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our comparisons so untowardly, that there is no neighbour we have, but (as we handle the matter) we are the worse for him; we find in him something or other that serveth as fuel, either to our pride, or uncharitableness, or other corrupt lusts. We look at our poorer neighbour, and, because we are richer than he, we cast a scornful eye upon him, and in the pride of our hearts despise him. We look at our richer neighbour, and, because we are not so full as he, we cast an envious eye upon him, and, out of the uncharitableness of our hearts malice him. Thus, unhappily, do we misplace our thoughts, or misapply them, and, whatsoever the premises are, draw wretched conclusions from them-as the spider is said to suck poison out of every flower; whereas, sanctified wisdom, if it might be heard, would rather teach us to make a holy advantage of such-like comparisons for the increase of some precious graces in us; and, namely, these two of thankfulness and contentedness, as the bee gathereth honey out of every weed. And the course is this: observe thy present corruption, whatever it be, when it beginneth to stir within thee, and then make the comparison so as may best serve to weaken the temptation arising from that lust. As for example: when thou findest thyself apt to magnify and exalt thyself in thine own greatness, and puffed up with the conceit of some excellency (whether real or but imaginary) in thyself, to swell above thy meaner brethren, then look upwards, and thou shalt see, perhaps, hundreds above thee that have something that thou hast not. It may be, the comparing of thyself with them may help to allay the swelling, and reduce thee to a more sober and humble temper. But when, on the other side, thou findest thyself apt to grudge at the prosperity of others, and to murmur at the scantiness of thine own portion, then look downwards, and thou shalt see, perhaps, thousands below thee that want something that thou hast. It may be, the comparing thyself with them may help to silence all those repining thoughts and obmurmurations against the wise dispensations of almighty God; for, tell me, why should one or two richer neighbours be such a grievous eyesore to thee, to provoke this discontent, rather than ten or twenty poorer ones a spur to quicken thee to thankfulness? If reason, by the instigation of corrupt nature, can teach thee to argue thus :-"My house, my farm, my stock, my whole condition is naught; many a man hath better;" why should not reason, heightened by God's grace, teach thee as well to argue thus:-"Mine are good enough: many a good man hath worse?"

Fifthly, for the getting of contentment, it would not a little avail us to consider the insufficiency of those things, the want whereof now discontenteth us, to give us content if we should obtain them: not only for that reason, that as the things increase, our desires also increase with them (which yet is most true, and of very important consideration too, as Solomon saith, "He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver,"), but for a farther reason also, because, with the best conveniences of this life, there are interwoven sundry inconveniences withal, which, for the most part, the eagerness of our desires will not suffer us to foresee whilst we have them in chace, but we shall be sure to find them at length in the possession and use. Whilst we are in the pursuit of anything, we think ever and ever how beneficial it may be to us, and we promise to ourselves much good from it; and our thoughts are so taken up with such meditations, that we consider it abstractedly from those discommodiousnesses and incumbrances which yet inseparably cleave thereunto; but when we have gotten what we so importunely desired, and think to enter upon the enjoyment, we then begin to find those discommodiousnesses and incumbrances which before we never thought of, as well as those services and advantages which we expected from it. Now if we could be so wise and provident beforehand, as to forethink and forecast the inconveniences as well as the usefulness of those things we seek after, it would certainly bring our desires to

better moderation, work in us a just disestimation of these earthly things which we usually over-prize, and make us the better contented if we go without them-as Damocles said of his diadem, what a glorious lustre doth the imperial crown make to dazzle the eyes of the beholders, and to tempt ambition to wade even through a sea of blood, and stretch itself beyond all the lines of justice and religion to get within the reach of it! Yet, did a man but know what legions of fears and cares, like so many restless spirits, are encircled within that narrow round, he could not be excused from the extremity of madness if he should much envy him that wore it; much less if he should by villainy or bloodshed aspire to it. When Damocles had the sword hanging over his head in a twine thread, he had little stomach to eat of those delicacies that stood before him upon the board, which a little before he deemed the greatest happiness the world could afford. There is nothing under the sun but is full, not of vanity only, but also of vexation: why then should we not be well content to be without that thing (if it be the Lord's will we should want it), which we cannot have without much vanity, and some vexation withal?

