 
 who have been induced to form an artificial 
 aspect of sorrow, by the hope that the artifice 
 may sober and depress their own f elings. 
 This is nothing less than a species of hypocri- 
 sy. On the other hand, sedateness and sobri- 
 ety of deportment will be perfectly compatible 
 with that amenity of demeanour, which So- 
 ciety has a right to claim from us all. You 
 owe much to the happiness of others around 
 you: Never, therefore, unnecessarily infringe 
 it. But especially, you owe it to your God, 
 to avoid subjecting his cause to an imputation 
 which it does not deserve. It was an excellent 
 answer — if understood within its proper limi- 
 tations — which was given by a Minister of 
 State,* to one who rallied him on his serious- 
 ness in the midst of the festivities of a Court: 
 "While we laugh, my friends, all things are 
 serious around us. God is serious, who ex- 
 ercises such patience towards us; Christ is 
 serious, who shed his blood for us. The 
 Holy Ghost is serious, who strives against 
 the obstinacy of our hearts. The Scriptures 
 
 " Sir Francis Walsingham. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 43 
 
 are serious, in all that they say. All that 
 are in Heaven or Hell are serious. May 
 Man then, trifle, whose doom is settling 
 every moment?" And it was, perhaps, a 
 still better reply given by one who had been 
 reproached for his visible distress: " It is not 
 religion that renders me sad, or that has 
 ever rendered another sad; it is the want of 
 religion which I mourn." A distinction 
 which our worldly friends are not apt to re- 
 member. 
 
 Again: If ever it become necessary to de- 
 fend the views you have adopted as your own, 
 and to which despondency is so often imputed, 
 do so with all that gentleness of spirit, which 
 may win others, while it is a safeguard to 
 yourself One of the most lovely effects of 
 Christian prudence which I have ever known, 
 arose from the conduct of a young friend, 
 whose temper was naturally irrascible^ and 
 whose love of victory in argument was para- 
 mount in his bosom: and who under distress 
 for the fate of his soul, displayed a manner af- 
 fectionate and patient, in opposition to numer- 
 ous efforts to harass and discourage him — 
 M Why," — said his brother, after an ill-timed 
 charge on his principles — " Why are you not 
 
44 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 now as desirous of victory as in former 
 times?" In a subdued tone, he replied, 
 "the cause was that of my own vanity: the 
 present cause is Christ's: I was alone in the 
 first: Omnipotence will take care of the se- 
 cond." It may have been manner — or, if 
 you please, it was the coptrast between past 
 and present feeling, so visible here, that pro- 
 duced so powerful an effect. Certain it is, 
 the aggressor, without being repelled, was dis- 
 armed. His weapons were melted down; and 
 his heart was melted with them. The brothers 
 soon sustained a nearer relation to each other, 
 than ever, in the family of the Redeemer. 
 
 May we, my friend, always display less so- 
 licitude to fortify opinions of our own, how- 
 ever just they may be, than to extend the cause 
 of Christ, by an example that shall be u a liv- 
 ing epistle." If there be a power on earth, of 
 all others most adapted to disarm opposition to 
 the truth of God, it is such a one as I have just 
 presented to your sight; and such an example 
 is likely to be visible in ourselves in propor- 
 tion as we study our own hearts, and look with 
 intentness to the Cross. 
 
 There is, sometimes, a species of negative 
 opposition — if 1 may so call it — of which the 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 45 
 
 Inquirer bitterly complains: I mean that of 
 the apparent indifference of professors of reli- 
 gion to the state of his mind. Deepened anx- 
 iety may have supplanted any scruples of deli- 
 cacy which had previously existed; and he 
 may have expected that sympathy which sorrow 
 frequently claims, and, in his disappointment, 
 imagine an utter unconcern in his behalf. I 
 have already referred to the possibility of such 
 a disappointment. But let me now add, that 
 even this is conducive to the benefit of the sin- 
 cere penitent. If it lead him to exclaim, " no 
 man cared for my soul!"— if it overwhelm 
 him with a renewed feeling of hopelessness, it 
 may, and it will, more effectually unite, and 
 concentrate, the powers of his mind in " the 
 Hope of Israel." When it is remembered how 
 nominal is the profession of many who " have 
 a name to live;" and how even the zeal of the 
 Christian may decline, — any such disappoint- 
 ment, painful as it is, can be no fair cause of 
 discouragement. It is indeed melancholy to 
 see that supineness so much at variance with 
 an active love of the Redeemer, in those from 
 whom we should not have expected it; and at 
 a time when it operates with such a repulsive 
 
 power. But this has no necessary connexion 
 G2 
 
46 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 with our own interests. A great matter is 
 pending between God and our own souls; and 
 nothing without should divert our attention a 
 moment from it. 
 
 In concluding this Letter, 1 would observe 
 that there is no inconsistency greater than that 
 of relinquishing the pursuit of salvation, on ac- 
 count of any external circumstances which 
 may be in the way. To suppose that we are 
 ever at liberty to wait, until " a more conveni- 
 ent season" shall present fewer difficulties, is 
 to imagine ourselves in an anomalous condi- 
 tion, in which we are at liberty to stand apart 
 from the invitations of the Gospel — a condition 
 in which enmity of heart to divine grace is le- 
 galized — the laws of God suspended, and their 
 penalty withdrawn. It is the whole of this 
 which is implied in the excuse which the sin- 
 ner finds in the ordinary obstacles produced by 
 his circumstances in life. 
 
 Never suffer yourself to pause for a single 
 moment, to magnify obstacles that may be in 
 your way. You can now form some affecting 
 estimate of the value of the soul. Ask, then, 
 of your own understanding — can He who bids 
 you to his mercy, frame for you a yoke so op- 
 pressive that you are obliged to decline it, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 47 
 
 even at the peril of the soul? Can He, whose 
 holy Word gives assurance to the sincere In- 
 quirer, that " as his days so shall his strength 
 be" — can He speak an invitation, well know- 
 ing that there are difficulties too serious to be 
 within the possibility of removal? Is he capa- 
 ble of such mockery to the wants of a fallen 
 creature? Oh let us ever be careful that our 
 suspicions do not impugn the majesty of Jeho- 
 vah! Go freely to One who is able to take off 
 the burden of your cares. Recollect that what- 
 ever difficulties appear in your way, he that 
 divided the waters of old, can open a passage 
 for you to the Heavenly Canaan. In every 
 apprehension remember — u there hath no 
 temptation taken you but such as is common 
 to man: but God is faithful who will not suffer 
 you to be tempted above that you are able; but 
 will with temptation also make a way to escape, 
 that you may be able to bear it." 
 I am truly, 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
48 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Those difficulties which are of least importance most generally discourag- 
 ing—Impatience arising from disappointed expectations— A complaint 
 — Its causes — The dread of increasing anxiety — A false conclusion — 
 Evils arising from natural buoyancy of feeling— Difficulty in the doc- 
 trine of Election— Inclination and despair aid each other — "I am seek- 
 ing," a false plea—" I am waiting for a day of power"—-" I am waiting 
 for God to do his part." 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 Suffer me to add a few words more to 
 some remarks in my last letter. 
 
 I will commence with a position which, to 
 me, appears worthy of serious reflection; it is 
 this — the temptations to which the awakened 
 sinner is exposed are inconsiderable and 
 weak, in proportion to the sincerity and 
 earnestness with which he sets out. When 
 his mind was entirely engrossed in worldli- 
 ness, it seized with avidity on the most con- 
 temptible objections to evangelical truth: and 
 the smallest of these might have been sufficient, 
 at times, to satisfy an understanding vitiated 
 by sensual habits and taste. But when the re- 
 monstrances of the Holy Spirit are brought to 
 bear, in some measure, on the mind and the 
 conscience, such objections disappear, and per- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 49 
 
 plexities of a different character arise in their 
 place. And the magnitude of these will de- 
 pend on the same rule, whether they arise from 
 the state of the Inquirer's mind, or from the 
 agency of his spiritual adversary. He who 
 never pays a higher price for the soul than his 
 victim demands, and who met the venality of 
 a Judas with thirty pieces of silver, because he 
 asked no more, uses the same economy of 
 means in the difficulties with which he would 
 dishearten the sinner who has been led to a 
 partial seriousness. Have you not remarked 
 how fully this position is exemplified among 
 Inquirers ? Have you not observed that more 
 abandon the pursuit of salvation in consequence 
 of petty obstructions, than on account of those 
 more imposing? And does it not prove that 
 the true state of the difficulty is to be found in 
 the affections or desires of the Inquirer? I am 
 persuaded it is so; and that causes which dis- 
 courage many, have little or no influence on 
 others. 
 
 Let us examine some of those evils to which 
 a failure is so often to be attributed. We will 
 begin with one of the most common — the im- 
 patience arising from disappointed expecta- 
 tions. 
 
50 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 We will suppose the Inquirer to be con- 
 versant with the general invitations of the 
 Gospel; sensible that his natural condition is 
 not one of safety, and determined to relinquish 
 it. He begins a change in some of his habits; 
 and commences the practice of prayer: attends 
 with regularity on all the public means of grace: 
 takes up some religious works: frequently con- 
 sults the Bible; and devotes a set part of his 
 time to serious thought. Days, and perhaps 
 weeks, pass by; and as far as he can discover, 
 he has not arrived a single step nearer his ob- 
 ject: But if any conclusion be drawn, it is that 
 he is further off than ever. How is all this? 
 The simple truth is, he has engaged in a course 
 for which he has no cordial inclination. His 
 taste is repugnant to the task he has enjoined 
 upon himself; and instead of being altered, as 
 he had hoped, by his new employment, con- 
 tinues averse as ever. The novelty of experi- 
 ment wearing off, every effort he makes in- 
 creases the sensation of drudgery. There is 
 no spring of action; no powerful motive; and 
 nothing to give life to desire. The schemes 
 which fancy had formed, and the prospects it 
 had presented, like all other imaginary things, 
 pass away: and he perpetually asks — " is this 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 51 
 
 the fruit of my labour? — I have done all that 
 God has directed me to do; but 1 have done it 
 in vain. I see none of the divine power I was 
 taught to expect. It is useless to prosecute the 
 attempt." 
 
 How different is all this from his first antici- 
 pations! The short suspense, and then the 
 peace in prayer — the comfort which was to 
 flow on to his soul as he advanced — the plea- 
 sure of communion with God, after he had shed 
 a few tears, deemed as honourable to himself 
 as they were to be effectual to the end of his 
 pardon — it was for these he was looking. 
 
 Oh there is as much that is visionary, in the 
 conceptions of many, respecting this whole 
 matter, as there is in the regions of romance; 
 as much that is unreal and fictitious. And 
 when the search for all this has failed, the sin- 
 ner is disconcerted; a mortified feeling ensues: 
 or a gradual and thoughtless relapse to matters 
 more congenial; with an effective, but not pain- 
 ful, despair; and a settling down with the aban- 
 donment of all present expectations. 
 
 It is easy to decide that there has been no 
 real anxiety here. But, then, what was the 
 obstruction in the way of this Inquirer ? Why 
 did not a course which is most commonly pre- 
 
52 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 scribed, as the ordinary means of grace, end 
 more favourably? Why should all such pains and 
 care be unavailing? I will tell you: This man 
 overlooked the whole conditions of salvation. 
 Neither faith nor repentance were presented to 
 his mind. The track he was pursuing may in- 
 deed be called part of the ordinary means of 
 grace: but he had no heart for the engagement 
 in which he was occupied. It was altogether 
 a work of mechanical effort. This is evident 
 
 41 
 
 from the fact that he could have proceeded a 
 very short distance, without becoming, in some 
 measure, better acquainted with himself; or 
 without discovering inducements to surrender 
 himself at once to the Saviour. But to any 
 knowledge which he might have obtained of 
 his state, he paid no attention : On the contrary, 
 he sedulously avoided a near approach to the 
 truth. Let me illustrate this, by a review of the 
 circumstances as they occurred: He saw dis- 
 tinctly that his heart was not right, if he saw 7 no 
 more: for the formality of his whole conduct 
 must have made this plain. He was enabled, 
 too, to discover that his conceptions of divine 
 truth were gross; that he had no just sense of 
 sin; that there was an awful distance between 
 himself and a reconciled God; and that the 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 53 
 
 very feeling which occupied his bosom, on the 
 failure of his hopes, betrayed a heart at va- 
 riance with holiness. 
 
 If he saw no more, it was in his power to as- 
 certain all this. But he acted on no part of it. 
 He would have overleaped all that was inter- 
 mediate between the first thought of religion 
 and the evidences of a renewed soul. Evi- 
 dences of another description — those of a latent 
 depravity — he would not examine. With the 
 same inattention, he saw his natural helpless- 
 ness. His growing distaste of devotion when 
 the novelty of his pursuit was past, and his sad 
 heartlessness in it before, ought to have indi- 
 cated more than they did, and to have taught 
 him a practical lesson of infinite value. But if 
 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 re- 
 treat from the accusation, and secretly hope 
 that some peculiar way would be found out 
 for him — some distinguishing favour bestowed, 
 
 H 
 
54 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 — 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 frown- 
 ed on Heaven, because Heaven stood aloof 
 from his self-complacent spirit!* 
 
 Let me repeat what I have already hinted, 
 — and 1 may have reason to apply to other in- 
 stances — that, in the case before us, the In- 
 quirer 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 na- 
 ture; 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. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 55 
 
 suggest And he continues brooding, with a 
 half-affected sorrow, over an indefinite evil. 
 Andj perhaps, uttering secret murmurs to him- 
 self, 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 ad- 
 vanced further. We will suppose him to have 
 seen enough to know that a more serious de- 
 velopment awaits him: and that, if he continue 
 his pursuit, he must encounter the spectacle of 
 moral deformity which an unrenewed spirit al- 
 ways exhibits. He sees enough to create an 
 alarm, — not on account of his danger, but on 
 account of the pain which will accompany per- 
 severance in his investigation. It is a present 
 ill which he dreads. The terrors of Eternity 
 are removed still further off, while he is en- 
 grossed 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. 
 
56 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 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 wretched- 
 ness 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' 7 — 
 says one in such a state — " if faith, and re- 
 pentance would come of themselves, — or if 
 conviction would bring, at once, that distress 
 which would as immediately procure the fa- 
 vour of Christ, I should be satisfied to en- 
 counter it. But to go on making painful dis- 
 coveries — becoming the executioner of my 
 peace — it is requiring too much." 
 
 And w T hat 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 in- 
 structed 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. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 57 
 
 The second reason is found in a feeling com- 
 mon to this state of mind; and may be ex- 
 pressed in the following language — " I have 
 certainly made some discovery into the state 
 of my heart: 1 have arrived within a certain 
 distance of my object: I can reach this point 
 again at pleasure. It is some satisfaction to 
 see what 1 can do. I am encouraged, there- 
 fore, to return to the world." 
 
 A third case may be found in that buoyancy 
 of feeling which so easily rises, after a mo- 
 mentary 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 — re- 
 moves them again. The remembrance of a 
 favourite amusement — so unlike the present 
 unwelcome sobriety — disheartens and dis- 
 courages: and even the thought of a frivolous 
 jest whets the appetite again for worldly amuse- 
 ments. This is a lamentable state, in which 
 h2 
 
58 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 the hopes of an immortal soul remain at the 
 mercy of a petty incident. But the considera- 
 tion of tjiat very truth ought to furnish an in- 
 ducement to more substantial resolutions, and 
 to create a more effectual alarm of danger. 
 
 Unhappily, this is not always the effect. 
 The m'ind of such a man easily deceives him. 
 After having once abandoned the pursuit, he 
 may return to it again with more earnestness: 
 and with some additional hope from his former 
 experience. And he may do so again, and 
 again — for such a mind is the only one liable 
 to frequent awakenings — but we may see him, 
 in every instance, deciding against himself, 
 with the plea of the utter impossibility of suc- 
 cess. Yet is it not acquired habits of which he 
 is complaining, or on which he charges all his 
 difficulty ? — habits, which, if they stand in the 
 way of his spiritual welfare, are equally sinful 
 and dangerous: And which are as certainly pre- 
 paring their harvest of future remorse as those 
 more positive and flagrant. It is indeed a hap- 
 less spectacle which the Inquirer here displays; 
 when, like the idolatrous Jew, in whom the 
 strength of habitual sin was too great for his 
 convictions, he exclaims, — u there is no hope; 
 no; I have loved idols, and after them will I 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 59 
 
 go!" But, if he took pains to examine the 
 feelings with which this plaint is uttered, his 
 conclusion would be more unhappy than he 
 now suffers it to be. Let us look at it, in pass- 
 ing, — for its frequency, in one form or other, 
 renders it worthy of notice. 
 
 There are two principles here which afford 
 each other mutual strength — Inclination and 
 Despair: Inclination to return to the world 
 brings a plea from despair of success in the 
 inquiry; and this despair of success en- 
 courages the inclination. It is the apology 
 for vice which we may hear every day. " My 
 habits," says the drunkard, " are too strong to 
 be broken." "My passions," says the sen- 
 sualist, "are too powerful to be withstood." 
 "My love of frivolity," says another, "is too 
 firmly fixed to be shaken." I know there 
 may be a sadness of heart with which such an 
 apology is uttered: But then it is counter- 
 balanced by a secret pleasure in returning to 
 more congenial engagements, in w T hich it is 
 soon lost or forgotten. 
 
 Now, I would appeal to such a one, whether 
 this be not the sensation with which he aban- 
 dons his inquiry for salvation ? And while he 
 would find little reason to hesitate in reply, he 
 
60 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 might see a powerful motive to awaken him 
 to a more permanent sense of danger, in a con- 
 sciousness that it is a love of sin which holds 
 him back from the Gospel. It is ignorance of 
 this truth, — or indifference to it, which suffers 
 him to pass so easily again to listlessness and 
 folly. 
 
 There is another difficulty, which deserves 
 some consideration; not only because it is a 
 misrepresentation of an important doctrine, 
 but because it affords what is considered a plau- 
 sible pretext, in the sight of many : I mean a 
 difficulty originating in a misconstruction of 
 the doctrine of Election. This is not only a 
 stumbling block in the way of the Inquirer, 
 but it is an excuse of frequency in the mouths 
 of the careless. The complaints of the two are 
 substantially the same, although they may dif- 
 fer in form. The latter is expressed somewhat 
 as follows: — " If 1 am elected, I shall be saved ; 
 if not, it is useless to apply for salvation. " 
 The former affirms that an effort has been 
 made; and an unfavourable conclusion is drawn 
 from its failure. "I have tried; but in vain. 
 1 see 1 am not elected, and therefore I dismiss 
 the subject." 
 
 Is it not strange that men who, in other con- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 61 
 
 cerns, are not deficient in good sense, should 
 make the secret counsels of God a rule of 
 action ? That they should profess to be go- 
 verned by a law of which they are confessedly 
 ignorant ? That they should discard, in their 
 spiritual affairs, the simple process of reasoning 
 which they adopt in the common things of 
 life? Or shall we account for all this, by affirm- 
 ing that the careless neither mean nor believe 
 what they say ? And that the Inquirer intends 
 only to avow the weariness of his pursuit? We 
 have great reason to believe this. And if it be 
 indeed so, what wickedness does not this 
 trifling evince ! What horrible impiety in ut- 
 tering a known falsehood under circumstances 
 rendered solemn by the loud calls of the Holy 
 Spirit! 
 
 To either objector, the following questions 
 and remarks may be worthy of some thought: 
 
 It must be admitted that you are left to the 
 choice of holiness or sin: you are at liberty, so 
 far as your free agency is concerned, to adopt 
 a worldly or spiritual line of conduct. Expe- 
 rience and Scripture coincide in this position. 
 The freedom of the will is not a matter in dis- 
 pute. But if your difficulties on the subject of 
 predestination were consistent with each other. 
 
62 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 you would reason thus: — "I am fore-ordained 
 to the commission of good or evil; I know not 
 which; but until I can ascertain this, I will 
 make no choice of either." And the conse- 
 quence would be, at least an honest effort to 
 avoid iniquity. Now no such reasoning, or 
 effort, ensues. You continue in the way of 
 the transgressor. And, in doing so, you are 
 deliberately fixing your own destiny. Is your 
 complaint, then, any thing less than a cover of 
 hypocrisy — a cloak thrown over the desires of 
 a depraved and treacherous heart? 
 
 Again: you can not find any decree which 
 forbids your acting righteously, or that can ex- 
 tinguish a desire of salvation in your bosom. 
 What, then, has this doctrine to do in the ques- 
 tion before you? All the invitations of the 
 Gospel are distinct from it; they are never 
 given with a design that we should pry into 
 the secret counsels of God, in order to discover 
 their application to us; and those counsels can 
 never contradict them. 
 
 Take the following case: A Ruler offers par- 
 don to certain rebellious subjects, on condition 
 that they lay down their arms. Some of them 
 comply, and are pardoned. One refuses, and 
 his reason is — " I am not among the number 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 63 
 
 whom the Sovereign designed to save, and it 
 is therefore useless to accept the terms of for- 
 giveness." Now would you not say of this 
 man, that he falsifies the assertions of the gra- 
 cious Ruler; and multiplies his own guilt? But 
 the offers of our Divine Sovereign are not less 
 explicit; and the conduct of the rejecting sin- 
 ner is not less flagrant. 
 
 Why do you conclude with such certainty, 
 that you are not among the elect? Has any 
 one revealed this awful truth? — if not, your 
 conclusion has no higher origin than con- 
 jecture. And what is this but a criminal in- 
 termeddling, or a fanciful trifling with things 
 belonging only to God? If such a conjecture 
 detains you from the love of Jesus Christ, is it 
 not criminal?- Are you not destroying your 
 own soul with weapons of your own fabrica- 
 tion? 
 
 The Holy Scriptures, as well as the econo- 
 my of the divine government, abundantly 
 prove that non-election can never be the ground 
 of condemnation. God will judge us by our 
 own works, and not by his secret decrees. The 
 doom of the lost will be, because they "love 
 darkness rather than light" — because they pre- 
 fer iniquity to holiness. 
 
64 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 In a practical sense, at least, the following 
 expostulation, which Milton puts into the 
 mouth of the Creator, is applicable here: 
 
 Nor can justly accuse 
 
 Their Maker, or their making, or their fate, 
 As if predestination overruled 
 Their will dispos'd by absolute decree 
 Or high foreknowledge ; they themselves decreed 
 Their own revolt, not I ; if I foreknew, 
 Foreknowledge had no influence o,n their fault, 
 Which had no less prov'd certain unforeknown. 
 So without least impulse or shadow of fate, 
 Or ought by me immutable foreseen, 
 They trespass, authors to themselves in all 
 Both what they judge and what they choose. 
 
 Can it be true that, " whosoever shall call on 
 the name of the Lord shall be saved" — and 
 that God " commandeth all men every where 
 to repent," and yet secretly means to reject the 
 prayer of the penitent ? If it be so, then you 
 have a singular ground of security: — for the 
 condemnation is, that the sinner wilfully re- 
 fuses the offer of salvation; whereas no such of- 
 fer was made to you; or, it was not in your 
 power to accept it. Are you prepared to take 
 this plea to the Judgment seat? — would you 
 not shudder at a presumption so high, and so 
 daring? 
 
 In any such instance as this, it should be re- 
 membered that there can not be a serious sense 
 of danger — any deep conviction of sin — or any 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 65 
 
 sincere desire to be saved, on the terms of the 
 Gospel. All declarations to the contrary are 
 either a vain pretence, or they arise from a 
 most culpable ignorance of the heart. This is 
 plain from the truth of a remark already made 
 — that the speciousness of a difficulty is a test 
 of the sincerity of the Inquirer. The man who 
 is sincere would endeavour to look directly to 
 the object of his wants. He would be aware 
 that he has not time, — and he would not pos- 
 sess inclination- — to occupy his mind with mat- 
 ters unrevealed. Or, if a suspicion of this na- 
 ture flashed before him, it would lead to a more 
 diligent search after the truth, and end in a 
 better knowledge of his condition, as a sinner. 
 But, contrary to this, there is here an impor- 
 tant and most dangerous defect, which, while 
 it darkens the prospects of the soul, aggravates 
 the doom which is likely to follow. The truth 
 of this position will be manifest if we consider 
 the following statement: 
 
 A failure in the attempt to lay hold of the 
 hope of salvation, implies a fault somewhere; 
 either on the part of the Inquirer, or on that 
 of his God. But the Inquirer exculpates him- 
 self, and declares that he " has done all in his 
 power; — that his desires have been serious/ 7 
 
66 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 The fault, then, is charged upon the Head of 
 the Universe. Is there not something horri- 
 ble in this ? And is not the disposition which 
 dares undertake it, proudly rebellious, and 
 wholly unfit for the reception of favour ? — I do 
 not mean merely undeserving, but in a state 
 unsuited to the operations of mercy. And 
 does not this very failure disclose its own cause, 
 by bringing into play so unhallowed, so selfish, 
 and so petulant a temper? A temper that 
 would 
 
 " Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod, 
 " Rejudge his justice, be the God of God." 
 
 If he who thinks himself refused, would 
 pause a moment, and ponder the effect that re- 
 fusal has produced, it might not be impossible 
 to discover the reason: — A discovery which 
 might be of infinite importance to his spiritual 
 interest, and, perhaps, the means of securing 
 his end. The first step to truth is the removal 
 of error: And this ill-success of the sinner 
 might have shown him some essential error, if 
 he examined its results in his own bosom. He 
 would be, in consequence of this, nearer his 
 object, and not further from it — nearer, be- 
 cause he would see, more distinctly, both his 
 danger and his wants. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 67 
 
 I have said that inclination and despair, in 
 certain states of mind, mutually assist each 
 other, in the ruin of the soul. But what an 
 awful state of heart should we sometimes see, 
 if we could read the secret feelings of the In- 
 quirer, when he abandons the hope before him ! 
 We should behold — not the penetrating sor- 
 row which tells the disappointment of a sad 
 heart, and indicates its sincerity — but a latent 
 satisfaction, — the high evidence of his hy- 
 pocrisy. Hear the murmurer, in the pride of 
 self-complacency, — " The fault is not mine; 1 
 have no censure to attach to myself !" — Let us 
 ask him, if there be not a self-gratulation on 
 his return to w r orldliness and to folly? Oh what 
 a mockery of the character and attributes of 
 God! What a challenge to that wrath which 
 bold impiety draws upon itself! And then 
 what availed his resolutions, or his prayers ? 
 A little delay has shown him that his conduct 
 has been governed by false pretences; and that, 
 instead of being ready to love the Redeemer, 
 he was prepared to arraign his rectitude and 
 truth! 
 
 But an avowed abandonment is not univer- 
 sal, even among those who appear to have lost 
 interest in the subject. We hear some stating 
 
68 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 their determination to continue their inquiry — - 
 " I am seeking." — Few expressions are more 
 illusive than this. It may be honestly uttered ; 
 but is very frequently not so. And it is one 
 of those instances of perverting Scripture lan- 
 guage, which a common mistake has sanctioned: 
 a mistake to which 1 shall advert hereafter. 
 At present, I would say to such a one — " your 
 interest in religion diminished in the failure of 
 your expectations: you were unwilling to ad- 
 mit to yourself that you were relinquishing all 
 hope, — for this would have been a painful 
 thought. You were determined to continue in 
 the same round, of duties, although they were 
 discharged with insensibility, and heartless- 
 ness. This course you considered a kind of 
 neutral agency; in which, if there were no 
 comfort, there could be no danger. Here, too, 
 you hoped that some light might gradually 
 break in upon you: and you profess to " wait 
 patiently " because it is the direction of the 
 Word of God. But can this dealing be ap- 
 proved? Will a heartless round of form lead 
 you to that grace which you profess to be seek- 
 ing ? And does not this very contentment, 
 while you are without spiritual peace, tell 
 against you ? You are seeking? — then it is for 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 69 
 
 an object which you undervalue, and which 
 excites no feeling of anxiety. There is dan- 
 ger in your present situation, and that most 
 imminent. It is not neutral ground on which 
 you are standing. Every hour in which you 
 remain out of Christ, you are increasing your 
 guilt, and diminishing your hope of pardon. 
 And the pretext with w r hich you would satisfy 
 your conscience, is one which favours the na- 
 tural inclinations of the heart." — And how 
 frequent are the instances in which a death- 
 like lethargy supervenes! All the little sensi- 
 bility that had existed, perceptibly giving way 
 to a conscious stupidity: the form of piety 
 adopted, in the place of its principle: And the 
 reluctance to confess to himself that he was re- 
 turning to the world, gradually lost in its cares 
 and its pleasures. 
 
 In such an instance as this, in which the pur- 
 suit, so called, may have continued for a long 
 time, the most common result is that of em- 
 bracing some doctrinal error. The nature of 
 evangelical religion is questioned: so is that of 
 a change of heart: or the latter is discredited 
 altogether: and the self-satisfying reasoning is 
 * — " 1 may have been mistaken in my expecta- 
 tions. My anxiety has left me; but my pre- 
 12 
 
70 } LETTERS TO AN 
 
 sent peace may be the answer of prayer: and 
 although I can not perceive any difference be- 
 tween my present state, and that of some 
 months since, excepting that habit has recon- 
 ciled me more to outward forms, may I not be 
 safe V 9 How readily is stupidity mistaken for 
 a Heavenly peace, after remaining in such a 
 condition as this! And 'how completely is the 
 soul invested in an armour which no arrow of 
 conviction can penetrate! 
 
 Or, where this is not exactly the state of 
 mind in which a long continuance of fruitless 
 form has left the Inquirer, another plea is 
 sometimes advanced, nearly as delusive and 
 dangerous as the last. It is this: — " lam wait- 
 ing for a day of power. I have seen that 
 power displayed in the conversion of others. 
 I continue in the way of it. 1 remain at the 
 pool until the troubling of the waters." 
 
 Nothing is more easy than to deceive a mind 
 in the situation in which we have supposed this 
 to be. Exhausted by its own vain exertions; 
 wearied, and watching for some mystical ef- 
 fect, the most foolish pretexts will bring on a 
 relapse into indolence and inactivity. And 
 the private reflection which serve to direct the 
 attention from all possibility of danger, might 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 71 
 
 frequently be read in such language as the fol- 
 lowing: — " God must surely eye me with fa- 
 vour, while I am waiting in patience for his 
 will. And if he do not now grant me the ob- 
 ject of my prayer, he will see the virtue of this 
 patience, and remember me in his own good 
 season !" Do you not see how much that is 
 Pharisaical pervades all this? how much of an 
 unhumbled and legal temper? and what er- 
 roneous conceptions of the true state of the 
 heart? Do you not see how carelessness and 
 indifference are misnamed? How the sinner 
 arrogates to himself a Christian virtue which 
 is inseparable from faith in Jesus Christ, and 
 builds upon it the expectation of divine fa- 
 vour ? 
 
 The prevalent mistake which is founded on 
 the Scriptural expression, "a day of power," 
 betokens a gross ignorance of the scheme of 
 redemption. It supposes a particular period 
 assigned by Eternal Counsel, in which alone 
 the Holy Spirit is willing to work in the heart 
 of the sinner — that period independent of any 
 state of mind in which the sinner may be — and 
 that, until then, all desire, or prayer, must be 
 unavailing. 1 need not detain you by an ex- 
 planation of this error, in its source, and in its 
 
72 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 bearings. A single remark on a misconstrued 
 phraseology will be* sufficient: All that time of 
 the Saviour's administration, in what is called 
 his exalted state, — in contra-distinction from 
 what is called his "day of humiliation"* — is 
 denominated his " day of power." And the 
 time at which the sinner first believed, may be 
 considered that in which divine power renewed 
 his heart. And yet it is said to every sinner, 
 " Now is the accepted time, now is the day of 
 salvation." Be assured, then, that if he be an- 
 ticipating some imaginary period, in which 
 God is more willing to accept him, through 
 Jesus Christ, he has embraced an error, which, 
 the longer he holds it, will widen more the dis- 
 tance between him and his Saviour. God de- 
 mands the whole heart this very moment; and 
 every instant, during which it is detained from 
 him, sends up an additional report against the 
 delinquent. 
 
 To all this class of self-excusings, I would 
 apply the remark of one, who, on a bed of 
 illness was asked, "if he was waiting God's 
 pleasure?" answered, " waiting implies being 
 ready." There is much point in this. He 
 who here professes to be waiting, depend upon 
 it, is not ready. There may be very little dif- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 73 
 
 ferenee between his state of mind, and that of 
 him who stands aloof from salvation, with an 
 apology which, if it do not indicate contemptu- 
 ousness, argues a most sinful indifference — "I 
 hope my time will one day come." 
 
 There is another expression, corresponding 
 with those I have already mentioned, and 
 equally common: " I have done all that 1 was 
 directed to do; I now remain until God shall 
 do his part." If the utterer would take pains 
 to examine the feelings with which this is said, 
 he would see that they are liable to the same 
 severe charge which we have applied to other 
 excuses; — ignorance that is wilful, — petulance, 
 — or a temporizing policy. It is of little im- 
 portance which, while their tendency is to keep 
 the sinner beyond the hope of salvation. Could 
 it ever be said of any suppliant, — "you have 
 done all that was demanded at your hands, and 
 yet God has resolved to withhold his promised 
 blessing? May we ever impeach his veracity 
 with impunity? 
 
 Much of the language which 1 have thus 
 quoted, composes a part of that cant phraseolo- 
 gy — if the term be permitted — so general in 
 partial religious impressions. It is always 
 founded on error: And is either the cause or 
 
74 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 the effect of greater repugnance to the doctrines 
 of the Cross. It is indeed surprising what ca- 
 prices, and what follies, in the heart of the sin- 
 ner, are brought to light, in the condition I am 
 describing: What inconsistent notions! what 
 absurd expectations! what impertinences! 
 what perverse ideas of God! what wanton im- 
 peachment of his holy character! And has 
 such a man a claim upon the spiritual mercies 
 of his Maker? — the very thing which he 
 fancies to be his. And is God under an obli- 
 gation to hear him? — the very thing he 
 imagines him to be. 
 
 Adieu, My Dear Sir. Dare to examine the 
 dispositions of your mind. Tender it to the 
 scrutiny of an Omniscient Being. Pray — and 
 aict consistently with such a prayer — °* Search 
 me, God, and know my heart; try me, and 
 know my thoughts; and see if there be any 
 wicked ways in me, and lead me in the way 
 everlasting."* 
 
 I am Yours, &c. 
 
 • Psalms, cxxxix. 23 3 24. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 75 
 
 LETTER. IV. 
 
 Previous misconceptions — Cause of delay— Any delay or suffering, the 
 fault of the sinner — Mistake relating to the necessity of a certain pre- 
 paratory process — Scripture examples — Error relating to prayer — " I 
 am not prepared" — "I am not holy enough" — The inconsistency of the 
 complainer— On insensibility — Want of clear views of Sin — Degrees of 
 conviction not necessary to be observed — Why conviction is more diffi- 
 cult to be effected in a man of strict morality — The Gospel invites 
 without reference to the degree of conviction. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 If a Heathen, who did not well under- 
 stand the first principles of the Gospel, were 
 awakened to some sense of his guilt, we might 
 expect him to cry out, — " what shall I do to 
 be saved V} But suppose a man whose home is 
 in Christendom, and who had been well indoc- 
 trinated in the truths of Christianity, yet igno- 
 rant of its power in his own experience: — sup- 
 pose him, for the first time, to make the fear- 
 ful discovery of his lost condition, and of the 
 necessity of personal reconciliation to his God: 
 — would you not imagine the question wholly 
 unnecessary on his part? Would you not sajr, 
 that to him the path of the convicted soul would 
 be plain — plain as a path in which "the way- 
 faring men, though fools, need not err?" 
 

