yet the nature of things is not thereby changed. What was immoral, and profligate, and destructive of the happiness of human society, and contrary to God Almighty's commands, and under the sentence of condemnation in his word which he has revealed to us, is so still. Nor are the consequences less likely to overtake us because we have forgotten them. Another thing, which vastly increases the baneful influence of dissolute company, and renders us, as some may suppose, almost excusable, is a certain shyness in some men, which will seldom allow them to make much opposition to the solicitations and examples of their companions, how contrary soever to their own choice and judgment, if they had been permitted to choose and judge for themselves; and then there is generally, in addition to all this, the fear of ridicule, which to the tenderness and sensibility of young minds is like the fear of death. And the misfortune is, they make no distinction; their being laughed at, whether with reason or without, is equally insupportable; and especially when these scruples look like want of spirit, of their companions give that turn or that name to it; though, in truth, it is want of spirit, and nothing else, that keeps them in such company; for what, in reality, can be more meanspirited than to be led in a state of subjection to those about us, without choice, force, or judgment of our own; and to be compelled, for it is compulsion, to give up our consciences, principles, and resolutions?

I mention this, not so much to fortify young men against the influence of bad company, for I have little hopes of that, but to advise them to keep out of their way, to be wary and cautious how they trust themselves in the society, much less with the intimacy, of a dissolute character.

The last and great preservative I shall mention is the regulation of the thoughts. Whosoever,' says our Saviour, 'looketh on a woman to lust after her, hath committed adultery already with her in his heart;' that is, whoever voluntarily entertains loose and bad thoughts and designs, makes himself in a degree a partaker of the crime; so that our Saviour imposed it as a duty upon his followers to lay a restraint upon their thoughts; and our Saviour knew what was in man when he did so; he knew that, without a proper control and regulation of our thoughts, it is in vain to expect virtue in our practice; for licentious thoughts will, earlier or later, according as opportunities present themselves, or we grow tired of struggling with them, lead to licentious practices. I have already mentioned the way of managing our thoughts, that is, by keeping them

constantly employed upon some proper object; and I believe there is no other way.

These, then, are the precautions, which, with the blessing and assistance of Divine grace, are most fitting to conduct us through this world, and in a debauched and licentious age of it, with innocence in that respect in which of all others there is the most danger, and by which men are drawn into such confirmed habits of universal profligacy as are dreadful to observe.

Men are perpetually complaining that they resolve against these vices, but that their resolutions, in the time of trial, never stand out; and how should they? They have never used any of those cautions, put in practice any of those preservatives, which are absolutely necessary to keep up selfgovernment, or a command over their passions, and to give stability and success to any resolutions. Their virtue does not take the alarm in time. They take up with an idle life; they see no harm in that, if they can afford it, or if they cannot, it is their own concern. Profaneness, drunkenness, unreasonable hours, are only so much frolic, which is over the next morning. They find out, or are found out by, dissolute companions. They are courted for their mirth, or vivacity, or humor, or entertaining qualities, without any care about the danger of the consequences. A habit of vicious thoughts is suffered to grow upon us, because, if it do not lead to a habit of acting, where is the mischief? And then all vice, or entry to vice, is laid open, every precaution neglected, every incentive excited or inflamed, and we are surprised that we are overcome.

Godliness with contentment is great gain; for we brought nothing into the world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out; and having food and raiment, let us be therewith content.

RESTLESSNESS and impatience in the situation of life they are placed in, is in some men a disposition, in others a habit; in others, again, a false calculation of the advantages and dis

advantages of different conditions. And it is in all a temper of mind extremely prejudicial to a man's happiness, as it will not suffer him to acquiesce in, or enjoy, the satisfactions which are within the reach of his present situation, and is no mean whatever of procuring him a better. It has an ill effect upon his virtue; as no man accommodates himself properly to the duties of a station with which he is discontented, which he is laboring only to get rid of. Although there may be no reflections, perhaps, which can compose the fretfulness of his disposition, or correct a confirmed habit of being out of humor with every thing that belongs to himself, and pleased with whatever he sees others possess; yet where discontent proceeds, as it sometimes does, from mistaken notions of the happiness and misery of different conditions, a little just reasoning and consideration may help to cure it.

Now what deceives most men in comparing their own situation with that of others, is this; that they are perfectly sensible of their own cares, their griefs and difficulties, the hardships and inconveniences of their own situation, and know little or nothing of those of others. A man's happiness or misery, so far, I mean, as it is affected by outward condition, depends almost always upon invisible circumstances, secret particulars which others are not acquainted with, and never suspect. Few can truly estimate the real circumstances in the condition of others, the evils and inconveniences they suffer; nor if they do, will they trouble themselves to confess what they believe.

