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 on 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 refuses the offer of salvation; whereas no such offer 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 remembered that there can not be a serious sense of danger-any deep conviction of sin-or any

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 possess inclination to occupy his mind with matters unrevealed. Or, if a suspicion of this nature 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 important 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 himself, and declares that he "has done all in his power;-that his desires have been serious."

The fault, then, is charged upon the Head of the Universe. Is there not something horrible 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 refusal 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, because he would see, more distinctly, both his danger and his wants.

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 Inquirer, when he abandons the hope before him! We should behold-not the penetrating sorrow which tells the disappointment of a sad heart, and indicates its sincerity—but a latent satisfaction, the high evidence of his hypocrisy. Hear the murmurer, in the pride of self-complacency,-"The fault is not mine; I have no censure to attach to myself!"-Let us ask him, if there be not a self-gratulation on his return to worldliness 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 universal, even among those who appear to have lost interest in the subject. We hear some stating

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 language, which a common mistake has sanctioned: a mistake to which I 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 admit 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 heartlessness. 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 approved? Will a heartless round of form lead you to that grace which you profess to be seeking? And does not this very contentment, while you are without spiritual peace, tell against you? You are seeking?-then it is for