1. A Reflec⯑tion.

About fifty years ago the Midwife wheeled me in, and much ſooner than half a Century hence, in all human probability, Death will wheel me out. When Heaven pleaſes, I am ſatisfied. Life and death are equally welcome, becauſe equally parts of my way to Eternity. My lot has been a ſwarthy one in this firſt State, and I am in hopes I ſhall exchange worlds to advantage. As God, without all peradventure, brought his moral creatures into being, in order to increaſe their Virtue, and provide ſuitable happineſs for the Worthy, the moſt unfor⯑tunate here may expect immutable felicity at laſt, if they have endeavoured, in propor⯑tion to what power they had, to render themſelves uſeful and valuable, by a ſince⯑rity and benevolence of temper, a diſinte⯑reſtedneſs, [3]a communicativeneſs, and the practice of thoſe duties, to which we are obliged by the frame of our Nature, and by the Relations we bear to God, and to the ſubjects of his government.

For my part, I confeſs that, many have been the failings of my Life, and great the defects of my obedience. But in the midſt of all my failings and imperfections, my Soul hath always ſympathiſed with the af⯑flicted, and my heart hath ever aked for the miſeries of others. My hand has often re⯑lieved, when I wanted the ſhilling to com⯑fort my ſelf, and when it hath not been in my power to relieve, I have grieved for the ſcanty Accommodations of others. Many troubleſome and expenſive offices I have un⯑dertaken to do good to Men, and ever ſocial and free have I been in my demeanour, eaſy and ſmooth in my addreſs; and therefore, I truſt that, whenever I am removed from this horizon, it will be from a dark and cloudy ſtate, to that of joy, light, and full Revelation. This felicitates my every day, let what will happen from without. This ſupports me under every Affliction, and ena⯑bles me to mentain a habit of ſatisfaction and joy in the general courſe of my Life.

2. Went to the Univer⯑ſity in 1720

The things of my Childhood are not worth ſetting down, and therefore I com⯑mence my Life from the firſt month of the [4]ſeventeenth year of my Age, when I was ſent to the Univerſity, and entred a penſioner, tho' I had a larger yearly allowance than any fellow-commoner of my College. I was re⯑ſolved to read there, and determined to im⯑prove my natural faculties to the utmoſt of my power. Nature, I was ſenſible, had be⯑ſtowed no genius on me. This and under⯑ſtanding are only the privilege of extraordi⯑nary perſons; who receive from Heaven the happy conjunction of qualities, that they may execute great and noble deſigns, and acquire the higheſt pitch of excellence in the profeſſion they turn to; if they will take the pains to perfect the united qualities by art, and carefully avoid running into caprice and paradox; the Rocks on which many a Genius has ſplit. But then I had a tolerable ſhare of natural underſtanding, and from my infancy was teachable, and always attentive to the directions of good ſenſe. This I knew might riſe with ſome labour, to a half merit, tho' it could never gain immor⯑tality upon any account: and this was enough for me. I wanted only to acquire ſuch de⯑grees of perfections as lay within the ſmall ſphere nature had chalked out for me.

3. A College-Life.

To this purpoſe I devoted my college-life to books, and for five years that I re⯑ſided in the Univerſity, converſed ſo much with the dead that I had very little inter⯑courſe with the living. So totally had letters [5]engaged my mind, that I was but little af⯑fected towards moſt other things. Walking and Muſick were my favorite recreations, and almoſt the only ones I delighted in. I had hardly a thought at that time of the fooliſh choiſes and purſuits of men; thoſe fatal choices and purſuits, which are owing to falſe judgments, and to a habit of acting precipitantly, without examining the fancies and appetites; and therefore, very rarely went into the pleaſures and diverſions which men of fortune in a Univerſity too com⯑monly indulge in. My relaxation, after ſtudy, was my german-flute, and the con⯑verſation of ſome ingenious, ſober friend; ge⯑nerally, my private tutor, who was a bright and excellent man; and if the weather per⯑mitted, I walked out into the country ſeveral miles. At this exerciſe, I had often one or other with me; but for the moſt part, was obliged to go alone. My dog and my gun however were diverſion enough on the way, and they frequently led me into ſcenes of entertainment, which laſted longer than the day. Some of them you will find in this Journal. The hiſtory of the beautiful Harriot Noel you ſhall have by and by.