In the sixth place, a notable help to contentment is sobriety, under which name I comprehend both frugality and temperance. Frugality is of very serviceable use, partly to the acquiring, partly to the exercising of every man's graces and virtues, as magnificence, justice, liberality, thankfulness, &c., and this contentation among the rest. Hardly can that man be either truly thankful unto God, or much helpful to his friends, or do any great matters in the way of charity and to pious uses, or keep touch in his promises, and pay every man his own (as every honest man should do), or live a contented life, that is not frugal. We all cry out against covetousness, and that justly, as a base sin, the cause of many evils and mischiefs, and a main opposite to contentment; but truly, if things be rightly considered, we shall find prodigality to match it, as in sundry other respects, so particularly for the opposition it hath to contentedness. For contentedness consisteth in the mutual and relative sufficiency of the things unto the mind, and of the mind unto the things; where covetousness reigneth in the heart, the mind is too narrow for the things; and where the estate is profusely wasted the things must needs be too scant for the mind; so that the disproportion is still the same, though it arise not from the same principle. As in many other things we may observe an unhappy coincidence of extremes, contrary causes, for different reasons, producing one and the same evil effect. Extreme cold parcheth the grass, as well as extreme heat; and lines drawn from the opposite parts of the circumference meet in the centre. Although the prodigal man, therefore, utterly disclaim covetousness, and profess to hate it, yet doth he indeed, by his wastefulness, pull upon himself a necessity of being covetous, and transgresseth the commandment which saith, "Thou shalt not covet," as much as the most covetous wretch in the whole world doth. The difference is but this-the one coveteth that he may have it, the other coveteth that he may spend it; as St. James saith, he coveteth "that he may consume it upon his lusts." He that will fare deliciously every day, or carry a great port in the world, and maintain a numerous family of idle and unnecessary dependents, or adventure great sums in gaming or upon matches, or bring up his children too highly, or any other way stretch himself in his expenses beyond the proportion of his revenues, it is impossible but he should desire means wherewithal to maintain the charges he must be at for the aforesaid ends, which, since his proper revenues (according to our supposition) will not reach to do, his wits are set in work how to compass supplies, and to make it out of other men's estates. Hence he is driven to succour himself by frauds and oppressions, and all those other evils that spring from the root of covetousness; and when these also fail (as hold, they cannot

long), there is then no remedy, but he must live the remainder of his days upon borrowing and shifting, whereby he casteth himself into debts and dangers, loseth his credit or liberty, or both, and createth to him a world of discontents. He that would live a contented life, and bear a contented mind, it standeth him upon to be frugal.

Temperance, also, is of right good use to the same end; that is to say, a moderate use at all times, and now and then a voluntary forbearance of and abstinence from the creatures, when we might lawfully use them. If we would sometimes deny our appetites in the use of meats, and drinks, and sleep, and sports, and other comforts and refreshments of this life, and exercise ourselves sometimes to fastings and wantings, and other hardnesses and austerities, we should be the better able sure to undergo them stoutly, and grudge and shrink less under them, if at any time hereafter, by any accident or affliction, we should be hard put to it. We should, in all likelihood, be the better content to want many things when we cannot have them, if we would now and then inure ourselves to be as if we wanted them whilst we have them.

Lastly (for I may not enlarge), that meditation, which was so frequent with the godly fathers under both Testaments (and whereof the more sober sort among the heathens had some glimmering light), that "we have here no abiding city, but seek one to come;" that we are here but as strangers and pilgrims in a foreign land, heaven being our home; and that our continuance in this world is but as the lodging of a traveller in an irn for a night: this meditation, I say, if followed home, would much further us in the present learning. The apostle seemeth to make use of it for this very purpose, "We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out;" and thence inferreth in the very next words, "having food and raiment, let us be therewith content." We forget ourselves very much when we fancy to ourselves a kind of perpetuity here, as if our "houses should continue for ever, and our dwelling-places should remain from one generation to another." We think it good being here, here we would build us tabernacles, set up our rest here, and that is it that maketh us so greedy after the things that belong hither, and so sullen and discomposed when our endeavours in the pursuit of them prove successless; whereas, if we would rightly inform ourselves, and seriously think of it, what the world is, and what ourselves are -the world but an inn, and ourselves but passengers-it would fashion us to more moderate desires, and better composed affections. In our inns we would be glad to have wholesome dict, clean lodgings, diligent attendance, and all other things with convenience to our liking; but yet we will be wary what we call for, that we exceed not too much, lest the reckoning prove too sharp afterwards; aud if such things as we are to make use of there, we find not altogether as we wish, we do not much trouble ourselves at it, but pass it over, cheering ourselves with these thoughts, that our stay is but for a night; we shall be able sure to make shift with mean accommodations for one night; we shall be at home ere it be long, where we can mend ourselves, and have things more to our own heart's content. The plenteousness of that house, when we shall arrive at our own home, will fully satiate our largest desires. In the meantime, let the expectation of that fulness, and the approach of our departure out of this sorry inn, sustain our souls with comfort against all the emptiness of this world, and whatsoever we meet with in our passage through it that is any way apt to breed us vexation or discontent; that we may learn with St. Paul, "in whatsoever estate we are, to be therewith content." God vouchsafe this to us all for his dear Son's sake, Jesus Christ.

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[THE narrative known as 'Lord Anson's Voyage round the World,' from which the following is an extract, was written by Mr. Benjamin Robins, from materials furnished by Lord Anson, digested under his own immediate inspection. This book may therefore be con sidered as an example of divided authorship. It is full of the most vigorous narrative, and will always be read with deep interest. George Anson, the son of a Staffordshire gentleman, had an early passion for the sea, and he rose by successive steps to the highest rank, having, during forty years of his professional life, performed the most eminent public services. He died in 1762.]