 76 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 Would you not believe that nothing could stand 
 in his way to a direct approach to the author of 
 salvation ? Yes; judging from common analogy, 
 you could hardly doubt, that a mind thus in- 
 structed, would know how to advance imme- 
 diately to the Mercy-Seat. You would look 
 for neither turnings nor windings, in a ques- 
 tion that appears to carry its solution with it. 
 See how we mistake! The plan that was so 
 easy becomes intricate, the moment it applies 
 to affairs of our own! The very rules we 
 should have laid down for others, and in which 
 we should have had every confidence, in their 
 behalf, we are unable to reduce to practice for 
 ourselves. 
 
 How shall we account for this? Does con- 
 viction darken the understanding ? Or does it 
 enfeeble our abilities? Or why, otherwise, 
 should we not appropriate to our own use, what 
 we should have prescribed to others, in similar 
 circumstances? 
 
 This is not the place to solve these diffi- 
 culties, although it might not be hard to do so. 
 The truth, however, is as we have represented 
 it — that competent as one thus instructed might 
 believe himself, to teach others in a matter in 
 which he has had no personal experience, he 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 77 
 
 finds his ability sadly diminished when the case 
 becomes his own. Instead of proceeding, with- 
 out waiting for intermediate measures, directly 
 to the Redeemer, we see him, from the first 
 moment of anxiety, enveloped in perplexities 
 of which he had not thought, and which he 
 would have declared entirely extraneous from 
 a sincere inquiry. And he may long linger in 
 this embarrassment, equally unhappy and sin- 
 ful as it is. 
 
 The awakened sinner, who has been accus- 
 tomed to the sight of others in a similar state 
 of mind, is too apt to form conclusions from 
 what he has thus seen or heard; and to consider 
 exactly the same experience indispensable for 
 himself. " He knew that such a one was a 
 prey of distress, during a given space of time: 
 that such and such was the conflict he sustained ; 
 until, at last, the Redeemer pitied his suffer- 
 ings, and granted an answer to his prayer." 
 Now this whole representation is incorrect; 
 and not only so, but its conclusion is fallacious. 
 All which he heard, or saw, gave him no fair 
 insight into the truth. The simple fact here, 
 and in every one of those cases which are pre- 
 sented in such a form as to lead to the inference 
 that God is keeping the sinner at a distance to 
 
 K 
 
78 LETTERS TO AW 
 
 experiment on his feelings and disposition, is? 
 as follows: — All delay arose from misconcep- 
 tion of the truth as it is in the Gospel — from 
 unwillingness to relinquish cherished sins — or 
 from an unhallowed attempt to treat with the 
 Creator on compromising terms. But never 
 does it arise from any cause that is contra- 
 dictory to the idea of a fr*eely tendered pardon; 
 or which does not prove, and enhance, the 
 guilt of the sinner. And, — it might be added, 
 — all that pity which is so often expressed for 
 the sufferer, by those around him, is usually 
 misapplied: This sympathy, which wears so 
 amiable an aspect, may, not unfrequently, be in 
 behalf of a struggle discreditable to its subject; 
 and in behalf of sorrows which have their ori- 
 gin in enmity to God. 1 know there is an ap- 
 parent sternness in this opinion: but it is in- 
 separable from the Scriptural position — that 
 all the fault of the sinner's delay is, exclu- 
 sively, in himself 
 
 Contrary to this, is that sentiment so gene- 
 rally entertained, relative to the necessity of a 
 certain preparatory process, which the sin- 
 ner, it is supposed, must undergo, previous to 
 his acceptance by a pardoning God. Hence 
 we hear of necessary stages, in the course of 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 79 
 
 inquiry: unavoidable goals which are to be suc- 
 cessively reached. Now all this arises from 
 transplanting the impediments and mistakes 
 which had been in the way of one Inquirer, to 
 that of another: or, from supposing that we 
 are to make provision for mistakes, which are 
 thus considered almost half justifiable because 
 they are common: or, — still worse, it sup- 
 poses the errors, and their corrections, of one 
 man indispensable in another. And hence 
 those multifarious directions which are some- 
 times given to the Inquirer — as if he were un- 
 der an absolute necessity of doing, or suffering, 
 to a certain amount: hence those speculations 
 on the precedence of the operation of certain 
 feelings and graces: And hence many of those 
 abstruser questions, which have been connected 
 with the subject; and which belong rather to 
 the philosophy of the human mind, than to the 
 revealed doctrines of our blessed Saviour. Oh 
 it is in vain, and worse than in vain, to at- 
 tempt to reach those secret springs which move 
 on the spirit, by divine command, to the 
 activity of a new life. And it is absurd to 
 ehalk oat a certain course of particular emo- 
 tions, or cares, for every Inquirer. Adopt it 
 rather, as a fundamental point of belief — as one 
 
80 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 that is emphatic, and of practical value, — that, 
 whatever the situation in which the Holy < 
 Spirit may find the sinner, in respect either to 
 external circumstances, or the state of his heart, 
 that is the situation in which he is bound to 
 surrender himself at once to his God. The 
 correctness of this is plain from the very design 
 of dispensing mercy; which is, not to bring to 
 light any thing acceptable in the Creature, for 
 he has nothing that is so — but to reveal the 
 perfections of God in the gift of pardon, even 
 to the most vile, through his Son Jesus Christ. 
 And any thing which the Inquirer may be 
 taught, or may do, against this design, is 
 against his own interest and the honour of his 
 Maker. 
 
 Apostolic example, on this subject, is wor- 
 thy of attention : When the preaching of Peter, 
 on the day of Pentecost, awakened thousands 
 to a sense of their guilt, he did not wait for 
 any interval to complete a preparatory pro- 
 cess; but carried their attention immediately to 
 Him whom they had crucified.* And after- 
 wards, when the same Apostle charged others 
 of that infatuated people with the murder of 
 Messiah, without delaying to ascertain the ef- 
 
 • Acts. iii. 12—26. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 8i 
 
 feet of this accusation on their minds, he bids 
 them repent; and, in the same breath, proclaims 
 the hope of pardon.* Such too was the course 
 adopted by the Apostle Paul, in Antioch.t 
 These inspired men certainly knew well that 
 a direction to any intermediate experience be- 
 tween the knowledge of the truth and its ac- 
 ceptance, would have kept the sinner in an un- 
 necessary suspense, while it attached an uncer- 
 tainty to the scheme of the Gospel. 
 
 In full consistency with this, the design of 
 the Saviour may be discovered in some of the 
 instructions which fell from his own lips. Let 
 us take the example of the Prodigal Son: I 
 know that the interpretation of this Parable is 
 generally supposed to refer to the Jews and 
 Gentiles — the former being the elder, and the 
 latter the younger son— and that therefore, as 
 relating to the external kingdom of Christ, 
 it can not apply to individual experience, ex- 
 cept, as Divines say, "by way of accommoda- 
 tion." The moral which is drawn from it, in 
 this interpretation, is, I have no doubt, con- 
 sistent with the truth: but not w r ith the design 
 which our Lord seems to have had before him. 
 The whole context refers to the murmuring 
 
 * Acta, iv. 11, 12. t Acts, xiii. 24— 4L 
 
 k2 
 
82 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 of the Pharisees, because Publicans and Sinners 
 were admitted into association with Christ. 
 And it is, therefore, literally the returning sin- 
 ner who is represented in the Prodigal Son. 
 In this beautiful Parable, the penitent child 
 "comes to himself. " Unsatisfied wants, and 
 the danger of starvation, stare him in the face. 
 He has the sense of a truth of which his judg- 
 ment might have convinced him before. And 
 what is the consequence? does he linger? 
 Does he wait to make himself better fitted to 
 receive compassion ? No : the truth of his own 
 sad condition and the ability of his Parent to 
 relieve him from it, come home together to his 
 bosom: and his determination is, — " I will 
 arise!" — to do what? to carry apologies to his 
 father? no: to sav, " 1 have sinned." But the 
 most interesting point in the tale, is that which 
 follows — His father saw him "a great way 
 off;" and with all the eagerness of parental af- 
 fection, hastens to meet him. The conscious- 
 ness of the sinner that he is " a great way off;" 
 gives no reason why he should stay there, or 
 why he may not be met by a merciful Saviour. 
 This case certainly supposes the sorrow of the 
 penitent, and that for sin committed against an 
 affectionate parent: yet is it of practical appli- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 83 
 
 cation to the awakened sinner in the first mo- 
 ment of his anxiety. 
 
 But lest there should be some remaining 
 doubt in your mind, whether something meri- 
 torious, and of self-made preparation, should 
 not be accomplished by the Inquirer, previous 
 to his approach to the cross, 1 would go even 
 further, and say, that if no uneasiness had been 
 created in the bosom, and if he had been only 
 this instant warned of his iniquity, and ad- 
 monished to repent without delay, such an ad- 
 monition is not to be parted from the perad- 
 venture of pardon. 
 
 Take another Scriptural example: An un- 
 principled man is rebuked by one of the Apos- 
 tles, with a spirit and power which awed and 
 confounded him. The culprit had committed 
 a crime, which to this day bears his name: But 
 the pungency of reproof was not permitted to 
 go by itself. He was commanded to repent, 
 and " pray God" for forgiveness.* Now such 
 a direction as this was a mission to the Re- 
 deemer directly. It was sending him imme- 
 diately for pardon, to the very One he had of- 
 fended. No obstacle was supposed in his way, 
 unless it be that of moral inability. No ex- 
 Acts, viii. 22. 
 
84 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 traordinary task was proposed. And every 
 moment of delay, under any pretence, would 
 have been increasing his guilt and his danger. 
 How exceedingly out of place, then, would 
 have been any of those questions which are 
 often agitated on this subject? — whether such 
 a person be capable of prayer? — or whether, 
 with a temper so estranged from God, attempt- 
 ing such an exercise would not be mockery? 
 In the present instance, the direction was most 
 probably given through the inspiration of the 
 Holy Ghost himself. 
 
 I am aware that from the Scriptural truth, 
 — the prayers of the wicked are an abomina- 
 tion to the Lord* — it has been argued that 
 the unrenewed man ought not to attempt such 
 an act: and that if he did so, it must be unac- 
 ceptable to his Maker: And the alarmed sinner 
 himself will sometimes dread the danger of 
 adding to his sinfulness by calling upon his 
 pure and holy Creator. And yet it is certain 
 that the advice which commends him at once 
 to Jesus Christ, as his only hope, is a direction 
 to prayer. It is indeed perfectly true that the 
 natural heart is far from being an object of 
 complacency with God. And it is not less 
 * Then is no such passage. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 85 
 
 true, that much of the distress which he en- 
 counters, and much of his mortified feeling un- 
 der serious impressions, arise from a rebellious 
 disposition, and an obstinate temper of unbelief. 
 And, so far as these exist, he is under the 
 frown, and not the compassion of his God: 
 And the sympathy which a pious bosom would 
 entertain for him would be no other than that 
 which it would manifest towards the infatuated 
 devotee of sin, who continues in crime while 
 he is reaping its fruits of sorrow. But then on 
 the other hand, the earnest desire for salvation 
 from ruin — implanted as it is by nature, and 
 aroused as it is under conviction — is surely not 
 offensive to our Maker. And so far as this 
 alone is concerned, he is truly an object of pity 
 both to the Christian and his God. 
 
 A quotation from a late learned Divine oc- 
 curs to me, as of so much importance, on this 
 part of our subject, as to merit transcription: 
 
 "The prayers of convinced sinners, it is 
 said, are insincere, and therefore abominable 
 to God. In answer to this objection, 1 ob- 
 serve, that a sinner whether convinced or not, 
 may undoubtedly pray with insincerity, in all 
 instances; but there is no invincible necessity, 
 that his prayers should always be insincere, 
 
86 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 notwithstanding he is a sinner. A sinner may 
 from a sense of his danger and misery, pray 
 as sincerely to be saved from that danger and 
 misery as a saint His disposition, I acknow- 
 ledge, is still sinful; and his prayers are wholly 
 destitute of moral goodness. But the mere 
 wish to be saved from suffering is neither sin- 
 ful nor holy. On the contrary, it is merely 
 the instinctive desire of every percipient being; 
 without which he would cease to be a perci- 
 pient being. That there is any thing hateful 
 to God in this wish, whether expressed in 
 prayer or not, 1 can not perceive, nor do 1 find 
 it declared either by Reason, or Revelation. It 
 may indeed be united with other desires, and 
 those either virtuous or sinful; according to the 
 prevailing character of the mind in which it 
 exists; and the whole state of the mind may be 
 accordingly denominated either virtuous, or 
 sinful. Still this desire is neither morally good, 
 nor morally evil; and therefore, neither pleas- 
 ing, nor displeasing, as such, in the sight of 
 God. 
 
 " That God pities sinners as mere sufferers 
 will not be doubted: Otherwise he would 
 not have sent his Son to redeem them from 
 sin and misery. That he pities them more, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 87 
 
 when strongly affected with a sense of their 
 guilt and misery, than when at ease in both, 
 will, I think, be readily believed. The sin- 
 ner is certainly not less an object of compas- 
 sion, but much more, when feeling the evils 
 in which he is involved ; and I can see no 
 reason why he may not be an object of di- 
 vine compassion on that account, as well as 
 ours. The cries of the sinner for mercy are 
 not, therefore, in themselves sinful; and there 
 is nothing to make the sinner less, but much, 
 apparently, to make him more an object of 
 pity."* 
 
 To this it may be added, that the prayers of 
 Cain, of the children of Israel, of the Ninevites, 
 and of other unregenerate men, have been an- 
 swered. The doctrine, then, which enjoins 
 an immediate approach to the great hearer of 
 prayer, or, in other words, requires our com- 
 ing to Jesus Christ immediately, is equally 
 consistent with both reason and the Word of 
 God. 
 
 1 can not doubt that the Inquirer may be, in 
 a certain sense, truly sincere, while he hangs 
 back in expectation of a kind of mental disci- 
 pline — a routine which he does not understand, 
 
 ' Dwight's Theology, Sermon 76. 
 
88 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 but which he has been taught to anticipate. 
 And hence his common reply to the repeated 
 solicitations of the Gospel is, " I am not pre- 
 pared." But he has conceived wrong notions 
 of the scheme of Redemption. He has adopt- 
 ed some ideas which obscure its light, or em- 
 barrass its simplicity with perplexities which 
 ought to have no connexion with it. How 
 strange a posture of affairs is this which is sup- 
 posed to be his! The Inquirer is willing — so 
 is God. The Inquirer is waiting for the Re- 
 deemer, — and the Redeemer waiting for him! 
 How inconsistent with the design of the Bible! 
 How derogatory to the character of the Sa- 
 viour! 
 
 There is another expression, which, although 
 not intended to be of exactly the same import 
 with the last, indicates a temper somewhat si- 
 milar: " I am not holy enough to apply for 
 salvation." Let us give this a few minute' 
 attention: 
 
 That the awakened sinner is not to remain 
 idle is very certain. He is to renounce every 
 habit, or practice, which he knows be be guilty. 
 He is to weigh his actions by the standard of 
 God's holy Law. He is to look carefully in- 
 to his disposition and temper; and to turn from 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 89 
 
 the snares to which they expose him. He is 
 to abandon all that is at enmity with the will 
 of his Maker. But the whole of this is con- 
 temporaneous with his approach to Christ: it 
 is part of the very act of u arising to go to his 
 father." But to consider this a preparative 
 course; and his success here a preliminary of 
 his own, is obviously incongruous: for it is 
 plain to him that he can not succeed in his un- 
 aided efforts to obey the dictates of an enlight- 
 ened conscience. He will require that divine 
 assistance which mercy has tendered. But the 
 very act of seeking this, is that of approaching 
 Christ. The pretence, therefore, that he will 
 remain until he is holier, is an absurdity in 
 terms. 
 
 This reason for keeping back, moreover, 
 perverts the requirements of God; and looks 
 to salvation, not as a gift, but as a reward of 
 holiness. Or, if this be denied, does he not 
 contemplate a partial change, to be self-effected, 
 and to be accepted as an earnest of his dispo- 
 sition to accomplish more? Some degree of 
 self-complacency is to accompany this offering: 
 and there will be quite as much in preparing 
 it. 
 
 But is all this disavowed? Does such a one 
 
90 . LETTERS TO AN 
 
 disclaim the idea of a reward? Does he say,— 
 " / am now so vile that I tremble at the 
 thought of entering into the presence of a 
 pure and holy God; and for this reason I 
 would watch and fast, and examine my- 
 self that I may be in a better state for be- 
 lieving in Christ?" To do all this is well: But 
 to render the doing of it the reason and the 
 means of keeping him from the Cross, is turn- 
 ing that which may be good into an instrument 
 of evil. Alas, how slowly we receive the 
 blessed truth, that salvation is free! Even 
 when the heart has been in some little measure 
 humbled, it opens with apparent reluctance for 
 its reception. 
 
 The sinner knows that he stands in need of 
 mercy; but he clings to the idea that he is to 
 render himself a fit recipient. He will tell us 
 that he does not deserve Heaven, and yet, with 
 a strange equivocation, he hopes to deserve the 
 grace which is to carry him thither. He does 
 not expect to merit pardon, but he does expect 
 to win the divine approbation which is to lead 
 to his forgiveness. What contradictions! and 
 how contradictory to the Word of God! for 
 the design of the blessed Gospel was expressly 
 to show " the exceeding riches" of grace, and 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 91 
 
 to let the transgressor see, not only that he 
 may be saved, but that in his salvation the un- 
 deserved mercy of Jehovah is clearly manifest. 
 Attach, then, the smallest merit to the sinner, 
 and this design is completely frustrated. Fa- 
 vour is changed into Justice, — Grace is trans- 
 formed into Debt. 
 
 Oh, why should not the truth be received as 
 it is? The physician of Gilead is not only 
 able, but ready, to administer a cure to all who 
 sincerely apply to him. And can it be neces- 
 sary that they should be better when they ap- 
 proach him, if he can heal them as they are? 
 It is indeed to be regretted that the simplest of 
 heavenly directions, are so often obscured by 
 artificial dogmas, and by laboured descriptions 
 of certain holy dispositions, as pre-requisites 
 for all who would venture into the presence of 
 Christ. How common, therefore, is the prayer 
 that the Lord would grant a certain wSomething 
 — it is not known what — or enable us to reach 
 a certain point — it is not known where — in 
 preparation for accepting the terms of the Gos- 
 pel! — All of which means neither more nor 
 less than a desire that the Creator would en- 
 able us to achieve something as the ground of 
 acceptance with himself. Here is a palpable 
 
92 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 inconsistency- — a prayer for a gift which is to 
 become the ground of merited reward! And 
 yet such inconsistencies are not rare in the con- 
 duct of the awakened sinner. 
 
 But there may be a principle, deeper than 
 this, concealed under the expression, " / am 
 not holy enough" It is sometimes the mere 
 cloak of a spurious humility : for it is expressed 
 when the utterer cherishes a latent hope that 
 this low opinion of himself will lead to the di- 
 vine complacency. And if it were sifted, we 
 should see the mingling of pride. 
 
 One thing is certain, — that while such a man 
 professes to esteem so highly the holiness of 
 God as to feel unworthy to approach him, he 
 practically denies other points of his character, 
 for which Jehovah claims our homage, and 
 which are the medium of access to his pre- 
 sence. 
 
 But we will dismiss this subject. There is 
 far more interest in the one which you have 
 suggested in the following words: " My heart 
 is insensible to the truths of which my judg- 
 ment is convinced: lam incapable of feeling 
 on the only matter which is worthy of emo- 
 tion." It is doubtful whether, in the whole 
 mass of complaints uttered by Inquirers, there 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 93 
 
 is one more universal than this: and it is cer- 
 tain that there is not one more painful. But 
 it is not confined to the Inquirer. It is very 
 frequently heard from the lips of the Christian: 
 and it is, not seldom, one of those mistakes 
 which arise from a sincere jealousy of self. I 
 am acquainted with some whose whole lives are 
 shaded by this supposed insensibility: Who 
 invariably condemn themselves in their most 
 favoured moments: and who are ever ready, 
 on this account, to appropriate to themselves, 
 all the evidences of hypocrisy: Who, when 
 the tender mercies of Christ, or his sufferings 
 and death, are the subjects of meditation, are 
 prepared to exclaim, " What goodness! what 
 love!" — and yet complain that all this is unaf- 
 fecting to their hearts. There are many who 
 admit, with apparent admiration, all that is gen- 
 eral in the fullness and loveliness of Christ; 
 but who find a serious difficulty, when they 
 think of a particular application to themselves, 
 or when they look for a personal operation in 
 their own souls. They can unite with others 
 in admiration and praise when they consider 
 the excellencies of the Saviour: But, because 
 their feelings are not sufficiently strong, unbe- 
 lief begins to question and limit the mercies of 
 l2 
 
94 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 God; praise gives way to silence, — admiration 
 is changed into doubt And hence that cheer- 
 lessness and melancholy which attach them- 
 selves to the devotional exercises of many; and 
 which, while they pervade the whole mind, 
 give it a cast of dejection which faith alone can 
 alter. It is not rare to hear such a person say, 
 " I could almost desire some trial, or affliction, 
 that might melt down this heart of stone — that 
 some feeling might flow— that I might enjoy 
 some little evidence of a soul susceptible of 
 love. But as it is, unmoved as I am, — my 
 God, — in a sinful lethargy, 
 
 " 'Tis just, I own, that thou depart 
 
 From so insensible a heart : 
 
 Nor would I shun the sad decree 
 
 To spend my days in grief for thee ! 
 
 'Tis not the painful I deplore 
 
 But sin's benumbing, hard'ning power ! 
 
 Here is a cause of distress which would ap- 
 pear, to many, almost beyond the reach of 
 remedy. And while the sufferer continues to 
 look at it as such, it would not be easy to apply 
 a remedy, even were it near at hand. 
 
 It should not be denied that tenderness of 
 feeling, is, to a certain extent, necessary. It 
 is impossible to experience the power of divine 
 truth without it. But there are some errors 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 95 
 
 in this state of mind which are worthy of our 
 attention. And it is well worth while to at- 
 tempt their removal: To do so, we will com- 
 mence with the following sentence: 
 
 We may as readily deceive ourselves in 
 respect to emotions arising from a religious 
 subject as in respect to those which exist in a 
 matter of benevolence. To illustrate this re- 
 mark: — A statement of human misery and 
 wretchedness, made before two persons, may 
 produce the following effects: one may be 
 touched with sympathy; and the tears which 
 flow, may lead to a persuasion of tenderness of 
 heart. The other may hear the tale with an 
 unaltered eye, and yet think deeply. The 
 first may shrink from entering the abode of 
 squallid misery, and exhibit no movement of 
 principle; while the second will devote time 
 and care to mitigate the evils of the sufferer. 
 These are things of daily observation. So 
 there are those who can shed tears of apparent 
 sorrow, when the pathetic tale of a Saviour's 
 life and death is told; while the fixed thought 
 of others may be accompanied with unmoisten- 
 ed cheeks: but the feelings of the first may be 
 " as the early dew," while the impressions of 
 the second are as indelible as the etchings of 
 
96 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 steel. Now which was the neighbour here? 
 which the Levite, and the Samaritan? A dif- 
 ference- — a most essential difference — must be 
 admitted to exist, in both physical and moral 
 constitution, and it should not be forgotten that 
 while a physical weakness may lead to what is 
 called tenderness of feeling, this ready access 
 to tears which relieve an oppression, may pre- 
 vent an abiding effect on the mind. I would 
 not say that it is always thus: But 1 would not 
 hesitate to say, that we are not always proper 
 judges of our feelings; and that the self-jealous 
 Inquirer is very likely to deceive himself in 
 the judgment he passes. 
 
 The truth is, there is no quality belonging 
 to human nature, on which more stress is laid, 
 than on susceptibility of feeling. It is the 
 hope of thousands, who have no just idea of 
 their true condition, but who regard this sus- 
 ceptibility as a demonstration that their hearts 
 are open to conviction, and their consciences 
 unseared. Others attach to it a moral quality, 
 with which it is supposed to have an insepara- 
 ble connexion. Both these notions are false. 
 In the first case, sensibility may be merely a 
 material of the physical constitution, always 
 liable to excitability, even while the moral 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 97 
 
 sense becomes blunted. What a melancholy- 
 evidence have we of this in disappointments, 
 in bereavements, and in all the changes which 
 are rung by sorrow! A variety of circumstan- 
 ces, wholly disconnected with the subject of 
 religion itself, may render us more alive to a 
 melting impression at one time, than at another, 
 while we are as far from repentance as ever. 
 
 In the second case, it is not uncommon to 
 find the impenitent sinner consoling himself in 
 the thought that his heart is sympathetic: at- 
 tributing his sufferings, before the spectacle of 
 misery, to some intrinsic worth in his nature: 
 while there may be as much virtue in any 
 other feeling within him as in this; and while 
 this very sympathy might lead him, if he were 
 a Civil Judge, to sacrifice justice, and the weal 
 of society, to relieve a personal and lawless 
 sympathy. 
 
 1 repeat it, — and you will pardon the repe- 
 tition, — a certain tenderness of feeling is ne- 
 cessary, as an evidence of our earnestness; but 
 its extent is not to be prescribed, and we are 
 not judges of it, always, ourselves. 
 
 Nor is this all: apart from what I have said, 
 the same subjects will not affect constitutions 
 of equal feeling, in the same way, nor to the 
 
9S LETTERS TO AN 
 
 same extent. And yet they may produce the 
 same results by apparently different means. — 
 Now carry this remark through all the diver- 
 sities of character which they may reach: and 
 you will observe how incorrect would be any 
 general conclusion from the mere intensity of 
 emotion. 
 
 But we may advance beyond this: there are 
 those whose conduct is governed by their sen- 
 sibilities: whose sense of duty is dependent on 
 emotions; the two rising, or departing togeth- 
 er. Here principle and feeling are one. And 
 we, accordingly, find the zeal of such persons 
 as fluctuating as their excitements. 
 
 Mistakes on this subject may be, and often 
 are, productive of serious mischief. This is 
 evident in those cases in which weak, but per- 
 haps sincere, Christians, are examining their 
 frames of mind even to a partial exclusion of 
 the principle of obedience: And in which, 
 too, they may unwarily condemn a temper that 
 is unobtrusive and silent, because the work- 
 ings of the heart are not visible in the unfilled 
 eye. 
 
 But while all these may be errors of the 
 Christian himself — errors by which he is de- 
 ceived in respect to both his own heart and 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 99 
 
 those of others — the awakened sinner is still 
 more in danger of deception. He has read of 
 the sufferings of others, or heard them de- 
 scribed; and he conceives of a uniform rule. 
 He understood, in some measure, the extent 
 of these sufferings, and deems a participation 
 necessary. He may have taken his concep- 
 tions from the ministrations of the Holy Word, 
 in which a delineation of the returning peni- 
 tent may be justly given, without possibly suit- 
 ing his own circumstances, in all their particu- 
 lars. Besides, — when he reads forms of devo- 
 tion, or even a prayer for the penitent, or a 
 hymn to a similar purpose, he discovers the 
 tone of feeling too high to correspond with his 
 own: and he forgets that no precise rule of ad- 
 measurement was ever intended; or that such 
 forms may be designed often, rather to lift, 
 than to meet, the state of personal feeling: And 
 that, even then, their authors could never have 
 expected an equal effect upon all who heard or 
 saw them. But unhappily, our inferences are 
 prone to rashness, in this state of mind: And 
 we are apt to attach an undue authority to the 
 compositions, as well as the opinions, of pious 
 men. 
 It is a sad mistake when the pungency of 
 
100 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 sorrow is deemed the proportion of sincerity; 
 and artificial efforts are made to promote and 
 sustain a deep work of the passions, without 
 directing the mind to any other than this sin- 
 gle end. And it is hence the Inquirer, after 
 being made sensible of his condition as a sin- 
 ner, is sometimes kept back from the proper 
 object of his inquiry, in order to obtain a cer- 
 tain state of distress with which he is directed 
 to meet his Saviour. And with this in view, 
 tHe Law, in all its terrors, is placed before him. 
 Its thunders are repeated, and its flashes re- 
 newed. 
 
 I have already intimated that no man is like- 
 ly to lay hold of the conditions of the grace of 
 God, without a sense of his necessitous situa- 
 tion. But it is delusive to suppose that the 
 Law, disconnected from the Gospel, will pro- 
 duce this important effect. It may furnish a 
 knowledge of sin; for this is its proper tenden- 
 cy. But while it stands alone, though it com- 
 pel conviction, it will be as likely to drive to 
 desperation, or to legal views, as to fit the soul 
 for an understanding of God. Believe me, it 
 is in the death of Jesus Christ, that the curse 
 of transgression is most clearly legible: While 
 it is here alone that an antidote is offered to the 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 101 
 
 wounds of conscience. Without a survey of 
 this, the Law can never be made the instru- 
 ment of evangelical repentance. And, with 
 all the alarm which the sight of impending 
 doom may create in the mind of the sinner, 
 there will not be a single disposition, which 
 will either place him in a better condition for 
 receiving the mercy of his God, or produce a 
 single desire that could lead him to true holi- 
 ness. 
 
 Such a prescription, then, is unscriptural. 
 And I may add, that its effects are likely to 
 terminate in an abandonment of the whole mat- 
 ter on the part of the Inquirer; and in leaving 
 him more completely out of the reach of con- 
 viction than ever. And yet this prescription 
 most usually meets the views of an awakened 
 sinner, who often looks with as much assurance 
 for a certain preparative measure of feeling, as 
 for the final issue of conversion. " Oh that 
 I could feel!" he frequently exclaims; while 
 the very earnestness of his manner betrays his 
 sensibility. a Iam willing to suffer any thing, 
 or to undergo any anguish that would bring 
 hope to my soul, or make me an object of at- 
 tention to my God!" What vanity of effort is 
 here! And how it diverts the mind from its 
 
 M 
 
102 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 proper object! But all this is the suggestion 
 of an uneasy and inconsiderate mind. 
 
 Can it be, My Dear Sir, that Jesus Christ 
 demands penance at our hands ? Have not the 
 expiatory sufferings which are necessary for 
 our salvation, been undergone by himself? 
 And is it not true that " there remaineth no 
 more sacrifice for sin?" It is an idea of na- 
 tural religion, which has been incorporated 
 into a corruption of Christianity, that the suf- 
 ferings we may inflict on ourselves can be of 
 avail in the great object of salvation. That 
 disposition, then, which renders you willing 
 to endure any thing as part of the terms ten- 
 dered to God, in exchange for what he alone 
 can give, — whatever vehement desire it may 
 be supposed to exhibit, — is radically legal in 
 its character. 
 
 I admit that a lamentation over hardness of 
 heart, or an expression of sorrow because the 
 judgment and affections do not act efficientl)' 
 together, is consistent with the most unleaven- 
 ed sincerity. But then to require a given de- 
 gree of animal feeling in all constitutions, be- 
 fore the soul is supposed in a fit state to sur- 
 render itself to the Redeemer, is an inter- 
 meddling with the simple plan of the Gospel. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 103 
 
 I beseech you, let these things alone. Be not 
 among the number of those who stand aloof 
 from the Cross, because they have not under- 
 gone a due portion of suffering: who grow im- 
 patient under delay, — indifferent, — and then 
 retreat back forever: — the sad history of many 
 a soul. Never attempt to take the gauge of 
 your sorrow, or to look for mercy with any 
 hope proportioned to mere emotions: Rather 
 take no note of your anxiety. But inquire of 
 your own heart, — " am 1 not a sinner con- 
 demned, justly, before God? Am I not utter- 
 ly helpless in myself? And yet is there not 
 grace, full and free, offered in the Gospel, to 
 every such sinner?" 
 
 Before I conclude this letter, let me invite 
 your attention to a few words, touching ano- 
 ther complaint — " I have reason to apprehend 
 that I have no conviction of sin. It is true, 
 my judgrnent is convinced; and my under- 
 standing assents to the awful truth that I 
 am guilty before God. Yet I have no clear 
 views of my sinfulness. The whole subject 
 is confused to my sight. I wish to confront 
 my iniquities as they are; and I would 
 make them distinct to my view, whatever 
 pain it might occasion. But I labour to 
 
104 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 effect this, in vain." This difficulty belongs 
 to no particular class of experience. It may- 
 be connected with much distress; and may be 
 mentioned in the bitterness of despair. Or, it 
 may belong to a more calm, but not less serious, 
 operation of mind. But wherever it may be 
 found, it carries with it a train of apprehensions 
 for which there may be much reason, and 
 which are often exceedingly perplexing. 
 
 It is true that without some knowledge of 
 our sinfulness we shall hardly approach the Sa- 
 viour in a posture of acceptance. And it is 
 equally true, that a clear discovery of our guilt 
 and depravity, is highly desirable. But still it 
 would be inexpedient to propose any invariable 
 rule of judgment: or to require the same dis- 
 tinctness of conception, in every awakened sin- 
 ner. That very diversity of moral and physi- 
 cal constitution, which produces a variety of 
 degrees of feeling, may act with very similar 
 effects on our conceptions of truth. 1 have 
 known some of the most exemplary of Chris- 
 tians, who were always ready to repeat the 
 complaint before us: but who, notwithstand- 
 ing, possessed almost every evidence that could 
 be satisfactory to themselves, of having passed 
 from death unto life. 1 have known others, who, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 105 
 
 in the commencement of their career, were 
 equally solicitous on this account, but to whom 
 the evil of their hearts was more distinctly pre- 
 sented as they advanced in life. And there 
 may be frames of spirit within all of us» which, 
 without any assignable cause, render our views 
 on this subject more discriminating, or more 
 confused. 
 
 But I can come nearer to your state of mind 
 by bringing before you two examples of hourly 
 observation: The grossly impure or profane 
 have always near them such tangible proof of 
 their guilt, that if they are awakened to serious 
 reflection at all, they can not escape a sense of 
 the evil. Even the laws and sentiments of so- 
 ciety arraign them: and perhaps lead them, in 
 a moment of thoughtfulness, to compare their 
 conduct with a more holy standard. Each act 
 stands out prominently, and marks the temper 
 and dispositions of the soul: and while it dis- 
 plays a total unfitness for Heaven, justifies the 
 sentence of condemnation. Such a man may 
 be painfully sensible of his wickedness, even 
 before he has entered on a close examination of 
 his life: — There may be a living conscience 
 within a heart that is dead. But, whenever 
 
 such an investigation is fairly begun, remorse 
 
 M2 
 
106 . LETTERS TO AN 
 
 will accompany it with equal pace. There can 
 be no subterfuge here; and there is very little 
 room for sophistry. Whatever this sinner may 
 finally do, he now pleads guilty to the charge 
 of a witness within him. 
 