Besides, evils are never known till they are passed; that is, there is such a difference between our judgment of the evils which we experience, and those which we are only told of, that the smallest of our own sufferings seems to outweigh the greatest we observe in others. Add to this, that such is also the infirmity or the perverseness of the human mind, that pain of all kind makes a much greater impression than pleasure, inconveniences than advantages, the irksome part of a man's condition, than the benefits and privileges of it. So that when we come to reflect on our own situation, the evil of it is always uppermost. Instead of taking the good and the bad together, and fairly balancing both sides of the account, we dwell, for example, upon the fatigue, or the confinement, or the humiliation, or the indigence, or other disadvantages of our condition, which are remembered distinctly, and with all their aggravations; whilst the comfort and advantages, the peace, quietness, and security and independence, the freedom from care and from danger, and many substantial blessings we enjoy, we

either forget, or overlook as familiar and inconsiderable, and so miss the common benefit of every situation.

Discontent, then, in fact is delusion. We see nothing but the outside, and fair side, of a man's condition; we see not the secret of his real difficulties and inconveniences; or if we hear his complaint, we do not feel his sufferings; whereas our own situation is understood to the bottom, the evils and hardships of it are all found out; and not only so, but these evils and hardships perpetually return upon our thoughts, whilst the comforts which should balance them are left out of the comparison. With such prejudices, it is no wonder we form very false computations, and are betrayed, without reason, into complaint and injustice; into a dislike of our own condition, and envy of other men's; into a restlessness and discontent, which confine our merit, and damp our activity, and make us both uneasy in our condition and useless. That there is some very great deception in men's judgment of one another's happiness, and one another's station in life, is probable from two facts, which all moralists of all ages have taken notice of; one is, that the man who is discontented in one situation is generally discontented in every other. This is a fair experiment. Suppose a man who is dissatisfied with his condition to be able to change it. Suppose him, if you will, advanced to the very station he coveted, and would have carved out for himself; if you find this man from thenceforward easy and satisfied, his former uneasiness and impatience were not without foundation; if, on the other hand, you find, that after the novelty of the change, and the first triumph of success is over, the man returns to his wonted ill humor; that his discontent continues, though the subject of it be altered; that new causes produce new complaints; that he still murmurs and still repines; if this be the case, it is a reasonable conclusion that the man was originally wrong in his calculation, deceived in his estimation of the happiness of a condition which he had not tried. And this so often is the case, that it furnishes good reason to suppose, that such deceptions are extremely common. The greater part of mankind get nothing by a change, but to regret advantages which they despised, or did not even perceive, whilst they possessed them, and to discover new sources of anxiety and complaint.

Another fact of the same kind, and which I mention for the same purpose, is, that the envy of mankind is commonly mutual; I mean, that you shall meet with twenty persons who all envy the others' condition. Now they cannot all be right. The greatest part must necessarily be under a delusion, when

they judge of their neighbour's happiness. This mutual envy is to be found amongst all orders and professions. The poor man envies the plenty, the appearance, and accommodation of the rich; and sees them with envy, because he sees nothing else. He compares them with the fatigue he undergoes, with the scanty provision which his own condition affords. The pains and pressure of his own distress he feels, and can therefore judge of them; the delight and pleasure of his rich neighbour's luxury he only imagines; and ten to one he is deceived in his imagination, because he places to the account the pleasure that he himself should receive from it, which is very different from what the possessor actually receives. The rich man, in return, when he observes the health and activity, the cheerful countenance and vigorous spirits of the laborer whom he employs, his continual occupation and sound rest, and compares it with his own languor and listlessness; when he reflects how burthensome his time and thoughts are, when he reflects upon his tedious days and wakeful nights, when he takes this view of his own condition, he repines at the superior lot of those whose humble but active station supplies them with employment, and exempts them from care.

Stations of peril and enterprise are generally envied by those who are tired with the slow progress of their fortunes; while such men, in their turn, regret the situations they have left, or lament that they ever exchanged the plain path of patient industry for scenes of adventure and uncertainty. And all such mutual discontents are governed by the same mistake; each man forgets his own advantages, and magnifies those of others; each party is impatient under his own sufferings, and ignorant of those of his neighbours. Generally speaking, we cannot employ our time or thoughts worse than in comparing our condition with that of others. For the most part, the fewer of these comparisons we make, the better. Indeed, when the mind is in health, as we may say, when the spirits and temper are properly composed, we seldom concern ourselves with them at all; yet if we will make such comparisons, it is of consequence that we make them truly. This we can never do, till we learn to allow a great deal for the intimate knowledge we have of our own condition, and the imperfect judgment we can form of other men's; for there is a wide difference between observing an evil or inconvenience in others, and coming actually to experience it ourselves; and lastly, for our imperfect enjoyment of pleasures which are new and unexperienced.