4. A Courſe of Reading in a College.

At preſent, my ſcheme requires me to ſet down the method I purſued in my Readings, and let my Reader know the iſſue of my ſtudies. — My time I devoted to Phi⯑loſophy, [6]Coſmography, Mathematicks, and the Languages, for four years, and the fifth I gave to Hiſtory.

Of Mr. Locke's Eſſay. The firſt book I took into my hand, after receiving my note of admiſſion, was the eſſay of that fine Genius, Mr. Locke, and I was ſo pleaſed with this clear and accurate writer, that I looked into nothing elſe, by read⯑ing it three times over, I had made a tho⯑rough acquaintance with my own under⯑ſtanding. He taught me to examine my abilities, and enabled me to ſee what objects my mind was fitted to deal with. He led me into the ſanctuary of vanity and ignorance, and ſhewed me how greatly true knowledge depended on a right meaning of words, and a juſt ſignificancy of expreſſion. In ſum, from the Eſſay my Underſtanding received very great benefits, and to it I owe what im⯑provement I have made in the reaſon given me. If I could, I would perſuade all young Gentlemen to read it over and over with great attention, and I am ſure they would find themſelves very richly rewarded for their pains in reading it. They would acquire that juſtneſs and truth of underſtanding, which is the great perfection of rational Beings.

5. Natural Philoſophy.

When I had done, for a time, with this admirable Eſſay, I then began to ſtudy the firſt principles of things, the ſtructure of [7]the Univerſe, the contexture of human bo⯑dies, the properties of beaſts, the virtues of plants, and the qualities of metals, and was quite charmed with the contemplation of the beautiful order, and wiſe final cauſes of na⯑ture in all her laws and productions. The ſtudy had a delightful influence on the tem⯑per of my mind, and inſpired into it a love of order in my heart, and in my outward manners. It likewiſe led me to the great firſt Cauſe, and in repeated views of har⯑mony, wiſdom and goodneſs in all the works of nature, rivited upon my mind a fixed conviction, that all is under the adminiſtra⯑tion of a general Mind, as far remote from all malice as from all weakneſs, whether in reſpect of underſtanding or of power. This gave me a due affection towards the infinite⯑ly perfect Parent of Nature, and as I con⯑templated his glorious Works, I was ob⯑liged in tranſports to confeſs, that he de⯑ſerved our love and admiration. This did alſo ſatisfy me, that whatever the order of the world produces, is in the main both juſt and good, and of conſequence, that we ought in the beſt manner to ſupport what⯑ever hardſhips are to be endured for virtue's ſake: that acquieſcence and complacency with reſpect to ill accidents, ill men and in⯑juries, ought to be our part under a perfect adminiſtration; and with benignity and [8]conſtancy we muſt ever act, if there be a ſettled perſuaſion, that all things are framed and governed by a univerſal mind. — Such was the effect the ſtudy of Natural Philoſo⯑phy had upon my Soul. It ſet beyond all doubt before me the moral perfection of the Creator and Governor of the Univerſe. And if this Almighty God, I ſaid, is perfect Wiſ⯑dom and Virtue, does it not follow, that he muſt approve and love thoſe who are at due pains to improve in wiſdom; — and what he loves and delights in, muſt he not make happy? This is an evident truth. It renders the cauſe of virtue quite triumphant.