 On the other hand, one who is distinguished 
 by an amiable and moral deportment, may be 
 confronted by no such accusers. The secret 
 belief of his safety, which he has so naturally 
 cherished, and which is so congenial with our 
 natural ideas of accountability, assists in con- 
 cealing the true state of his heart. Now the 
 difficulty of convincing such a one of the evils 
 of his soul, consists in the following truth — 
 that actions are more prominent to the sight , 
 than motives; when the former are flagrant, 
 the attention may be arrested and retained 
 by them, with comparative ease; but mo- 
 tives lie deeper; and it requires some strong 
 inducement to lead us to examine them. 
 
 I have seen a good illustration of this, in a 
 pious young friend who is still living, an orna- 
 ment to the Church to which he is attached: — 
 During a visit which he once paid me, while 
 under distressing concern, he gave me substan- 
 tially the following statement: — "I do not 
 know that I have ever been accused of what 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 107 
 
 the world would call immorality. The acquit- 
 tal of a satisfied conscience has constituted 
 much of my happiness. And even to this day, 
 I do not know that either of my parents ever 
 impeached my conduct of a more serious crime 
 than neglect or carelessless. While I have sat 
 under the sound of the Gospel, 1 have admitted 
 its excellence, and always believed myself em- 
 braced within its promises. I can remember 
 when the affecting interview between the Sa- 
 viour and the young Ruler, was the subject of 
 a discourse which awakened others around me, 
 my own mind was, for a short season, startled. 
 I wished to be made sensible of sin, but I could 
 recollect no obvious charge against myself. I 
 could fix my eye on nothing which could rivet 
 its gaze; and, as 1 passed willingly and rapidly 
 to the conclusion that I had kept nothing back 
 from my God, my peace was not long disturbed. 
 During all this time I knew nothing of myself, 
 It had not occurred to me that the heartless- 
 ness with which I discharged every duty, — 
 the secret pride which followed it, — and the 
 insipidity and tastelessness of devotion, — were 
 melancholy proofs of my unfitness for the so- 
 ciety of Heaven. Or, if a doubt ever remained 
 in my mind, it was easy to conclude that any 
 
108 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 change which I needed, would accompany my 
 transition into another world. 1 did not then 
 see how this unscriptural reliance opposed the 
 moral government of God; nor how the hope 
 I had cherished arrogantly superseded salvation 
 by Grace. In the midst of this security, a 
 circumstance occurred which threw me as near 
 despair as I had been to presumption : It was 
 a temptation to commit a sin where there was 
 every thing to entice; and, in the event of de- 
 tection, not much to lose, in the eye of the 
 world. It was a proposal of a Sabbath day's 
 excursion of pleasure. There was little time 
 to reflect; and each moment swelled the force 
 of temptation. I yielded. And from that 
 hour, remorse has never left me. In vain have 
 I argued with myself that this is a solitary evil. 
 In vain I appealed to my own heart. Even 
 that seems changed. I see no more evidence 
 of its innocence. I behold a selfish policy in 
 all my motives, and a hatred of that holiness 
 which 1 had flattered myself 1 esteemed. I am 
 lost. And my doom is aggravated by the re- 
 membrance of a life and a peace in direct oppo- 
 sition to the scheme of the Gospel." It is not 
 necessary to finish this story: the application 
 is plain. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 109 
 
 But let us suppose the inducements to in- 
 quiry to be strong in any such case. Let the 
 judgment be convinced that all this morality is 
 of no avail. Still, while there seems little 
 palpable to lay hold of, — and nothing which 
 appears very near to admonish, — and almost 
 nothing to awaken the feelings to a lively in- 
 terest in the subject, — it may be exceedingly 
 difficult to fix and concentrate the attention; or 
 to single out the lurking evils of the heart. 
 And yet if we were able to complete this pur- 
 pose, as I have already said, the effects will vary 
 in different persons, although the same end 
 may be as certainly accomplished. 
 
 The false conclusion, however, on the whole 
 subject, consists in imagining that a certain in- 
 tensity and fullness of conviction is required on 
 the part of the sinner, before he is at liberty to 
 recognize the invitations of grace as applicable 
 to himself; — that this conviction must be well- 
 defined, and its action regular. The Redeemer 
 once said — "they that be whole need not a 
 physician, but they that are sick:" and hence 
 it has been concluded that unless there be a 
 consciousness of the power of disease, all ap- 
 plication must be in vain. But the Redeemer 
 could not have meant that none stand in need 
 
110 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 of a physician but such as are fully sensible of 
 their state. His expression was a reproof to 
 the querulous Pharisees, who considered them- 
 selves whole, and the Publicans and Sinners 
 sick. And this the Saviour seems to have ad- 
 mitted for the sake of argument, while he ren- 
 dered it a reason for his associating with those 
 of disreputable name. But, surely, he did not 
 mean to intimate that all these degraded men 
 had a just sense of their guilt, and that it was 
 expedient, for this reason, that he should asso- 
 ciate with them. 
 
 Apply to this subject a passage from the pro- 
 phet Isaiah, which plainly refers to the invita- 
 tions of sovereign grace through the future 
 Messiah: — " Ho every one that thirsteth, come 
 ye to the waters, and he that hath no money, 
 come ye, buy and eat; yea come buy wine and 
 milk without money, and without price. "* 
 The thirst referred to in this case was certainly 
 not for spiritual blessings. It was for earthly 
 happiness only. It was the panting of an im- 
 mortal soul for pleasure. And it was indicated 
 by toil and expense to purchase enjoyment 
 which our smitten earth has not to give. The 
 remonstrance which follows this passage tells 
 
 Is. iv. 1. 
 
 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. Ill 
 
 us as much: — " Wherefore do ye spend money 
 for that which is not bread, and your labour for 
 that which satisfieth not." There is no neces- 
 sary connexion between such a desire as this, 
 and that hungering for righteousness of which 
 the Saviour spoke in his Sermon on the 
 Mount. And the same may be said of his ad- 
 dress on the last day of the Feast. 
 
 The degree of the conviction of sin, then, 
 has nothing to do with the offer of salvation. 
 This is put into the hands of all. And it is in- 
 tended to meet the necessities of every In- 
 quirer after happiness. 
 
 You are to look to the Gospel, My Dear Sir, 
 for that peace which your soul desires; and not 
 to your particular mental impressions. And 
 you see the reasonableness of this, in the fact 
 that the man who is under the most powerful 
 evangelical convictions, is the last to consider 
 them acceptable on their own account. Let your 
 convictions then, be what they may, they are 
 never to afford you satisfaction in themselves. 
 
 Adieu — remember that, "by grace are ye 
 saved through faith: and that not of yourselves; 
 it is the gift of God; not of works, lest any 
 man should boast." 
 
 I am yours, &c. 
 
112 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Complaint of irresolution— Nature of unstable resolutions— Peculiarity of 
 situation— The folly of speculating on the expected change— Vain 
 fancies— "God will not pardon we" — "I do not see how the promises 
 can be fulfilled in myself"— The sufficiency of pardon— Advice. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 When I adverted, in my Third Letter, 
 to that buoyancy of feeling which is so fre- 
 quently a subject of complaint with certain In- 
 quirers, and which so often leads to a desperate 
 renunciation of the whole pursuit, 1 did not 
 mean to confound this complaint with that of 
 any other sense of irresolution: For there are 
 certainly many who mourn, with bitterness of 
 heart, over the changes of an irresolute and 
 wavering mind, and yet who have no charac- 
 teristic levity of disposition. Irresolution is 
 the lament of many a Christian. And the 
 very language in which you have expressed 
 your feelings may be the utterings of a soul 
 whose supreme affections are given to God: 
 But it may likewise be adopted by one who is 
 influenced by a temporary earnestness, and 
 never comes to a favourable decision. You 
 tell me — " There are times when the object of 
 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 113 
 
 my salvation assumes an overwhelming im- 
 portance; when every thought is engrossed by 
 it: and when it would seem impossible to di- 
 vert my attention from the reflections it occa- 
 sions: And yet, the next hour, insensibility 
 succeeds; and I can not recall a single idea, as 
 it was. There is a fluctuating operation of the 
 mind which seems peculiar to the subject. In 
 the event of ordinary affliction, I have noted a 
 sense of my loss to vary ; but even when it was 
 least intense, and when my faculties were ab- 
 stracted in some degree by other things, I was 
 conscious of an oppressive weight on my heart. 
 But here, on the contrary, I discover a vacilla- 
 tion for which I can not account — a rapid tran- 
 sition from interest to stupidity." 
 
 There is nothing extraordinary in all this, 
 although the subject of such experience is apt 
 to attribute much mystery to it; to imagine a 
 powerful supernatural agency employed against 
 him; or, to suspect that either his natural pe- 
 culiarities shut him out from the hope into 
 which others enter, or that God, from some 
 unrevealed cause will not pardon him; or else, 
 that he must, in some fatal moment, have com- 
 mitted the Unpardonable Sin: And such suspi- 
 
 N 
 
114 LETTERS TO AST 
 
 cions, you tell me, have often covered your 
 prospects with darkness. 
 
 I confess that where this difficulty exists, if it 
 do not lead to the suspicions you have noted, 
 it may very easily end in some other conclu- 
 sion of despair. And there are some minds, 
 which, from habit or constitution, must neces- 
 sarily encounter it: Minds which take their 
 present tone from their last associates; retain an 
 impression from the last object of attention, to 
 give way to the next: never uniform in their 
 character for the space of a day. In such a 
 case, we should look for this complaint. And 
 important as retirement is, in all instances of 
 religious inquiry, we should here, particularly, 
 urge a seclusion from any objects, or occupa- 
 tions, which are not within the sphere of the 
 most indispensable duty; and an unremitted 
 confinement of attention to the great matter of 
 salvation. And the advice would not be dif- 
 ferent from this, which we should be disposed 
 to give, where irresolution arises from the 
 slightness of the impression made on the mind. 
 
 In either case, the consciousness of irresolu- 
 tion is painful, and often discouraging in the 
 extreme. The awakened sinner, in the first 
 hour of .alarm, determines with much earnest- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 115 
 
 ness, that he will not permit his thoughts to be 
 diverted from the great concern of eternal life. 
 Some intrusive trifler engages his attention: 
 but he returns from his wanderings to serious- 
 ness again, ashamed of himself, and perhaps 
 uneasy for thtf consequences. The same pro- 
 cess takes place again and again. Irresolution 
 becomes a habit; and the sinner loses all confi- 
 dence in the bare possibility of a happy issue. 
 Or, where such is not the result, the mind ac- 
 quires an unprofitable restlessness, and be- 
 comes almost incapable of fixedness of thought. 
 Some extraordinary power would appear ne- 
 cessary to impart an habitual seriousness, by 
 altering the very shape and texture of the 
 mind. 
 
 This picture is strengthened, when we re- 
 collect the reviews whieh such a man takes of 
 the past. When, it may be, at the very time 
 of his arrival at a point of renewed seriousness, 
 he remembers that he had reached this more 
 than once before, and was led from it again to 
 perfect listlessness and indifference: when he 
 can remember, too, exactly similar operations 
 of his mind; and, as if he had recorded his 
 thoughts at the time, he is able to ponder them 
 over, and to see in them the very state which 
 
116 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 distinguishes him now. No train of reflections 
 can be more dampening than those which fol- 
 low, where retrospections of this character are 
 fully indulged. Without even an active con- 
 viction of sin, he mav feel the dull influence of 
 anticipated lethargy stealing over his spirits — 
 and all effort seems a mockery, alike to his soul, 
 and his God. 
 
 - 
 
 " I can not weep ! I dare not pray ! 
 The very source of tears is dry ! 
 And what — when hope is lost for aye — 
 Avails the prayer of agony 1 
 A dark cloud lowers before mine eye— 
 A chain is twined around my heart— 
 I can not pierce that clouded sky — 
 I can not tear those bands apart." 
 
 The principal part of the original fault, in 
 this melancholy case, consists in the defective 
 nature of the resolutions which were so often 
 broken. I have already said, that it is possible 
 to resolve with such a vehemence of feeling as 
 entirely to overlook our natural weakness, and, 
 in the ardour of our determination, to forget 
 utterly the strength of our foes. And thus we 
 may offer our prayers for divine aid, while we 
 feel so confident in ourselves that there is very 
 little sincerity in the petition. We may 
 imagine that we possess the two ingredients of 
 a successful resolve — reliance on God, and self- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 117 
 
 determination, — while there lurks within the 
 heart all that could keep us apart from spiritual 
 assistance, and while very little pains would 
 enable us to detect an unhallowed and pre- 
 sumptuous confidence. 
 
 Other resolutions are formed in the season of 
 affliction; and the state of mind w T hich prompt- 
 ed them, may promise no better issue than the 
 last. There is no condition in which we are 
 more liable to deceive ourselves, than that of 
 temporal adversity. The partial subduement 
 of passion which personal grief has effected, 
 is mistaken for meekness; the diversion of 
 thoughts from objects of recent attention, is a 
 fancied change of taste and desire. A sense of 
 care and dreariness takes the name of some 
 Christian grace: And the mourner already 
 imagines himself to have made an easy transi- 
 tion from worldliness to piety. Or, if he do 
 not assume so bold a conclusion, the resolu- 
 tions which he forms are entirely dependent on 
 the intensity of his sorrow; and his expecta- 
 tions of success are derived from the same 
 source. 
 
 This is a sad misapplication of the leadings 
 of an afflictive providence; which were de- 
 signed, not to achieve his salvation b}' any 
 n2 
 
118 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 special influence in themselves, but to direct 
 him to faith and repentance. 
 
 But what should be done where a sense of 
 irresolution, and of moral weakness, produces 
 an influence so discouraging? Is there rea- 
 son for despair ? By no means. All this is 
 a sad proof of human helplessness: But it is no 
 evidence against the power of Christ to save. 
 Such a one should feel humbled; but not dis- 
 heartened. The recollection of the past should 
 only furnish a strong argument for implicit re- 
 liance on the Saviour; while it should teach 
 him to lean no more on himself: and the very 
 feelings which it might produce in the bosom, 
 if they were rightly applied, would be salutary. 
 He might see that his case is desperate; but 
 that it is only a desperation in his own re- 
 sources. It furnishes a reason why he should 
 hope no more from mere human efforts; but it 
 presents, too, a plea for the entire surrender of 
 the soul to Jesus, — " Oh 1 can do nothing!" 
 exclaims the agitated and desponding spirit, 
 as he comes down from his exertion and la- 
 bour. " True," — I would say, — "you can 
 do nothing. The Word of God has affirmed 
 this before you admitted it; you are brought 
 only to an experimental conviction of what 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. • 119 
 
 you would not believe until this moment. Re- 
 ceive, then, more readily the converse of this 
 truth — Christ can do all things for you. 
 Surrender, therefore, your heart to him now, 
 when the lesson of your own insufficiency is 
 so plain. Behold, the Redeemer is emphati- 
 cally denominated the strength of them that be- 
 lieve: and the invitation of the Gospel is unto 
 the sensibly weak." 
 
 Alas, how sad is it, when this very essential 
 discovery of indecision and imbecility, to 
 which the Scriptures had pointed, has been 
 made in our own experience, only to be per- 
 verted to evil, instead of leading to the Re- 
 deemer! 
 
 The idea of " some peculiarity of situa- 
 tion, or some singular temperament of 
 mind, excluding you from a state which 
 you desire to obtain," is not uncommon, 
 much as you complain of it. 
 
 If we could read the feelings of all Inquirers, 
 it is probable we should find this impression 
 written upon most of them. The frequenter 
 of scenes of fashion and folly, — and the man in 
 humble walks of life, — the nurtured child of 
 Christian care, and the neglected offspring of 
 Godless parents, — the vain and the proud, — 
 
120 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 the inconsiderate and the thoughtful,— have 
 their peculiar difficulties. Indeed, all habits, 
 views, or feelings, which we may have cherish- 
 ed, previous to conviction of divine truth, will 
 produce their appropriate, and corresponding 
 effects on the mind, at this crisis. Some of 
 these may cause more serious perplexities than 
 others; yet all the conduct, or maxims, of life 
 that is past, w T ill carry their consequences on, 
 to thought or to feeling: And we may be unable 
 to discriminate between these effects and the 
 natural state of the heart. It is hence the In- 
 quirer may think his lot singularly hard; and 
 that of another comparatively easy, without 
 being able to judge between the two. But 
 then, apart from this, — when the awakened 
 sinner has been disappointed in his anticipa- 
 tions; when he has not found the path he is 
 travelling such as he expected it; and he is un- 
 able to account for the cares which embarrass 
 him, it is a very natural conclusion at which 
 he arrives, that his experience varies from that 
 of any other; and that an inconceivable some- 
 thing forms a barrier between him and his 
 God. And, not unfrequently, in searching for 
 this, he leaves the track of plain duty; and 
 wanders, he knows not where. And then 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 121 
 
 what a disposition is there to look around for 
 analogies, — to inquire into the experience of 
 others, — to institute comparisons, — and to de- 
 rive encouragement or despair from sources fo- 
 reign from the great object of salvation! 
 
 A single consideration ought to banish all 
 apprehensions produced by this supposed sin- 
 gularity: The scheme of the Gospel, and the 
 invitations of Scripture, are designed to meet 
 every exigency. And if the cares and doubts 
 of the Inquirer were a thousand times more 
 distressing than they are, they would not fur- 
 nish the least evidence against this truth. And 
 were I about to account for the unhappy con- 
 clusions which are so often drawn, in this 
 exigency, I would examine the present habits 
 and practices of the complainer, in order to do 
 so. And here it would be easy to discover 
 the mind, watching the state of excitement, — 
 speculating on its changes, — impatient and 
 eager. Oh how widely different is that more 
 successful course of conduct which renders our 
 difficulties a reason and a subject for prayer; 
 which makes all that is discouraging an argu- 
 ment for perseverance; and which, taking hold 
 of the precepts of God, turns them, after the 
 
122 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 example of the Psalmist, into materials of 
 heartfelt petition!* 
 
 But knowing as little as we do of the hearts 
 of others, and yet entering into this needless 
 comparison between ourselves and them — and 
 judging, as we do, from what is visible to the 
 eye, it is not astonishing that we often find little 
 resemblance between ourselves and them. Nor 
 is it a wonder that even the Christian very often 
 believes his religious experience dissimilar to 
 that of his brethren around him. But still, the 
 grand and leading principles of human nature 
 are every where the same; " as in water, face 
 answereth to face, so the heart of man to man." 
 It is, therefore, worse than unwise to imagine 
 the condition of our experience so remarkable 
 as to be without the reach of the ordinary applica- 
 tion of mercy. Such a conclusion is an impeach- 
 ment of the sufficiency of redemption, and an 
 imputation against the veracity of the divine 
 promises. 
 
 Yet before 1 dismiss this ground of complaint 
 altogether, I shall not omit reprobating a prac- 
 tice which gives rise to it; and which is entirely 
 inconsistent with a speedy attainment of our 
 end: I mean the practice of occupying the mind 
 
 * Psalm, li. 10. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 123 
 
 with speculations of what the future change 
 is to be; the manner in which it is to be ef- 
 fected^ and the particular sensations we shall 
 undergo. This is a busy idleness which ne- 
 ver does good, but invariably leads to some 
 evil: And although considered innocent in 
 itself, it has a direct tendency to defeat our pur- 
 pose, as some employments, which appear to 
 be of a more worldly nature. Indeed, the con- 
 fusion of mind and thought which this practice 
 produces, can hardly be too much deprecated. 
 It keeps the Gospel out of view; or suffers on- 
 ly an occasional appearance of it, while its main 
 and ultimate bearing is lost. The consequence, 
 as well as the fact itself, may be seen in a mo- 
 ment's illustration: — Any object which we con- 
 template ought to affect us according to its na- 
 ture: but that effect will be in proportion to the 
 impression it makes upon us; and that impres- 
 sion, again, will depend upon the intentness 
 and steadiness of attention to the object. Now, 
 if we divide our attention, or suffer it to be en- 
 gaged in analyzing the workings of mind, the 
 employment is in opposition to the professed 
 end we have in view. It is a mode of serious 
 trifling which we exercise in no other matter. 
 Let me suppose information of a very interest- 
 
124 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ing nature to have reached you: would it be 
 possible to detect yourself in labouring to dis- 
 cover the manner in which it operates upon 
 you — the particular analysis of your feelings ? 
 And would not any such abstruse reasoning 
 completely supercede the happy effect of the 
 intelligence ? And so it is with respect to the 
 offers of the Gospel. You believe that you are 
 a lost sinner; and that the only method of sal- 
 vation is to be found in the scheme of which 
 Christ is the founder and revealer. But if your 
 attention be diverted from this, surely no ex- 
 pectation of its efficacy upon you can be rea- 
 sonably entertained. That at which you are 
 looking is not the gospel; but something essen- 
 tially different from it. 
 
 This indulgence in the play of imagination 
 often introduces a most powerful temptation in 
 the way; especially where previous habits in- 
 sensibly lead to its exercise. There are those 
 who live much of their time in regions of fan- 
 cy; whose happiness is found in aerial matters 
 and things; and who have always a resort from 
 pain to pleasure, in their musings. In such a 
 case as this, the evil which I am now condemn- 
 ing is to be very seriously deprecated, as a 
 powerful means of destroying the effect of con- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 125 
 
 viction: for while part of this precious period 
 of his time is expended by the Inquirer in spec- 
 ulations on the anticipated change of his heart, 
 he loses sight of the common center to which 
 all his thoughts should be directed; and his 
 sinfulness and danger vanish together from his 
 sight. It is not merely a delay of the object 
 avowedly sought, that is to be apprehended in 
 this castle-building: Truth itself is sacrificed 
 for that which is unreal. 
 
 But more: In this idle occupation of specu- 
 lating on the future change, all surmises are 
 sure to be wrong. Fancy can bear no resem- 
 blance to the fact as it is. The Scriptures leave 
 us entirely in the dark as to the mode and man- 
 ner of divine operations. They negative all 
 our preconceived views, while we are watch- 
 ing to ascertain the progress of the renewal of 
 soul. We do know that in this great work the 
 Holy Spirit exerts his influence: but this is all 
 we can discover; " whence it cometh, and 
 whither it goeth" are known to God alone. 
 There is a variety of questions here, which 
 have occasioned much unnecessary discussion: 
 whether this divine influence act previous to a 
 distinct perception of the truth, — and thus af- 
 ford a capability of such perception: or wheth- 
 
126 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 er, while the mind is directed to the truth, this 
 divine influence accompany or flow from it, — 
 and thus render it effectual: whether a change 
 is to be effected so imperceptibly that its parti- 
 cular developments can not be distinctly traced 
 in their progress, or in our review; or whether 
 some extraordinary excitement, overwhelming 
 in its force, and memorable as the grand era of 
 our life, ensue at once — all these are less than 
 secondary matters with one who has no right 
 to withhold a single moment from his God. 
 
 But speculations of this nature are not the 
 only ones with which the mind may be occupi- 
 ed in this important period. The discursive- 
 ness of fancy is always apt to extend anticipa- 
 tion to other things. In the prospective career 
 every thing is scrutinized. Future schemes 
 and plans are farmed: their influence and bear- 
 ing examined: future habits, and the alteration 
 they may produce upon our feelings and tem- 
 poral interest, come before the eye. 
 
 There is one matter, in particular, which is 
 very often prominent in the minds of those who 
 are partially impressed : I mean that of making 
 a profession of religion. So closely connected 
 is this with the subject of religion itself, in the 
 view of most, that when we have often spoken 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 127 
 
 privately on the danger of neglecting the soul, 
 a very frequent reply is, — " I am not fit to par- 
 take of the holy communion." A reply which 
 evades the point to which we wish the reflec- 
 tions directed. It is not an avowal of religion 
 we are urging, at such a time; important as is 
 the dying command of the Saviour, it is not 
 likely to be neglected when the heart is sur- 
 rendered to him: — but it is faith and repen- 
 tance towards God — it is the hazard of the 
 immortal spirit, to which we are calling the 
 attention: and if we can fix it on them we have 
 accomplished our end. And yet there is a 
 waywardness which turns the eye from piety 
 to its profession. In the Inquirer this is very 
 observable. He knows that a public avowal 
 of his faith would succeed his attainment of 
 grace. It is an act of the deepest solemnity: 
 and invested as it often is, by adventitious cir- 
 cumstances of awe in the mind, it is not unapt to 
 engross his thoughts to the exclusion of what is 
 more suited to his state. He believes, too, 
 that such an act involves a vast amount of re- 
 sponsibility; and his mind ruminates on this 
 with doubt and fearfulness. He forgets that no 
 new obligations are implied, and no new duties 
 are enjoined in this important transaction: for 
 
128 LETTES TO AN 
 
 every obligation, and every duty, which flow 
 from an open espousal of the Redeemer's cause, 
 were incumbent on us before: they do not arise 
 from the act of consecrating ourselves, but 
 from a previous divine command; and we are 
 no more at liberty to cull for ourselves certain 
 precepts and to reject others, than we are to 
 abandon at will, the whole of the sacred deca- 
 logue. All this, however, is too readily for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Nay, his fears on this point are still more ex- 
 cited, from a further cause: As more is expect- 
 ed from a professor of religion than from the 
 mere worldling, — in the ideas commonly en- 
 tertained on this subject, — an additional source 
 of apprehension appears before him, and per- 
 haps completely supercedes the great object of 
 inquiry, Let me bring to your notice an ex- 
 ample inpoint, which now occurs to my memo- 
 ry. The heart of an acquaintance had been 
 seriously affected; and favourable expectations 
 were entertained of the issue. A single thought 
 which frequently presented itself, ultimately 
 checked his seriousness, and restored him more 
 completely to the world than ever: He had 
 been unsuccessful in mercantile engagements: 
 And in the midst of his thoughtfulness, he of- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 129 
 
 ten compared the consequences of declaring 
 himself on the side of religion with this fact. 
 " What will the world think of me," — he 
 would say, — " If I profess to be religious ? It 
 looks like a dishonourable covert from scruti- 
 ny. It will be imagined a design to gain the 
 good will of others under a cloak of hypocrisy 
 — an excuse from a possible reproach." You 
 can easily judge of the effect of such apprehen- 
 sions upon a high-minded spirit, conscious of 
 its integrity, and shrinking from the imputa- 
 tion of wrong. The consequences were as I 
 have stated. A continual recurrence to this 
 ground of fear diverted his attention from the 
 state of his soul: and, at last, furnished a satis- 
 factory excuse for postponing what conscience 
 and the Word of God declared to be the duty 
 of the present moment. You observe the in- 
 sidiousness of all this reasoning. And you see 
 how easily Satan may make an instrument of 
 it to effect the purpose of diverting the soul from 
 its eternal interest. 
 
 This practice of speculating on the future is 
 not visible to an observer. Nor is it often indi- 
 cated by the Inquirer himself; unless it be visi- 
 ble by some indirect hint; or discoverable by 
 
 questions which such speculations induces him 
 o2 
 
130 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 to ask. It is, most usually, a secret employment 
 which he would be ashamed to mention on his 
 own part; and of which, posssibly,he is not al- 
 together conscious: and yet to which there is a 
 natural tendency, during intervals when the 
 mind is not more profitably exercised ; and when 
 this employment furnishes a partial relief to the 
 anxiety of his feelings. 
 
 Leaving this, let me go back with you to 
 another of the grounds of discouragement; 
 which you have taken occasion to suggest: 1 
 mean "the fear that God, for some unknown 
 reason, is not willing to pardon you, how- 
 ever free his pardon and mercy may be to 
 others." It would be unjust to say, that this 
 complaint is always insincere. Yet it is often 
 expressed in the petulance of the moment, 
 without any serious conviction, and perhaps, 
 without any strong suspicion of its truth and, 
 in such case, it is not easy to measure the cri- 
 minality of thus sporting with the divine pro- 
 mises. Or, it may be the conclusion of a mind 
 suffering under deep depression, and express- 
 ing, it hardly knows what: a thoughtless vent 
 of feeling, the fruit of selfishness. Or, it may 
 arise from present disappointment. Or, it may 
 be, as it very often is, the dictate of remorse. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 131 
 
 But whatever its source, it always indicates a 
 want of consideration, or ignorance of the plan 
 of redemption. And not a few instances occur, 
 in which it is utterly impossible to reason with 
 the complainer: in which he seems to foster a 
 melancholy belief against all the promises; and 
 an indisposition to examine the means or con- 
 ditions of salvation. And vet such a man 
 might have been able to argue well against the 
 unreasonableness of his own inferences in any 
 one else. On the other hand, it is possible that 
 the same truths, which he knows how to ap- 
 ply to a friend, but knows not how to appro- 
 priate to himself, might effectually reach him 
 when they come from other lips. Or, it may 
 be, that when they have failed at one time, they 
 may be successful at another. So fitful and ca- 
 pricious is the state of the awakened sinner. 
 
 In some instances, the complaint of which 
 1 am speaking might be expressed in other 
 words — " / do not see how the promises of 
 God could he fulfilled in me" — the means of 
 their accomplishment are not visible. Here is 
 a character of unbelief somewhat resembling 
 that of the Samaritan Lord, in days of old; 
 who refused faith in a prediction because he 
 could not see the means of its completion. 
 
132 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 Because he could not decide whence succour 
 could come, he discredited the pledge of its 
 coming at all. And his infidelity ended in his 
 own personal ruin; though the promise was 
 redeemed. It is often thus with the sinner. 
 Because he sees no hope in his own resources; 
 and does not see how God can operate without 
 them, he frequently perishes in his incredu- 
 lity, within the very reach of salvation. Alas, 
 unbelief of the divine promises is often the 
 last sin of which we are conscious; and it may 
 be committed at a time when we are least like- 
 ly to be aware of doing so. A proud reason- 
 ing that contradicts the word of God, and 
 gives the lie to the Holy One of Israel, may 
 exist where we imagine a mere humble and 
 humbling despondency. 
 
 You have already seen that it is inconsistent 
 with the divine economy of grace to refuse the 
 application of the Inquirer for the sole reason 
 that he is not embraced within an elective de- 
 cree: and the following remarks may serve to 
 convince you that the exclamation so frequent- 
 ly heard from the desponding sinner, — " my 
 sins are too great to be forgiven ," — is with- 
 out any foundation in truth. 
 
 The most prominent trait in the atonement 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 133 
 
 of Jesus Christ is, that if it be sufficient to pro- 
 cure the pardon of a single sin, it is equally so 
 to cover the most aggravated and complicated 
 guilt. The salvation of a single soul required 
 a sacrifice of infinite worth; and no number or 
 extent of crimes can, therefore, be committed, 
 to put the transgressor beyond the reach of its 
 efficacy. The Scriptures always speak of its 
 entire sufficiency; and refer the loss of the 
 soul to its unbelief, or to a rejection of the 
 conditions of grace. You have often remarked 
 how they contrast the condition of a penitent 
 Magdalen, and a 'mourning Publican, with 
 that of the self-righteous Pharisee. And this 
 position is finely exemplified after the Sa- 
 viour's ascent, when his murderers stood con- 
 victed before Peter, and, sensible of the atro- 
 city of their guilt, asked, — " Men and breth- 
 ren, what shall we do?" — If ever there were 
 an instance in which we might have doubted 
 the salvation of the sinner, it was this. These 
 men had witnessed the miracles of the Saviour 
 — had seen successive evidences of his divine 
 mission — had heard his heavenly instructions 
 — had consented to his death, effected under 
 perjured accusations— had taunted him with 
 incompetency to save himself — and seemed to 
 
134 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 have sealed their certain doom by the most 
 awful imprecation that ever ascended to God, 
 — " his blood be upon us and our children !" 
 And yet the answer of the Apostle indicated 
 no wavering in his own mind, respecting the 
 possibility of their salvation — " repent and be 
 baptized, every one of you, in the name of 
 Jesus Christ. "— " Repent, — and by a public 
 avowal manifested in baptism, take him to be 
 your Saviour whom you treated with scorn, 
 and of whose death yourselves are guilty." 
 
 And it deserves your consideration that the 
 word of God, when it announces the efficacy 
 of the Redeemer's blood, never annexes a pro- 
 viso that the iniquity be not too great: On the 
 contrary, it meets any doubt that could arise 
 on this subject in the mind of the sinner, and 
 anticipates all the fears it might possibly occa- 
 sion, in language which can not be misunder- 
 stood. What a beautiful instance have we of 
 this, in the message of God by the prophet 
 Isaiah — " Come now and let us reason togeth- 
 er: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall 
 be as white as snow; though they be red like 
 crimson, they shall be as wool." And then, 
 lest fear should still be awakened, through a 
 misapprehension of the Creator's character, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 135 
 
 and the transgressor should find a plea against 
 all hope, from the unrelenting temper of the 
 deeply-injured party, God has left with us that 
 most important admonition — "My thoughts 
 are not your thoughts, neither are your ways 
 my ways, saith the Lord: For as the Heavens 
 are higher than the earth, so are my ways 
 higher than your ways, and my thoughts than 
 your thoughts. "* 
 
 And it is this very freeness and sufficiency 
 of pardon, which, if duly considered, are so 
 admirably adapted to melt the heart of the 
 sinner, while they take away all possible ex- 
 cuse from the impenitent. If a doubt touch- 
 ing the fulness of salvation remained, and if he 
 had reason to pause in order to settle the ques- 
 tion whether he could be included in its offers, 
 there would be some apology for his delay. 
 But the simple reflection that nothing on the 
 part of God can withhold the most abandoned 
 sinner from mercy, ought to be a powerful 
 means of contrition, while it should lead to an 
 immediate surrender of the whole affections to 
 Christ. 
 
 Is it not, then, adding unbelief to your for- 
 mer sins, to insist on your being an exception 
 
 * Is. lv. 8, 9. 
 
136 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 to a universal rule? Is it not criminal to in- 
 dulge in such awful fancies, in direct opposi- 
 tion to the declarations of the Gospel? Liv- 
 ing in a world where the most guilty has been 
 pardoned, the most ungodly has been sancti- 
 fied, and the most miserable blessed, what 
 folly to retain a doubt of the riches of grace! 
 What wickedness thus to veil the glory of Je- 
 hovah, by making his thoughts and w T ays as 
 ours, or by ascribing to him promises to whose 
 performance he is not equal! — Let all dis- 
 couraging surmises alone: Believe, — for God 
 hath said it, — that nothing can exclude you 
 from the benefit of the Redeemer's death but 
 impenitence and unbelief on your own part. 
 Oh it is distressing to see the convinced sin- 
 ner pacing dejectedly around the promises of 
 Christ; beholding their infinite worth; desir- 
 ing to share in their participation; and yet, 
 not only not approaching a step nearer to 
 them, but listening to the idle vagaries of a 
 spirit distressed, and canvassing the question 
 whether he be not an exception to a rule 
 which is otherwise evidently universal! Ah, 
 my dear Sir, such sorrow as springs from this 
 unbelief is only making work for deeper re- 
 morse. It is adding reproach to the reproach- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 137 
 
 es which have already fallen on the Saviour. 
 It is nurturing a feeling as likely to be destruc- 
 tive to your own best interests as it is dis- 
 honourable to him. 
 