Soon after our passing Straits Le Maire the scurvy began to make its appearance amongst us; and our long continuance at sea, the fatigue we underwent, and the various disappointments we met with, had occasioned its spreading to such a degree, that at the latter end of April there were but few on board who were not in some degree afflicted with it, and in that mouth no less than forty-three died of it on board the Centurion. But though we thought that the distemper had then risen to an extraordinary height, and were willing to hope that as we advanced to the northward its malignity would abato; yet we found, to the contrary, that in the month of May we lost nearly double that number: and as we did not get to land till the middle of June, the mortality went on increasing, and the discase extended itself so prodigiously, that, after the loss of above two hundred men, we could not at last muster more than six fore-mast men in a watch capable of duty.

With this terrible disease we struggled the greatest part of the time of our beating round Cape Horn; and though it did not then rage with its utmost violence, yet we buried no less than forty-three men on board the Centurion in the month of April, as hath been already observed; however, we still entertained hopes that, when we should have once secured our passage round the Cape, we should put a period to this and all the other evils which had so constantly pursued us. But it was our misfortune to find that the Pacific Ocean was to us less hospitable than the turbulent neighbourhood of Terra del Fuego and Cape Horn. For being arrived, on the 8th of May, off the Island of Socoro, which was the first rendezvous appointed for the squadron, and where we hoped to have met with some of our companions, we cruised for them in that station several days. But here we were not only disappointed in our expectations of being joined by our friends, and were thereby induced to favour the gloomy suggestions of their having all perished; but we were likewise perpetually alarmed with the fears of being driven on shore upon this coast, which appeared too craggy and irregular to give us the least prospect that in such a case any of us could possibly escape immediate destruction. For the land had indeed a most tremendous aspect: the most distant part of it, and which appeared far within the country, being the mountains usually called the Andes or Cordilleras, was extremely high, and covered with snow; and the coast 4TH QUARTER.

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itself seemed quite rocky and barren, and the water's edge skirted with precipices. In some places indeed we discerned several deep bays running into the land, but the entrance into them was generally blocked up by numbers of little islands; and though it was not improbable but there might be convenient shelter in some of those bays, and proper channels leading thereto, yet, as we were utterly ignorant of the coast, had we been driven ashore by western winds which blow almost constantly there, we did not expect to have avoided the loss of our ship, and of our lives.

This continued peril, which lasted for above a fortnight, was greatly aggravated by the difficulties we found in working the ship; as the scurvy had by this time destroyed so great a part of our hands, and had in some degree affected almost the whole crew. Nor did we, as we hoped, find the winds less violent as we advanced to the northward; for we had often prodigious squalls which split our sails, greatly damaged our rigging, and endangered our masts. Indeed, during the greatest part of the time we were upon this coast, the wind blew so hard, that in another situation, where we had sufficient sea-room, we should certainly have lain to; but in the present exigency we were necessitated to carry both our courses and top-sails, in order to keep clear of this lee-shore. In one of these squalls, which was attended by several violent claps of thunder, a sudden flash of fire darted along our decks, which, dividing, exploded with a report like that of several pistols, and wounded many of our men and officers as it passed, marking them in different parts of the body: this flame was attended with a strong sulphurous stench, and was doubtless of the same nature with the larger and more violent blasts of lightning which then filled the air.

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And now, having cruised in vain for more than a fortnight in quest of the other ships of the squadron, it was resolved to take the advantage of the present favourable season, and the offing we had made from this terrible coast, and to make the best of our way for the Island of Juan Fernandez. For though our next rendezvous was appointed off the harbour of Baldivia, yet as we had hitherto seen none of our companions at this first rendezvous, it was not to be supposed that any of them would be found at the second: indeed we had the greatest reason to suspect that all but ourselves had perished. Besides, we were by this time reduced to so low a condition, that, instead of attempting to attack the places of the enemy, our utmost hopes could only suggest to us the possibility of saving the ship, and some part of the remaining enfeebled crew, by our speedy arrival at Juan Fernandez; for this was the only road in that part of the world where there was any probability of our recovering our sick, or refitting our vessel, and consequently our getting thither was the only chance we had left to avoid perishing at sea.

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On the 30th of May we had a view of the Continent of Chili, distant about twelve or thirteen leagues; the land made exceeding high, and uneven, and appeared quite white: what we saw being doubtless a part of the Cordilleras, which are always covered with snow. Though by this view of the land we ascertained our position, yet it gave us great uneasiness to find that we had so needlessly altered our course, when we were, in all probability, just upon the point of making the Island; for the mortality amongst us was now increased to a most dreadful degree, and those who remained alive were utterly dispirited by this new disappointment, and the prospect of their longer continuance at sea: our water too began to grow scarce so that a general dejection prevailed amongst us, which added much to the virulence of the disease, and destroyed numbers of our best men; and to all these calamities there was added this vexatious circumstance, that when, after

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