6. Moral Phi⯑loſophy.

But upon Ethicks or Moral Philoſophy I dwelt the longeſt. This is the proper food of the Soul, and what perfects her in all the virtues and qualifications of a gentleman. This Science I collected in the firſt place from the antient ſages and philoſophers, and ſtudied all the moral writers of Greece and Rome. With great pleaſure I ſaw, that theſe immortal authors had delineated as far as human reaſon can go, that courſe of life which is moſt according to the intention of nature, and moſt happy; had ſhewn that this univerſe, and human nature in parti⯑cular, was formed by the wiſdom and coun⯑ſel of a Deity, and that from the conſtitution of our nature various duties aroſe: — that ſince God is the original independent Being, [9]compleat in all poſſible perfection, of bound⯑leſs power, wiſdom and goodneſs; the Cre⯑ator, Contriver, and Governor of this world, to whom mankind are indebted for innu⯑merable benefits moſt gratuitouſly beſtowed; we ought to manifeſt the moſt ardent love and veneration toward the Deity, and wor⯑ſhip him with affections of Soul ſuited to the pre-eminence and infinite grandeur of the original Cauſe of all; ought to obey him, as far as human weakneſs can go, and humbly ſubmit and reſign ourſelves and all our intereſts to his will; continually confide in his goodneſs, and conſtantly imitate him as far as our weak nature is capable. This is due to that original moſt gracious Power who formed us, and with a liberal hand ſupplies us with all things conducive to ſuch pleaſure and happineſs as our nature can re⯑ceive: — That in reſpect of mankind, our natural ſenſe of right and wrong points out to us the duties to be performed towards others, and the kind affections implanted by nature, excites us to the diſcharge of them: that by the law of our conſtitution and na⯑ture, juſtice and benevolence are preſcribed; and aids and an intercourſe of mutual offices required, not only to ſecure our pleaſure and happineſs, but to preſerve ourſelves in ſafety and in life: that the law of nature, or na⯑tural right, forbids every inſtance of injuſtice, [10]a violation of life, liberty, health, property; and the exerciſe of our honourable, kind powers, are not only a ſpring of vigorous efforts to do good to others, and thereby ſe⯑cure the common happineſs; but they really procure us a joy and peace, an inward ap⯑plauſe and external advantages; while in⯑juſtice and malice, anger, hatred, envy, and revenge, are often matter of ſhame and re⯑morſe, and contain nothing joyful, nothing glorious: In the greateſt affluence, the ſa⯑vage men are miſerable: — that as to our⯑ſelves, the voice of reaſon declares, that we ought to employ our abilities and opportu⯑nities in improving our minds to an exten⯑ſive knowledge of nature in the ſciences; and by diligent meditation and obſervation, acquire that prudence, juſtice, temperance, and fortitude, which ſhould conſtantly go⯑vern our lives: — That ſolid prudence, which abhors raſhneſs, inconſiderateneſs, a fooliſh ſelf-confidence, and craft, and under a high ſenſe of moral excellence, conſiders and does what is really advantageous in life: — That juſtice, which conſtantly regards the common intereſt, and in ſubſerviency to it, gives to each one whatever is due to him upon any natural claim: — That temperance, which reſtrains and regulates the lower ap⯑petites, and diſplays the grace and beauty of manners: — And that fortitude, which [11]repreſſes all vain and exceſſive fears, gives us a ſuperiority to all the external accidents of our mortal ſtate, and ſtrengthens the ſoul againſt all toils or dangers we may be ex⯑poſed to in diſcharge of our duty; as an early and painful death with virtue and ho⯑nour, is highly preferable to the longeſt ig⯑nominious life, and no advantages can be compared in point of happineſs with the approbation of God, and of our own hearts.

That if in this manner we live prepared for any honourable ſervices to God, our fel⯑lows, and ourſelves, and practice piety to⯑ward God, good-will toward men, and im⯑mediately aim at our own perfection, then we may expect, notwithſtanding our being involved in manifold weakneſſes and diſ⯑orders of ſoul, that the divine goodneſs and clemency will have mercy on ſuch as ſin⯑cerely love him, and deſire to ſerve him with duty and gratitude; will be propitious and placable to the penitents, and all who exert their utmoſt endeavours in the pur⯑ſuits of virtue: And ſince the perfection of virtue muſt conſtitute the ſupreme felicity of man, our efforts to attain it, muſt be effectual in obtaining compleat felicity, or at leaſt ſome lower degree of it.