 See, too, what a mischievous delusion is this 
 under which you are now labouring. While 
 you are brooding over this distress, and feed- 
 ing the grief that preys upon your peace, you 
 are disposed plaintively to ask, " why does 
 God permit me to endure this sorrow?' 7 And 
 you do not see that the fault is your own: that 
 it is a sorrow which " worketh death;" which 
 is no part of the means of your salvation, or of 
 your pardon. — You attempt to persuade your- 
 self that there is no hope in your behalf, while 
 you gather all your conclusions from a mere 
 moodiness of feeling. And it is upon this 
 criminal state you anticipate the pity and com- 
 passion of Jesus. 
 
 Believe me, a heart penetrated with a sense 
 of its past ingratitude and guilt, and looking 
 to the Saviour for his pardoning mercy, will 
 never be spurned from the seat whence he 
 dispenses it. Hie to the Cross. The Re- 
 deemer can never willingly afflict the penitent 
 at the place where, incarnate, he suffered for 
 
 the deliverance of his sinful creatures from 
 p 
 
138 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 sorrow and death. There maintain a resolu- 
 tion to stay. And if the dread of perishing 
 ever steal over you, encourage yourself with 
 the simple language of the poet, 
 
 "But should I die with mercy sought, 
 When I the King have tried, 
 I there should die, (reviving thought!) 
 Where ne'er a sinner died." 
 
 But if, on the contrary, you nourish appre- 
 hensions, which the whole tenor of Scripture 
 concurs in reproving; if " wearied with the 
 greatness of your way," you continue to 
 murmur and repine, the whole consequences 
 and guilt are incurred by your own personal 
 means. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 
 I am, as ever, yours, &c. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 139 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Our propension to extremes — The Unpardonable sin — Explanation of 
 passages relating to it—An example of the danger of error on this sub- 
 ject. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 Has it ever occurred to you how sadly we 
 are prone to extremes in the matters of eternal 
 interest ? While we are yet unimpressed with 
 a sense of our condition, we are not only will- 
 ing to admit the extent of divine mercy, and 
 the sufficiency of pardon, but we are even dis- 
 posed to believe them ready at our beck; and, 
 not unfrequently, secretly to fancy our salva- 
 tion almost necessary to the happiness of our 
 Maker. We merge all his attributes into that 
 fictitious quality, — unconditional pity; while 
 we consider its very times and seasons in our 
 own hands. How easily we then overlook 
 every perplexity which can accompany the 
 Inquirer, and imagine the space between our 
 mere wish and its object, so short and practi- 
 cable that all present anxiety is superfluous. 
 But how the scene shifts when we obtain some 
 little insight into the nature of our own hearts! 
 
140 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 The divine compassion which appeared so ac- 
 cessible, and perhaps so venal, gives place to 
 the scrutiny and exactions of justice. — Where 
 now is the belief which we had so covertly 
 cherished of a Heavenly interest in our fa- 
 vour? Where is the persuasion founded on 
 w r e know not what, — that we were safe what- 
 ever became of others ? They have given 
 way to a conviction nearly as strong — that we 
 are precluded from hope. With such facility 
 do we make the transition from presumption 
 to despair! Our late petty excuses for a ne- 
 glect of religion, and all those miserable sub- 
 terfuges to which we love to resort, give place 
 to new cares — arising from mistakes in the 
 character of God, or from misconstrued ex- 
 pressions in his holy Word. 
 
 Extremes meet. Either presumption or de- 
 spair may keep the sinner back from salvation ; 
 and while it is not easy to say which of them 
 is the more offensive in the sight of God, we 
 know that either may be cherished without 
 reflecting, at the time, on its moral tendency. 
 Thus, the Inquirer may see his past security 
 in its true light, while he is sensible of no 
 guilt in questioning, as he now does, the pro- 
 mises of his Maker; or in limiting the be- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 141 
 
 nevolence of Christ. So difficult is it to keep 
 in sight the sin which now besets us; and so 
 much more prominent are other sins than our 
 own ! 
 
 Besides, 1 have often thought that there is 
 a tendency in the anxious mind to seize on 
 whatever can add to its perplexity; as a dis- 
 eased appetite longs for what would have been 
 loathed in a state of healthfulness. And it is 
 by this tendency we account for cares which 
 ought never to harass the awakened sinner; 
 and for contradictions inconsistent with a pro- 
 per approach to Him who is " the way, and 
 the truth, and the life." 
 
 Among these subjects of distress it is not 
 wonderful that the apprehension of having 
 committed the Unpardonable Sin is often 
 included. — When the Inquirer can not dis- 
 cover the causes of his failure, and has been 
 occupying his attention with something ex- 
 traneous, he very easily fancies that some 
 secret and mysterious cause is operating 
 against him. And, especially, when he reads 
 that there is a "sin unto death" — a trans- 
 gression which can never be forgiven, — he is 
 not unlikely to appropriate to himself, all the 
 
 horrors and guilt of that terrible evil. If he 
 p2 
 
142 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 be not able to recal to mind any act of pecu- 
 liar atrocity into which he has been led, or 
 any outrageous expression against the autho- 
 rity of Heaven, he can, perhaps, remember 
 when he strove against the convictions of his 
 mind, and very possibly did despite unto the 
 Holy Ghost. Or, it may be, that without 
 conviction himself, he attributed the w r ork of 
 God, in other minds, to some unhallowed 
 cause; and now recollects his mistake with all 
 the bitterness of remorseful feeling, and all the 
 terrors of a visible doom. Or, if neither of 
 these be visible in his past experience and 
 conduct, he suspects that in some ill-fated hour 
 he may have sinned beyond the hope of mer- 
 cy, and unconsciously incurred the penalty of 
 irremissible guilt. In a state of mind agitated 
 by such fears, he is not likely to review the 
 past, with all the deliberation the occasion de- 
 mands, or to put a fair construction on the 
 difficulties into which he is led. And the very 
 anxiety which his fears have created, is often 
 attributed to the dire transgression which he 
 imagines himself to have committed; or more 
 immediately to the spiritual desolation w T hich 
 is supposed to haVe followed it. 
 When we add to this the superstitious dread 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 143 
 
 which often accompanies the mention of this 
 deed of darkness, and which has been in- 
 creased by public accounts of certain memo- 
 rable examples, or by instances that are said 
 to have occurred within the memory of some 
 around us, it is not wonderful that suspicion 
 should almost grow into proof. Nor should I 
 be surprised if, in cases where such terrible 
 forebodings have sometimes engrossed the 
 mind, and no relief had been furnished to the 
 despondency they occasioned, a d} 7 ing bed has 
 sometimes disclosed an awful scene of despair: 
 And the evil which existed in the imagination 
 alone, has effectually precluded all effort to ob- 
 tain the pardon of God: just as an imaginary 
 disease has as effectually terminated in death, 
 as a disorder that is real and local. But al- 
 though despair in a death hour may be part of 
 the effects of a sinful life, it is unfair to attri- 
 bute it to a cause with which it may have no 
 immediate connexion. 
 
 To allow yourself to be disturbed by vague 
 and indefinite apprehensions is never wise. 
 But to permit them to keep you back from the 
 tendered mercy of God is both folly and sin. 
 Before you suffer, then, any conclusion against 
 yourself, carefully travel over your ground, 
 
144 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 and at least understand the premises wHch 
 lead to so sad an issue. Now, are you perfect- 
 ly assured what the unpardonable sin is? If 
 not, any inference against yourself has been 
 taken from the obstacles in your way — from 
 the state of your own mind. And whatever 
 this may be, it can present no effectual bar to 
 your salvation. But are you aware that there 
 is not a single question, within the circle of 
 theological discussion, which has led to such a 
 variety of opinions, as the one before us ? It 
 is a singular fact that we can enumerate not 
 less than thirty-two. And it is not unlikely 
 that, on future inquiry, others might be found 
 as injudicious as any among this number. As 
 it may tend to show you how much uncertainty 
 is connected with the whole question, let me 
 select a portion from the mass of opinions: 
 
 " Villifying the Holy Ghost:?'*— " The de- 
 nial of God in Christ:"t — " An unmeet expres- 
 sion of the Spirit:"! — "Final impenitence:" 
 —"The blasphemy of infidelity .-'^—"Sin- 
 ning maliciously against the truth :"f — " Uni- 
 versal apostacy from God, by which the ma- 
 jesty of God is maliciously opposed:' 1 
 
 ?** 
 
 * Epiphanius. t Hillary. X Cyril. II Augustin. § Ambrose. 
 fl Lyra. * * Beza. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 145 
 
 a 
 
 Opposition to the Word of God while con- 
 vinced of its divine authority :"* — "Blas- 
 phemy in the face of miracles :"t — These are 
 the opinions of older writers. Modern authors 
 are less divided: but still differ much on the 
 subject. Some have contended that a rare 
 combination of circumstances is required in 
 the commission of this sin. Others insist that, in 
 the present day, it is not possible to be guilty 
 of it under any circumstances. While a few 
 have held up the texts which are supposed to 
 refer to it, as matters of awful warning. 
 
 Some tell us that the Unpardonable Sin is a 
 denial of Christ under oath, — a crime to which 
 persecution exposed many in the early ages of 
 the church. But if this were so, the Apostle 
 Peter must have been guilty of it; for he li be- 
 gan to curse and swear, saying, I know not the 
 man." And there is reason to believe that the 
 guilt of many impenitent sinners is still more 
 aggravated, in their bold enmity to God, and 
 in giving utterance to language daring as that 
 of the perjured disciple. 
 
 Some would solve the difficulty by a suppo- 
 sititious case: " If the two characters, and the 
 different sins, of Peter and Paul were united 
 
 * MusculuSj Calvin, Bucer, and Piscator. \ ChrysostonL 
 
146 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 in one person, this unpardonable guilt would 
 be incurred."* But this supposition is fanci- 
 ful in the extreme: A moment's thought will 
 convince us that no such man exists. 
 
 Other critics have contended that from the 
 nature of the Hebrew idiom, in the Gospel of 
 Matthew, we are to understand that the crime 
 in question is not absolutely unpardonable; but 
 only comparatively so, when viewed in con- 
 nexion with others. And that no other con- 
 struction than this would be consistent with our 
 Lord's praying for his enemies on the Cross, t 
 
 But let us proceed to a cursory examination 
 of those texts which have occasioned the per- 
 plexity we are considering. The first occurs 
 in Matthew^ — « I say unto you, All manner of 
 sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men; 
 but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost 
 shall not be forgiven unto men. And who- 
 soever speaketh a word against the Son of Man, 
 it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speak- 
 eth against the Holy Ghost it shall not be for- 
 given him, neither in this world, neither in 
 the world to come." You will remember that 
 our Saviour had just exercised his miraculous 
 
 * Reynolds, f See Waterland's Sermon on Math. xii. 31, 33. 
 t xii. 31, 32. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 147 
 
 power in the cure of a demoniac. The Phari- 
 sees saw that this proof of special and divine 
 authority could not be contravened. Foiled, 
 then, in their efforts, they attempted to destroy 
 the credit of the miracle, by imputing the 
 whole agency to Satan. It was in this their 
 criminality seems to have consisted; as another 
 Evangelist tells us — "because the Pharisees 
 said he hath an unclean spirit/' The doctrines 
 and work of the Holy Ghost were not only re- 
 jected, but maliciously calumniated, and im- 
 puted to the Prince of Darkness. 
 
 Now it is somewhat questionable how near 
 any sin committed at the present day, can ap- 
 proach to this. It is certain that malicious op- 
 position to the miracles of the Holy Ghost can 
 not be exhibited; for no such testimony of di- 
 vine power is now visible. And with respect 
 to the spirit of the threat itself, the exposition 
 of some other texts, before I close this Letter, 
 may, perhaps, throw some light on it. 
 
 The next passage under consideration is 
 found in the Epistle to the Hebrews.* — " For 
 it is impossible for those who were once en- 
 lightened and have tasted of the Heavenly gift, 
 and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, 
 
 * vi. 4, 5, 6. 
 
148 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 and have tasted the good word of God, and the 
 powers of the world to come, if they shall fall 
 away, to renew them again unto repentance; 
 seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of 
 God afresh, and put him to an open shame." 
 We should examine these expressions sepa- 
 rately: 
 
 The persons alluded to were Ci once enlight- 
 ened." Life and immortality being brought 
 to light, all who had received knowledge of 
 the truth were called " enlightened" in dis- 
 tinction from the moral darkness of Heathenism. 
 But this illumination, although it might bring 
 some hope to the mind, is not to be confound- 
 ed with the sanctifying and saving influence of 
 the spirit — the only true hope of the soul. 
 " Have tasted of the Heavenly gift" — The 
 term "gift" here, refers to the new Gospel 
 state. And " tasting" implies so far an ex- 
 amination of it as to induce a conviction that it 
 was a more excellent state than that in which 
 the subject had been, while a Pagan or a Jew. 
 A very similar meaning should be attached to 
 " the good Word of God." Being made 
 "partakers of the Holy Ghost" is understood 
 by our best expounders, to apply to the pos- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 149 
 
 session of those spiritual gifts which were 
 sometimes conferred, in the Apostolic age, 
 even on those who had only an historical or 
 speculative faith : — among which were included 
 the gifts of tongues and prophecy. " The 
 powers of the world to come" meant the 
 miracles performed under the Gospel dispen- 
 sation; which had always been denominated 
 " the age, or world, to come." 
 
 Before w r e examine the remainder of this 
 passage, let me introduce another of similar 
 import: "If we sin wilfully after we receive 
 the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth 
 no more sacrifice for sins, but a certain fearful 
 looking-for of judgment."* It will assist us 
 in our attempt to understand both these quota- 
 tions, if we recollect that they were addressed 
 to persons supposed to be familiar with the 
 Law of Moses. In that dispensation, you will 
 recollect that there were certain sins for which 
 no provision was made by sacrifice; — especial- 
 ly presumptuous transgressions; with respect 
 to which God had said, immediately after giv- 
 ing the regulations concerning sacrifices, — 
 "But the soul that doth ought presumptuous- 
 ly, whether he be born in the land, or a 
 
 'Heb. x. 26,27- 
 Q 
 
150 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 stranger, the same reproacheth the Lord; and 
 that soul shall be cut off from among his peo- 
 ple. Because he hath despised the Word of 
 the Lord; and hath broken his commandment, 
 that soul shall utterly be cut off; his iniquity 
 shall be upon him."* Or in regard to open 
 idolatry; of which it had been said, — " If there 
 be found among you, within any of thy gates 
 which the Lord thy God giveth thee, man or 
 woman, that hath wrought wickedness. in the 
 sight of the Lord thy God, in transgressing his 
 covenant, and hath gone and served other 
 Gods and worshipped them, &c."t The pun- 
 ishment in all such cases was death, by law. 
 But are we hence to conclude that there could 
 be no remission of sin in any case for w T hich no 
 sacrifice had been legally provided ? — Surely 
 not. Numerous transgressions were pardoned 
 through the sacrifice of Christ, then remaining 
 to be offered. You have examples of this in 
 Aaron, David, and Manasseh; for some of 
 whose sins there was no sacrifice appointed by 
 law. It is in reference to this the Apostle 
 speaks, when he says of those who reject the 
 atonement of Jesus Christ, that " there re- 
 maineth no more sacrifice for sins." His 
 
 * Numb. xv. 30, 31. t Deuteronomy, xvii. 2—7. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER, 151 
 
 meaning seems to be, that as there can be no 
 salvation out of Christ, they must perish who 
 persist in refusing this. But then such is 
 neither more nor less than a case of final im- 
 penitence. And it is only as such the awaken- 
 ed sinner ought now to view it. 
 
 There is another consideration which should 
 always be kept in mind in reading the awful 
 threatenings of God, — and that, too, when they 
 appear, at first sight, entirely absolute: I 
 mean, that all these threatenings are condi- 
 tional. The declaration of Joshua to the 
 children of Israel would seem appalling, — " Ye 
 can not serve the Lord, for he is an holy God; 
 he is a jealous God; he will not forgive your 
 transgressions nor your sins." Yet the Pa- 
 triarch certainly could not have intended to 
 declare that there was no possible pardon for 
 their sins, if they sought it in a penitent and 
 becoming manner. The same limitation must 
 be preserved in reading the address of Moses, 
 when he says of Jehovah — "Beware of him, 
 and obey his voice, provoke him not, for he 
 will not pardon your transgressions." 
 
 It is true, My Dear Sir, that the language 
 of Scripture, respecting apostates, assumes a 
 peculiar awfulness: And it is indeed a melan- 
 
152 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 choly thought that few of them ever reach re- 
 pentance. And yet I would not dare conclude 
 that their case is always hopeless. We have 
 reason to trust otherwise even for this wretch- 
 ed and apparently abandoned class, in certain 
 instances. The Apostle Paul, in his instruc- 
 tions to Timothy, plainly refers to them; 
 where, after speaking of Hymenoeus and 
 Philetus, who had deserted the truth, although 
 they still retained the name of Christianity, 
 he says, — If God peradventure will give 
 them repentance"* Indeed of the former of 
 these persons, and of another of the same de- 
 scription, the Apostle had said that he had 
 "delivered them unto Satan;" or, as the ex- 
 pression implies, had banished them from the 
 Visible Church; and that, not as a matter of 
 mere vengeance; but in order that " they 
 might learn not to blaspheme" — or, that they 
 might be led to repentance. 
 
 The last text which we will examine on this 
 subject, and which seems less equivocal than 
 either of the preceding, and has, perhaps, a 
 more formidable aspect than any other in the 
 Bible, is that of the Apostle John:t — " If any 
 
 * See the whole of this example— 2 Timothy, Chap. ii. 17, 18—24, 25. 
 t John, v. 16. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 153 
 
 man see his brother sin a sin which is not unto 
 death he shall ask, and he shall give him life 
 for them that sin not unto death. There is a 
 sin unto death: I do not say that he shall pray 
 for it." There is something so terrific in the 
 language, " I do not say that he shall pray 
 for it" that it has often fore-gathered the de- 
 spair of an impenitent and remorseful dying 
 hour. We almost fancy before us the wretch- 
 ed subject, singled out by a judicial hand: the 
 frost of the second death chilling all possible 
 hope in his behalf: and even the Christian 
 bidden to look with mute astonishment on the 
 abandoned reprobate. All this appears to be 
 the consequence of a construction very com- 
 monly put upon the language before us. And 
 how many impolitic measures has it sometimes 
 occasioned ! To what ill-advised and rash con- 
 clusions has it led, in the minds of some who 
 mistook an active opposition to the cause of 
 Christ for this nameless and desperate crime! 
 
 Let me place before you the three or four of 
 the most plausible interpretations of this ex- 
 traordinary passage. The first is, that it is in- 
 tended as a general direction relative to the 
 subjects of prayer — that we are bound to offer 
 
 up our petitions for all, excepting those who 
 Q2 
 
154 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 have committed the Unpardonable Sin. But 
 this construction supposes the ordinary Chris- 
 tian always to know when the Unpardonable 
 Sin has been committed; which is absurd. 
 And if it be said that the application is only to 
 those who possess the gift of discerning spirits, 
 then it would favour the inference that this sin 
 could have been committed only in the early 
 ages of the Church; or else the direction, if ap- 
 plicable at the present time, should have been 
 accompanied by some obvious sign by which 
 it might be distinguished. 
 
 Another interpretation is, — " any transgres- 
 sion obstinately persevered in; and which, of 
 course, not being repented of, must end in the 
 eternal death of the guilty. This impenitence 
 being known to the ancient Christian, from the 
 simple fact that he was not moved by the Holy 
 Ghost to pray for it, he conceived himself for- 
 bidden to hope for pardon in behalf of the sin- 
 ner." But the truth is, we are no where en- 
 couraged to ask for the remission of unrepented 
 guilt, either for ourselves or others. The ut- 
 most we can do, is to entreat that repentance 
 may be given; and all the rest will then be 
 well. Yet, if the above interpretation were 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 155 
 
 admissible, you could have no personal interest 
 in the case. 
 
 Others suppose that the transgressor having 
 been one who made a public avowal of his faith 
 in Christianity, and thus standing within the 
 pale of the Visible Church, evinced, by his un- 
 holy life, that his profession was hypocritical; 
 and, that, accordingly, the Christian was not to 
 regard him in the light of a brother, or pray 
 for him, as such: because he could not plead 
 any of the promises in his behalf. 1 have only 
 to say that this construction seems to be rather 
 constrained. And yet if it were just, it fur- 
 nishes an example of no possible application to 
 the awakened sinner. 
 
 The last interpretation I will mention, is the 
 one which seems to me most consistent with 
 the other portions of Scripture, already cited: 
 
 You are aware that the primitive Church 
 was guarded with peculiar care from the en- 
 croachments of vice; and it was this which so 
 effectually secured its stability and extension. 
 As one means of completing this end, the more 
 flagrant violations of law were punished with 
 visible, and often severe, temporal judgments. 
 It was hence the Apostle said to the Corin- 
 thians, who had been guilty of most criminal 
 
156 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 irregularities in the ordinance of the Lord's 
 Supper — " For this cause many are weak and 
 sickly among you and many sleep" — or, are 
 dead. But as the gift of healing was conferred 
 on some of these early Christians, it was used 
 in behalf of such as had repented of the sins 
 which brought on the malady. And it is to 
 this the Apostle James refers, in a similar 
 case.* I should find very little hesitation, in 
 my own mind, in concluding that such is the 
 reference in this contested verse. In that case, 
 the restriction of prayer related only to the 
 diseases in question; and not in the least to the 
 spirital condition of the sufferer. 
 
 1 am very confident that the Word of God, 
 in all its general representations of character, 
 considers the sinner, while in this world, with- 
 in the range of Divine mercy. If there ever 
 have been any particular exceptions, it must 
 have been those who, in the Apostolic age, 
 after being privileged with extraordinary light, 
 and gifted perhaps with miraculous power, 
 turned traitors to the faith, and openly blas- 
 phemed the Holy Ghost. And this restriction 
 of prayer was not unlike that of the prophet 
 Jeremiah, in an earlier period of the Church; 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 157 
 
 when he was forbidden to ask a reversal of the 
 sentence to captivity, and yet, at the same 
 time, continued to admonish the people, and 
 to pray for their salvation.* 
 
 It should be admitted, — and the melancholy 
 truth reveals an alarming admonition — that 
 all, or any, opposition to Divine Grace, has a 
 tendency to accomplish its own work of ruin 
 in the soul of the opposer. And it is not easy 
 for us to say how far this tendency may be ac- 
 companied by the spiritual judgments of God. 
 But one thing on this subject is very certain: 
 — No one who has ever sinned beyond the 
 possibility of remission, is painfully convinced 
 of having done so, and yet still lives under the 
 opportunities of the Gospel. A seared con- 
 science and an impenitent mind must invariably 
 attend the fate of the reprobate. The presages 
 of this fate, — if any occurred at all, — would be 
 faint and few. His calm would be unbroken. 
 A fearful silence of all warning would suffer 
 him to slumber on; and the hour of his awak- 
 ening would be in the light of Eternity. 
 
 An instance of the distressing effects of fear, 
 on this subject, which now occurs to me, may 
 not be out of place. It is one of the many 
 
 * Compare Jer. vii. 14—16 with Micah., vii. 8, 9—19,20. 
 
158 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 which may tend to show the consequences of 
 error on a susceptible mind: Mr. L. had en- 
 joyed the privilege of sitting under an able and 
 successful ministry. His heart had been 
 touched. And during a remarkable period, in 
 which he saw many of his friends embracing 
 the hope of salvation, his own convictions in- 
 creased. Not long after, his feelings of impa- 
 tience became sensitive. His attention was, 
 subsequently, turned from its own proper ob- 
 ject, to one more nearly connected with our 
 natural selfishness. He ceased to be an In- 
 quirer, and became an objector. It is hard to 
 stop here. Opposition succeeded a habit of 
 objecting. And apparent bitterness of pre- 
 judice and malevolence of expression, were 
 observable whenever he opened his lips on the 
 subject of religion. Still the past day of con- 
 viction was a memorable time to him. Five 
 years afterwards, he was again aroused to a 
 sense of his danger. And with the alarm came 
 the frightful recollection of his former conduct. 
 Language which he had uttered, — and which 
 appeared nearly allied to blasphemy, — return- 
 ed fresh to his memory. He accused himself 
 of having committed the Unpardonable Sin. 
 All efforts to persuade him to the contrary 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 159 
 
 were unavailing. The impression was daily- 
 deepening. His mind lost its elasticity; and a 
 moody temperament succeeded. His friends 
 were alarmed. A suspicion was started among 
 them, that his conclusions might be just. This 
 he marked, and laboured to confirm it. He 
 seemed, — I know not how, — to take a nega- 
 tive satisfaction in stating the desperation of 
 his case; and in watching the fallen counte- 
 nance of sympathy. 
 
 Many months had transpired, during which 
 he was the subject of religious gossip with 
 some, — of a kind of superstitious dread with 
 others, — and of fervent prayer with a few of 
 the remainder; — when the case was stated to a 
 judicious Minister, whom some Providence had 
 called into the neighbourhood. He waited on 
 Mr. L., who, far from being averse to any con- 
 versation relative to his own state, seemed 
 rather to court it. He was fluent in all the de- 
 tails of time and circumstance; and always 
 ended his narrative with the declaration that 
 he had ceased forever to pray. After a pre- 
 paratory interchange of remarks, he was 
 asked — " You believe yourself guilty of the 
 Unpardonable Sin ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
160 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 " In what did the crime consist?" 
 
 " I opposed the work of God." 
 
 "So did Saul." 
 
 " I denied Jesus Christ." 
 
 " So did a Disciple afterwards honoured by 
 his Master. 
 
 "I doubted the power of Jesus Christ, after 
 strong evidences in its favour." 
 
 " So did Thomas." 
 
 " What! are you attempting to prove by such 
 examples that I am a Christian?" 
 
 "Not at all: I am only inquiring into the 
 nature of your guilt; and thus far I see no rea- 
 son for despair." 
 
 " I have hated God," — rejoined the self-con- 
 demned,—" and openly avowed my enmity in 
 sight of his Divine operations." 
 
 "Thus far your case is lamentable indeed; 
 but not hopeless still. Our hearts are naturally 
 at enmity with God. And I do not see why 
 the open avowal of this, drawn out by the sight 
 of the Law, into visible form, must necessarily 
 and always constitute the guilt of which you 
 accuse yourself." 
 
 " I feel that I am cut off from salvation." 
 
 "It is difficult to reason against your feel- 
 ings. But they are no proof on the present sub- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 161 
 
 ject. Let me inquire whether you desire the 
 pardon of your sins?" 
 
 " Assuredly; if it were possible." 
 
 "Do you regret the conduct of which you 
 accuse yourself?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " Do you sincerely desire repentance?" 
 
 " 1 would give the world, if it were mine, 
 to be able to do so." 
 
 " Then it is not possible that you have been 
 guilty to an unpardonable extent: for these are 
 characteristics of a state of mind faithless, but 
 far from being desperate. And they come with- 
 in the design of the Gospel invitations." 
 
 There was something simple and touching in 
 this mode of ministering to a mind diseased. 
 And it produced an effect which, probably, no 
 other process, could have accomplished. Mr. 
 L. did not long survive this interview. But 
 his living and dying hours were those of a fa- 
 voured Christian. 
 
 It is, perhaps, hardly fair to speculate on con- 
 tingencies in such a case as this. But, human- 
 ly speaking, had Mr. L. been removed from 
 time, without such providential interference, it 
 would have been with the melancholy convic- 
 
162 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 tion in his own, and other minds, that he 
 had been guilty of this fearful evil. And 
 yet, had he gone down without hope to the 
 grave, final unbelief and impenitence would 
 have been the ground of his condemnation, 
 and not the guilt of the Unpardonable Sin. 
 
 Let me pray you, My Dear Sir, to dismiss 
 this whole subject, as one with which, at this 
 time, particularly, you have nothing to do. 
 There is enough before you to engross all 
 your solicitude, without seeking subjects of 
 unnecessary anxiety. 
 Adieu. 
 
 I am very truly, &c. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 The disposition to discouragement— Discouraging texts in the Bible — An 
 explanation of Luke, xiii. 24 — Prov. i. 23.— Hebrew, xii. 17— Hosea, 
 iv. 17. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 I would not say that it is always perverse 
 ness in the disposition of the Inquirer, which 
 leads him to misapply the language of the Scrip- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 163 
 
 tures; although there might be some truth in a 
 general charge of this nature. The timidity 
 which the importance of the subject in which 
 he is engaged, may produce in his mind, will 
 easily awaken unhappy suspicions against him- 
 self. And they may be led into activity by 
 any thing which wears the semblance of dis- 
 couragement. This is the natural effect upon 
 a temper whose bias is sorrowful; and which is 
 so much more readily attracted by difficulties 
 than by the simplicity of the Gospel. Espe- 
 cially when we recollect, as I have already in- 
 timated, how prone is such a mind to look for 
 the causes of its perplexity out of itself, and to 
 fancy their existence where there could be no 
 possible reason for fear. An accusing con- 
 science is not only distrustful, but is a skilful 
 artificer of its sorrow. 
 
 Some of the Scriptural passages which you 
 have noted, are certainly adapted to awaken the 
 inconsiderate, and to promote in us all a dili- 
 gence to make our calling and election sure. — 
 But not one of them was designed to thwart the 
 purpose of the sincere Inquirer; or to render 
 more precarious the confidence he is bound to 
 repose in the Saviour. For proof of this position 
 let us look into the meaning of some of those 
 
164 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 passage swhich are usually considered discour- 
 aging. And we will begin with that in the thir- 
 teenth chapter of Luke: " Strive to enter in 
 at the straight gate: for many, I say unto 
 you, will seek to enter in, aad shall not be 
 able." 
 
 The difficulty which this text presents, arises 
 from disconnecting it with the subsequent verse: 
 And hence it is concluded that all who apply, 
 sincerely, for salvation, will not be embraced 
 in the number of the saved. According to this 
 interpretation, the Redeemer's argument in fa- 
 vour of diligence, is drawn from the frequent 
 failure of effort in the Awakened Sinner. A 
 failure which, it is supposed, is attributed to a 
 defect in the manner of seeking, or to a want 
 of perseverance and engagedness in that duty. 
 
 Now it is perfectly true that inactivity is 
 wholly inconsistent with success: that funda- 
 mentally mistaken notions are equally so: and 
 that he who asks for pardon and mercy, with- 
 out, in some measure, feeling the importance 
 of the boon he solicits, will ask in vain. The 
 word in this passage which we translate 
 "strive" is a strong figure of speech, import- 
 ing all that ardour and resolution which distin- 
 guish the successful antagonist, on the arena, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 165 
 
 or the victorious soldier, on the field of battle. 
 And it intimates that the " straight gate" is 
 surrounded by powerful foes, through whom 
 he is to contend his way. It gives the reason 
 of failure in many who set out with apparent 
 sincerity. But while it does all this, it pre- 
 judges the fate of no awakened and penitent 
 sinner. 
 
 Had the Saviour meant that persons of the 
 same degree of sincerity might fail or succeed; 
 and that the Sovereignty of God, independent 
 of the desires and exertions of the applicant, — 
 or his faith or repentance — would decide the 
 question of success, this would not only have 
 been inconsistent with Scripture — not only 
 discouraging in the extreme — but remote from 
 the purpose which he seems to have had, at 
 that time, before him. He was not speaking 
 of a change of heart, or the beginning of a new 
 life. This had been his subject, on a former 
 occasion,* when the expression " straight 
 gate" referred to the commencement of the 
 Christian career. But that occasion is not to 
 be confounded, either in its time or circumstan- 
 ces, with the present, in which the same term 
 
 * Matthew, vii. 13. 
 
 r2 
 
166 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 has reference to the end of life — the entrance 
 into Heaven. 
 
 The present passage refers to a marriage fes- 
 tival, according to the splendid manner and nu- 
 merous attendance by which it was distinguish- 
 ed in Eastern custom: and during which the 
 wicket, or narrow gate, alone was left open, 
 that the crowd might not intrude, and that 
 none but invited or accepted guests might en- 
 ter. In such ceremonies, after a given hour, 
 the door was shut, and all ingress was imprac- 
 ticable. 
 
 You will observe, then, that there is nothing 
 here in the language of Jesus Christ intimating 
 that any who come unto him will be cast out. 
 But if a love of the world keep the sinner from 
 the terms of grace, and he is rejected accord- 
 ingly, the fault is entirely his own; while the 
 justice of God will be vindicated in his con- 
 demnation at the last day. And that, too, al- 
 though the excluded sinner may have worn the 
 badge of a profession, and enjoyed all the pri- 
 vileges of light and knowledge. 
 
 That passage in Proverbs which you quote — 
 " Then shall they call upon me, but I will 
 not answer; they shall seek me early, but 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 167 
 
 they shall not find me"* is less dishearten- 
 ing than you imagine! The whole sentence 
 contains a solemn warning to those who are 
 averse to the knowledge of their natural con- 
 dition — the great mark of the unregenerate— 
 and who practically despise the overtures of 
 divine mercy. But then, that warning is ta- 
 ken from the final desolation of the impenitent; 
 and not from God's manner of dealing in the 
 present world. The word " early," w T hich 
 obscures the sense, should be exchanged for 
 " earnestly" — a translation which conveys a 
 more consistent meaning. 
 
 Your next quotation deserves more particu- 
 lar notice; not because it really contains any 
 very serious difficulty in itself, but because the 
 mischievous impressions which a misunder- 
 standing of it has sometimes left, are deep and 
 distressing — " Let there be any— profane 
 person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat 
 sold his birth-right. For ye know how that 
 afterward, when he would have inherited 
 the blessing, he was rejected: for he found 
 no place of repentance, though he sought it 
 carefully with tears" 
 
 There is something truly terrifying in the 
 
 • Prov. i. 28. 
 
168 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 idea of a person deeply regretting his past mis- 
 conduct, labouring to repent of the evil, but ut- 
 terly unable to affect his mind with a proper 
 sense of it. And this picture is the more dis- 
 tressing when accompanied with the convic- 
 tion of having forfeited all hope of salvation, 
 for some petty present gain; having bartered 
 eternal life, for a momentary gratification, 
 without the possibility of revoking the con- 
 tract: and that, too, when the folly had been 
 the impulse of passion; or, still more excusable, 
 occasioned by the cravings of hunger. It is 
 this representation which often appears before 
 the mind of the alarmed sinner, in the passage 
 cited, and attaches an arbitrary precariousness 
 to the salvation of the soul. And if, in addition 
 to this, the dealings of God towards him, had 
 been distinguished in his providences, in times 
 that are past, a comparison with the case of 
 Esau is easily instituted, and the most poig- 
 nant reflections are gathered from it. He can 
 possibly recollect when he had been penetrated 
 with a feeling sense of his lost condition: when, 
 for a season, the importance of religion had oc- 
 cupied and engrossed his thoughts. He can re- 
 collect, too, how he abandoned the inquiry un- 
 der the influence of worldly considerations; or, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 169 
 
 it might have been, for some short-lived plea- 
 sure. Desirous as he may now be to renew 
 those impressions, he finds it not possible to 
 recall the same class of feelings. And sensible 
 as he may be, of guilt and ill-desert, he bitterly 
 laments his inability to reach a state of mind, 
 which he considers irrecoverably lost. He fan- 
 cies himself unable to " find place of repentance, 
 though sought carefully with tears." And he 
 sees in Esau, an instance so closely resembling 
 his own, that hope dies within him as he con- 
 templates it; and he believes the only alterna- 
 tive now before him to be a return to the world, 
 or a fruitless brooding over his lost condition: 
 — a sad choice of evils, either of which must be 
 fatal to his eternal happiness. 
 
