wantonness of heart, which they are
too apt to produce and cherish; thus considering them as in themselves
acceptable, but, from the infirmity of his nature, as highly dangerous
possessions, and valuing them chiefly not as instruments of luxury or
splendour, but as affording the means of honouring his heavenly
Benefactor, and lessening the miseries of mankind.

Christianity however, as was formerly observed, proposes not to
extinguish our natural desires, but to bring them under just controul,
and direct them to their true objects. In the case both of riches and of
honour, she maintains the consistency of her character. While she
commands us not to set our hearts on _earthly_ treasures, she reminds us
that "we have in _Heaven_ a better and more enduring substance" than
this world can bestow; and while she represses our solicitude respecting
earthly credit, and moderates our attachment to it, she holds forth to
us, and bids us habitually to aspire after, the splendours of that
better state, where is true glory, and honour, and immortality; thus
exciting in us a just ambition, suited to our high origin, and worthy of
our large capacities, which the little, misplaced, and perishable
distinctions of this life would in vain attempt to satisfy.

It would be mere waste of time to enter into any laboured argument to
prove at large, that the light in which worldly credit and estimation
are regarded, by the bulk of professed Christians, is extremely
different from that in which they are placed by the page of Scripture.
The _inordinate_ love of _worldly glory_ indeed, implies a passion,
which from the nature of things cannot be called into exercise in the
generality of mankind, because, being conversant about great objects, it
can but rarely find that field which is requisite for its exertions. But
we every where discover the same principle reduced to the dimensions of
common life, and modified and directed according to every one's sphere
of action. We may discover it in a supreme love of distinction, and
admiration, and praise; in the universal acceptableness of flattery; and
above all in the excessive valuation of our worldly character, in that
watchfulness with which it is guarded, in that jealousy when it is
questioned, in that solicitude when it is in danger, in that hot
resentment when it is attacked, in that bitterness of suffering when it
is impaired or lost. All these emotions, as they are too manifest to be
disputed, so