INTRODUCTION.

WHILE the religious public have been well provided with doctrinal 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 interesting department of sacred literature has been either entirely neglected, or occupied by remarks of so general a nature as to answer very imperfectly the end for which they were designed. I refer to that department of instruction which is suited to the particular exigencies 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 spiritual death, and looks around him with an agitated feeling, to ask, "What shall I do to be saved?"

To awaken the conscience to at least a momentary activity, is very often far more easy than to meet that class of perplexities and cares to which such an excitement may lead. 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 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 awakened 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 apostolic example when we recommend him to "believe and repent." But he is not unapt to tell us, that he requires a more detailed and explicit direction 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 demands 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 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 from all this, to ask the particular character of the default, its causes, and the means of its removal.

If we put into his hands any of the valuable and well-known treatises which have been designed to alarm the unconverted sinner, he will most probably assent to the truths they contain;

but, though 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 embarrassments. His demand becomes more importunate, for some instruction adapted to that idiosyncrasy of character, which he conceives to distinguish his present condition. Here is an eagerness of appetite which 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. Yet to do so, important as it is, requires some further knowledge 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. 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 the remedy of his moral disorder.

Now, if we are unable to meet the whole of this question, there is one thing which it is not out of our power to do: I mean that of furnishing to the sight of the sufferer, cases which supply many instructive resemblances to his own.

Were we even at a loss to account, in all respects, for the existence of a particular experience, we may do much for the inquirer by only describing it. We prevent painful conclusions, which he is very apt to deduce from the supposed singularity of his situation; and we enable him to draw some important inferences which may preserve him from the extremes of presumption or despair. We abstract his attention from extraneous cares, and fix it on something 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 issue: and the longer he is detained