 That it is possible to " seek a place of repent- 
 ance carefully with tears " without being 
 ever able to comply with the primary condition 
 of salvation, supposes that irremediable state 
 which distinguishes none but the lost. And 
 yet an apprehension of such a state has more 
 than once, to my own knowledge, been 
 wrought in the mind of the sinner, by the text 
 we are now considering. Nor is it surprising 
 that it should be so when we recollect the live- 
 ly and pointed manner in which the language 
 
170 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 would seem to describe the past and the present 
 state of the backslider. 
 
 The simple truth, however, is, that the ver- 
 ses before us, have no relation whatever to the 
 state of the Inquirer: and it is a tincture of me- 
 lancholy which gives them an aspect not pro- 
 perly theirs. 
 
 The Apostle is here addressing professing 
 Christians: and he presents an example of the 
 danger of departing from the truth as it is in 
 Jesus; and of exchanging the high privileges of 
 the faithful, for the temporary advantages of 
 the world. A profane person is properly one 
 who lightly esteems, or despises sacred things. 
 Such was Esau. His birthright, which, ac- 
 cording to the economy in which he lived, 
 held peculiar religious honours — not to add its 
 pecuniary emolument—he bartered for a brief 
 present indulgence. No excuse could paliate 
 this conduct: for it evidently implied a very 
 slight value set upon the privilege. Now, of 
 what was it he repented ? — of his gross sin in 
 the sight of God? Not at all. He regretted 
 his folly: and sought place of repentance in his 
 father's mind; or in other words, he sought a 
 reversal of his father's decision respecting the 
 blessing: and that not immediately; but forty 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 171 
 
 years after the transaction was over. And this 
 unavailing regret was not only such from the 
 late hour in which it occurred — during the 
 whole interval to which he had continued im- 
 penitent — and from the irrevocable investiture 
 of the blessing in another, — but it was unavail- 
 ing from its very nature. All his vehemency 
 and tears arose from considerations completely 
 selfish, and inconsistent with sincere penitence 
 of heart. He sought nothing from his offended 
 God; while, at the same time, he retained a 
 feeling of rancour towards his brother. Be- 
 sides — it was the pique of pride — the wounding 
 of ambition — under which he smarted. The 
 object of his desire was nothing spiritual: it 
 was, to have that clause transferred to himself 
 — " be Lord over thy brethren, and let thy 
 mother's sons bow down to thee." Had he, 
 before God, sought repentance in his own 
 heart, and earnestly desired the special bless- 
 ings of salvation, there was nothing to prevent 
 his obtaining them. 
 
 In all this you see there is no parallel with 
 the case of the Awakened Sinner. The circum- 
 stances, the object sought, the kind of repent- 
 ance desired — as the Apostle applies them, — 
 give an admonition to the members of the V i- 
 
172 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 sible Church, by a very plain inference; but 
 they present no discouragement to the Inquir- 
 er. And if they furnish any lesson to sin- 
 ners in general, it is, indirectly, the hazard of 
 delay, or, the great importance of improving 
 the present moment. 
 
 Let me now say that any uneasiness you 
 have entertained on this subject, should lead 
 you to reflect on the necessity and duty of tak- 
 ing every passage of Scripture in connexion 
 with its broad and general truths. The Word 
 of God will illustrate, but never contradict, 
 itself. A detached sentence may fill the heart 
 with terror, when it never was intended to do 
 so. But carry it to the light of some other 
 truth, and you will see that there is nothing to 
 deter, but every thing to encourage the return- 
 ing sinner. 
 
 You again adduce the language of Jehovah 
 — " Ephraim is joined to idols, — let him 
 alone"* — as an evidence that some may be 
 without the inclosure of hope, notwithstand- 
 ing any desire, on their part, to return to God. 
 But surely, he who is " joined to his idols" — 
 who is obstinately bent on pursuits and plea- 
 
 ' Hosea, iv. 17. 
 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 173 
 
 sures dishonorable to God, and inimical to 
 spirituality, can have no sincere desire in this 
 behalf. 
 
 Moreover, if these words were designed to 
 indicate to an idolatrous people, that their 
 doom Was now sealed, and that no more ef- 
 fort should be made for their good, the curse 
 would have carried its own sign along with 
 it — a cessation on the part of God to break in 
 on their insensibility. But the Prophet con- 
 tinues to expostulate with pathos and earnest- 
 ness — " Oh Israel, return unto the Lord thy 
 God; for thou hast fallen by thine iniquity. 
 Take with you words, and return unto the 
 Lord: say unto him, take away all iniquity, 
 and receive us graciously."* 
 
 All this pleading is certainly inconsistent 
 with the idea of a state of abandoned hopeless- 
 ness. It announces the unretracted offer of 
 pardon, on condition of repentance. 
 
 The admonition in the quoted passage, then, 
 was not intended to intimate that the doom of 
 this people was sealed. Nor was it a prohi- 
 bition to the Ministers of the Sanctuary from 
 preaching to this rebellious race; or they 
 would have obeyed it. The whole history, 
 
 * Hosea, xiv. 1, 2. 
 

 174 
 
 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 
 .** 
 
 and the connexion of the text, plainly show 
 that the sentence was an order to Judah, to 
 refrain from all unnecessary commerce with 
 idolatrous Ephraim : " Let them alone. Though 
 Israel sin, yet let not Judah offend/' Him-' 
 plied the danger arising from evil communi- 
 cation, and particular communication with those 
 guilty of so infectious a sin as that of idolatry. 
 It was the application of a maxim of daily use. 
 
 That God may, and sometimes does, leave, 
 men to a perverse temper, and a hardened 
 mind, is a truth, which, however painful it 
 may be, is too plain to be denied. But the 
 Awakened Sinner is in a situation directly the 
 reverse of this. His sense of danger is neither 
 accidental nor nugatory. The Holy Spirit 
 has appealed to him: And that appeal has 
 startled him. In doing this, it could hardly 
 be the intention of the Creator to remind him 
 of his doom only to leave him to wretched- 
 ness. In a case of utter hopelessness, that 
 deep wslumberof all susceptibility, which is so 
 portentous to the observer, would be unnoted 
 in the mind of the subject himself, while it 
 would prevent any discovery of his condition. 
 
 And yet this doom does not consist in the 
 infliction of any positive evil on the part of 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 175 
 
 ™* Li * %► 
 
 God; nor may it be in the withdrawal of the 
 means of grace. For if the lost soul could, as 
 I have elsewhere said, ascribe his perdition 
 exclusively to an absolute divine determina- 
 tion, his sufferings would be mitigated, if not 
 removed. But the very reverse of this — the 
 consciousness of his personal guilt — will be 
 the means of promoting his endless wretched- 
 ness. 
 
 The only proof that any one is in a hopeless 
 condition, must consist in his perverse con- 
 tinuance in unbelief and impenitence. As 
 long as he so remains, there is every reason 
 for apprehension; and the more so, in propor- 
 tion to the length of time, and the extent of 
 his privileges. Should he die in this state, we 
 have the assurance of his ruin. But the mo- 
 ment we have evidence of his awakening to a 
 sense of sin, and repenting of it, our grounds 
 of alarm are removed. And he may be satis- 
 fied that God is fully as willing to accept of 
 him as of any sinner on earth. It is our duty 
 to take warning from the fact that thousands 
 die with a seared conscience, to whom in life, 
 every opportunity was offered. But if it be 
 our own earnest desire to escape such a doom 
 as justice dispenses to them, and if we adopt 
 
176 LETTEHS TO AN 
 
 the means, under God, of doing so, we may- 
 dismiss all fears of being included among their 
 number: fully assured, as we should be, that 
 the loss of the soul must be a fault of our own. 
 
 Once more, My Dear Sir, let me beseech 
 you to cease harassing yourself with imaginary 
 difficulties. Say no more with the sorrowing 
 women who were seeking their Lord — " who 
 shall roll us away the stone?" — The stone is 
 already gone. No impediment is in our way 
 to salvation, but such as we place there our- 
 selves. The fountain of mercy is unlocked: 
 and the path to it is as open and plain as infi- 
 nite love can make it. 
 
 When you take up the Holy Volume, see 
 that you do not render it " a snare and a trap." 
 Let no apparent inconsistency startle you. 
 Remember that you are not called on to re- 
 concile its declarations, but to believe them. 
 Once admitted into your heart, they will re- 
 concile themselves. " Be not afraid, only be- 
 lieve," is the language of the blessed Re- 
 deemer himself. 
 
 I am yours, &c. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 177 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 Perplexity of reading the word of God— Complaint of the want of personal 
 application — Natural aversion to the Bible — Mistaken expectations — An 
 impious practice— Failure arising from listlessness in reading -Want of 
 consideration— Forgetting that God is the author — Looking for an ex- 
 traneous something— How the Spirit imparts the right meaning— Duty 
 of becoming familiar with the Plan of Salvation— Caution relative to 
 reading other books — Concluding advice. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR. 
 
 One of your expressions merits particular 
 notice: " Although I am confident that the 
 Bible is the Word of God, and that it is the 
 ordinary means, in his hands, of relieving 
 the spiritual wants of his Creatures, yet it 
 appears not of the least avail to me. It 
 meets none of my difficulties. It presents 
 no personal application to my own mind. 
 There is in it nothing that is suitable to my 
 exigencies. I have thought a thousand 
 times, that I should rejoice to see a plain 
 delineation of myself ; something in a tan- 
 gible form, to fix and rivet my attention. 
 It is of the reverse of all this I complain. 
 Every thing appears confused and indefi- 
 nite, as it regards my own situation. In 
 s2 
 
178 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 some portions of this Book, I can discover 
 beauties which my judgment approves; 
 and I can take some little interest in its 
 Historical records. But although I task 
 myself, in hopes of some development, or 
 some discovery not yet made, I shut it 
 again and again, as much in the dark as 
 ever." 
 
 Sad complaint of a soul distressed with a 
 sense of its loneliness, and sighing for an ob- 
 ject suited to its necessities! And what a dis- 
 appointment does it indicate! To how many 
 murmurs does it give rise! How often does 
 it create a wish that the Bible were not what 
 it is! — But where is the fault ? Certainly not 
 in the book itself; but in the mind of the 
 reader. And, in evidence of this, we might 
 mention the different impressions which may 
 be made on the same mind, at different times, 
 and under different circumstances. The Scrip- 
 tures are not always the same to the Christian 
 himself. In seasons of coldness their energy 
 and interest are, in a great measure, lost. Con- 
 viction of their intrinsic value, and individual 
 reference, will indeed continue. But it is 
 conviction from past, not from present expe- 
 rience. And even in the mind destitute of 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 179 
 
 any spiritual taste, the effect left by a perusal 
 of the sacred pages may, and does, vary, both 
 in degree and character. The same may be 
 asserted of any piece of intelligence, which 
 shall be of equal value to ten persons, to whom 
 it is communicated, and yet the effect shall not 
 be precisely the same upon any two of them. 
 It must be admitted as an universal truth, 
 that the natural understanding can have no 
 relish for the spiritualities of the Gospel. A 
 man of this description would not only enter- 
 tain some repugnance to its phraseology, or 
 the singularity of its diction — a fault, if it be 
 such, which arose from the state of the age in 
 which our translation was made, as well as 
 from a subject without analogy — but he 
 would regard it as something so mystical in 
 its character, and so different from his natural 
 ideas of religion, as to produce an aversion 
 which he may often find it difficult to repress. 
 Habit and education may, in certain cases, and 
 to a certain degree, qualify this repugnance. 
 And a sense of duty, or a negative kind of 
 veneration for what is divine, might carry the 
 effect somewhat further. Yet without an ac- 
 quired taste for spiritual things, there can be 
 none of those peaceful feelings which are the 
 
ISO LETTERS TO AN 
 
 legitimate fruits of the Holy Word in the re- 
 newed soul. 
 
 But admitted as all this may be, on the part 
 of the Inquirer, it furnishes no solution to his 
 most pressing questions. ' If he can not enter 
 with all that freedom into the comforts of the 
 Gospel, so fully avowed by the growing Chris- 
 tian: if there be no delight for him in ponder- 
 ing the testimonies of God — why does he not 
 find something suited to his own case, in a 
 Revelation expressly intended to be univer- 
 sal — something adapted to relieve an anxiety 
 its own truths have occasioned?' Perhaps 
 the following remarks may furnish a partial 
 answer to his question: The convicted sin- 
 ner is usually disposed, on his first alarm, to 
 resort to the Bible for light and relief; and he 
 is right in doing so. But he is not unapt to 
 open its pages with expectations which can 
 never be justified by success. He looks di- 
 rectly for some instantaneous operation upon 
 his mind, perceptible in itself and miraculous 
 in its nature. He has, perhaps, heard of 
 the wonderful influence thus produced upon 
 others, and readily anticipates the same in 
 his own behalf. Something is immediately 
 to occur worthy of the power of the Divine 
 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 181 
 
 Word. Some energetic passage is to carry its 
 force, at once, to the heart, with light and 
 life. He reads. — No such result ensues. — 
 And the disappointment changes the attitude 
 of his thoughts, and the nature of the impres- 
 sions. 
 
 Now the cause of this disappointment is 
 obvious. His mind has been occupied with 
 fanciful expectations, and the proper bearing 
 of the truths which he read, was suffered to 
 escape it. A miraculous energy w T as antici- 
 pated from language, without its reaching him 
 by the ordinary channel of reflection and 
 comparison. This is a perversion of the de- 
 sign of the Scriptures. And it was no won- 
 der it was fruitless of all benefit to the heart 
 or to the mind. Whatever extraordinary 
 events of this kind may have occurred in 
 the lives of others — and not a few of them 
 have been the offspring of a heated imagina- 
 tion — they should never form the object of 
 our own expectations. The dealings of the 
 Holy Spirit are not likely to be inconsistent 
 with what is suited to man as an intelligent 
 and intellectual creature. Depend upon it, 
 any expectation of miraculous influence, as 
 the ground of consolation, or as the rule of 
 
182 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 practice, is indicative of some radical defect. 
 Here the hope is not placed upon any thing 
 in the Word itself, but, virtually, on the ex- 
 pected influence, whatever it may be. This 
 is a regard to neither reason nor revelation; 
 but it may be the effect of that superstition to 
 which a weak mind is ever prone; and from 
 which an intellect of even greater strength is 
 not always exempted. And if there be any 
 thing, above all others, most adapted to pro- 
 mote an unhallowed enthusiasm, it is this. 
 
 I have known others who looked for no mi- 
 raculous effect on their feeling, and yet who 
 stretched their expectations to a point not less 
 far: Who, in the midst of distressing fears, 
 resolved to dismiss their apprehensions, or to 
 change them into despair, by an appeal to 
 which they were confident of an answer: and, 
 for this purpose, resolved, that on opening the 
 Bible the first passage should be taken as the 
 answer from God respecting their future fate. 
 And an instance is now presented to my own 
 recollection, of this baneful trifling with the 
 hidden things of God. 
 
 It was that of a female who had suffered a 
 morbidness of feeling to weaken both her 
 sense of duty and her judgment. In an un- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 183 
 
 happy moment she had resolved to take the 
 first verse which met her eye as her answer 
 from Heaven. The experiment failed; for the 
 verse was a portion of genealogy. The next 
 trial presented a sentence quite as incapable of 
 leading to any decision. The third produced 
 a word of reproof to the impenitent sinner. 
 This was deemed conclusive. The former fail- 
 ures were considered a reluctance on the part 
 of her Maker to disclose her fate; and this idea 
 strengthened the conviction that a final answer 
 had been given her. The shock which succeed- 
 ed this supposed discovery was followed by a 
 gradual and growing indifference to the con- 
 cerns of her soul. Happily, some years after 
 these serious impressions returned ; and the sub- 
 ject of them is now, we have reason to believe, 
 an eminent Christian. And to this day, she 
 does not cease to lament the presumption 
 which kept her back so long from the Redeem- 
 er; and does she ever name the transition with- 
 out emotion, in recollecting the danger to 
 which it exposed her. 
 
 The impiety and absurdity of such a practice 
 
 ; will plainly appear, when we recollect how 
 
 diametrically it is opposed to the prescribed 
 
 will of God, to whom alone secret things be- 
 
184 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 long. We have no right to seek for superna- 
 tural evidence of our condition. This is to be 
 ascertained only by the heart and the life. And 
 any satisfaction which can ever be obtained in 
 this forbidden way, will usually be unaccom- 
 panied with a single mark of grace. The 
 heart will continue unaffected; and the disposi- 
 tion and temper will undergo no favourable 
 change. All the gratitude w 7 hich may be sup- 
 posed to arise in the bosom, is the product of 
 a selfish feeling; and will be disconnected with 
 a love of the true character of God. The pro- 
 per source of our comfort should be found in 
 the fitness of the Word to our wants, and not 
 in the particular state of our minds. 
 
 A third reason why the Bible continues a 
 sealed book in the hands of many, is to be found 
 in the listlessness with which they turn over its 
 pages. We should imagine that one who is 
 deeply impressed with a sense of his danger, 
 would exert all his powers to obtain the mean- 
 ing of what he believes to be the will of his 
 God. Such, however, is not the fact. The 
 very uneasiness or distress which drove him 
 to seek a remedy in the Scriptures, frequently 
 diverts his attention from them. His thoughts 
 are confused. Or, if they are concentrated on 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 185 
 
 any point, it is that of his particular situation. 
 It is thus he reads chapter after chapter, hardly 
 knowing the nature of the subject before him: 
 and when the task is, for a season, relinquish- 
 ed, not a trace is left in the memory. There 
 is a strong temptation to such abstraction of 
 mind; not only when we resort to the Word of 
 God for relief under temporal affliction — when 
 the subject of our sorrow usurps the place in 
 our reflections which the remedy should take 
 — but even when apprehensions of danger to 
 our souls have induced us to apply to the Bible. 
 Against this evil I would seriously caution you. 
 The consequences which result at the time are 
 not all that ensue: This inattention, repeated, 
 easily grows into a habit; and thus, without 
 being sensible of it, the Inquirer nullifies one of 
 the very means of grace. Have you never detect- 
 ed yourself in this default? Have you not 
 sometimes closed this life-giving volume, with- 
 out being able to recollect a single perfect idea 
 which it might have conveyed to your under- 
 standing? 
 
 Another reason why all expectation from the 
 Sacred Record fails the Inquirer, consists in 
 the impatience often attendant on his situation; 
 especially where the natural temperament is 
 
186 LETTERS TO AH 
 
 ardent and sanguine. I refer to the practice 
 of turning eagerly and hastily from one passage 
 to another, or from one part of the volume to 
 another, without waiting to canvass the mean- 
 ing of either. I do not mean here, as in a for- 
 mer case, that the object looked for is something 
 to produce a sudden and miraculous effect. The 
 reader, in this instance, is rather in pursuit of 
 something descriptive of his present peculiar 
 feelings; and yet does not wait long enough to 
 ponder on any thing, to ascertain its meetness 
 to his condition. He may not, as in the case 
 first mentioned, expect a wonder to be w T rought 
 by an expression found at random, and made in- 
 strumental of comfort to him, foreign from its 
 original design, or not, as may be; but he ex- 
 pects that whatever is adapted to the condition 
 of his mind, will appear so at a glance. 
 
 That some parts of the Bible are not fitted to 
 meet his cares is very certain; for relief to the 
 mourner, or instruction to the convicted, was 
 but one of the great ends for which it was in- 
 tended by its divine Author. But it is equally 
 certain that no part can effect the purpose de- 
 sired, ordinarily, without serious thoughts on 
 the side of the reader. Surely the man who is 
 credibly informed that a. certain document 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 187 
 
 contains a clause which materially affects his 
 own interest, would weigh well each clause as 
 he reads it. His attention would be arrested 
 by every part which is not obviously distinct 
 from his own concerns. How much rather 
 should the awakened sinner examine the pur- 
 port of the sacred pages, with reflection and 
 care! 
 
 Others, again, miss their aim by forgetting 
 the nature and character of the book, even 
 while engaged in its perusal. This may be of 
 serious consequence; and must necessarily re- 
 tard the end they have in view. 
 
 Never cease to remember, My Dear Sir, that 
 the instruction you are receiving as you pore 
 over the Bible, is directly from God himself: 
 — from him who is able to make it, through his 
 blessing, effectual to your salvation. It is a so- 
 lemn thought, which should occur to every 
 reader — that Jehovah speaks. And the more 
 deeply we can impress this upon our minds, 
 while we hold the volume before us, the more 
 confident may we be of success in our inquiry. 
 Indeed it is from a sense of this, that we should 
 hope to derive the virtues of the Divine Word. 
 An infidel of my acquaintance, in looking 
 over the pages of the Bible attempted to keep 
 
188 ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 
 
 in mind the supposition that the Creator was 
 its author, merely with a design to discover the 
 effect it might produce on his understanding. 
 Now as it is sometimes possible for a lively fan- 
 cy to produce, for a moment, the effects of truth 
 itself, it was so here. Under the idea of di- 
 vine authority, this reader saw something ad- 
 mirably adapted to the relation which man, as 
 a dependent creature, sustains towards his Crea- 
 tor. Conviction of his own danger, and, sub- 
 sequently, the knowledge of Jesus Christ, suc- 
 ceeded what was intended to have been at first, 
 an experiment on the imagination. 
 
 You, My Dear Friend, need no proof that 
 the Bible is of Divine authority. And yet it is 
 very possible for you to keep this essential truth 
 too far from your sight, and thus to lose the 
 benefits it is adapted to convey. 
 
 One more error worthy of notice, is that of 
 looking for a meaning in the Word of God 
 which it was never designed to give: an expec- 
 tation of a hidden something, to be brought to 
 light by the Holy Spirit, through the medium 
 of the Divine language: or in other words, of 
 a certain additional quality to be communicat- 
 ed, by that powerful agent, to what the Inqui- 
 rer is reading. — And I have sometimes known 
 him to wait for this without taking any pains, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 189 
 
 on his own part, to comprehend what he was 
 perusing. An erroneous apprehension of this 
 kind may be an effectual check to his success. 
 " The Office of the Holy Spirit/' to use the 
 words of another, " is not to make known to 
 us any truths which are not already contained 
 in the Bible; but to make clear to our under- 
 standings the truths which are contained in it. 
 He opens our understandings to understand the 
 Scriptures. The Word of God is the instru- 
 ment by which the Spirit worketh. He does 
 not tell us any thing that is out of the record; 
 but all that is within it he sends home with 
 clearness and effect upon the mind. He does 
 not make us wise above that which is written, 
 but he makes us wise up to that which is written. 
 When a telescope is directed to some distant 
 landscape, it enables us to see what we could 
 not otherwise have seen; but it does not ena- 
 ble us to see anv thing which has not a real ex- 
 istence in the prospect before us." 
 
 As to the question, f whether in the act of 
 teaching us the meaning of the Scriptures, the 
 Spirit imparts the necessary information by a 
 direct communication to our minds/ — let me 
 answer you in the language of an elegant wri- 
 ter of the present day: u A man that is born 
 2 T 
 
190 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 blind, if placed in the centre of the most attrac- 
 tive scenery that nature ever exhibited, can see 
 no objects. There are the objects; there is also 
 the medium of vision; if it should please the 
 Almighty to open his eyes, he will first discern 
 them indistinctly, afterwards more clearly ; and 
 when more accustomed to the exercise of his 
 newly acquired faculty of sight, he will be able 
 tojtrace their forms, to distinguish their colours, 
 and to make a correct calculation of their rela- 
 tive distances. He will, when his eyes are 
 open, see no object which did not exist when 
 he was blind; and when he does see them, it 
 will be through the medium of his own eye, 
 though for the capacity of vision he is indebted 
 to a supernatural cause. So in reference to the 
 spirit of God. He gives to us the power of spiri- 
 tual discernment, but that power is exerted 
 through the medium of our own judgment"* 
 The spirit opened the eyes of the apostles to see 
 clearly the meaning of their ascended Master's 
 instructions; many of which they had forgotten; 
 and of none of which they had possessed a right 
 understanding before. It is in the same man- 
 ner he operates in the present day. And un- 
 til he do so, the Gospel will be, as it respects 
 
 * Spirit and Manners of the Age. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 191 
 
 our main object, a dead letter to the most gift- 
 ed of us. 
 
 Such are some of the causes of an utter fail- 
 ure, in many instances, in the attempt to find 
 relief in the word of God: And where either 
 of these exist, such a failure should as certainly 
 be expected as any effect is expected from its 
 cause. It is hence that we sometimes hear the 
 Awakened sinner declaring that his difficulties, 
 instead of being removed, are multiplied; his 
 anxiety, instead of being gratified in its de- 
 mands, is baffled. This is harassing in the ex- 
 treme. — But he should not have forgotten that, 
 while the illumination of the Holy Spirit is ne- 
 cessary to a saving understanding of the Scrip- 
 tures, the reader is bound to use all the means 
 of acquiring thatlight; and to avoid every thing 
 that could possibly impede it. 
 
 When I say that it is the Inquirer's duty to 
 use all means of acquiring spiritual light, 1 refer 
 not only to the exercise of prayer, which 
 should accompany all his own exertions, but to 
 the duty of making himself conversant with the 
 plan, of Salvation. That God may, and some- 
 times does bless his Holy Word, without clear 
 and discriminating views on the subject, — es- 
 pecially where there is no opportunity of ac- 
 
192 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 quiring them — is very certain. But, for the 
 most part, it will be found that the Divine assis- 
 tance is furnished in proportion to our own ac- 
 tive and sincere desires; and to our efforts to 
 obtain distinct apprehensions of the truth as it 
 is in Christ. Where these are wanting, the 
 hope of acceptance and pardon, — even though 
 obtained— with all the comfort which attends 
 it, is not only liable to fluctuations, but is even 
 uncertain in its tenure. Trifling changes in 
 outward circumstances, or in the animal spirits, 
 may bring back a despondency which the pray- 
 er of faith had dissipated, unless the object of 
 that faith be kept before the mind; an end 
 which we can always accomplish the more 
 readily as our views are more intelligent: — It 
 was a good remark of an eminent Christian on 
 his death-bed, that the calm and quiet of mind 
 which he had so much enjoyed during life,arose, 
 M not so much from a greater measure of grace 
 than other Christians had, or from an immedi- 
 ate witnessing of the Spirit; but because he had 
 a more clear understanding of the covenant of 
 grace than many others; having studied and 
 preached it so many years. "* 
 
 During a period of anxiety, when the Word 
 
 * Brook's Cabinet, p. 113. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 193 
 
 of God seems to afford no consolation to the In- 
 quirer, there is a strong temptation to rove 
 abroad in search of something to meet difficul- 
 ties and feelings, which are not then met by the 
 sacred Volume. And it is indeed true that 
 many excellent works of pious Divines may as- 
 sist him in part of his perplexities. But I have 
 sometimes had reason to fear that an undue de- 
 pendence on these had impeded the progress of 
 the reader. I have said an 'undue dependence? 
 for there is always some hazard of this, when 
 the language of Holy Writ has discouraged his 
 efforts to understand its meaning. Guard 
 against this temptation. Remember that all, in 
 these works, which could be of value in your 
 own case, is derived from the Bible itself. And 
 whatever blessing may rest upon a prayerful 
 perusal of them, is from the fact that they are 
 a species of ministration of the Word. This is 
 the fountain-head, from which all else are but 
 so many streams, liable to a greater or less de- 
 gree of impurity, as they pass through distant 
 grounds. 
 
 And now, my friend, before I close this let- 
 ter, I can not forbear expressing a fear that the 
 remarks I have made may lead to an error in 
 practice; and thus, by detaining you from the 
 
194 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 great end in view, defeat my own purpose. 
 Let me beseech you, then, not to wait for any 
 given degree of knowledge before you dis- 
 charge the primary duty of making an unre- 
 served surrender of yourself to Christ. Clear 
 and full perceptions of divine truth are indeed 
 necessary to evangelical and substantial peace. 
 But you know enough to understand that God 
 demands your whole heart at once. While 
 you withhold this, all else is a fruitless form. 
 Renounce, then, yourself, and all that is of hu- 
 man expectation: and while you do so, be it 
 your prayer — " enlighten thou mine eyes to 
 behold the wonderful things contained in thy 
 Law!" 
 
 Very truly, 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 195 
 
 LETTER IX, 
 
 The folly of expending time in attempting to reconcile difficult 
 The duty of diligence in examining the proper application of the Truth 
 — The question, "what part of the Bible shall I read ?"— Quotations- 
 Application of a Parable— A personal appeal to Christ directed in Scrip- 
 ture — Conclusion. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 In order to obtain a right understanding of 
 the Word of God, it is by no means necessary 
 that you should engage your mind in endea- 
 vouring to elucidate its difficult passages, or to 
 reconcile its apparent contradictions. This 
 were an employment very distinct from your 
 present purposes; and not unlikely to throw 
 hindrances in your way. The mind of that 
 man has a strong bias to skepticism, who in- 
 sists on having every difficulty satisfactorily 
 explained, before he will apply the sacred 
 truths to himself. There is very little sin- 
 cerity in his desires for spiritual peace, and 
 no very deep sense of either his guilt or his 
 danger. Thousands are partakers of the Hea- 
 
196 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 venly blessing, who are far from being versed 
 in these matters, and have very little curiosity 
 about them. The convinced sinner has not 
 time for such an occupation; and if he had, its 
 influence is unsalutary. He whose peace is 
 made with his God, might indeed employ a 
 portion of his leisure in such a pursuit; but 
 even then, the engagement should be second- 
 ary to the study of practical and spiritual 
 truths, or the plan of salvation, as unfolded in 
 the Gospel. But until that great end is com- 
 pleted, it is a wide departure from the line of 
 duty to exercise our diligence in any thing not 
 closely connected with matters of the heart. 
 And you know that it is very possible to en- 
 gross our attention with portions of the Bible 
 which may have no tendency to furnish spi- 
 ritual light, and which can in no way illus- 
 trate the important question before us. True 
 conviction of sin, and evangelical repentance, 
 arise from another quarter. And I should en- 
 tertain as much hope, — and indeed more, — in 
 the attempt to convince an infidel by the sim- 
 plest truths of the Gospel, than by the best 
 chain of reasoning, to establish its authentici- 
 ty: for even the highest success in such an 
 effort may bring him very little nearer to its 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 197 
 
 saving doctrines. I am equally sure, too, that 
 the most complete success of the Inquirer, in 
 his attempt to reconcile the difficult passages 
 of the Bible — whatever self-complacency or 
 pleasure may follow — will end in little or no 
 moral good upon his mind. In the mean- 
 while, this diversion of his thoughts from the 
 grand object of inquiry, is attended with a 
 chilling and deleterious influence on his affec- 
 tions: And thus is the Sacred Book rendered 
 an instrument, not of deepening his impres- 
 sions, but of erasing them altogether. 
 
 The following direction may be of some im- 
 portance: — Whenever, in the course of reading 
 a practical or spiritual part of the Bible, you 
 discover any thing which appears to convey 
 an imperfect meaning, or presents no defined 
 idea to your mind, ponder it well. Do not 
 suffer it to escape your recollection, without 
 extracting something from it. Never discard, 
 as too abstruse, what on a little reflection may 
 appear rich in meaning. It is attention to such 
 a rule as this, which comprises a profitable 
 reading of the Word. And a single sentence 
 made the subject of deep thought, and ren- 
 dered part of the materials of prayer, is worth 
 u 
 
198 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 whole chapters of that more general attention, 
 which we commonly give to other books. 
 
 All opposition, or repugnance, which the 
 Inquirer may feel to the language or ideas of 
 Scripture, should constrain him to greater im- 
 portunity in prayer, while it proves, more 
 fully, his need of divine assistance. Depend 
 upon it, there is nothing in the whole progress 
 of the Awakened Sinner's experience, which 
 is not adapted, if he fairly consider it, to teach 
 him the evils of his unrenewed state, and the 
 duty of his entire dependence on God. In- 
 stead, then, of disheartening him in his pur- 
 suit, all the difficulties he may find, ought, by 
 demonstrating to him the necessity of a radi- 
 cal change, to conduct him to that acceptable 
 frame of mind, with which he can not ap- 
 proach a throne of grace in vain: — But of 
 this, more hereafter. 
 
 The question which you ask — " what part 
 of the Sacred Volume do you recommend to 
 my particular attention?" is one which is 
 very often proposed; and occurs very natu- 
 rally to the mind of an Inquirer who is eager 
 to reach some defined point, on which he de- 
 sires to reflect with fixedness of thought. But 
 it is a question not easily answered. Nor am 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 199 
 
 I by any means sure that a particular direction 
 is always adviseable. The great variety of 
 cases which are presented by the tempers and 
 circumstances of different persons, would ren- 
 der any minute direction inexpedient. The 
 best general advice which could be given, 
 would perhaps, be, to become familiar with 
 those portions which describe the sinfulness of 
 our nature — The character of the Being with 
 whom we have to do — and the way of pardon 
 and reconciliation. Convinced as the Inquirer 
 may be of his depravity or sin, he can not be 
 too sensible of it, as the ground of his condem- 
 nation. A just knowledge of the Divine cha- 
 racter will deepen this impression, and give it 
 a definite form. While, at the same time, a 
 distinct comprehension of the way of salvation, 
 as it is revealed in the Cross, is indispensable 
 to produce that humble and penitent frame of 
 mind, without which there can be no true sub- 
 mission, and until we have attained which, all 
 our cares will be unavailing. 
 
 In regard to the natural state of man, let 
 me request you to examine, and apply, with 
 care, the following passages, in connexion with 
 those which are parallel. — It is of little conse- 
 quence that I have not disposed them in order; 
 
200 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 but it is of vast importance that here, and in 
 all other instances of examining divine truth, 
 you lay aside every pre-conceived notion of 
 your own; and exercise all the candour which 
 a subject of eternal life and death demands, at 
 your hands. 
 
