restless discontented temper, I shall proceed to show that they incur much guilt, and involve themselves in great folly and misery.

FIRST, discontent carries in its nature much guilt and sin. With this consideration I begin, because I am afraid that discontentment is commonly treated, in a religious view, more slightly than it deserves. A contented temper, we are apt to say, is a great happiness to those who have it; and a discontented one, we call an unlucky turn of mind; as if we were speaking of a good or bad constitution of body, of something that depended not at all on ourselves, but was merely the gift of nature. - Ought this to be the sentiment, either of a reasonable man, or a Christian? of one who knows himself to be endowed with powers for governing his own spirit, or who believes in God, and in a world to come? What, I beseech you, do all the risings of discontent within you import, but so much concealed rebellion against the government of that Supreme Being, who hath appointed your place in the world? When you repine at your state, as below what you deserved, do you not inwardly tax Him with injustice and partiality, for conferring his favours on others more unworthy of them, and leaving you neglected and humbled? By treating with contempt the blessings he allows to your state, do you not, in effect, tell him that his blessings are not worthy of being enjoyed, and merit no thanks, because he does not give you more? The outward expressions of such sentiments, you may suppress. You may affect to appear religious by shows of reverence and homage; but such appearances deceive not God. Every habitually

discontented person is, and must be, ill-affected towards Him: nay, though he would wish to conceal it from himself, he is a secret blasphemer of the Almighty.

Besides impiety, discontent carries along with it, as its inseparable concomitants, several other sinful passions. It implies pride, or an unreasonable estimation of our own merit, in comparison with others. It implies covetousness, or an inordinate desire for the advantages of external fortune, as the only real goods. It implies, and always engenders, envy, or ill-nature, and hatred, towards all whom we see rising above us in the world. Dare we treat that as a slight infirmity, or a constitutional weakness merely, which imports some of the worst dispositions and passions of the human heart? The discontented man is never found without a great share of malignity. His spleen irritates and sours his temper, and leads him to discharge his venom on all with whom he stands connected. He can act his part well in no relation of life. In public affairs, and in private business, he is always given to fretfulness and complaint. While the man of contented mind, easy and happy in himself, is disposed for living well with others, and spreads around him that cheerfulness which he possesses; the restless discontented person is a troubler of the world: neither a good friend, nor a good neighbour, nor a good subject or citizen.

In the second place, as this disposition infers much sin, so it argues great folly, and involves men in many miseries. If there be any first principle of wisdom it is undoubtedly this: the distresses that are removeable, endeavour to remove those which

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cannot be removed, bear with as little disquiet as you can; in every situation of life there are comforts find them out, and enjoy them. But this maxim, in all its parts, is disregarded by the man of discontent. He is employed in aggravating his own evils; while he neglects all his own comforts.-What is it to you, though others are supposed to be happier? Very possibly they are not so; for wide is the difference between being what the world calls prosperous, and being happy. You see no more than the imposing outside of glittering fortune; while, under that gaudy cover, there may be lurking many a bitter sorrow.—But supposing others to be in truth as happy as they seem to be, is there any reason, except mere viciousness of disposition, why their happiness should be a cause of your discontent and misery? Cannot you be at your ease in the shade, because others are basking in the sun? What is this but the unhappy art of extracting from objects that ought to be indifferent to you, materials for your own

torment?

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"Such reasonings as these," says one, may be "specious and plausible; but what avail reasonings "to set me at ease, who every day feel myself hurt "and sore from the scorn of those above me; who "am condemned to behold them shining in all the

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pomp and splendour of life; while I, through the injustice of the world, am left in obscurity to "toil for a scanty subsistence ?" Accuse not the world, my brother. Imagine not, that it is entirely the injustice of the world which produces your unhappiness. The disease lies within yourself. It originates from your pride and self-conceit, joined with the false opinions you have allowed yourself to

entertain of the distinctions of fortune. Those distinctions must take place in every established society. There must be inequality of ranks; and of course a diversity of outward appearance among men. But it is in the outward appearance that the diversity lies, far more than in what is intrinsic to happiness and well-being.You dwell among your own people. In that rank where Providence had placed you, you are living among your friends and equals; and pursuing that train of life to which you have been bred. But you are eager and restless, till from this quiet obscurity you can rise to some higher elevation, to which you fancy yourself entitled.-Are you aware of the dangers and troubles that would await you there? Supposing you to be in some degree successful, yet, with your new rank of life, would not new burdens begin to oppress you, and new and unknown cares to vex you? How many rivals would you have to encounter? How many slanderers to decry you? How many enemies to combine in opposing you? What mortification would you endure on every disappointment you met with? And on every small step of advancement, what envy would still remain in looking up to those who continued above you? Till at last, tired with the vexations of competition, you should be forced to regret the day when discontent drove you away from dwelling among your own people. Awake, then, in time, from the dreams of ambition and vanity. Instead of aspiring beyond your proper level, bring down your mind to your state; lest by aiming too high, you spend your life in a train of fruitless pursuits, and bring yourself at last to a state of entire insignificance and contempt.

Let it be farther considered, in order to show the folly of a discontented temper, that the more it is indulged, it disqualifies you the more from being freed from the grounds of your discontent. First, you have reason to apprehend, that it will turn the displeasure of God against you, and make him your enemy. For, what have you to expect from that Providence towards which you are so sullen and unthankful; from that God, whose perfections you injure by your repining and accusing thoughts? How much is it in his power to render you ten times more unhappy than you are at present, by taking away those remaining comforts, which, by your contempt of them, you show yourself unworthy to enjoy?— Next, by your spleen and discontent, you are certain of bringing yourself into variance with the world as well as with God. Such a temper is likely to create enemies; it can procure you no friends. Proud, jealous, and dissatisfied with those around you, you will, in return, be avoided, disliked, and looked upon by them with an evil eye; the discouragements from the world, of which you complain, will daily increase; while the humble, the cheerful, and contented, will, on every occasion, get before you, and attract the good-will of all who can assist them.

SUCH being the mischiefs, such the guilt and the folly of indulging a discontented spirit, I shall now suggest some considerations which may assist us in checking it, and in reconciling our minds to the state in which it has pleased Providence to place us. Let us, for this purpose, attend to three great objects; to God, to ourselves, and to the world around us.