7. Of Revea⯑led Reli⯑gion.

This beautiful, moral Philoſophy I found ſcattered in the wtitings of the old [12]theiſt philoſophers, and with great pains re⯑duced the various leſſons to a ſyſtem of ac⯑tive and virtuous offices: but this I knew was what the majority of mankind were in⯑capable of doing; and if they could do it, I ſaw it was far inferior to revelation. Every Sunday I appropriated to the ſtudy of re⯑veled Religion, and perceived as I read the ſacred records, that the Works of Plato, and Cicero, and Epictetus, and all the uninſpired ſages of antiquity, were but weak rules in reſpect of the divine oracles. It is the mercy and power of God in the triumphs of grace, that reſtores mankind from the bondage and ignorance of idolatry. To this the ſinner owes the converſion of his ſoul. It is the ſtatutes of the Lord that rejoyce the heart, and enlighten the eyes. What are all the reaſonings of the philoſophers to the melody of that heavenly voice which crys continu⯑ally, Come unto me all ye that travel and are heavy laden, and I will refreſh you. — And what could their leſſons avail with⯑out thoſe expreſs promiſes of grace and ſpiritual aſſiſtance, which the blood of the new covenant confirms to mankind? The philoſophy of Greece and Rome was admi⯑rable for the times and men: but it ad⯑mits of no compariſon with the divine leſ⯑ſons of our holy religion, and the charter of God's pardon granted to us by his bleſſed [13]Son. Beſide, the philoſophers were in ſome degree dark and doubtful in reſpect of death and futurity; and in relation to this world, there is not a power in their diſ⯑courſes, to preſerve us from being undone by allurements, in the midſt of plenty, and to ſecure our peace againſt the caſualties of fortune, and the torments of diſappointments; to ſave us from the cares and ſollicitudes which attend upon large poſſeſſions, and give us a mind capable of reliſhing the good things before us; to make us eaſy and ſatisfied as to the preſent, and render us ſecure and void of fear as to the future. Theſe things we learn from revelation, and are informed by the ſacred records only, that if we are placed here in the midſt of many fears and ſorrows, and are often perplexed with evils in this world; yet they are ſo many warnings not to ſet up our reſt here, but to keep a ſted⯑faſt eye upon the things which God has prepared for thoſe who love him. It is the goſpel informs us, there is another ſcene prepared for the moral world, and that juſtice only waits to ſee the full proof of the righteouſneſs, or unrighteouſ⯑neſs of men: that that ſcene will open with the judgment ſeat of Chriſt, and we ſhall either receive glory and immor⯑tality, if we have obeyed the calls of grace []to virtue and holineſs; — or, be doomed to the moſt dreadful miſeries, if we reject the counſel of God, and live quite thought⯑leſs of the great concerns of eternity. Theſe conſiderations made me prefer reveled re⯑ligion, in the beginning of my rational life. The morality of the antient philoſophers I admired. With delight I ſtudied their wri⯑tings, and received, I gratefully confeſs, much improvement from them. But the reli⯑gion of our bleſſed Lord I declared for, and look on the promiſed Meſſiah as the moſt conſummate bleſſing God could be⯑ſtow, or man receive. God having raiſed up his Son Jeſus, ſent him to bleſs you, in turning every one of you from your iniquities. And would men but hear and obey this life-giving Redeemer, his Goſ⯑pel would reſtore reaſon and religion to their rightful authority over mankind; and make all virtue, and true goodneſs, flouriſh in the earth.