 "The imagination of man's heart is evil 
 from his youth. Who can bring a clean thing 
 out of an unclean? not one. What is man 
 that he should be clean? And he which is 
 born of a woman that he should be righteous? 
 The Lord looked down from Heaven upon the 
 children of men, to see if there were any that 
 did understand and seek God. They are all 
 gone aside, they are altogether become filthy; 
 there is none that doeth good, no, not one. 
 Corrupt are they, and have done abominable 
 iniquity. This is an evil among all things that 
 are done under the sun, that there is one event 
 unto all: yea, also the heart of the sons of men 
 is full of evil, and madness is in their heart 
 while they live, and after that they go to the 
 dead. Behold 1 was shapen in iniquity, and 
 in sin did my mother conceive me. For there 
 is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good 
 and sinneth not. Because sentence against an 
 evil work is not executed speedily, therefore 
 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 201 
 
 the heart of the sons of men is fully set in 
 them to do evil. Wherefore as by one man 
 sin entered into the world, and death by sin, 
 and so death passed upon all men, for that all 
 have sinned. Among whom also we all had 
 our conversation in times past, in the lust of 
 our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and 
 of the mind; and were by nature the children 
 of wrath even as others. The whole world 
 lieth in wickedness. The world hateth me, 
 because I testify of it that the works of it are 
 evil. The carnal mind is enmity against God; 
 for it is not subject to the law of God, neither 
 indeed can be. The natural man receiveth 
 not the things of the Spirit of God: for they 
 are foolishness unto him: neither can he know 
 them, because they are spiritually discerned."* 
 On the fulness of pardon through the Re- 
 deemer, examine the following: " He was 
 wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised 
 for our iniquities: the chastisement of our 
 peace was upon him; and with his stripes we 
 are healed. All we like sheep, have gone 
 astray: we have turned every one to his own 
 
 " Gen. viii. 21. Job, xiv. 4. xv. 14—16. Ps. xiv. 1—3. liii. 1—3. Ec- 
 cles. ix. 3. Ps. li. 5. Eccles. vii. 20 viii. 11. Rom. i. 21—23—27-29. 
 v. 8, 10, 12. Eph. ii. 1-3. 1 John, v. 19. John, vii. 7. Rom. viii. 7. 1 
 Corin. ii. 14. Eph. iv. 17, 18. 
 U2 
 
202 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 way; and the Lord hath laid on him the ini- 
 quity of us all. In that day there shall be a 
 fountain opened to the house of David, and to 
 the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for 
 uncleanness. Be it known unto you, there- 
 fore, men and brethren, that through this man 
 is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins. 
 In whom we have redemption through his 
 blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the 
 riches of his grace, who gave himself for our 
 sins, that he might deliver us from this present 
 evil world, according to the will of God and 
 our Father. This is a faithful saying, and 
 worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ 
 came into the world to save sinners. For I 
 delivered unto you, first of all, that which 1 
 also received, how that Christ died for our 
 sins according to the Scriptures. So Christ 
 was once offered to bear the sins of many; 
 and unto them that look for him shall he ap- 
 pear the second time. For, by one offering, 
 he hath perfected forever them that are sancti- 
 fied. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and 
 just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us 
 from all unrighteousness: And ye know that 
 he was manifested to take away our sins. 
 Who his own self bare our sins in his own 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 203 
 
 body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins 
 should live unto righteousness."* 
 
 And yet that all this may be of no avail 
 to us without divine aid, is fully affirmed: 
 "Man's goings are of the Lord; how can a 
 man then understand his own way. Can the 
 Ethiopian change his skin or the Leopard his 
 spots? then may ye also do good that are ac- 
 customed to do evil. All things are delivered 
 unto me of my Father: and no man knoweth 
 the Son but the Father; neither knoweth any 
 man the Father save the Son, and he to whom- 
 soever the Son will reveal him. A man can 
 receive nothing except it be given him from 
 Heaven. No man can come unto me except 
 the Father, which hath sent me, draw him. 
 Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think 
 any thing as of ourselves; but our sufficiency 
 is of God. For by grace are ye saved through 
 faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift 
 of God. t 
 
 But that God willeth the salvation of the 
 sinner, and tendereth his own blessing to the 
 sincere penitent, is obvious from the follow- 
 
 • Is. liii. 5, 6. Zech. xiii. 1. Acts, xiii. 38. Eph. i. 7. Gal. i. 4. 1 
 Tim. i. 15. 1 Conn. xv. 3. Heb. i. 3. ix. 23. x. 14. 1 John, i. 7—9. iii. 5. 
 IPet.ii. 24. 
 
 1 Prov. xx. 24. Jer. xiii. 23. Matt. xi. 27. John, iii. 27. vi. 44, 65. 
 John, xv. 4, 5. viii. 43. 2 Cor. iii. 5. Eph. ii. 8. 
 
204 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ing: " Turn ye at my reproof; behold I will 
 pour out my spirit upon you, I will make 
 known my words unto you. I have not 
 spoken in secret > in a dark place of the earth: 
 1 said not unto the seed of Jacob, seek ye me 
 in vain. Look unto me and be ye saved, all 
 the ends of the earth; for I am God, and there 
 is none else. Incline your ear and come unto 
 me; hear and your soul shall live. Seek ye 
 the Lord while he may be found; call ye 
 upon him while he is near. Let the wicked 
 forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his 
 thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord, 
 and he will have mercy upon him: and to our 
 God, for he will abundantly pardon. As I 
 live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the 
 death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn 
 from his way and live, turn ye, turn ye, from 
 your evil ways; for why will ye die? For 1 
 have no pleasure in the death of him that 
 dieth, saith the Lord God. Wherefore turn 
 yourselves, and live ye. Oh Israel thou hast 
 destroyed thyself, but in me is thy help. 
 Turn ye to the strong hold, ye prisoners of 
 hope: even to-day do I declare that I will 
 render double unto thee. Blessed are they 
 which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 205 
 
 for they shall be filled. I am not come to call 
 the righteous, but sinners, to repentance. Come 
 unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden 
 and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon 
 you, and learn of me: for I am meek and lowly 
 in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. 
 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. 
 For the Son of Man is come to seek and to 
 save that which was lost. If any man thirst, 
 let him come unto me and drink. For this is 
 good and acceptable in the sight of God our 
 Saviour, who will have all men to be saved, 
 and to come unto the knowledge of the truth. 
 Behold 1 stand at the door and knock: If any 
 man hear my voice, and open the door, I will 
 come in to him, and will sup with him, and he 
 with me. I will give unto him that is athirst 
 of the fountain of the water of life freely. And 
 the Spirit and the Bride say, come, and let him 
 that heareth say, come, and let him that is 
 athirst, come: and whosoever will, let him 
 take the water of life freely."* 
 
 That God charges their failure upon sinner's 
 themselves, is the current testimony of Scrip- 
 
 * Prov. i. 23, Is. xlv. 19, 22. Iv. 1—3, 6, 7. Ez. xxxiii. 11, xviii. 32. 
 Hos. xiii. 9. Zech. ix. 12. Matt. v. 6. ix. 12, 13. xi. 23, 30. Luke, 
 xix. 10. John, vii. 37, 38, 1 Tim, i. 16. ii. 3, 4. Rev. iii. 18, 20. xxi. 6, 
 xxii. 17. 
 
206 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ture: "Repent and turn yourselves from all 
 your transgressions; so iniquity shall not be 
 your ruin. Cast away from you all your trans- 
 gressions, whereby ye have transgressed, and 
 make you a new heart and a new spirit: for 
 why will ye die? And he sent forth his ser- 
 vants to call them that were bidden to the 
 wedding: and they would not come. And 
 this is the condemnation, that light is come 
 into the world, and men loved darkness rather 
 than light, because their deeds were evil."* 
 
 To all this, and the parallel passages, let me 
 add the suggestion, that it would be well to 
 study, attentively, each of the particulars in the 
 Parable of the Prodigal Son: I have already had 
 occasion to advert to this, by w T ay of illustra- 
 tion. But it furnishes so rich and profitable a 
 subject for serious thought — such prominent 
 points of self-examination, — and so fine an in- 
 sight into the relative attitudes of the penitent 
 and his God, that I can not omit recommend- 
 ing it to your particular notice: 
 
 The subject of the story was a wanderer far 
 from his Father. He was destitute of every 
 thing that could satisfy the cravings of an im- 
 
 * Ezekiel, xviii. 30, 31. Matt. xxii. 3. xxiii. 37. John, iil. 19. viii. 
 45,46. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 207 
 
 mortal spirit. What a lively description of the 
 natural man! His efforts to obtain food were 
 vain. And how fruitless are the best devices 
 to satisfy the longings of the soul! " No man 
 gave unto him." Who can relieve him? 
 All trust in an arm of flesh must end in disap- 
 pointment. Neither his own works, nor sym- 
 pathy, nor pity, is found to avail him. " He 
 came to himself." What a discovery he 
 made of his forlorn condition! What a sensa- 
 tion of solitariness and abandonment, is that 
 which now occupies the bosom of the depen- 
 dent creature! He is alone. And help and 
 hope are far from him. There is not within 
 the compass of language a more emphatic sen- 
 tence than this — " He came to himself." 
 What a host of reflections does it bring to the 
 mind! The past, the present, and even the 
 future — how they unite in carrying their 
 gatherings of sorrow together! And what a 
 flood of light do they pour into the dark 
 chambers of that self to which he came! Here 
 is reason, most abundant, for all that loathing 
 of his condition which ensues in the mind of 
 the sinner, under conviction of sin. And then 
 the sense of shame in remaining from his fa- 
 ther's house — his personal ingratitude — his 
 
208 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 abuse of mercies — his base prostitution of the 
 means of grace — how admirably are all these 
 reflections adapted to sink him in the dust! It 
 is in this state of distress that he recalls to 
 mind the ability of his neglected parent to re- 
 lieve him; — and he sees the fitness of the 
 cheering invitations of the Gospel to his own 
 condition. Instead of being exalted by the 
 thought that all may yet be well with him, or 
 elated in dwelling on the tender kindness of 
 his parent, the very thought of parental favour 
 sinks him lower — the legitimate effect, on a 
 generous mind, of kindness from the injured 
 party. And in this humility he would be fed 
 as a servant — he would take the lowest condi- 
 tion — he aspires to nothing of self-exaltation. 
 An active resolution succeeds these reflections 
 — "/ will arise, and go to my father." 
 He does not lie still and bemoan his condition. 
 He does not wait for future facilities. A sense 
 of starvation will not permit the sufferer to 
 speculate on frivolous matters. Nor does he 
 inquire into any of the details which are unes- 
 sential to his purpose. u He arose" " Jl 
 great way off" he was seen — met — greeted 
 - — and embraced. There is something affect- 
 ing, too, in the simple statement of the inter 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 20§ 
 
 view. To the humble, and heart-felt confes- 
 sion of the Son, the Father gives no other an- 
 swer than that of an order to clothe the tattered 
 youth witha garment of honour — and to pre- 
 pare a festival of rejoicing for his famishing 
 child. And then how the feelings of the par- 
 ties act on each other! The sense of shame 
 and guilt, and the humility of the Son, awaken 
 the piety of a compassionate parent; and the 
 tenderness of the Father increases the self-con- 
 demnation of his offspring. Was ever descrip- 
 tion more true to nature ? 
 
 One consideration we should never forget; 
 for a recollection of it will prevent that con- 
 fusion respecting the use of the promises, 
 which is so very general: I mean that every 
 promise, or invitation, is given through the 
 Saviour: not merely that all salvation is the 
 purchase of his blood, but that in the view of 
 the promises themselves our eye is to be di- 
 rected to him; and our application to be made 
 personally to himself. His own language is — 
 " come unto me all ye that labour and are 
 heavy laden, and /will give you rest." " Him 
 that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." 
 
 After all, My Dear Sir, it is in comparing 
 the words of Scripture with our own condi- 
 
210 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 tion, that we use the proper means of rendering 
 it of avail to ourselves. It is in the unison of 
 the Divine language with our own state of 
 mind, that any positive effect is produced upon 
 us, As a general rule, therefore, the proper 
 method of studying the Word of God implies 
 a self-examination, at the same time; without 
 which, whatever the Holy Spirit is able to ef- 
 fect, independent of direct means, we ought 
 not to look for benefit to ourselves. 
 
 And, now, while I commend you to the 
 good Word of God, and to a prayerful exami- 
 nation of its suitableness to your own case, may 
 it indeed dwell in you richly in all wisdom. 
 May its hallowed truths be carried home, with 
 power to your heart, and bring to light within 
 you, the day spring from on high! 
 
 Yours very truly. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 211 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 On right desires — The Young Man in the Gospel— A complaint of the In- 
 quirer—One of the marks of right desires — A misinterpretation of Ro- 
 mans, ix. 3— Right desires not a mere fear of Hell — The breathings of 
 an awakened sinner — Reformation of life connected with sincerity — 
 And the spirit of forgiveness on our own part — Right desires not fitful — 
 Trials — Advice. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 There is no inconsistency in saying that 
 the sinner is directed to come to Christ with- 
 out delay, and yet that if his desires be of an 
 unsuitable character, all application will be 
 vain. The invitations of the Gospel extend to 
 all, whether they are accepted or not. And 
 the command unto all men is, to repent, and to 
 close with the terms of salvation. Even he 
 whose care and labour are expended in search 
 of earthly happiness, is not excluded from that 
 general invitation. But then the tender of 
 pardon and grace, as its language always clear- 
 ly implies, requires the relinquishment of one 
 pursuit, and the sincere engagement in another. 
 It declares the inadequacy of worldly plea- 
 sures to the demands of the soul; and proposes 
 a higher source of happiness. Now the only 
 question is, whether the object held out by the 
 
212 XETTERS TO AN 
 
 Gospel meet the consent and wish of the sin- 
 ner. If it do so, no impediment, unless it be 
 one of error in views, can remain in the way. 
 
 This is the sum of the whole matter before 
 us. It is spiritual life and peace which are of- 
 fered. And if they be acceptable to the sin- 
 ner, why then all is well. But where the taste 
 and affections cling to the world — or where an 
 attempt is made to compromise between God 
 and Mammon, — the object desired is not the 
 peace of the Redeemer, or the enjoyment of 
 spirital life, but something of a sensual nature. 
 
 Such was the instance of the Young Man in 
 tbe Gospel. He had heard of the tender of 
 salvation through Jesus Christ, and he came 
 eagerly to inquire, " what shall I do?" From 
 childhood he had paid deference to the moral 
 law; and the command to an external obedience 
 here seemed no way inconsistent with a spirit 
 of worldliness. But when he ascertained that 
 the means of indulging in such a spirit were to 
 be relinquished on the very entrance into a 
 heavenly life, he sorrowed at the sight of the 
 unwelcome alternative, and went away more 
 hopeless than he came. He certainly desired 
 salvation. But his heart was set upon the 
 world. Communion with God or the spiritual 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 213 
 
 pleasures of the Christian were not "in all his 
 thoughts." The sacrifice which he was re- 
 quired to make would have been of no moment 
 to one whose soul panted for the enjoyment of 
 a holy intercourse with God; for a common de- 
 sire in behalf of the two things is contradictory 
 in its nature. It is plain, then, that he under- 
 stood nothing of the character of the object 
 about which he was inquiring. Eternal life 
 must begin with spiritual dispositions; and for 
 these he had no wish. 
 
 Now let me apply this case: the man who 
 seeks for salvation may have an eye only to 
 the future blessedness of the Christian, if so, 
 he does not distinctly see what it is he pro- 
 fesses to be seeking; or else he would discover 
 within himself a repugnance to the very boon 
 he solicits. He may be willing, on delibera- 
 tion, to sacrifice his property rather than lose 
 his soul; and he would certainly be so to save 
 his life. But the pleasures of divine grace are 
 not attractive to his moral appetite. Nor has 
 he any present sincere wish that they should 
 be so. 
 
 There is not a more common complaint on 
 the part of a certain class of awakened sinners, 
 
 than the following: " My failure, after all 
 
 V2 
 
214 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 my efforts to obtain peace with Christy 
 leads me to fear that my desires are, in 
 some respects, spurious — wrong in their 
 character ', — and therefore inconsistent with 
 the will of God." And in answer to this, I 
 have more than once known a still greater con- 
 fusion created by metaphysical distinctions re- 
 lative to the operations of the will; or by di- 
 rections which occupy the attention with need- 
 less subleties. Erroneous or unacceptable de- 
 sires are only inclinations towards something 
 else than the grace of God. And such is, more 
 or less, the substance of all our mistakes on 
 this subject. 
 
 JI successful desire will be attended with 
 a willingness to relinquish all things, in 
 order to attain the great end in view. At 
 the present day, we are not likely to be re- 
 quired to give up our whole property, or to 
 forfeit our reputation, as a test of our sincerity. 
 But we shall always be required to lend the 
 whole weight of influence of both, to the cause 
 of the Redeemer. If it be not commanded that 
 we abandon the ordinary comforts or enjoy- 
 ments of life, it is enjoined that we enter into 
 none of those which are inconsistent with a 
 demeanour of piety, or which could cool our 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 215 
 
 affections, or unfit us for devotional duties; 
 Or, in other words, that whatever will inter- 
 fere with attainments in grace, or holiness, 
 should be relinquished. In this requisition 
 there is nothing but what is consistent with 
 our own happiness, and with the very end we 
 profess to have in view. 
 
 I am aware that far-stretched suppositions 
 have sometimes been formed on this subject as 
 tests of the disinterestedness and submission of 
 the Inquirer. Some have affirmed, that in or- 
 der to obtain the divine favour we should so 
 completely surrender our hearts and will to 
 God, and so disinterestedly refer to his honour, 
 as to be willing, if it would promote his glory, 
 to endure the loss of the soul. This extrava- 
 gant notion is not founded on mistaken ideas of 
 love to God alone: but has been supported by 
 a misinterpretation of the passage you have quot- 
 ed, in which the Apostle is supposed to prof- 
 fer the relinquishment of his own salvation, for 
 the greater glory to God in the salvation of 
 many.* But I see nothing in this passage to 
 countenance such an idea. The following pa- 
 raphrase, by a judicious expounder of Scrip- 
 ture, comes much nearer to the meaning of Su 
 
 * Rom. ix. 3. 
 
216 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 Paul: " For methinks I could even wish that 
 as Christ subjected himself to the curse, that 
 he might deliver us from it, so I myself like- 
 wise were made anathema after the example of 
 Christ; like him exposed to all the execrations 
 of an enraged people, and even to the infamous 
 and accursed death of crucifixion itself, for the 
 sake of my brethren and kinsmen according to 
 the flesh, that they might thereby be delivered 
 from the guilt they have brought upon their 
 own heads. "* The Apostle could never have 
 intended to say that he was willing to lie under 
 the eternal wrath of God for any consideration 
 of possible good that might accrue from the 
 doom. Such a supposition implies a palpable 
 contradiction: it declares that so great was his 
 love of God, that, if it would promote his hon- 
 our, he was willing to be doomed to hate him 
 for ever. 
 
 We have no rightto indulge in such paradoxi- 
 cal fancies. And it is visionary to test our sin- 
 cerity by questions which the Scriptures have 
 never presented to our notice. Moreover, to 
 require evidence from ourselves of the strongest 
 love to our Creator, as a prelude to giving our- 
 selves up to him, is to require that we become 
 
 * Dotldnd^e, in loco. 
 
A2TXI0TJS INQUIRER. 217 
 
 sincere Christians — or that we be already 
 what it is supposed we are seeking to be. 
 
 Besides, we may deceive ourselves by a very 
 natural error here: God demands that we fore- 
 go all that is earthly, or that we render all 
 things subservient to our spiritual interest. In 
 view of this requirement, and under an affect- 
 ing sense of his danger, the awakened sinner 
 may easily say — " I would give up all for 
 Christ" — while, at the same time, he may be 
 insensible that it is a legal tender he is making 
 — a barter of one thing for another: and con- 
 nected with this, he may feel as if he had a 
 right to the gift that he asks. The effort which 
 is visible in such an offer, renders it perfectly 
 plain that pardon eould avail him very little; 
 for his heart is still ^?et on the things he profes- 
 ses to relinquish. Now, although the invita- 
 tions of the Gospel are so universal, the promi- 
 ses of God are made only in behalf of a certain 
 state of mind, to which their fitness is express- 
 ed by their own terms: the hungry, the thirsty, 
 the poor in spirit, &c. And in order to ascer- 
 tain our sincerity, it is hence our questions 
 should arise, respecting the nature of our de- 
 sires. 
 
218 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 A mere wish to escape the sufferings of Hell 
 may make up but a small part of the desires of 
 the true penitent: and although there may be 
 always a variety of degrees of such feeling in 
 different cases; 1 have sometimes known of 
 those to whom it hardly occurred as a percepti- 
 ble part of their solicitude. The Scriptural de- 
 scriptions of Hell are well suited to alarm. They 
 do so by an appeal to our natural desire of self- 
 preservation. But then the directions to fly 
 from the wrath to come are only a use of the 
 Law to lead us to Christ. While they fix our 
 attention on the penalty of neglect, on the one 
 hand, they may induce us on the other, to ex- 
 amine the way of salvation, — a comparison of 
 w T hich with our true condition as it is, should 
 impress us with a sense of our wants. " Devils 
 believe and tremble." They believe in the 
 display of that eternal justice of which they are 
 victims. The dying impenitent sinner, too, 
 would willingly fly from the wrath to come. 
 But neither of these has an inclination to holi- 
 ness. 
 
 It is thus with the spurious desires of many, 
 who have no wish for present purity; or none 
 for its own sake. But who, on the contrary, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 219 
 
 feel a willingness for spirituality only as the less 
 of two evils. 
 
 Further: True desires may be connected 
 with no remarkably clear views of the loveliness 
 of grace. I will suppose the Inquirer to utter 
 the breathings of his heart in such language as 
 the following: " I see, in some measure, not 
 only the danger, but the emptiness of a worldly 
 portion. 1 have not tasted of the excellency of 
 a divine life, but I can form some vague idea of 
 its value, and its suitableness to a state of glory. 
 I can discover nothing in myself that promises 
 hope, but every thing that encourages despair. 
 I can exclaim, with Peter, Ho whom shall I go, 
 thou hast the words of eternal life. ? Yet 1 am 
 sensible that I do not love God — would that I 
 did! How contemptible is every thing com- 
 pared with this love !" 
 
 And can you say this? And do you earnest- 
 ly wish to know the whole truth as it is? And 
 in all this have you said — " I desire to desire 
 aright" — " I believe, help my unbelief?" 
 
 Sincerity as was before intimated, is insepa- 
 rable, from an effort on our own part, to reform 
 our disposition and life. Whatever temper is 
 opposed to a holy life — whatever unhallowed 
 practice — whether great or little, — will be free- 
 
220 
 
 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ]y relinquished The right eye is to be pluck* 
 ed out, or the right hand is to be cut off, and 
 the executioners of the sentence are to be our- 
 selves. We are not to wait, in the hope that 
 another and more gentle hand will relieve us 
 without an exertion on our own part. 
 
 There is one thing here which is too fre- 
 quently overlooked: The feelings of preju- 
 dice which we have entertained against any 
 one, even with a belief in their justice — or a 
 retaliatory disposition under a sense of wrong 
 received, — must be extinguished. All possi- 
 ble pains must be taken to destroy it. Before 
 we bring our gift to the altar, we are not only to 
 repair wrongs committed by ourselves* but we 
 are to foster a conciliatory temper. This is a 
 hint of far more extensive application than may 
 be generally imagined. I have seen those 
 whose sense of injury received, or whose per- 
 sonal wound of pride — kept open as it was 
 by embittered recollect ions, — detained them y 
 while they knew it not, from the great object 
 of their pursuit. They could express a willing- 
 ness to Jorgive but not to forget, while they 
 did not reflect that the temper which suggest- 
 ed this disposition, was that of a haughty bear- 
 ing — utterly unsuited to the posture of a sup- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 221 
 
 pliant for mercy. " Forgive as / forgive" is 
 the tenour of acceptable prayer. But this peti- 
 tion indicates not only a desire that our sins 
 may not be set to our account, but that accord- 
 ing to the divine blessing, they may be " cov- 
 ered over" — remembered no more. Hew suita- 
 ble to the state of some Inquirers is the conside- 
 ration of this part of the Lord's prayer! How 
 fitting to a mind that would be prepared to love 
 Him, whose pardon is sought, by a meekness 
 and gentleness of disposition. And how well 
 is it adapted to develope traits of a perverse 
 temper, where they have taken their secret 
 seat! 
 
 Acceptable desires will possess a permanency 
 of character. It is permanency which most dis- 
 tinguishes principle. Fitful wishes can pro- 
 duce no real good, and they designate an im- 
 portant defeat somewhere. I do not mean that 
 the strength or intensity of desire should con- 
 tinue exactly the same in any one. This is 
 hardly to be expected. But the prevalent lean- 
 ing of the mind will be to the grand concern 
 before him. His thoughts may be diverted 
 from it by transient occurrences; but they will 
 then still sustain an unfixed character, like the 
 shaken magnetic needle, until they are suffered 
 
222 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 to return to the direction in which alone they 
 can rest. It is this permanency which gives 
 the Inquirer an opportunity of turning every 
 thing to account, in the ordinary occurrences 
 of life. His bias of thought enables him to de- 
 rive some incentive to perseverance from eve- 
 ry thing with which he is concerned; while it 
 will assist him to gather from the same, a deep- 
 er insight into his own natural character. 
 
 I have tried to impress upon your mind, on 
 a former occasion, that the whole difficulty on 
 the part of the sinner may be resolved into his 
 unwillingness to take God upon his own terms. 
 — And it is not difficult to prove, that all the in- 
 terval between first impressions, and the peace 
 which flows from a reconciliation with Christ, 
 is occupied in a manner which clearly testifies 
 to the truth of this position. And is it not a 
 melancholy fact that all this time is occupied 
 in controversy with God? " Whosoever will, 
 let him come," is the language of Holy Writ: 
 And the reason why the Word of God does not 
 take up the different trials of the sinner, and 
 present to our notice the minute experience of 
 distinct cases — which you seem to think so ne- 
 cessary — is, that as all obstructions are refer- 
 able to some fault in the sinner himself, they 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 223 
 
 may be seen in the broad statement of his own 
 reluctance to be saved, or in that of the deceit- 
 fulness and treachery of the heart. Of the dan- 
 ger accruing from these, he is warned as dis- 
 tinctly as possible. It would hardly be impor- 
 tant, then, to extend these details. Whenever 
 the experience of a change in the heart of the 
 sinner is marked and distinct, he is usually able 
 to date it from the time in which he felt able 
 to relinquish all hold on himself or the world. 
 And it is then he can most clearly discover 
 that all his previous detention from hope con- 
 sisted in a defect here. 
 
 1 must again entreat you to think no more of 
 the many trials which seem to accompany all 
 your exertions. You ought to be able to ascer- 
 tain their true meaning; and to see in them an 
 additional reason for an immediate and unquali- 
 fied surrender to Jesus Christ. And then you 
 will observe that they have been over-ruled as 
 instruments of conferring on you a greater 
 knowledge of yourself and God. 
 
 The idea that so many evil thoughts come 
 into your mind, is indeed painful. But these 
 do not necessarily prove your desires to be 
 false and unacceptable. The best of Christians 
 have reasons to mourn over this. And you are 
 
224 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 to discriminate between tempting thoughts to 
 which your inclination assents, and those 
 which arise in opposition to your will, and 
 which you prayerfully endeavour to repress. 
 Should you ever have reason to indulge the 
 hope of the Christian, you will not cease to la- 
 ment your depravity. And now, while the 
 great issue is pending, you are not to expect 
 that Satan will relinquish his hold, without a 
 vigorous eflbrt to retain you. The rejoicing 
 of Heaven over a renewed soul is answered by 
 the malignant groans of Hell at the loss of a 
 victim. Reply to every discouraging sugges- 
 tion of the adversary by the Word of God. So 
 did the redeemer himself. And whenever 
 those discouragements are suggested by the 
 Scriptures, recollect that it is by detached and 
 mutilated sentences. It was so, too, in the 
 temptation of Christ* Abide by his example 
 in every such trial. 
 
 I will conclude this letter by remarking that 
 a serious Inquirer, who was much tried by evil 
 
 * In this instance, the quotation of Satan — " He shall give his Angels 
 charge concerning thee," is imperfect. It wants the adjunct, — "In all 
 thy ways :" that is, in the ways of one " dwelling in the secret place of 
 the Most High." He shall indeed be kept " in all his ways"— for these im- 
 ply a cordial obedience to the will of Jehovah : departing from which, with 
 any hope of safety, would be tempting God. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 225 
 
 thoughts, once told me that he never failed in 
 his efforts to discard them, when he carefully- 
 pondered over the fifty first Psalm. There is, 
 Indeed, much in it to occupy your reflections, 
 and to present as subjects of prayer. 
 Farewell, 
 
 Yours, as ever, &c 
 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 Difficulties in prayer — Causes — Mistake respecting the nature of pra\er— 
 Confusion in the mind of the Inquirer — False anticipations in prayer 
 — Perplexity from our ignorance of the person addressed — Directions in 
 prayer — The duty of describing personal trials — Habit of attention— Re- 
 medy for wandering thoughts— Application of special promises— Scrip- 
 tural examples — Seasons for Prayer — Ejaculatory desires— Forms — 
 Does God " ever withhold his Grace, for a season, to try the sinner V 
 — Answered. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 You are right when you say, that "no 
 class of difficulties seems more serious to the 
 Inquirer than those relating to the duty of 
 prayer." Easy as it may have appeared, for- 
 merly, to offer a petition to the throne of grace, 
 his disappointment is frequently as complete as 
 that which he experiences in reading the Scrip- 
 tures, The discovery which he may make ia 
 w2 
 
226 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 the first attempt to pray, is mortifying and dis- 
 tressing: and it ought to be humbling, too. 
 He sees that the utterance of a form of words, 
 and the posture of supplication, on which he 
 would have once depended, may be a very dif- 
 ferent thing from that exercise of heart which 
 is carried on near the mercy-seat. He looks 
 back with astonishment, to those unmeaning 
 acts of outward devotion, vrith which he had 
 once satisfied his conscience, and for which he 
 expected, in return, the favour of his God. He 
 sees that there was a something wanting of 
 which he had not thought; and which he now 
 labours to obtain. Perhaps there is no dis- 
 covery more striking to the mind of the awak- 
 ened sinner than this. And certainly none 
 more alarming to his fears. And all the gene- 
 ral directions which he receives on the subject, 
 appear either inapplicable to his own case, or 
 wholly impracticable for him. In a strait of 
 this kind, advice is often thrown away, al- 
 though given by the lips of prudence and 
 piety. All representations of divine mercy 
 are ineffectual. To others, he conceives, they 
 may be suitable; but not to himself. And to 
 every thing of the kind, he opposes the palpa- 
 ble evidence of his utter incompetency to ex* 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 227 
 
 press any thing but empty sounds, which reach 
 no further than the atmosphere above him. 
 Let us endeavour to account for this: 
 
 One of the first causes which occur to us, is 
 that of a mistake respecting the nature of 
 prayer. So confident was he in the attribute 
 of mercy, that he believed any application 
 which might be made, infallibly successful. 
 To the bare expressions of prayer he had at- 
 tributed a sovereign influence; without any 
 reference to the state of the heart of the peti- 
 tioner, or to a sense of his personal wants. He 
 makes the experiment in the first hour of his 
 alarm. And he ends it, as might have been 
 expected, with a sensation of disappointment. 
 Now, the whole reason of this failure may be 
 summed up in a single word- — ignorance: 
 Ignorance of what he was doing — of the char- 
 acter of his God — or of the nature of the ob- 
 ject desired. Had this man sat down for a mo- 
 ment, and reflected on these things, be assured, 
 the tenour of his prayer would have been very 
 different from what it was. Instead of asking 
 for an undefined something — instead of looking 
 for what he did not understand, he would have 
 seen the necewssity of praying — "enlighten 
 thou mine eyes!" He might have seen the 
 
228 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 importance of giving himself up, at once to his 
 God — as awfully ignorant as well as helpless. 
 And he would have seen, too, the duty of ap- 
 proaching the great Arbiter of his fate, with a 
 very different idea of his holy character. 
 
 Never let us, My Dear Sir, venture on the 
 solemn act of addressing Deity, without paus- 
 ing to inquire of ourselves, what we are about 
 to do. Reflection and self-examination should 
 always precede the exercise of prayer: not on 
 our own account alone, but likewise on that of 
 Him who demands the homage of both the un- 
 derstanding and the heart. 
 
 Another cause of failure consists in that con- 
 fusion attendant on the anxiety of the awaken- 
 ed sinner. The painful agitation which ac- 
 companies the conflict of the passions at this 
 time, often indisposes the mind to any thing 
 direct. This is a natural effect of powerful or 
 unexpected grief, in even temporal circum- 
 stances; and I have already adverted to it, in a 
 former Letter. The feelings may so com- 
 pletely overcome the judgment as to prevent 
 any proper application of the faculty of 
 thought. In this state of distress we hear 
 him exclaim — * Oh 1 can not pray!" He 
 makes the effort again and again \ but only to 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 229 
 
 relinquish it as hopeless, after each instance of 
 trial. 
 
 This is sometimes an awful condition of 
 mind. The moral darkness within, which the 
 sufferer vainly attempts to dissipate, is as it 
 were in contrast with the light of the natural 
 world around him, and seems to tell fearfully 
 to his soul. The tumult in his bosom that 
 breaks out into the loud sigh, or the heaving 
 and reluctant groan, that interrupts the still- 
 ness of his place of retirement — and the silence 
 which succeeds it, and seems to pervade the 
 universe of his being, as if to intimate a nega- 
 tive to any hopes of relief — are all portentous 
 to an alarmed imagination. An undefined but 
 horrible sensation of vacancy attends the ex- 
 clamation — "1 am lost!" Attempts to force 
 the way through this darkness and despair, — 
 half frantic and impulsive as they are — serve 
 only to render the sense of wretchedness more 
 complete, and the conviction of hopelessness 
 more decided. This case is not quite an ex- 
 treme one. And different degrees of approach 
 to it you have often noticed in biographical 
 sketches. The great perplexity here consists 
 in the inability to give vent to the pent-up 
 feeling- 
 
230 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 u If T could only pray — If I could give ut- 
 terance to thought — or if I could be sensible 
 that my broken cry is heard — either of these 
 would relieve me of at least part of the weight 
 which I am doomed to sustain!" Here the 
 spirit is wounded by an unseen hand, and yet 
 knows not where nor how. The exclamation 
 — "help, Lord, or I perish!" is made with 
 entire distrust. Consideration or reflection 
 are afar off; or they have no certain object. 
 
 Now, even in this case, we should direct the 
 Inquirer to prayer. But it would be with the 
 same advice given in the last instance — let him 
 think what he is to pray for. Let him remem- 
 ber that the mere burst of passion is, not un- 
 frequently, the indulgence of a selfish feeling, 
 encouraged to excite compassion or sympathy; 
 and exceedingly apt to produce that sensation 
 of self-complacency, which is not easily ac- 
 counted for, but which hides or palliates, the 
 deformity of guilt: and that while he may be 
 insensible of the effect on himself. 
 
 God, My Dear Sir, is not the author of con- 
 fusion. And we are not to attribute such effects 
 as these to him; and then to ask his relief with- 
 out knowing what we require. Still, if we 
 are making every effort to understand our own 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 231 
 
 situation; and find them all ineffectual, we may- 
 take our very cares on this subject to the 
 Mercy Seat: and in the language of one of old, 
 have reason to say — "I am full of confusion, 
 therefore see thou mine affliction." 
 
