true happiness; you are as great an enemy to yourself, and have made as bad a choice, as that bishop, who chooses rather to enrich his family, than to be like an apostle. For there is no reason, why you should think the highest holiness, the most heavenly temper, to be the duty and happiness of a bishop; but what is as good a reason, why you should think the same temper to be the duty and happiness of all Christians; and as the wisest bishop in the world is he, who lives in the greatest height of holiness; who is most exemplary in all the exercises of a divine life; so the wisest youth, the wisest woman, whether married or unmarried, is she, that lives in the highest degree of Christian holiness, and all the exercises of a divine and heavenly life.

CHAP. XI.

Showing how great devotion fills our lives with the greatest peace and happiness.

SOME people will perhaps object, that these rules of holy living to God in all we do, are too great a restraint on human life; and that, by depriving ourselves of so many seemingly innocent pleasures, we shall render our lives dull, and melancholy.

To which it may be answered;

First, That these rules will procure a quite contrary end; that they will render them full of content and satisfaction.

Secondly, That the more we find out God in every thing, the more we look up to him in all our actions, the more we conform to his will, the more we act according to his wisdom, and imitate his goodness; by so much the more do we enjoy God, and heighten and increase all that is happy and comfortable in human life

Thirdly, He, that is endeavouring to subdue his pride, envy, and ambition, is doing more, to make himself happy, even in this life, than he, that is contriving means to indulge them.

For these passions are the cause of all the vexations of life; they are the dropsies and fevers of our mind, vexing them with false appetites, and restless cravings after such things, as we do not want, and spoiling our taste for those things, which are our proper good.

Do but imagine that you saw a man, that proposed reason, as the rule of his actions; that had no desires, but after such things, as nature wants, and religion approves; that was as pure from all motions of pride, envy, and covetousness, as from thoughts of murder; that in this freedom from worldly passions, he had a soul full of divine love, wishing and praying, that all men may have, what they want of worldly things, and be partak ers of eternal glory in the life to come; and your conscience will immediately tell you, that he is the happiest man in the world.

On the other hand, if you suppose him to be in any degree less perfect; if you suppose him subject to one vain passion; your conscience will tell you, that he so far lessens his happiness, and robs himself of the true enjoyment of his other virtues. So true is it, that the more we live by the rules of religion, the more peaceful and happy do we render our lives.

As it thus appears, that real happiness is to be had only from the greatest degrees of piety, and the strictest rules of religion; so the same truth will appear from a consideration of human misery. If we look into the world, and view the troubles of human life, we shall find that they are all owing to our irreligious passions.

Now all trouble is founded in the want of something; would we therefore know the true cause of our troubles; we must find out the cause of our wants; because that, which creates our wants, does in the same degree create our trouble.

God has sent us into the world with very few wants; meat, and drink, and clothing, are the only things, nein life; and, as these are only our present needs, so the present world is well furnished, to supply these needs.

cessary

If a man have half the world in his power; he can make no more of it than this; as he wants it only to support animal life; so it is unable to do any thing else for him, or to afford him any other happiness.

This is the state of man, born with few wants, and into a large world, capable of supplying them. So that one would reasonably suppose, that men should pass their lives in content and thankfulness to God; at least that they should be free from violent vexations, as being placed in a world, that has more, than enough, to relieve all their wants.

But, if to all this we add, that this short life, thus furnished with all, that we want in it, is only a short passage to eternal glory, where we shall be clothed with the brightness of angels, and enter into the joys of God; we might still more reasonably expect, that human life should be a state of peace, and joy, and delight in God. Thus it would certainly be, if reason had its full power

over us.

But alas, though God, and nature, and reason, make human life thus free from wants, and so full of happiness; yet our passions, in rebellion against God, and reason, create a new world of evils, and fill human life with imaginary wants.

The man of pride has a thousand wants, which his own pride has created; and these render him as full of trouble, as if God had created him with a thousand appetites, without creating any thing, proper to satisfy them. Envy and ambition have also their endless wants, which disquiet the souls of men, and by their contradictory motions, render them as miserable, as those that wish to fly and creep at the same time.

Let any complaining, disquieted man tell you the ground of his uneasiness, and you will plainly see, that he is the author of his own torment; that he is vexing

himself at some imaginary evil, which will cease to torment him, as soon as he is content to be that which God, and reason require him to be.

If you should see a man, passing his days in disquiet, because he could not walk upon the water, or catch birds, as they fly by him; you would readily confess, that such a one might thank himself for such uneasiness. But, if you look into the most tormenting disquiets of life, you will find them all thus absurd; where people are only tormented by their own folly.

What can you conceive more silly, than to suppose a man racking bis brains, and studying night and day, how to fly? Wandering from house and home, wearying himself with climbing up every ascent, courting every body he meets, to lift him up from the ground, bruising himself with falls, and at last breaking his neck? And all this, from an imagination, that it would be glorious, to have the eyes of people gazing up at him, and mighty happy to eat, and drink, and sleep, at the top of the highest tree in the kingdom. Would you not readily own, that such an one was disquieted by his own folly?

If you ask, what it signifies to suppose such silly creatures, as are no where to be found in human life; it may be answered; wherever you see an ambitious man, there you see this vain and senseless flyer.

If you should see a man, that had a large pond of water, yet living in continual thirst, not suffering himself to drink half a draught, for fear of lessening his pond; if you should see him wasting his time and strength, in fetching more water to his pond, always thirsty, yet always carrying a bucket of water in his hand, watching early and late, to catch the drops of rain, gaping after every cloud, and running greedily into every mire and mud, in hopes of water, and always studying, how to make every ditch empty itself into his pond. If you should see him grow grey and old in these anxious labors, and at last end a careful, thirsty life, by falling into his own pond; would you not say that such an one was not only the author of all his own disquiets, but was foolish enough to be reckoned among ideots and mad

men? But yet foolish and absurd, as this character is, it does not represent half the follies, and disquiets of the covetous man.

I could now easily proceed to show the same effects of all our other passions; and make it plainly appear, that all our miseries, vexations, and complaints, are entirely of our own making; and that in the same absurd manner, as in these instances of the covetous and ambitious man. Look where you will, you will see all worldly vexations, like the vexation of him, that was always in mire and mud in search of water to drink, when he had more at home, than was sufficient for a hundred horses.

Celia is always telling you, how provoked she is, what monstrous usage she suffers, and what vexations, she meets every where. She tells you that her patience is quite worn out, and there is no bearing the behaviour of people. Every assembly, that she is at, sends her home provoked; something or other has been said or done, that no reasonable, well bred person ought to bear. Poor people, that want her charity, are sent away with hasty answers; not because she has not a heart to part with any money, but because she is too full of some trouble of her own, to attend to the complaints of others. Cælia has no business on her hands, but to receive the income of a plentiful fortune; yet by the doleful turn of her mind, you would be apt to think, that she had neither food nor lodging. If you see her look more pale, than ordinary; if her lips tremble, when she speaks to you; it is because she has just come from a visit, where Lupus took no notice at all of her, but talked all the time to Lucinda, who has not half her fortune. When cross accidents have so disordered her spirits, that she is forced to send for the doctor, to make her able to eat; she tells him in great anger at Providence, that she never was well, since she was born; and that she envies every beggar, that she sees in health. This is the disquiet of Calia, who has nothing to torment her, but her own spirit.

If you would inspire her with Christian humility;