8. Of falſe religion.

But I muſt obſerve that, by the reli⯑gion of the New Teſtament, I do not mean any of thoſe modern ſchemes of religion, which diſcover the evident marks and ſigna⯑tures of ſuperſtition and enthuſiaſm, or of knavery and impoſture; thoſe ſyſtems which even miracles cannot prove to be true, be⯑cauſe the pieties are abſurd, inconſiſtent and contradictory. The notions that are not [15]characterized by the reaſon of things, and the moral fitneſs of actions, I conſidered as repugnant to the veracity, wiſdom, and good⯑neſs of the Almighty, and concluded, that that only could be chriſtian religion, which beared the viſible marks and ſignatures of be⯑nevolence, ſocial happineſs, and moral fitneſs, and was brought down from heaven to in⯑ſtruct mankind in the worſhip of One eter⯑nal mind, and bring them to repentance, and amendment of life. This was the reli⯑gion I found in my Bible. I ſaw with plea⯑ſure, as I thoughtfully went through the di⯑vine pages, that natural religion is the foun⯑dation and ſupport of revelation; — ſupplies the defects of nature, but never attempts to overthrow the eſtabliſhed principles of it; —caſts new light upon the dictates of reaſon, but never overthrows them. Pure theiſm, and Chriſt the appointed Mediator, Advocate, and Judge, by a commiſſion from God the Father, to me appeared to be the Goſpel;— and the directions of the holy Spirit, to be⯑lieve in one ſupreme independent firſt cauſe, and worſhip in ſpirit and truth this one God and Father of All, in the name of Chriſt Je⯑ſus; as the diſciples of the Meſſiah; to copy after the life of our bleſſed Saviour, and to the utmoſt of our abilities, obey all his commands.—This was the religion I found in the writings of the apoſtles, and I then [16]determined to regard only this Goſpel-doctrine.

9. Coſmogra⯑phy and Mathe⯑maticks.

The manner of my ſtudying Coſmo⯑graphy and Mathematicks is not worth ſet⯑ting down, as there was nothing uncommon in it. In the one I only learned to diſtinguiſh climates, latitudes, and the four diviſions of the world; the provinces, nations, king⯑doms and republicks comprized therein, and to be able to diſcourſe upon them: — And in the other, I went no further than to make myſelf a maſter of vulgar and decimal arith⯑metick, the doctrine of infinite ſeries, and the application of algebra, to the higher geo⯑metry of curves. Algebra I was charmed with, and found ſo much pleaſure in reſolv⯑ing its queſtions, that I have often ſat till morning at the engaging work, without a notion of its being day till I opened the ſhut⯑ters of my cloſet. I recommend this ſtudy in particular to young gentlemen, and am ſa⯑tisfied, if they would but take ſome pains at firſt to underſtand it, they would have ſo great a reliſh for its operations, as to prefer them many an evening to the clamorous plea⯑ſures; or, at leaſt, not be uneaſy for being a⯑lone now and then, ſince their algebra was with them.

10. Method of reading Hiſtory.

In reading hiſtory, (my laſt years prin⯑cipal employment, during my reſidence in college), I began with the beſt writers of an⯑tient hiſtory and ended with modern times, epochs, centuries, ages; the extent of em⯑pires, [17]kingdoms, common-wealths; their progreſs, revolutions, changes and declen⯑ſions; the number, order, and qualities of the Princes, that have reigned over thoſe ſtates and kingdoms, their actions military and civil; the characters and actions of the great men that flouriſhed under them; and the laws, the arts, learning and manners, I carefully marked down, and obſerved not only how the firſt governments were form⯑ed, but what the progreſs was of induſtry and property, which may be called the ge⯑nerative principle of empire.

When I had done with antient Hiſtory, I ſat down to the beſt modern ſtories I could get, and read of diſtant nations before I be⯑gan to ſtudy my country's conſtitution, hi⯑ſtory and laws. When I had finiſhed the hiſtories of France, and Spain, and Italy, and Germany, and many more, then I turn⯑ed to Great-Britain, and in the firſt place took a view of the Engliſh conſtitution and government, in the antient books of the common law, and ſome more modern wri⯑ters, who out of them have given an account of this government. From thence I pro⯑ceeded to our Hiſtory, and with it joined in every King's reign the laws then made. This gave me an inſight into the reaſon of our ſtatutes, and ſhewed me the true ground up⯑on which they came to be made, and what [18]weight they ought to have. By this means, I read the hiſtory of my country with in⯑telligence, and was able to examine into the excellence or defects of its government, and to judge of the fitneſs or unfitneſs of its or⯑ders and laws. By this method I did like⯑wiſe know enough of the law for an Engliſh gentleman, tho' quite ignorant of the chi⯑cane, or wrangling and captious part of the law, and was well acquainted with the true meaſure of right and wrong. The arts how to avoid doing right, and to ſecure one's ſelf in doing wrong, I never looked into.