 It is not necessary, however, to suppose so 
 great a chaos of mind as this confusion implies, 
 in order to insure the same failure. There 
 may be conviction of sin, and sense of want; 
 some vague notion of a distant Saviour; and 
 yet the sensation, — if I may so express myself, 
 — of a void space, wherever the thoughts roam 
 in search of a resting place. And this may be, 
 sometimes, the experience of the Christian 
 himself, when some secret sin, or some lurking 
 habit of evil, has insensibly removed his peace, 
 and created a solitude of feeling, and a dejection 
 of spirit. And when, until the latent cause is 
 brought to view, he roams abroad, like the 
 dove of Noah, seeking in vain for an element 
 to which he had been accustomed, or for a 
 place of repose which he had formerly known. 
 And what energy of meaning — what full ut- 
 terance of feeling is that which he conveys in 
 the words of the Patriarch — " Oh, that 1 knew 
 where I might find him! that 1 might come 
 even to his seat! I would order my cause be- 
 
232 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 fore him, .and fill my mouth with arguments. 
 I would know the words which he would an- 
 swer me, and understand what he would say 
 unto me!"* 
 
 Another cause of failure consists in a false 
 anticipation of the kind of answer to be 
 given by the hearer of prayer. The trans- 
 port of joy — the delightful feeling of a holy 
 confidence, — the assurance of pardon — the 
 plain proof of heaventy communion — or the 
 sudden removal of anxiety — these, or some of 
 them, are generally the objects of sanguine ex- 
 pectation with an ardent mind. And even he 
 who is near to the kingdom of Heaven may de- 
 tain himself from all he is seeking, while he 
 perversely insists on certain results in certain 
 prescribed forms. Now, the answer to prayer 
 may be of a very different character. An ex- 
 act compliance with our wishes may be incon- 
 sistent with our good. Paul's ihrice-told peti- 
 tion obtained an answer essentially different 
 from his expectations. But then that answer 
 subserved an equally good purpose with the 
 one he had sought. And thus it will often be. 
 Instead of conscious peace and pardon a deeper 
 sense of sin may ensue in the bosom of the pe- 
 
 * Job, xxiii. 3,4,5, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 233 
 
 nitent. Instead of participation in the plea- 
 sures of a communion with God, the only evi- 
 dence of acceptance may be in those fervent 
 aspirations of soul which may indicate a 
 change unknown to himself. 
 
 I admit with you that one who has never 
 hitherto exercised any earnestness in the act of 
 prayer, and who proceeds to that duty with 
 seriousness for the first time, may feel at a loss 
 respecting the personal object of his address. 
 Accustomed to things of sense as he has been, 
 he may find a difficulty in addressing a Being 
 spirilual and invisible; of whom he attempts in 
 vain to form some idea, while he conceives 
 that a just conception of him, as a person, is 
 indispensable to a right and fixed direction of 
 of the mind. And it is not uncommon to call 
 in the aid of imagination, in order to figure the 
 very appearance of Him to whom the prayer 
 is to be preferred. And the flitting and vary- 
 ing representation which this faculty presents, 
 increases the disorder which already reigns 
 within the soul. Nor would it be extraordi- 
 nary, in such a dilemma, if we find ourselves 
 engaged in the double exertion of sustaining 
 the imagination in its work, and canvassing 
 
 our wants and desires, at the same time. I have 
 x 
 
234 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 sometimes heard the Inquirer, while unaffected- 
 ly distressed, asking, " in what form he is to 
 conceive of God, and how he is to bring with- 
 in the range of his mental vision, the Being 
 whom he wishes to address:" and yet the com- 
 plaint is not one, for the most part, which is 
 openly made. It more usually belongs to the 
 secret experience of the Inquirer. 
 
 The difficulty here arises entirely from the 
 state of the petitioner's mind. If the sense of 
 his wants were less vague, and if the specific 
 design of his prayer were rendered distinct by 
 a particular knowledge of them, he would see 
 no reason for this complaint. It is not any de- 
 fined appearance of his Maker that he should 
 call to his aid — nor are we at liberty to indulge 
 in such fantasies — but it is a consciousness of 
 the unhallowed condition of our hearts, and 
 
 
 
 their absolute necessities, which can form a 
 prayer of faith and feeling. 
 
 That sense of distance, too, between him- 
 self and his Creator, of which the Inquirer so 
 often speaks, is to be removed by a better 
 knowledge of his own heart. It is this alone, 
 bitter and painful as it may be, which will pro- 
 duce the opposite sensation of the nearness of 
 Deity to us. You observe an illustration of 
 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 235 
 
 this remark in any instance of strong remorse, 
 in which the sufferer makes a very different 
 complaint, while he is conscious that the all- 
 seeing eye of his Maker is upon him, and feels 
 as if the space were narrow between him and 
 his Judge. 
 
 No difficulty ought to arise in our minds 
 from our notions of the Trinity. The Scrip- 
 tures have very distinctly made it our duty, 
 in our private devotions, to address ourselves 
 to Jesus Christ. And this, as I have before 
 said, was a direction of his own. As our Me- 
 diator and Advocate we approach to him. 
 Thus there is no higher act of faith to which a 
 believer can be called, than that of committing 
 his departing soul to the care of his God: And 
 the dying language of the first Christian Mar- 
 tyr was, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit P.** 
 
 Let me subjoin a few reflections respecting 
 the exercise of prayer, which may possibly be 
 of some assistance in that important duty: 
 
 Endeavour to describe your personal 
 trials and perplexities, token you come to a 
 throne of grace. This practice, with that of 
 confessing our sins, at the same time, recom- 
 
 * Some judicious remarks on this subject may be found in "Owen's 
 Cases of Conscience."— Discourse V. vol xvi. of his works. 
 
£36 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 mended as it is by the examples of the saints, 
 and enjoined as it is by the Word of God, has 
 many advantages which may not, at first, oc- 
 cur to the mind of the Inquirer. It is true, in- 
 deed, that our Creator knows the extent and 
 aggravations of our guilt, and the nature of our 
 wants; but he requires us to know them like- 
 wise. He is not ignorant of our necessities; 
 but he would see us sensible of them ourselves. 
 Now, the detail of these presupposes us to have 
 examined our hearts, and to have formed at 
 least some acquaintance with them. And this 
 very act of narrating is admirably adapted to 
 produce that humility of mind and temper, 
 and that sense of dependence, without which we 
 shall certainly plead in vain. The very recount- 
 ing of our personal trials and difficulties brings 
 us almost certainly nearer to Him to whom they 
 are told; while it is suited to promote our faith 
 and confidence in him. You have sometimes 
 noted how clearly this is illustrated in a case of 
 temporal suffering. The man who sits down 
 to write an account of his distresses to one 
 from whom relief is possible, not only dis- 
 covers himself more sensible of his situation, 
 and is more affected by it, in the engagement; 
 but his hope of success in the application, and 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 237 
 
 his expectations of sympathy, continue to in- 
 crease. The direction of Jesus Christ, then, 
 is founded in wisdom, and admirably fitted to 
 our nature, when he bids us present all our 
 cares^to him, and communicate all our wants. 
 
 Endeavour to keep your attention as fixed 
 as possible, while engaged in this exercise. 
 There is no fault into which we more easily 
 fall than that of a wandering of thought. Now, 
 apart from the sinfulness of this, as the very 
 essence of hypocrisy, it is likely to be followed 
 by consequences to ourselves of the most dan- 
 gerous character. Wandering thought in de- 
 votion, of all other sins, most easily becomes a 
 habit, by a partial indulgence; and it most 
 unconsciously steals upon us. A single in- 
 stance of this extends itself to our next effort. 
 And the petitioner may find the unhappy pro- 
 pensity almost be) ond the power or reach of 
 his arrest. The best remedy, perhaps, for so 
 insidious an evil, is that of uttering our 
 thoughts aloud. The small degree of exertion 
 which this requires, is well suited to the exi- 
 gency of the case. It enforces attention; and 
 prevents that distraction which external ob- 
 jects so readily produce in the mind. It does 
 
 more. It makes an impression which may be 
 x2 
 
238 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 durable after the act is over. A judicious 
 friend who complained much of his temptation 
 here, in seasons set apart for meditation, has 
 since observed that he never failed to find 
 "thinking aloud" an effectual means of pre- 
 venting abstraction from the subject of his re- 
 flections. 
 
 Ripply special promises to special cases hi 
 prayer. 1 have already hinted the importance 
 of turning the precepts of God into prayer; 
 and the duty of applying to ourselves what- 
 ever Scriptural passages meet our condition. 
 We should do the same with the promises of 
 the Divine Word. There is something exceed- 
 ingly encouraging in presenting the very words 
 of Him who can aid us, at the throne of grace; 
 and so far as they suit our condition we are 
 warranted in doing so. There seems a special 
 hope of a blessing in the very reflection that 
 the same spirit which indited the language of 
 Holy Writ, is said to assist the earnest and 
 sincere petitioner.* You will no doubt recol- 
 lect how common was the practice which I am 
 commending among " good men of old." 
 Jacob urged, for an important purpose, that 
 Jehovah had bidden him leave his country and 
 
 •Rom. via. 26. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 239 
 
 kindred, and had given him assurance of se- 
 curity.* Solomon presented the promise which 
 had been made to his father David. t Jehosha- 
 phat named that which had been given to Solo- 
 mon. J Daniel reads the pledge to Jeremiah, 
 and then applies it in his prayer. || The Apos- 
 tle Paul embraces the promise which had been 
 given to Joshua so long before, and makes it 
 the ground of an unshaken confidence in his 
 own day.§ And Simeon expired in the very 
 arms of a gracious promise, with the breath- 
 ings of prayer. IT And what an encouragement 
 have we in the reflection that the special 
 ground of an answer to prayer lies in the per- 
 formance of promises. The faithfulness of 
 God is our surety. 
 
 Regard proper seasons of prayer. I do 
 not mean, simply, that stated periods should 
 be set apart for this purpose. It would al- 
 ways be well to form and sustain a habit of 
 this kind; the violation of which, especially 
 where it is not necessary, has certainly an un- 
 happy effect on our subsequent devotions. 
 But there are seasons when the heart of the 
 Inquirer, to use a strong figure, is full: when 
 
 • Gen. xxxii. 9. t Kings, viii. 24. J 2 Chron. xx 8. I Dan. ix. 2, a 
 5 Heb. xiii. 5, 6. * Luke, ii. 29. 
 
240 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 his feelings are more tender, his desires more 
 strong; and his sense both of his wants, and 
 the nearness of his God, is more distinct. 
 These should never be suffered to pass unim- 
 proved. They are distinguished by signals 
 for prayer: and its utterance would be more 
 free, while its pleas would be more urgent, 
 than at fixed and regular periods. I doubt 
 whether there ever was a sincere Inquirer who 
 was not sensible of this difference in the state 
 of his feelings. The same susceptibility which 
 exposes him to changes from trifles inimical 
 to serious thought, prepares him for impres- 
 sions of a different nature from more favoura- 
 ble incidents. A passing word, or a petty cir- 
 cumstance which had no direct reference to 
 his state of mind, may sometimes produce a 
 more powerful effect, in softening and subdu- 
 ing the heart, than hours of sober reflection. 
 
 I am aware that it may not always be con- 
 venient to retire for the immediate improve- 
 ment of such effects. But it would be well to 
 sacrifice a less advantage for a greater; and to 
 endeavour to improve as fully as possible, 
 what may really be the operation of the Holy 
 Ghost upon the mind. But where this is 
 wholly impracticable, let ejaculatory prayer 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 241 
 
 supply the place of more regular devotions. 
 It is a delightful reflection that God is with 
 us every where: and is every where ready to 
 listen to the cry of the sincere penitent. Some 
 of the most effectual prayers recorded in the 
 Bible, are of an ejaculatory character. And 
 the Saviour himself, to whom we offer our 
 desires, has set us an eminent example. Nor 
 indeed do I believe, — if it were right to insti- 
 tute the comparison, — that the observance of 
 set seasons for devotion so completely evinces 
 a proper frame of mind — all important as it is 
 — as an habitual readiness and disposition to 
 earnest ejaculatory prayer. Here, too, the 
 secular avocations of life can create no serious 
 interruption. The heart may hold converse 
 with God in the midst of the bustle and dis- 
 tractions of the world. 
 
 With respect to forms of prayer — they may 
 sometimes be necessary; and the plea of indo- 
 lence, or ignorance, or diffidence, is frequently 
 preferred in their behalf. But 1 have always 
 thought them unfavourable to the interest of 
 the Inquirer. It would hardly be practicable 
 for any man to form a prayer precisely suited 
 to the state and exigences of another. Any 
 such attempt would be defective in those par- 
 
242 
 
 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ticulars which most nearly concern our pri- 
 vate experience, and the description of which 
 would require an intimate knowledge of our 
 own case. Expressions, confessions and terms, 
 are of necessity general; and do not reach far 
 into the heart. And, independent of this, 
 they, not unfrequently, create a wrong leaning 
 of the mind; while they form a marked con- 
 trast with that freshness of desire which springs 
 warm from the bosom. 1 have said " a wrong 
 leaning," — for all subjects of prayer do not 
 closely fit the case of the Inquirer; and where 
 they do not, they tend to increase his confu- 
 sion and perplexity, however well indited 
 they may be: An effect which he very fre- 
 quently discovers in the devotions of the sanc- 
 tuary. — The utter impossibility of suiting any 
 public leading in prayer to the wants of all, 
 and the duty of each presenting his own case, 
 seems to have been referred to by Solomon at 
 the dedication of the Temple — " what prayer 
 and supplication soever be made by any man, 
 or by all thy people Israel, which shall know 
 every man the plague of his own heart, and 
 spread forth his hands towards this house: then 
 hear thou in Heaven thy dwelling place, and 
 forgive and do, and give to every man accord- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 243 
 
 ing to his ways, whose heart thou knowest; 
 (for t hotly even thou only, knowest the 
 hearts of all the children of men*) 
 
 Advantageous as these set compositions may- 
 be in certain instances, in public worship — and 
 even then they require frequent alterations to 
 suit the circumstances of the time and the age 
 — they are not adapted to the private use of 
 the Awakened Sinner. Besides — the very- 
 attempt to express our own personal wants, 
 not only gives us a clear insight into our- 
 selves, and thus constitutes one of the means 
 of promoting the great end in view, but it 
 adds intensity to the sense of want and the 
 feelings of desire, and leaves an impression 
 which may be abiding and salutary. 
 
 It does more: if the directions I have already- 
 given be followed, the practice of extemporane- 
 ous prayer will lead us to cultivate a familiar ac- 
 quaintance with the Word of God. Habituate 
 yourself, then, to the use of your own language; 
 however feeble and incoherent you may deem 
 it, the Great Hearer of prayer will never reject 
 it on account of its verbal imperfections. 
 
 You ask, whether God ever withholds his 
 grace from the Inquirer in order to try him 
 
 * 1 Kings, viii. 38, 39. 
 

 244 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 further, after he is already endued with a 
 penitent and humble frame of feeling?" 
 The whole tenour of my letters is against the 
 affirmative of this question. But it may de- 
 serve something more explicit: 
 
 I have more than once known those in deep 
 distress advised to persevere under the idea 
 that the Dispenser of pardon may be testing 
 their patience; or, in other words, waiting un- 
 til they acquire this virtue, as a preliminary 
 to the reward of acceptance. This is not only 
 injudicious, but it is unscriptural. And, in- 
 stead of proving an incentive to perseverance, 
 as it is intended to be, it is discouraging in 
 the extreme. The unregenerate sinner can 
 achieve nothing to entitle him to favour: And 
 there is no intermediate state, in which he can 
 ever be supposed, between ruin and grace. 
 Nor can any withholding, on the part of God, 
 when the sinner approaches aright, detain him 
 in the former of these conditions. If it were 
 otherwise, and we were allowed a supposition 
 on this subject, then the death of the sinner, 
 in that intermediate state, would leave the 
 fault of his final rejection from Heaven at the 
 door of the Author of his being. 
 
 The examples which you have quoted in 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 245 
 
 " the Syrophenician woman/' " the importu- 
 nate widow 7 ," and the " neighbour soliciting 
 bread/" were never designed to encourage 
 such a conclusion; nor have they any refer- 
 ence whatever to the case. The trials which 
 God may suffer his people to undergo, while 
 he supports them at the same time, and im- 
 proves some grace within them to their ulti- 
 mate good, is no indication that he ever would 
 stand back, a single moment from the peni- 
 tent sinner. To require immediate and un- 
 conditional submission on our own part, and 
 to tender the promises in return, and then to 
 delay their fulfilment, has never been the 
 manner of the Divine dealing. The prayer of 
 the true penitent is answered at once, although 
 it may not be in a way perceptible to himself, 
 nor with the immediate consequences to his 
 own mind, which he had fondly anticipated. 
 We must learn to distinguish between the 
 manner and the thing: between an utter re- 
 fusal and the mode of conferring the boon. I 
 should not hesitate to say to any complainer 
 on this subject, that either his prayer was al- 
 ready answered, or the fault was entirely his 
 own. Nor can we escape this inference while 
 
 we consider the Creator consistent with him- 
 y 
 
246 
 
 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 self. I can not, therefore, restrain an expres- 
 sion of regret when 1 read a contrary senti- 
 ment in works expressly designed to relieve 
 or assist the Inquirer. Any question of this 
 nature seems so clearly and unequivocally set- 
 tled in the Word of God, that it is a matter of 
 surprise how it should involve a doubt in any 
 other mind, than one harrassed by its fears, 
 and confused by its perplexities. 
 
 Adieu, Dear Sir — ■ — may the spirit of prayer 
 richly abound in you, and may you realize, in 
 its exercise, the full assurance of grace, mercy, 
 
 and peace! 
 
 Truly yours, &c. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 247 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 A common error adverted to again— An evil from Theological distinctions 
 — Different kinds of repentance — The Scriptural distinction — Sorrow 
 does not constitute repentance— The perversion of 1 egal sorrow to a false 
 hope— Examples — The error reproved in Scripture— Its cause— Causes 
 leading to repentance — Conviction of sin— Why not to be effected with- 
 out Divine aid — Looking to Christ a means of repentance — The process 
 —Evangelical sorrow follows— Difference between counterfeit and true 
 repentance— Conclusion. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 There is one error which I have had rea- 
 son several times to mention, as possessing a 
 more pervasive influence in the mind of the 
 Inquirer than any other: I refer to the idea 
 that there is a certain something to be ob- 
 tained by him before he ventures to approach 
 the Redeemer with the hope of mercy, or 
 even the hope of an audience. And this error 
 creeps into his very notion of the Christian 
 graces. It puts a construction on the Divine 
 language foreign from its true import, and ren- 
 ders reflection upon it the means of increasing 
 confusion. You have known the application 
 of this remark to the duty and doctrine of re- 
 pentance. And 1 have frequently seen the 
 
248 
 
 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 convinced sinner keeping aloof, and at least 
 half satisfied with himself in doing so, until he 
 may he ahle to ascertain whether he has evi- 
 dence of true repentance; without which he 
 would conceive all application nugatory, and 
 accompanied with which he would be assured 
 of a favourable answer. The amount of all 
 which is, that he desires to be a Christian be- 
 fore he asks the Divine influence, which is to 
 render him such — that he would have evi- 
 dence of being saved before he solicits sal- 
 vation. This practical contradiction is too 
 flagrant to need a comment. 
 
 Another evil on this subject arises from 
 those theological distinctions respecting the 
 nature of this grace, with which the' Inquirer 
 may often be more entertained than edified. 
 A clear view of repentance, and of its place in 
 the covenant of God," is certainly important. 
 But the adoption of metaphysical distinctions, 
 and a nice and accurate discrimination of the 
 consecutive order of certain causes and effects, 
 is rather an accomplishment in the Theologi- 
 an, than ail advantage to the Inquirer. Instead 
 of re/viewing the past to discover the evidence 
 of a direct approach to repentance, or to in- 
 stitute a comparison of such workings with 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 249 
 
 other things, the only duty before you is to 
 learn whether you have indeed repented. To 
 assist you in this, I will reduce within the 
 limits of a single letter, all that appears to me 
 essential on the subject. 
 
 Practical divines have divided repentance 
 into three kinds: the first is called natural, 
 and it is supposed to have no reference to re- 
 wards or punishments; as w 7 hen a man of in- 
 tegrity and honour regrets the commission of 
 an act which violates the rules he had adopted 
 for his own guidance, but without fearing, or 
 thinking of, any consequences arising from the 
 law of God. I will not stay to discuss the 
 justness of this distinction. The second di- 
 vision, is that of legal repentance, which is 
 simply a regret of the commission of sin on 
 account of its personal consequences in the 
 penalty of a violated law. Different from this, 
 evangelical repentance is both a principle and 
 a habit, and belongs to the Christian alone, 
 while it is accompanied with a class of feelings 
 peculiar to itself. These 1 shall describe on 
 another page of this sheet. 
 
 There are two words in the Scriptures 
 which our translators have rendered by the 
 y2 
 
250 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 term repentance.* The first of these signifies 
 *? after reflection," or, " after care, and anxi- 
 ety." It indicates a simple alteration of feel- 
 ing, — sorrow on account of something that 
 has taken place on our own part, without any 
 reference to the nature of that sorrow, or its 
 durability; and without any connexion with 
 the moral character of the act, or its eternal 
 consequences. You have an example of this 
 in the man who has expended time or money 
 in a deed of benevolence, and regrets having 
 done so. 
 
 The second word, which is literally trans- 
 lated, " a change of mind," is designed to de- 
 signate an alteration for the better, and refers 
 to the purposes and dispositions of the heart. 
 It indicates not only sorrow for the past, but 
 such a radical change in the affections as to 
 create a permanent abhorrence of the evil. In 
 2 Corinthians vii. 10, you will find both these 
 words in the original Greek, with the con- 
 structions now assigned them. 
 
 If I were to select the mistake most common 
 to Inquirers on this subject, I should certainly 
 point to the impression that sorrow consti- 
 tutes repentance, and that its intensity is the 
 
 * MiTflt/AgAWfiC and MiTAVQia, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 
 
 251 
 
 test of sincerity. And it is this idea which 
 frequently leads the Inquirer to exertion to 
 deepen his grief, without examining its cha- 
 racter or its cause. Mere sorrow, without 
 reference to these, may he very distinct from 
 the grace in question. Judas exhihited this; 
 and according to the first sense of the word, 
 repented of his sin; hut the feeling terminated 
 in suicide. The Jews, on the day of Pente- 
 cost, were in deep sorrow when they cried 
 out " men and brethren, what shall we do?" 
 The answer of Peter directed them to repen- 
 tance. But the distinction is not less marked 
 in the words of another Apostle — " Godly 
 sorrow worketh repentance" — and therefore, 
 however conducive to such an end, is not that 
 end itself; and yet the distress of thousands 
 under serious impressions, is very far from 
 reaching to Godly sorrow. 
 
 1 have seen an unprofitable grief in more 
 than one practical form, — for the natural tem- 
 per and disposition will always vary the form; 
 and not rarely has it lead to a ruin of the 
 spiritual interests of the soul. 
 
 A friend of mine, whose conscience the Word 
 of God had reached, in one of its ministrations, 
 was seized, from the first moment, with a hor- 
 
252 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 ror of apprehension which no argument could 
 allay. Every countenance which he saw re- 
 called some bitter recollections; every new to- 
 pic of conversation, or subject of thought, pre- 
 sented new causes of self reproach. His feelings 
 were wrought up to an agony which threaten- 
 ed his reason; and he presented a living specta- 
 cle of the picture painted by a poet's fancy: 
 
 " So writhes the mind remorse hath riven : 
 Unfit for earth, undoomed for Heaven : 
 Darkness above — Despair beneath. 
 Around it flame— within it death." 
 
 But what was the consequence of all this ? — 
 The pity and sympathy which such a distress- 
 ing case produced in the hearts of others, — and 
 which were often most injudiciously express- 
 ed — paradoxical as it may seem, led to similar 
 sensations in his own bosom, and in behalf of 
 his own condition. He appeared to have se- 
 parated his sad state of mind from himself; and 
 after then viewing it as a proper object of com- 
 passion, he very naturally concluded that God 
 did the same: and gradually assumed the hope 
 of mercy, without — we have reason to fear, — 
 a single just ground, or a single evidence of a 
 truly penitent disposition. 
 
 To one who has not examined the workings 
 
ANXIOtTS INQUIRER. 
 
 253 
 
 of the heart, it may appear surprising; that the 
 sufferer can so abstractedly view his sorrow as 
 apart from himself, and literally feel a sympa- 
 thy for it, as if it were the lot of another. But 
 no one who has endured a pungency of grief for 
 a length of time, and has taken the pains to ana-? 
 lize his feelings, will fail to discover this reac- 
 tion. And the tenderness and softness of the 
 feeling which then ensues, may very easily be 
 mistaken for a change in the bent and disposi- 
 tion of the mind and the heart. The Inquirer 
 — if we might still call him so — is contented 
 with this effect. He looks away from those 
 tests, which on a careless survey, would have 
 proved him wanting in -spiritual taste and de- 
 sires. 
 
 There is another appearance of this sorrow 
 which is still more imposing, and which is very 
 naturally produced in certain physical constitu- 
 tions that bend, like the willow, to the earth, 
 whenever the storm of affliction is severe. — 
 
 P r was one of this description. The ver\ 
 
 first sense of his sinfulness appeared to give a 
 meekness and gentleness to his spirit; very far 
 from that boisterous effusion of grief, which 
 either expends itself soon by its violence, and 
 leaves a suspicious calm after its departure; or 
 
354 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 else gives place to'the reaction, which is equal- 
 ly fatal. The spirit of P — r acquired an ap- 
 parent placidness, while it drooped under re- 
 flections that mortified his pride, and produced 
 a conscious hopelessness within him. It 
 bowed to the stroke of sorrow, as if it courted 
 the blow, and as if a given number of the 
 strokes were to complete the measure of his 
 suffering. It was a fancied martyrdom, in 
 which he anticipated the sacrifice of his pas- 
 sions; or a fiery ordeal in which his evil pro- 
 pensities were to be consumed,— and the proof 
 of his success, to be in the patience and submis- 
 sion of his temper. Neither cause nor effect in 
 all this was understood-. And he looked for all 
 that result which is to be produced by the Holy 
 Ghost upon the heart, as an issue which is to 
 be completed by the simple process of a de- 
 pressing sorrow. And as might be expected 
 in such a case, his only complaint was, that his 
 grief was not sufficiently pungent: While 
 from every source from which it was possible 
 to derive bitter recollections, he endeavoured 
 to collect new habiliments of mourning, and 
 new means of mental depression. His labour 
 was not in vain. He succeeded in forming a 
 despondency, accompanied with all that suavi- 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 255 
 
 ty which renders it attractive, and that self-per- 
 suasion of humility which so readily follows it, 
 without a single idea of the loathsomeness of 
 sin, or of the nature of evangelical repentance. 
 But whatever be the form of this fictitious 
 grief, it is severely reproved by the Word of 
 God. In the message which he sent by his 
 prophet Isaiah, he asks of those who had fallen 
 into this mistake — " Is it such a fast that I have 
 chosen? a day for a man to afflict his soul ? Is 
 it to bow down his head as a bulrush, and to 
 spread sackcloth and ashes under him ?• Wilt 
 thou call this a fast, and an acceptable day to 
 the Lord ? Is not this the fast that 1 have cho- 
 sen ? to loose the bands of wickedness, &c."* 
 And a verse which follows, beautifully de- 
 scribes the effect of the Divine blessing on the 
 mind of the sincere penitent; who to a convic- 
 tion of sin adds a discharge of duty, and a faith- 
 ful obedience to the Will of God, while a sense 
 of darkness has humbled and dejected his soul 
 — " Then shall thy light break forth as the 
 morning, and thine health shall spring forth 
 speedily; and thy righteousness shall go before 
 thee: the glory of the Lord shall be thy re- 
 ward. " 
 
 * Isa. lviii. 5—7. 
 
256 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 The error in both the preceding cases, as 
 well as in many others, consists in attributing 
 to nature what is the work of the Spirit alone. 
 It was the promise of God that his Son should 
 be " exalted to be a prince and a Saviour, to 
 give repentance to Israel." The gift is from 
 on High; while the means which are used to 
 bring it into exercise, are invariable the same. 
 Let. us examine these: 
 
 The first is, a true conviction: or sense of 
 guilt. There is something in our natural con- 
 si it ut ion which renders supernatural aid indis- 
 pensable, to produce, such an effect. That in- 
 herent selfishness which blinds us to the truth, 
 and leads us even to hope for the best, while it 
 palliates and excuses the evil that is visible, 
 can be restrained by none but a Divine pcwer. 
 You have seen its effects, in another shape, in 
 cases of daily occurrence. The culprit in a ci- 
 vil court, whom an enlightened jury have con- 
 demned, and whom every auditor at the trial 
 concurs in pronouncing guilty, sees a variety 
 of causes in the manner and circumstances of 
 the offence — in the temptation which lead to it 
 — and in his own passions — to mitigate the 
 crime, for which he is to pay the penalty of a 
 violated law. His guilt indeed is proved, and 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER, 
 
 257 
 
 he may not be disposed to deny it. Still you 
 can not convince him that there are not cir- 
 cumstances which entitle him to the considera- 
 tion of mere} 7 . And if such be his impressions, 
 it is very certain that he has not a fair view of 
 his own case. 
 
 Of a similar nature are the impressions of an 
 unrenewed sinner. He may be assured of his 
 doom; and he may agonize under a conscious- 
 ness of approaching wrath; and he may believe 
 that the woe which awaits, him is the conse- 
 quence of his guilt. But, still, he secretly be- 
 lieves that there is no proportion between the 
 evil and its punishment. He is not persuaded 
 that, in his own instance, " the judge of all the 
 earth will do right" in his condemnation. Or 
 if he openly admit the equity of his God, he 
 fosters a latent hope, from the disparity of his 
 guilt, — with all its supposed palliations,— -and 
 the penalty of a broken law. 
 
 Independent of this, there is, very often, a 
 false view of the state of things between him 
 and his God. He sees his Creator in the light 
 — not of one pure and holy, and hating iniqui- 
 ty, and desiring that his creature should turn 
 and live — but, as an inexorable judge — the se- 
 vere and inflexible arbiter of his fate. All this, 
 z 
 
258 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 accompanied as it may be with dreadful appre- 
 hensions — is a most imperfect view of the state 
 of his soul's affairs. He forgets that the sepa- 
 ration between the soul and its God, with all 
 that makes up the torments of Tophet, is not 
 simply the result of crimes that are past. It is 
 a necessary attendant on the state of the sin- 
 ner. It is not merely that God hates him as a 
 transgressor; but he hates his God. — There is an 
 active hostility against his Maker, which is not 
 always brought into visible play, and w r hich he 
 attempts to conceal from his own sight. And 
 it is the cherished ignorance or forgetfulness of 
 this, which constitutes his first serious difficul- 
 ty. And it is the full discovery of this which 
 forms the climax of a state of horror, to which 
 the mind is sometimes brought — presenting a 
 faint, yet awful exhibition of the condition of 
 lost spirits. 
 
 An example of all this fearfuiness I will re- 
 member; 
 
 A received no very deep wound in his 
 
 first discovery of danger. There was even a 
 kind of pleasure attending that discovery, aris- 
 ing from a sanguine expectation, that pardon 
 and mercy were at no great interval of space 
 from his present condition. Baffled hopes led 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 
 
 259 
 
 to more serious efforts to learn more of himself. 
 A further development of his guilt daily in- 
 creased his consciousness of a nearing doom. 
 In this his thoughts became absorbed. A con- 
 tinued failure augmented his distress, while it 
 brought into action a bitterness of feeling whol- 
 ly in contrast with what had appeared to be 
 his natural character. From secret accusation 
 of his Maker, he proceeded to more explicit re- 
 flections against the Divine Being. Even ma- 
 lignity was embodied in language which would 
 shock the ears of the respecter of religion. 
 Pride, disappointed hope, and a galling sense of 
 utter inability to help himself, were visible to- 
 gether in the expressions w T hich fell from his 
 lips. " I see my wretchedness" — said he, on 
 one occasion, when both manner and tone in- 
 dicated the strong conflict of passions within — 
 " and God sees it too. He who alone could 
 help me is arrayed against me. There is no es- 
 cape. No power can withstand him. Hell is 
 before me — Would that no God existed — or 
 that he were other than he is!" — There was 
 something so blasphemous in all this, that one 
 would be disposed to question the sanity of the 
 utterer. But there was no reason for such a 
 doubt. The example may not be common. 
 
260 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 But no example of the complete and open act- 
 ing out of a principle is common. Its opera- 
 tion may be comparatively silent, and still 
 equally effective. Where true repentance is 
 wanting, there may be a feeling of desolation in 
 sight of sin; and a conciouness of awaiting 
 wrath; but a right understanding of the nature 
 of sin itself, or of its extent, can not exist. In 
 the meanwhile, there is an aversion from our 
 Judge — a repugnance to the plan of his dealing, 
 often in exact proportion to our discoveries. 
 " Where, then, is the fault?" — You would 
 ask: " Why do not such discoveries lead to a 
 happy issue ?" I answer, because they are par- 
 tial: and they must ever be so while repen- 
 tance is wanting. Their imperfection arises 
 from looking at a wrong object. The broadest 
 survey we can take from the light of the law 
 alone, will effect no good end. — It will only 
 lead to a horror of mind, while it will awaken 
 the enmity of the heart. The difference be- 
 tween the sinner here and in the world of de- 
 spair, is, that this is the only discovery the lat- 
 ter can ever make in the abode of the lost; 
 whereas the former may take such a view of 
 sin as will lead him to repentance. 
 This remark brings me to the second cause, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 261 
 
 or more properly, the true source of repen- 
 tance: 
 
 In the spirit of prophecy, in which the pro- 
 mise of redemption was given, and that of the 
 remission of sins, it was said — " they shall 
 look upon me whom they have pierced, and 
 they shall mourn."* Here is an emphatic de- 
 scription of the origin, and attendant feelings, of 
 true repentance. Until the mind is turned 
 aw r ay from considerations merely collateral, or 
 reflections of mere selfishness, and becomes, 
 in some measure, fixed on the great sacrifice 
 for sin, every feeling will continue unavailing 
 and unacceptable to God. But let us suppose 
 the direction of mind to be right and decided; 
 The sinner looks to the great sacrifice for sin: 
 He beholds the immensity of the offering, and 
 the corresponding infinity of guilt for w T hich it 
 was made. He marks well the love which 
 paid such a price for the redemption of the 
 transgressor. His heart is penetrated with a 
 sense of his past ingratitude. He is astonished 
 as he traces the previous current of his affec- 
 tions. Every gaze deepens emotions which 
 produce an effect upon every faculty of his 
 mind. His understanding embraces momen- 
 
 * Zech. xii. 10, 
 
 z 2 
 
262 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 tous truths which had been far in the back 
 ground. In the Eastern imagery, adopted by 
 the penitent Ephraim, he is ready to exclaim 
 — " Surely after that 1 was turned I repented; 
 and after that I was instructed, I smote upon 
 my thigh; I was ashamed, yea, even confound- 
 ed!" In the meanwhile an insight into the 
 purity of the Divine character puts into his 
 mouth the exclamation of the Patriarch of old 
 — " I have heard of thee by the hearing of the 
 ear, but now mine eye seeth thee, wherefore I 
 abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes." 
 
