“But if the poison which had infused its taint into the system did not appear as a loathsome blotch upon the surface, its victim was not only kept away from the sole remedy, but that remedy was treated by him with an afflicting and dangerous levity. This was now the painful feature of his case. Once it was not so. When he was a mere boy—‘between the years of seven and ten’—as he tells us, a sense of the plague of his heart and of his lost condition caused the deepest concern in reference to his future prospects. He spent much time in trying to invent some plan whereby he might find acceptance with God. He tried the common and most natural course, in such a state of mind, that of being ‘very good.’ ‘I will do nothing wrong, tell no lies, and obey my parents,’ he thought. But his mind was still unsettled and unhappy. “Good works are very proper, but they can never be accepted as the price of pardon and redemption. He thought, too, as all do in the same state of feeling, that something might be effected by sacrifice. ‘I will give up the most cherished objects I possess.’ But this also failed. There is only ‘one offering’ that can avail. In that, every sinner must rest his hope and plea, or remain without peace with God. The experience of Mr. Miller’s childhood made him thoughtful and serious, if it did not result in the attainment of this inward sense of peace. Under his inward conflicts and apprehensions of worldly sorrow, when a young man (in 1803), he poured out his soul to ‘religion’ in this touching strain:— “‘Come, blest religion, with thy angel’s face, Dispel this gloom, and brighten all the place; Drive this destructive passion from my breast; Compose my sorrows, and restore my rest; Show me the path that Christian heroes trod, Wean me from earth, and raise my soul to God!’ “‘Two things,’ says D’Aubigne, ‘are essential to sound Christian experience. The first is a knowledge of our condition as sinners; the second is a knowledge of the grace of God, in its manifestations to the soul.’ Mr. Miller, like most if not all others, had learned the first in his early life; but he had evidently not then attained the second of these elements of a true religious life. And, by not attaining that important position in the process of deliverance from our fallen condition, he became wearied of a sense of his need, if he did not lose it entirely. In the chosen employment of his intellect, with a more ample supply of books at command; in the midst of an admiring and merry social circle; in receiving the honors of the world from the hand of his superiors, and in reaping an honorable portion of the treasures of the world, why should he desire any other source of enjoyment—and one altogether unknown, unappreciated and unpopular, in the circle where he moved? What use had he for that religion he had seen verified and felt the need of, in the less cultivated family circle at Low Hampton?