11. A reflec⯑tion on Hi⯑ſtory.

Thus did I read Hiſtory, and many noble leſſons I learned from it; juſt notions of true worth, true greatneſs, and ſolid hap⯑pineſs. It taught me to place merit where it only lies, not in birth, not in beauty, not in riches, not in external ſhew and magnificence, not in voluptuouſneſs; but, in a firm adherence to truth and rectitude; in an untainted heart, that would not pollute or proſtitute its in⯑tegrity in any degree, to gain the higheſt worldly honours, or to ward off the greateſt worldly miſery. This is true magnanimity: And he alone can be truly happy, as well as truly great, who can look down with ge⯑nerous contempt upon every thing that would tempt him to recede in the ſmalleſt degree from the paths of rigid honeſty, candour and veracity.

Are you moderate in your deſires, frugal, and obliging to your friends? Do you know when to ſpare, and when to be liberal, as occaſion requires? And can you give a check to your avarice, in ſpight of all temptations which are laid in your way? Can you refrain from being too greedy in your purſuits after riches? When you can ſincerely affirm that you are maſter of your ſelf, and of all theſe good qualities, then you are free in⯑deed, [20]and wiſe, by the propitious power of Jove and the Praetor.

But if you retain the old habits of a ſlave, and harbour ill qualities, under the hypo⯑critical appearance of virtue, you are as much a ſlave as ever, while thus enſlaved to your vices. Philoſophy gives no indulgence to vice — makes no allowance for any crime. If in wagging your finger, you acted againſt reaſon, you tranſgreſs, tho' the thing be of ſo trifling a nature. All the ſacrifices you can offer will never paſs for a dram of rec⯑titude, while your conduct is faulty. Wiſ⯑dom is incompatible with folly.

This is the great leſſon, that virtue alone is true honour, true freedom, and ſolid, du⯑rable happineſs. It is indeed its own re⯑ward. There are no ſatisfactions equal to, or comparable with virtuous, rational ex⯑erciſes; nor can virtuous diſpoſitions, and well improved moral powers be rewarded, or receive happineſs ſuited to their nature, but from their exerciſes and employments about proper objects. And as virtue gives pleaſure here in proportion to the improve⯑ments it makes, far beyond all that mere ſenſe can yield, in the moſt advantageous circumſtances of outward enjoyment; ſo in a ſtate to come, it ſhall be ſo placed as its improvements require, that is, be placed in cir⯑cumſtances that ſhall afford it buſineſs or employment proportioned to its capacity, and by means thereof the higheſt ſatisfaction. — Such a baſis for building moral inſtruc⯑tions upon we find in hiſtory. We are warned in ſome pages to avoid the miſeries and wretchedneſs which many have fallen into by departing from reaſon or virtue: — And in others, we meet with ſuch virtuous characters and actions, as ſet forth the charms [22]of integrity in their full luſtre, and prove that virtue is the ſupreme beauty, the ſu⯑preme charm: that in keeping the precepts of moral rectitude, we ſecure a preſent fe⯑licity and reward; and have a preſage of thoſe higher rewards which await a ſteady courſe of right conduct in another world.— Glorious, natural virtue! Would mankind but hearken to its voice, and obey its dic⯑tates, there would be no ſuch Beings as In⯑vaders, Delinquents, and Traitors, in this lower world. The ſocial inclinations and diſpoſitions would for ever prevail over the ſelfiſh appetites and paſſions. The law of benevolence would be the rule of life. The advancement of the common good would be the work of every man.