 One other consideration stands prominently 
 out, and flings its light upon the past and the 
 present: It is the self accusing thought that he 
 whom we have offended, and whose justice 
 might have struck us down, pays the vast de- 
 mand of that attribute, and bids us repose, 
 with confidence, in the arms of his love. Here 
 is an appeal to one of the most powerful prin- 
 ciples of the human heart: 
 
 I will suppose you to have exercised a series 
 of systematic efforts against the interests of an 
 acquaintance; and that the origin of them all 
 was in the gratification of your own selfishness, 
 with a perfect recklessness of the issue. I will 
 suppose that after a lapse of time, you have 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 263 
 
 discovered that this acquaintance, although 
 aware of the inimical part you were acting, 
 was engaged all that time in endeavouring to 
 promote your own weal, and now, that ruin 
 followed your deportment of evil, he stood be- 
 tween you and destruction. Would you not 
 be confounded by the contrast between your 
 own selfishness, and his disinterestedness — his 
 love and your own malignity? And would 
 not this be accompanied with an utter detesta- 
 tion of your own conduct ? It is sometimes 
 said that there is a principle within the human 
 breast which indisposes us to love those whom 
 we have wronged: and that in proportion to 
 the injuries we have inflicted, we kindle an 
 animosity in our own bosoms against their ob- 
 ject. For the present admit this. Does not 
 this hatred arise from a belief that a corres- 
 ponding animosity exists in the bosom of the 
 injured party ? — a belief that discredits or sus- 
 pects all manifestations of good-will. And is 
 it not connected with a dread of that humiliat- 
 ing feeling which arises in a proud mind, on 
 the conferment of favours by an enemy? But 
 suppose the criminal in this case, to be fully con- 
 vinced, on reflection, that all the good he receiv- 
 ed, emanated from pure disinterestedness; and 
 
264 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 that his benefactor was prepared and able, to 
 bury deep in oblivion all that was past — an effect 
 not always easily conceived in human affairs- 
 might we not look for something of a practical 
 and affecting character in the result? Now, 
 the sinner has been sustained by an Almighty 
 arm, through the course of his rebellion: and 
 yet benevolence has followed him on. If he 
 weigh the consequences of his past life with all 
 this in view, he may be agitated in the survey; 
 but the sight of God out of Christ will do more 
 than reduce him to despair. The very mer* 
 eies and long suffering of which he has been the 
 subject, will increase his hatred of his Ma- 
 ker, because they increase his condemnation. 
 Change, then, the spectacle before him. Let 
 the Saviour appear in the character in which 
 the scriptures present him; and you can easily 
 conceive how the enlightening of his under- 
 standing has given a new aspect to his condi- 
 tion and to every thing around him. 
 
 In this view of the matter before us there 
 must be an apprehension and comprehension of 
 the Redeemer, or of the divine mercy through 
 him. And it is to such an end that Jesus 
 Christ is represented as " set forth, or exhibit- 
 ed," propitiation through faith in his blood. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 265 
 
 Faith, then, in the order of its agency, precedes 
 repentance. The latter grace is certainly high- 
 ly acceptable to God; " but without faith it is 
 impossible to please him." It is some sense, 
 at least, of our personal concern in the great 
 matter of salvation, which leads to repentance. 
 Now the sole or essential difference between a 
 false and true faith consists in the object. The 
 careless sinner will tell us that he believes in 
 Jesus Christ; but he has no defined idea of the 
 object of true faith, because he has no feeling or 
 personal interest in it. And therefore, neither 
 this grace, nor any of its effects, can be pro- 
 duced in his heart. 
 
 If, then, a right comprehension of Jesus 
 Christ is the true source of repentance, you will 
 easily judge of the species of sorrow which ac- 
 companies it. And, in the converse of this, 
 you will see why legal conviction of sin will be 
 of no avail itself; while it is transitory in its na- 
 ture; and while the sufferings it produces so 
 readily end in a calm which may be mistaken 
 for the new-birth, although it may be the inci- 
 pient chilling of the second death. It is the re- 
 pentance of one who does not believe. 
 
 You observe, too, that evangelical, or God- 
 ly sorrow, can not be a temporary effusion. 
 
266 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 The waters of the smitten rock will accompa- 
 ny the believer through his pilgrimage. Its 
 source is far higher than that of an earthly- 
 grief. It may not exhibit the same intensity 
 of emotion: but the most durable grief that ev- 
 er occupies the bosom is, most usually, silent. 
 Its progress, though noiseless, is like the cur- 
 rent of deep waters, regular and irresistible. 
 It is, like a living stream, active and effective; 
 not stagnant and still, diffusing the vapours of 
 death around it. 
 
 Nor is true mourning for sin confined to 
 the neighbourhood of its first appearance. The 
 evangelical penitent exclaims with the Psalm- 
 ist — " rivers of water run down my eyes, be- 
 cause, they keep not thy law."* The iniqui- 
 ties of others are distressing to a mind which 
 has ever fairly and fully contemplated the 
 Cross. 
 
 All this is the more obvious when you keep 
 in mind the distinction that a counterfeit, or 
 spurious repentance arises from terror; a pas- 
 sion whose legitimate tendency is to banish 
 love from the bosom, or rather to interdict its 
 entrance there. Previous to the existence of 
 this legal conviction, the sinner may have en- 
 
 * Ps. cxix. 136. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 267 
 
 tertained an idea of his God rather pleasant than 
 otherwise. But it arose from that conception 
 of the Divine mercy which rather encouraged 
 than depressed his feelings of self-complacen- 
 cy: this being removed, and a more full notion 
 of justice coming into sight, an external obedi- 
 ence commences from a principle of dread. It 
 is the same restraint which is kept on the con- 
 duct of the wolf by the nearness of the shep- 
 herd. It is the same obedience which a re- 
 fractory slave may observe, under fear of the 
 lash of his master. Remove the apprehension 
 of personal punishment, and the dominion of 
 lust will be more powerful than ever. It will 
 be found that the momentary check gives 
 strength to desire, and passion unrestricted 
 flows beyond its former bounds. And it is 
 hence we often find the profligacy of those once 
 awakened more inveterate and determined than 
 it had been before. The sorrow had been, ra- 
 ther that God hated sin so much, than that 
 they had been guilty of it. 
 
 On the contrary, true repentance springs from 
 love to God, and a corresponding hatred of all 
 that is unlike his holy character. To such a man 
 it is not a subject of sorrow that the law is so 
 holy, and its penalty so severe. He laments 
 
268 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 that his nature has been in opposition to the 
 sacred requirements, and that his inherent 
 carnality is so much at variance with his spi- 
 ritual desires. 
 
 In the first case, aversion was created by the 
 very effort to obey, and the distance between 
 God and himself was accordingly widened. In 
 the second, obedience is a means of keeping 
 the affections nearer their object. 
 
 Spurious repentance produces an imperfect 
 effect upon the life. This is obvious from its 
 very nature. As it does not arise from a just 
 discovery of the evil of sin, and is not con- 
 nected with an abhorrence of it, any change 
 which may be produced is partial. It is true the 
 subject may make certain sacrifices, in the omis- 
 sion of certain practices, or in the discharge of 
 certain duties: But without jealousy of self, 
 which arises from an insight into his own 
 heart: — without that law of love, which turns 
 inclination to obedience, and puts the safest 
 construction on the Divine commands — it is 
 impossible that the reformation of life should 
 be complete. If such a man do not content 
 himself with obedience to certain require* 
 ments which demand little self-denial, and 
 consider this sufficient to cover his neglect 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 269 
 
 of those which call for a greater sacrifice: — 
 or if he do not play some other and equally 
 compromising part; if he do not commit cer- 
 tain evils, he will omit certain duties: if he be 
 restrained from open transgression, he will 
 cherish iniquities of the heart. The actings of 
 his mind do not come under his careful inspec- 
 tion. There is a light rein to the workings of 
 a depraved fancy. There is no critical scrutiny 
 of his motives. There is no inquiry into the ten- 
 our of his desires. The want of substantial prin- 
 ciple excludes all possibility of regular and per- 
 manent benefit. — Even the external appearance 
 of good may be temporary, irregular and fitful. 
 Now it is the opposite of all this which takes place 
 in a.mind renewed unto repentance in God. 
 
 In the first of these cases there is no ground 
 of humility, because here is no self-loathing, — 
 no distressing sensation of the power of in- 
 dwelling depravity. And the failure, there- 
 fore, of an attempt to remove any evil is not a 
 matter of great uneasiness: because, while it can 
 be attributed to natural infirmity, he is satisfied 
 in casting all the blame there, and acquires a 
 feeling of self complacency in the act of doing 
 so. To him there is here no additional reason 
 
 for hating the dominion of sin. 
 Aa2 
 
270 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 The true penitent, on the contrary, exclaims 
 with the Apostle on every such discovery — 
 " Oh wretched man that I am, who shall de- 
 liver me from the body of this death?" while 
 he sinks into the dust of self abasement; and 
 wonders at the extent of that grace which could 
 pardon guilt of so deep a die. His faith, and 
 repentance, and this knowledge of himself, 
 constitute the true foundation of humility. 
 Charity for the faults of others, and a love for 
 those who bear the image of God, are insepara- 
 ble accompaniments. So true is it, that where 
 one genuine grace exists, the rest of the train 
 will likewise be. 
 
 I need not trespass further on your time by 
 describing the fruits of repentance, as they 
 are commonly called in the life of the penitent. 
 The Apostle Paul seems to have summed up 
 all these in a short sentence addressed to the 
 Church of Corinth : " For behold this self same 
 thing that ye sorrowed after a Godly sort, what 
 carefulness is wrought in you, yea, what clear- 
 ing of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea, 
 what fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, 
 what zeal, yea, what revenge!"* 
 
 You see, then, that he who inquires into the 
 
 • 2 Cor. vii. 11. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 271 
 
 meaning and character of true repentance, is 
 looking for the evidence of a change of heart, 
 and not for that which he is to find previous to 
 his approach to God. 
 
 Adieu, Dear Sir, may it be yours to "look 
 unto Him," who in dying for our transgres- 
 sions made more manifest our guilt, while he 
 displayed the fullness of his mercy. 
 Very truly yours. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 An Inquirer reviewing his past cares — A remarkable period in his life — 
 The simplicity of faith-— A temptation to hold back from Christ— Natural 
 incredulousness— The afflicted Father's application to Christ— The case 
 applied to the Inquirer — The workings of the Inquirer's mind — His sur- 
 render to Christ — The change— Difference in different cases— The act in 
 which relief most commonly arrives — Not always the same — Vale- 
 dictory. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 To him who entertains a hope that he has 
 found the great object of his search, a review 
 of his past solicitude, and of the fluctuations of 
 his doubts and fears — comprising, as they do, 
 a painful history — will end in astonishment at 
 his own perverseness. This may not be equal- 
 ly the case with all. But there will be few 
 
272 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 who will not discover that much of their time 
 has been expended in the removal of miscon- 
 ceptions — in correcting errors — in looking for 
 some new rules — in attempting to pry into the 
 secret purposes of God — or to complete the 
 work of the Saviour — in vain fancies of the fu- 
 ture, or endeavouring to cultivate patience to 
 wait for the gift of faith. A retrospect of past 
 life, in its ordinary details, presents a melan- 
 choly group of circumstances to most of us. 
 But a review of the season of conviction of sin, 
 and the application for mercy, brings before us 
 a crowd of distressing images. We are as- 
 tonished at an infatuation so visible in our pre- 
 sent state of mind, and at our great ignorance 
 of things which now appear so perfectly plain. 
 But, above all, we wonder at our rejection of 
 knowledge, or our misapplication of it; and 
 at our obstinate efforts to render intricate and 
 complex, what was distinguished by its sim- 
 . plicity. It is now, for the first time, we un- 
 derstand the spirit of the Syrian general's re- 
 ply to the prophet — "Are not Abana and 
 Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the 
 waters of Israel ?" And the force of his ser- 
 vant's answer, " My father, if the Prophet had 
 bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 273 
 
 not have done it? how much rather then, when 
 he saith to thee, wash and be clean ?" 
 
 But there may be a period in our history, 
 reached before this, when we are able to look 
 back, and retrace the relinquishment — the re- 
 luctant relinquishment of one point after ano- 
 ther, and find ourselves wholly unable to dis- 
 tinguish a single remaining impediment visible 
 near us: and yet still nothing of a distinctive 
 character on which to rest a wearied and dis- 
 consolate mind: the past a painful survey: the 
 future blank 
 
 "Poor child of doubt and death, whose hope was built on reeds !" 
 
 A state such as this, seems something like a 
 pause in the moral career of the subject. There 
 is an eventful silence, in which the exhausted 
 passions seek a respite from their toil, and the 
 flagging spirits, wearied by their excitement, 
 sink into the languor of despondency. Or, if 
 no such marked effect succeed the restlessness 
 and chafing of the Inquirer, after he has at last 
 seen all hindrances to his salvation resolved 
 into his own fault, and his artificial resources 
 from pain removed — there is most usually still 
 a momentary calm broken by a voice that an- 
 nounces a partial possession of the very boon 
 Aa2 
 
274 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 that is sought — "I would believe!" Faith, 
 that wonderful and mysterious principle, re- 
 lative to which so many surmises had existed, 
 and which had appeared so indefinable, begins, 
 perhaps insensibly, its operations in the soul. 
 The Inquirer ascertains that the difficulty of 
 explaining the meaning of the term consisted 
 in its very simplicity. And he may be as- 
 tonished in finding himself in the partial exer- 
 cise of a grace, relative to the distinctions of 
 which he had so much perplexed his mind. 
 And he easily sees how it is, that many who 
 are illiterate and ignorant, and who have not 
 lingered on the way in pursuit of meanings 
 and distinctions, more readily lay hold of the 
 hope of salvation than some whose knowledge 
 is greater, and whose understandings have been 
 better enlightened. He sees, on the one hand, 
 the hopelessness of his condition, as it is by na- 
 ture; and, on the other, the suitableness of the 
 Divine promises to all the circumstances of his 
 case. It is a comparison, such as this, which 
 fits his mind for the exercise of belief. The 
 particular character of his present state assists 
 him in interpreting the Gospel plan, while he 
 beholds its adaptation to his own wants; and an 
 examination into this plan, again, — briefly and 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 275 
 
 imperfectly as it may be done — corrects and 
 illustrates his conceptions of his own condition. 
 He may be hardly sensible of the process of 
 such a comparison; nor perhaps is he often so. 
 Nor would it probably occur to him that the 
 degree of his faith will be according to the ex- 
 tent of the truth which becomes visible to him; 
 or that faith itself may not always correspond 
 with the evidence of the truth, but will depend 
 on the manner in which that truth affects the 
 mind. He has neither disposition nor power, 
 in a crisis which has enlisted into action every 
 feeling of his heart, as well as every faculty of 
 his mind, to watch a process by which the 
 Holy Spirit commences a work of grace with- 
 in him. It is enough that the wretchedness of 
 his natural state is itself complete, and that the 
 tenders of the Lord Jesus Christ are exactly 
 suited to the exigencies of his own soul. 
 
 It is this survey which gives him confidence 
 to cast the whole weight of his spirit on the 
 Redeemer, and to say, with the Christian 
 poet 
 
 " A guilty, weak, and helpless worm 
 On thy kind arms I fall ; 
 Be thou my strength and righteousness, 
 My Jesus, and my all." 
 
 It is indeed true that the Inquirer may be 
 
276 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 tempted to hold back from a full confidence in 
 Christ, — a consequence of some idea of the 
 glory of the object sought, contrasted with his 
 own unworthiness. And another case, much 
 resembling this, is not uncommon. The awak- 
 ened sinner who has seen the ordinary obstruc- 
 tions to his faith vanishing one by one, and 
 who has a partial glimpse of the excellency of 
 Divine grace, may be induced to retreat from 
 it, by that infidelity which is natural to some 
 minds, on the first receipt of happy intelli- 
 gence. I have somewhere said that you must 
 have witnessed a diversity of effects from the 
 same intelligence on different dispositions. 
 One may drink in the information with eager- 
 ness and implicit credulity: another will avow 
 his doubts at once, for no other reason than 
 that it is u too good news to be true." And 
 thus may it be with the Inquirer in the pre- 
 sent case. He can not believe; not because 
 his sins are too great to be pardoned; for he 
 may not doubt the sufficiency of the atone- 
 ment; and he may see that honour would ac- 
 crue to the Redeemer, from the recovery of 
 the vilest sinner. But he can not lay hold of 
 a truth, whose personal application to himself 
 is to produce so amazing an alteration in his 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 277 
 
 present and eternal condition. And indeed 
 the same feeling may sometimes, and to some 
 extent exist in the mind of the Christian him- 
 self. There may be a time, when his views of 
 the glory of the redeemed, and of the value of 
 redemption may, so far overwhelm him with 
 a sense of their grandeur and excellence, as to 
 institute a doubt whether he can be a partaker. 
 The happy fate of others he does not question; 
 but his own he does not admit. 
 
 The fault here consists in an imperfect view 
 of the subject. He distinguishes one part of it, 
 while another is hardly visible. The provi- 
 sions of the Gospel are discerned; but their 
 exact fitness to his own case is overlooked. 
 The possibility of mercy is acknowledged; but 
 its appropriateness to a state obviously his own, 
 is not recollected. Here, and in any other in- 
 stance in which a part of the character or de- 
 sign of redemption is forgotten, there is a 
 strong temptation to incredulousness. When 
 the Inquirer then, is sometimes induced to 
 stand aloof from the offer of grace, and to ex- 
 claim — " the gift seems too great forme — I 
 can not believe that so much favour can be 
 mine," his comprehension of the subject on 
 which he is occupied is imperfect. 
 
278 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 Or, there may be another reason for such an 
 expression. There may be a self deception of 
 which he is not aware. He may be nurturing 
 a false humility which he secretly deems ac- 
 ceptable, if not pleasing, to God: and for which 
 he looks for a proportionate reward. He for- 
 gets that it is dishonourable to his Maker to dis- 
 credit the offers on which the Divine veracity 
 is staked; and that, while he considers his diffi- 
 dence a virtue, it is challenging the truth of 
 Jehovah. 
 
 Where there was more real candour to itself, 
 I have sometimes watched the workings of a 
 mind, whose changes were almost distinctly vi- 
 sible, and which after all its false reasonings, 
 had seen the necessity and duty of an imme- 
 diate and implicit reliance on Jesus Christ. 
 And I have thought how strong a resemblance 
 there was between such a case, and that of the 
 petitioner who said — " I believe, help my un- 
 belief."* You remember the story well. The 
 afflicted man had said — " if thou canst do any 
 thing:" The Saviour replies, "if thou canst 
 believe, all things are possible to him that be- 
 lieveth:" in other words, the hindrance con- 
 sisted in the weakness of faith on the part of the 
 
 ' Mark, ix. 23, 24. 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 279 
 
 applicant, and not in the difficulty in the case 
 itself. A distinction of which we are too apt 
 to lose sight. The anxious parent receives the 
 reproof, and acknowledges its justice; while, at 
 the same time he lays hold of the encourage- 
 ment which the language of the Saviour was 
 designed to convey, and exclaims in the words 
 we have quoted. Here was still an obvious im- 
 perfection on the part of the applicant. He ad- 
 mitted that Christ was the Son of God; and 
 while he considered him the last hope, the in- 
 veteracy of his child's disease staggered any 
 confidence he would have reposed in his mira- 
 culous power. Of this imperfection he seems 
 to have been sensible. And with the emotion 
 of a bosom, the seat of a struggle between hope 
 and fear, he asks assistance to his wavering 
 mind: and asks it with tears. The very act of 
 his prayer evinced some confidence in the Son 
 of God, while it displayed a sense of tempta- 
 tion to distrust. Acceptable prayer implies 
 some degree of faith, even though the subject 
 of that prayer be faith itself. And in this in- 
 stance, the applicant indicates his belief in the 
 power and sufficiency of Christ, while he asks 
 for assistance to his unbelief. And he did what 
 
280 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 the disciples had done before him^ when they 
 said — "Lord, increase our faith !" 
 
 It is thus the awakened sinner, in sight of 
 his lost condition, in view of the sufficiency of 
 Jesus Christ, and of his own natural infidelity, 
 cries, "help my unbelief !" It is the cry of a 
 burdened soul, attempting to rest the weight of 
 his cares oh the Saviour, — seeking assistance 
 to do so — and complaining of the hardness of a 
 heart which weakens his confidence. The 
 light which pours into his mind in this effort, 
 discovers more fully the depravity he laments, 
 while it reveals to a greater extent, the induce- 
 ments to an unconditional surrender of his 
 whole affections. There is, probably, not a 
 single prayer adopted by successful Inquirers 
 more general than this: Nor one, if this a~ise 
 from the heart, more frequently the immediate 
 precursor of a sensible change. 1 have often 
 thought the whole story itself one of the most 
 applicable to the present subject. 
 
 If I were to attempt to describe the work- 
 ings of the Inquirer's mind, when near to this 
 happy issue, I should certainly derive that de- 
 scription from the discoveries he makes of the 
 Redeemer's character. He sees God, as mani- 
 fested in his Son — justice, as satisfied by his 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 281 
 
 death — mercy, as revealed through him. He 
 reflects on the World, to form the best estimate 
 of it, by contemplating Him who knew not 
 where to lay his head: On death, to behold in 
 Christ the resurrection and the life: On the 
 judgment, to see the victim of Calvary the oc-. 
 cupant of the throne. Nor is there any thing 
 connected with the Divine plan of government; 
 nor any thing with which the Christian has to 
 do in the concerns of eternity, where the per- 
 son and character of Jesus Christ do not hold 
 the prominent place. All — every thing, is re- 
 solved into matters belonging to the offices of 
 the gracious Redeemer. And how effectually 
 such meditations become the means of fasten- 
 ing the attention on the Mediator and Advocate 
 of sinners; and of imparting, although perhaps 
 insensibly, a lively faith in his name. How 
 difficulties vanish in such an engagement, and 
 how freely the sinner exclaims in the first act 
 of belief, 
 
 "Jesus, I give myself away, 
 'Tis all that I can do!" 
 
 Happy moment! when a sense of ill-desert, 
 of confidence in Christ, and grateful love, meet 
 and blend together! 
 
282 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 I am not sure that the particular manner, or 
 feelings, with which the Inquirer first lays 
 hold of the hope of salvation, differing as they 
 do, in different persons, deserve much of your 
 consideration: And yet it may not be amiss to 
 say a few words on this subject. 
 
 In some minds, there is a rapid, or even a 
 sudden, transition, from a painful state of 
 moral darkness, to a condition of light and 
 comfort. During the act of prayer, or in some 
 moment of meditation, the oppressive weight 
 which had rested on the heart of the Inquirer, 
 leaves him. His views of sovereign mercy 
 are distinct and clear. A spirit of humble con- 
 fidence takes possession of his bosom. His 
 feelings consciously draw him to the contem- 
 plation of the riches of grace. Hope flings its 
 bright rays around him. Every thing appears 
 changed. Every thing is new. A smile of 
 heavenly cheerfulness plays on the very works 
 of nature. A reconciled God shines in them 
 all. And the gloom, which had so recently 
 lowered over every object that met the eye, 
 has passed away, like the morning cloud. The 
 Inquirer is astonished at himself; astonished at 
 a transition so utterly unaccountable, and un- 
 expected. Whence this wonderful alteration 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 283 
 
 in external things? The change is in his own 
 mind, and not in them. Whence that disposi- 
 tion to a full confidence in his Saviour, so dif- 
 ferent from his late waverings and fears? He 
 can not himself comprehend it; nor can he re- 
 trace a single step to it. He can only say, like 
 one restored of old, "whereas I was blind, 
 now I see!" 
 
 Oh, how different is all this from his former 
 fanciful expectations! How unlike ail that 
 imagination had figured! And how may it 
 remind him of that memorable prophecy of a 
 Saviour's power — " 1 will bring the blind by 
 a w T ay that they knew not; I will lead them 
 in paths that they have not known! I will 
 make darkness light before them, and crooked 
 tilings straight."* 
 
 Wonderful, transforming influence! Mys- 
 terious and silent agency ! And the subject of 
 this astonishing change half questions a reality 
 which his sober judgment on every appeal, 
 confirms. He inquires of his own heart — " Is 
 it that I have lost sight of my sinfulness — and 
 that my forgetfulness of guilt has produced 
 this peace from the contrast with its painful 
 remembrance? No: Guilt never assumed a 
 
 * Is. xlii. 16. 
 
 
284 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 form so horrible before: sin was never so 
 loathsome, and purity never so lovely. 1 
 look back, to see the narrow plank over which 
 I have passed, and I shudder at the yawning 
 abyss below it. The moral atmosphere I 
 breathe gives vigour to my exhausted spirit. 
 My desires expand — My appetite craves a 
 
 new sustenance for the soul. Tell me, 
 
 is not this of God 7 
 
 Memorable epoch ! memorable through eter- 
 nity. It is the commencement of life: all be- 
 fore it was the spectacle of putrefaction and 
 death. 
 
 But the moment, the hour, or the day, is 
 far less marked in the experience of others. 
 A more common case, perhaps, is that in 
 which the light breaks on the understand- 
 ing, like the gradual approach of the morning 
 dawn: It was the prayer of the prostrate 
 soul 
 
 "Come, then, thou Crucified, my mourning thoughts 
 
 Oh sanctify ! reveal thy bleeding form 
 
 To me, miserable. Oh impart 
 
 Thy mercy, while I seek — 
 
 Thy presence. Lo, I come all penitent, 
 
 Bowing to earth oppressed." 
 
 And the petition flows with an earnestness 
 and fervour hitherto unknown. No divine 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 285 
 
 influence is imagined. And yet the petitioner 
 is surprised at a new intensity of feeling; a 
 freedom of utterance; a sweet and lovely calm, 
 well marked in opposition to the experience 
 of hours gone by. And yet still the mist is 
 not completely scattered. The sensible alter- 
 ation that exists is not sufficient to create a 
 holy joy. Assurance is wanting. Desire is 
 more importunate. And, in the sense of par- 
 tial discovery, the Inquirer exclaims, like the 
 blind man of Bethsaida, " I see men, as trees, 
 walking/'* And it may be that another — or 
 even another accession of light, is necessary to 
 unfold, clearly, the object of a holy confidence: 
 the march of the understanding and affections 
 regular and steady onwards: and the progres- 
 sive effects which succeed each other, give, in 
 turn, additional reasons, for a complete trust 
 in the promise of salvation. Reflections and 
 comparison confirm that trust. And the re- 
 covered soul advances, with certain pace, to 
 the enjoyment of heavenly peace. 
 
 But " he went his way rejoicing," is not to 
 be told of all. There are those who, from 
 reasons already assigned, never participate in 
 the more elevated enjoyments which belong 
 
 " Mark 3 viii. 24, 
 
 Bb2 
 
286 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 to the experience of others. A physical con- 
 stitution naturally cold, or defective views, in 
 some few particulars, may keep the mind in 
 a degree of suspense, even through the re- 
 mainder of life. But still the subject of our 
 remarks, discovers a change within himself 
 which is obviously from on high. The charms 
 of the world have faded away:— Their insuf- 
 ficiency and vanity are conspicuous to his 
 sight. Sin assumes a greater and greater dis- 
 gust of aspect. The value of the soul, and 
 the mercies of Christ, are more distinctly dis- 
 cerned. And if there be no ardour in his de- 
 votions, it is not because his heart is else- 
 where, for these furnish his dearest hours. If 
 he can not "tune the enraptured lay;" and 
 soar with a lighter and a freer spirit, there is 
 a regularity in the movements of the soul. If 
 the language of some of the songs of Zion is 
 sometimes too high strung for the measure 
 of his feelings, those feelings accord with its 
 spirit still. He loves to contemplate what the 
 redeemed admire, while he laments the op- 
 pressive weight that restrains his flight. The 
 world shall behold him the consistent Chris- 
 tian. And his pursuits, in their seriousness 
 and steadiness, shall tell the direction of his 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 287 
 
 prevailing taste and desires. He recognizes a 
 sustaining hand, that upholds him in his ways; 
 but his faith furnishes no cup of positive de- 
 
 light. 
 
 Or there may be other gradations of feeling, 
 somewhat different from either of these, aris- 
 ing from the character of the mind, the cir- 
 cumstances under which it acts, or the man- 
 ner of the Divine influence. Yet all these 
 variations are of secondary importance. It 
 is enough that the heart is transferred from 
 the world to God: that its affections have a 
 new home. The degree of spiritual enjoy- 
 ment is not the primary test of a renewed soul: 
 And the measurement of its increase is not al- 
 ways a profitable employment. 
 
 Nor can the act by which consolation first 
 comes to the mind be always distinguished as 
 the same. Some passage of Scripture is fre- 
 quently rendered the instrument of dispersing 
 the surrounding gloom, and opening an avenue 
 to hope. And yet that passage may have come 
 unsought, and at a time when the thoughts had 
 taken a different direction. Or, when despair 
 has completely overwhelmed the soul, an un- 
 expected relief may reach the sufferer without 
 
288 LETTERS TO AN 
 
 distinguishable means, at the very moment in 
 which a sense of his helplessness is most dis- 
 tressing. 
 
 I am confident that most Christians who can 
 recur to the first day of relief — for all are by 
 no means able to do so — date their change in 
 the act of prayer, or in that of pondering the 
 Divine Word. But the great Re-creator of 
 hearts makes use of instruments which seemed 
 to have no connexion with so important an 
 end. An exemplary Christian, " whose praise 
 is in all the churches," owed his first sense of 
 a change to an ordinary incident of life: His 
 child was engaged in reading aloud a portion 
 of Grecian history. The father had been ob- 
 sorbed in a melancholy review of his past life; 
 and in a kind of vacant gaze on the dreariness 
 of the present prospect; when his attention 
 was awakened by the following anecdote: 
 
 Alexander the Great had promised a cour- 
 tier, who had rendered him some signal ser- 
 vice, whatever reward he might ask. On the 
 credit of this promise, the favourite drew an 
 exorbitant order on the royal treasury. The 
 Treasurer, astonished, took the order to his 
 master. Alexander looked at it for a moment, 
 
ANXIOUS INQUIRER. 289 
 
 and then said to the officer " This proves 
 
 how generously my friend thinks of my love: 
 He proportions his demand to his trust in my 
 
 affection. Pay the amount/"' The train of 
 
 reflections which succeeded in the mind of the 
 Parent, began a new era in his life. "Have 
 1" — thought he, — " been soliciting the friend 
 of sinners, with a cherished doubt of his will- 
 ingness to do all that he offers ? Have I inti- 
 mated a discredit of his truth, who gave his 
 life a ransom for the miserable? I will be- 
 lieve. And his own goodness shall interpret 
 my confidence." There may seem little con- 
 nexion between the story and the results to 
 which it led. But it is impossible to tell the 
 associations to which any incident may carry 
 us: or to augur those unaccountable evolutions 
 of thought to which we are all accustomed. 
 And w r e know how readily the mind brings, 
 and appropriates to its favourite pursuit, all 
 that passes before it. 
 
 And now, Dear Sir, farewell! I take leave 
 of this subject, after placing these hints in your 
 hands, with an humble hope that the Great 
 Hearer of prayer may sanctify my feeble ef- 
 forts to relieve your anxiety: And with some 
 
290 LETTERS TO AN, ETC. 
 
 confidence in commending you to Him who 
 can say to your own soul, with the same pow- 
 er with which he spake in the beginning of 
 creation, — — " let there be light !" 
 Very truly Yours. 
 
NEW WORKS, 
 
 IN PRESS, 
 
 BY KEY # BIDDLE 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, Esq..— Compiled 
 from his correspondence and other authenticated sour- 
 ces of information, containing 1 remarks on his writings, 
 and on the peculiarities of his interesting character, 
 never before published. By Thomas Taylor. 
 Extract from the Preface. 
 
 Many Lives of Cowper have already been published. 
 Why then, it may be asked, add to their number? Sim- 
 ply because in the opinion of competent judges, no me- 
 moir of him has yet appeared that gives a full, fair, and 
 unbiassed view of his character. 
 
 It is remarked by Dr. Johnson, the poet's kinsman, 
 in his preface to the two volumes of Cowper's Private 
 Correspondence, " that Mr. Haley omitted the insertion 
 of several interesting letters in his excellent Life of the 
 poet out of kindness to his readers." In doing* this, how- 
 ever amiable and considerate as his caution must appear, 
 the gloominess which he has taken from the mind of 
 Cowper, has the effect of involving his character in ob- 
 scurity. 
 
 In alluding to these suppressed letters, the late highly 
 esteemed Leigh Richmond once emphatically remarked 
 — " Cowper's character will never be clearly and satis- 
 factorily understood without them, and should be per- 
 mitted to exist for the demonstration of the case. I 
 know the importance of it from numerous conversations 
 I have had, both in England and Scotland, on this sub- 
 ject. Persons of truly religious principles, as well as 
 those of little or no religion at all, have greatly erred in 
 their estimate of this great and good man." 
 
 In this work all that is necessary and much that is 
 painful to know, is told of Cowper, and well told too.— - 
 His life was much wanted, and we have no doubt that it 
 will be universally read and become, like the poems of 
 the man it commemorates, a standard work. Mr. Tay- 
 
lor has our hearty thanks for having produced this work, 
 and our commendations no less hearty for having pro- 
 duced it so well. — Metropolitan, 
 
 THE TESTIMONY OF NATURE AND REVE- 
 LATION TO THE BEING AND PERFECTIONS 
 OF GOD. By the Rev. Henry Fergus, Dumferline, 
 Author of the History of the United States of America, 
 till the termination of the War of Independence, in Lan- 
 der's Cyclopedia. 
 
 The following is from the Spectator, of April 20, 1833. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Fergus's Testimony of Nature and Re- 
 velation to the Being, Perfection and Government of 
 God, in an attempt to do in one volume what the Bridg- 
 water Treatise are to do in eight. We wish one eighth 
 of the reward only may make its way to Dunfermline. 
 Mr. Fergus's Treatise goes over the whole ground with 
 fervour and ability; it is an excellent volume, and may 
 be had for somewhere about half the price of one Bridg- 
 water octavo. 
 
 THE HAPPINESS OF THE BLESSED, consider- 
 ed as to the particulars of their state; their recognition 
 of each other in that state; and its difference of degrees. 
 To which are added, Musings on the Church and her 
 services. By Richard Mant, D. D. M. R. I. A. Lord 
 Bishop of Down and Connor. 
 
 HARMONY OF THE FOUR GOSPELS, founded 
 on the arrangement of the Harmonia Ev angelica. — 
 By the Rev. Edward Greswall. With the practical re- 
 flections of Dr. Doddridge: designed for the use of 
 families and schools, and for private edification. By 
 the Rev. E. Bickersteth, Rector of Walton Heth. 
 
 All which are entitled to much commendation, as 
 tending to familiarize the young student with the exact 
 phraseology of the New Testament and calculated to 
 recall it, in an agreeable way, to the memory of the 
 more advanced Scholar. — Lit. Gazette. 
 
 It possesses much substantive merit, and is the best 
 Key to the Chronology of the Gospel History we have 
 met with. — Mhenseum. 
 
 381 92 
 

 
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