LETTERS. 323 



I plead guilty. I really began to think of marriage (very 

 prematurely, you'll say) ; but if I experience any repeti- 

 tion 0^ the Jit, I shall drop the idea of it for ever. It would 

 be folly and cruelty to involve another in all the horrors 

 of such a calamity. 



I thank you for your kind exhortations to a complete 

 surrender of my heart to God, which are contained in 

 your letter. In this respect I have betraj-ed the most de- 

 plorable weakness and indecision of character. I know 

 what the truth is, and I love it ; but I still go on giving 

 myself half to God, and half to the world, as if I expected 

 to enjoy the comforts of religion along with the vanities 

 of life. If, for a short time, I keep up a closer communion 

 with God, and feel my whole bosom bursting with sor- 

 row and tenderness as I approach the footstool of my 

 Saviour, I soon relapse into indifference, worldlj^ minded- 

 ness, and sin ; my devotions become listless and perfunc- 

 tory : I dote on the world, its toys, and its corruptions, and 

 am mad enough to be willing to sacrifice the happiness 

 of eternity to the deceitful pleasures of the passing mo- 

 ment. My heart is indeed a lamentable sink of loathsome 

 corruption and hypocrisy. In consistency with my pro- 

 fessed opinions, I am often obliged to talk on subjects of 

 which I know but little in experience, and to rank myself 

 vvith those who have felt what I only approve from my 

 head, and perhaps, esteem from my heart. I often start 

 with horror and disgust from myself, wiien I consider 

 how deeply I have imperceptibly gone into this species 

 of simulation. Yet I think my love for the gospel, and 

 its professors, is sincere ; only I am insincere in suffering 

 persons to entertain a high opinion of me as a child of 

 God, when indeed I am an alien from him. On looking 

 over some private memorandums which were written at 

 various tiraes in the course of the last two years, I beheld, 

 with inexpressible anguish, that my progress has, if any- 

 thing, been retrograde. I am still as dark, still as cold, 

 still as ignorant, still as fond of the world, and have 

 still fewer desires after holiness. I am very, very dissa 

 tisfied with myself, and yet I am not prompted to earnest 

 prater. I have been so often earnest, and always have 