12. A Reflec⯑tion on Go⯑vernment and Reli⯑gion.

The caſe however is; that the gene⯑rality of mankind are too corrupt, to be go⯑verned by the great univerſal law of ſocial na⯑ture, and to gratify ambition, avarice, and the like, employ a cunning or power, to ſeize the natural rights and properties of others: and there⯑fore, to natural virtue grounded on the reaſon and fitneſs of things, in themſelves, the firſt and principal mean of ſecuring the peace and happineſs of ſociety, it was neceſſary to add two other grand principles, civil government and Religion, and ſo have three conducible means to ſocial happineſs. Theſe three are ne⯑ceſſary to the being of a publick, and of [23]them, religion as I take it, is of the firſt conſequence; for the choice few on⯑ly mind a natural Virtue, or benevolence flowing from the reaſon, nature, and fitneſs of things; and civil government cannot always ſecure the happineſ of mankind in particular caſes: but Religion, rightly underſtood, and fixed upon its true and proper foundation, might do the work, in conjunction with the other two principles, and ſecure the happineſs of Society. If mankind were brought to the belief and worſhip of one only true God, and to a ſincere obedience to his Will, as we have it diſcovered in Revelation, I think, appetite and paſſion would ceaſe to invade by violence or fraud, or ſet up for private intereſt in oppoſition to the publick ſtock or common good. But, alas! Reli⯑gion is ſo far from being rightly under⯑ſtood, that it is rendered by ſome explainers the moſt doubtful and diſputable thing in the world. They have given it more phaſes than the moon, and made it every thing, and nothing, while they are ſcreaming or forcing the people into their ſeveral factions. This deſtroys the moment of Religion, and the multitude are thereby wan⯑dered into endleſs mazes and perplexities, and rendered a hairing, ſtaring, wrathful rabble; inſtead of being transformed into ſuch chriſtians as filled the firſt church at [24] Jeruſalem; chriſtians who acknowledged and worſhipped God the Father Almighty, in the name of Chriſt, that is, under a belief of that authority and power which the Father of the Univerſe has, for the good of mankind, conferred upon him; and in humility and meekneſs, in mortification and ſelf-denial, in a renunciation of the ſpirit, wiſdom, and honours of this world, in a love of God, and deſire of doing God's will, and ſeeking only his honour, were by the Goſpel made like unto Chriſt. Golden Religion! Golden Age! The Doctrine of Chriſtianity was then a Reſtoration of true Religion: the practice of Chriſtianity, a Re⯑ſtoration of human Nature. But now, alas! too many explainers are employed in dark⯑ening and making doubtful the reveled Will of God, and by paraphraſes, expoſitions, com⯑mentaries, notes, and gloſſes, have almoſt rendered revelation uſeleſs. What do we ſee in the vaſt territories of Popery, but a perfect Di⯑aboliſm in the place of the religion of our Lord; doctrines the moſt impious and abſurd, the moſt inconſiſtent and contradictory in themſelves, the moſt hurtful and miſchievous in their con⯑ſequences; the whole ſupported by perſecu⯑tion, by the ſophiſtry of learned knaves, and the tricks of jugling prieſts? And if we turn our eyes from theſe regions of impoſture and cruelty, to the realms of proteſtants, do we not find ſome learned chriſtian crities and ex⯑poſitors [25]reducing the inſpired writings to a dark ſcience? without regard to the nature and intrinſick character of their doctrines, do they not advance notions as true and di⯑vine, which have not one appearance of di⯑vine Authority; but, on the contrary, mili⯑litate with the reaſon of things, and the mo⯑ral fitneſs of actions; and are ſo far from be⯑ing plain and clear, free from all doubtful⯑neſs, or ambiguity, and ſuited to the under⯑ſtandings and capacity of men, that the dark⯑neſs of them renders ſuch pretended re⯑velations of little ſervice; and impeaches the veracity, wiſdom, and goodneſs of God? Alas! too many explainers are clamorous, under the infallible ſtrength of their own perſuaſions, and exert every power to un⯑man us into believers. How the apoſtles argued for the great excellency and dignity of Chriſtianity is not with them the que⯑ſtion; ſo far as I am able to judge from their learned writings; but the fathers, and our ſpiritual ſuperiors have put upon the ſa⯑cred writings the proper explications; and we muſt receive the truth as they diſ⯑penſe it to us. This is not right, in my con⯑ception. I own it does not ſeem to anſwer the end of the Meſſiah's coming, which was to reſtore Reaſon and Religion to their rightful authority over mankind; and to make all virtue, and true goodneſs, flouriſh in the earth; the moſt perfect bleſſing to [26]be ſure that God could beſtow on man, or man receive from God. This bleſſing we muſt miſs, if human authority is to pin us down to what it pleaſes to call ſenſe of ſcripture, and will ſet up the judgment of fallible men as the teſt of Chriſtianity. The Chriſtian Laity are miſerable indeed, if they be put under an obligation to find that to be truth which is taught by theſe Leaders. In truth, we ſhould be unhappy men, with a revelation in our churches and our cloſets, if the leaders had a right to make their own faith paſs for the faith of the Apoſtles; or, if we refuſed it, might lance the weapons of this world at their people. What muſt we do then as true Chriſtians? I think for my ſelf, that we ought to form our judgment, in matters of faith, upon a ſtrict, ſerious and impartial examination of the Holy Scriptures, without any regard to the judgment of others, or human authority whatever: that we ought to open the ſacred records, without minding any ſyſtems, and from the reveled word of God learn that, Chriſtianity does not conſiſt in a jingle of unintelligible ſounds, and new fundamentals, hewn out by craft, enthu⯑ſiaſm, or bigotry, and maintained with an outrage of uncharitable zeal, which delivers Chriſtians to the flames of an eternal hell: but that, the heavenly religion of our Lord conſiſts in looking on the promiſed Meſſiah, [27]as the moſt conſummate bleſſing God could beſtow, or man receive; and that Jeſus is that Meſſiah; in acting according to the rules of the Goſpel, and in ſtudying to imitate God, who is the moſt perfect under⯑ſtanding nature, in all his moral perfections; in becoming the Children of God by being (according to our capacity) perfect as he is perfect, and holy as he is holy, and merciful as he is merciful; and in our whole moral behaviour as like to him as poſſible.

