in hunger, and in thirst, and in nakedness, and in want of all things" (Deut. xxviii. 47, 48),—a sad and dismal inversion, yet founded wholly in the want of that cheerful recognition which God expected from them. And if Israel, the lot of his own inheritance, that people whom he had singled out from all the nations of the world, could thus forfeit his favour by unthankfulness, sure none of us can suppose we have any surer entail of it. In a word, as God loves a cheerful giver, so he also loves a cheerful receiver

-one that complies with his end in bestowing, by taking a just complacence in his gifts. But the querulous and unsatisfied reproach his bounty, accuse him of illiberality and narrowness of mind; so that he seems, even in his honour, engaged to bring them to a righter apprehension of him, and by a deprivation teach them the value of those good things which they could not learn by the enjoyment.

7. If, therefore, ingenuity and gratitude cannot, yet at least let prudence and self-love, engage us against this sin of murmuring, which we see does abundantly justify the character the wise man gives, when he tells us "it is unprofitable" (Wisd. i. 11); he might have said pernicious also, for so it evidently is in its effects. Let us, then, arm ourselves against it, and to that purpose impress deeply upon our minds the present consideration, that God owes us nothing, and that whatever we receive is an alms, and not a tribute. Diogenes being asked what wine drank the most pleasant? answered, that which is

drunk at another's cost. And this circumstance we can never miss of to recommend our good things to us,-for, be they little or much, they come gratis. When, therefore, in a pettish mood, we find ourselves apt to charge God foolishly, and to think him strait-handed towards us, let us imagine we hear God expostulating with us, as the householder in the parable, "Friend, I do thee no wrong: is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own?” (Matt. xx. 13, 15.) If God have not the right of disposing, let us find out those that have, and see how much better we shall speed; but if he hath, let us take heed of disputing with him: we that subsist merely by his favour, had need court and cherish it by all the arts of humble observance. Every man is ready to say how ill beggary and pride do agree. The first qualification we cannot put off; O let us not provide it of the other so inconvenient, so odious an adjunct: let us leave off prescribing to God (which no ingenuous man would do to an earthly benefactor); and let us betake ourselves to a more holy and successful policy, the acknowledgment of past mercies, and our own unworthiness. This was Jacob's method, "I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies and of all the truth which thou hast shewed unto thy servant; for with my staff I passed over this Jordan, and now I am become two bands;" and with this humble preface he introduces his petition for rescue in his present distress," Deliver me, I pray thee, from the

hand of my brother," &c. (Gen. xxxii. 10, 11): an excellent pattern of divine rhetoric, which the success demonstrates to have been very prevalent; and we cannot transcribe a better copy to render our desires as successful. Indeed, we are so utterly destitute of all arguments from ourselves, that we can make no reasonable form of address, if we found it not in something of God—and there is nothing even in him adapted to our purpose but his mercy; nor can that be so advantageously urged by any thing as by the former instances it has given of itself; for as God only is fit to be a precedent to himself, so he loves to be so. Thus, we find not only Moses but God often recollecting his miraculous favours towards Israel as an argument to do more let us therefore accost him in his own way, and, by a frequent and grateful recounting of his former mercies, engage him to future. Nor need we be at a loss for matter of such recollection, if we will but seriously consider what we have already received; which is the subject of the next chapter.

CHAPTER III.

OF GOD'S UNLIMITED BOUNTY.

T is the known character of an unworthy nature to write injuries in marble and benefits in dust; and however some

(as Seneca well observes) may acquit

themselves of this imputation as to man, yet scarce any do so in relation to God. It is true, indeed, the charge must be a little varied, for God neither will nor can do us injury; yet we receive any thing that is adverse with such a resentment as if it were, and engrave that in our memories with indelible characters, whilst his great and real benefits are either not at all observed, or with so transient an advertence, that the comparison of dust is beyond our pitch, and we may be more properly said to write them in water. Nay, so far are we from keeping records and registers of his favours, that even those standing and fixed ones which sense can prompt us to (without the aid of our memories)

cannot obtain our notice.

2. Were it not thus, it were impossible for men to be so perpetually in the complaining key, as if

their voices were capable of no other sound. One wants this, and another that, and a third something beyond them both, and so on ad infinitum; when all this while every one of them enjoys a multitude of good things without any remark. That very breath wherewith they utter their complaints is a blessing, and a fundamental one too; for if God should withdraw that, they were incapable of whatsoever else they either have or desire. It is true, that some men's impatiences have risen so high as to cast away life, because it was not clothed with all circumstances they wished. Yet these are rare instances, and do only shew such men's depraved judgment of things. A rich jewel is not the less valuable because a madman in his raving fit flings it into the fire; but as to the generality of men, the devil (though a liar) gave a true account of their sense when he said, "Skin for skin; and all that a man hath will he give for his life" (Job ii. 4). And though, perhaps, in an angry fit many men have, with Jonah (chap. iv. 3), " wished to die," yet, ten to one, should death then come, they would be as willing to divert it as was the man in the apologue, who, wearied with his burden of sticks, flung it down and called for death; but when he came, owned no other occasion for him but to be helped up again with his bundle. I dare in this appeal to the experience of those who have seemed very weary of life, whether, when any sudden danger has surprised them, it has not as suddenly altered their mind, and