cross quite open, and, under this impression, he gave it to the public, in hope that the definition would open their way. But if it shut you out, then all that you know of its author (and the more that is good the better for my argument) warrants and binds you to give up his definitions, and to throw yourself at once upon the words which the Holy Ghost teacheth.

But this digression is already too long. Let us return to the direct subject of the essaythe oneness of faith and prayer. Now, you feel the necessity of faith. You are anxious to possess it. You have often tried to exercise faith in the Saviour. You have occasionally felt as if the emotions and desires of your hearts towards him were ripening into real faith. But still you are not satisfied. You are far from sure whether you have, indeed, believed with the heart. If, however, you are sure that you have prayed with the heart, there is no occasion for all this uncertainty on the question of faith. For it is selfevident, that, if you had no faith in Christ, you would not offer up all your prayers in the

name of Christ, nor make his merits your only plea at the mercy-seat.

It is, indeed, true that thousands unite, every Sabbath, in prayers which make the merits of Christ the sole plea; and yet evince no faith. But theirs is not a parallel case to yours. Mercy is the inmost desire of your heart, and the blood of Christ your only ground of hope. You can no longer be satisfied with repeating words, however good. You must now express desires; and, sometimes, they are so many and strong, that you cannot find words to express them. And such is your state of mind, in reference to your own salvation, that neither the number nor the nature of your prayers satisfy you. It is just what you see in Christ, and not what you see in them, that keeps you praying. You feel that, but for what he is and has done, you must soon despair and perish. It is not your prayers, but his merits, which give you any hope.

Now, such being the facts of your case, it is really unwise, if not criminal, to question the reality of your faith. Its weakness it

very obvious; but its sincerity is self-evident. No unbeliever could pray in this spirit. There is no instance in Scripture of any unbeliever crying mightily unto God for mercy, through the blood of the Lamb. It is, indeed, difficult to say how far wicked men may go at times in praying for mercy in the name of Christ. You have, no doubt, known men who could pray with wonderful fervour, and with every appearance of sincerity, and who have been found out afterwards to have been living in gross sin at the very time. Neither public nor social prayer, however remarkable, iş, therefore, any sure test of faith or sincerity. Secret prayer is the test. The men who can pray and drink-pray and lie-pray and defraud-pray and be profligate, do not, dare not, pray in their closets. Secret sin cannot be combined with secret prayer. The yet unmasked sensualist may, at times, be forced by fear to fall down alone before God, and break the silence of the night by the groans of remorse: but if he continue to sin, he will soon discontinue secret prayer. His closet will be more intolerable to him than even the

sanctuary, whilst he persists in sinning against light and conviction.

These solemn facts ought never to be forgotten: but, except as tests of character, and warnings of danger, what have they to do with your case? You want to be saved from sin, as well as from the curse. You are willing and solicitous to be holy, as well as safe. It is not because some vice still enslaves you, that you are afraid lest your prayers should not be answered, or that your faith may prove vain. Your fear arises chiefly from what you have been as a sinner, and from what you are as a penitent. The past alarms you by its guilt, and the present by its imperfec tions. It is not, however, actual nor habitual sinning now, that clouds your mind with doubts and fears. Your present difficulty (and it is a pressing one) is to see how prayers, so imperfect as yours, can be answered or accepted by God, especially as you are not sure that you pray in faith. Here is your chief discouragement: not only all the " plagues" of your heart seem to forbid hope; but you suspect that it is still "an evil

heart of unbelief;" and, knowing that without faith it is impossible to please God, you are thus afraid at times to hope or pray. And yet you cannot give up either altogether. Well, you have no occasion to give up hoping or praying; for praying with the heart is believing with the heart.

This is, I am aware, merely bringing the matter to the same point again, without any additional proof of the truth of that point. More proof is, however, at hand.

Now

nothing can be conceived as more opposite or unlike to unbelief than humble prayer, in the name of Christ, for a holy salvation. Whatever difficulty you may find, therefore, in calling such prayer faith, it is certainly impossible to call it unbelief, without violating all propriety. UNBELIEF, even when in its softest form, is careless about salvationindifferent to the Saviour-averse to prayerheedless of holiness, and not afraid of the wrath to come. Unbelief is not a shamed of itself-nor much shocked at sin, except when sin is very gross indeed. Unbelief has no ardent longings after union with Christ or