In a word, to flee injuſtice, oppreſſion, in⯑temperance, impurity, pride, unmercifulneſs, revenge: — to practiſe juſtice, piety, tem⯑perance, chaſtity, humility, beneficence, pla⯑cability — to turn from our iniquities to the practice of all virtue: and through the alone mediation of the only-begotten Son of God, believe in and worſhip the eternal mind, the one ſupreme Spirit, in hope of a glorious immortality, through the ſanctification of the Holy Ghoſt: — Theſe are the things the Lord came down to teach mankind. For the New Teſtament itſelf then we muſt de⯑clare, and look upon it as the only guide, or rule of faith. It is now the only deliverer of the declarations of our Lord: And the rule in our enquiry is, that every thing neceſſary to be believed by a Chriſtian, is in thoſe Books not left to be gathered by conſequences, or implications; but the things neceſſary to [28]obtain the favor of God promiſed to Chri⯑ſtians are expreſsly declared. If this was not the caſe — if things abſolutely neceſſary were not expreſſly proclaimed to be ſo, the goſpel revelation would be no rule at all ⁽¹⁾ .

13. The ſtory of Harriot Noel.

But it is time to tell my reader the ſtory of the beautiful Harriot Noel, which I promiſed in my third memorandum. — [29]On the glorious firſt of Auguſt, before the beaſts were rouſed from their lodges, or the [30]birds had ſoared upwards, to pour forth their morning harmony; while the mountains and the groves were overſhadowed by a dun obſcurity, and the dawn ſtill dappled the drowſy Eaſt with ſpots of grey; in ſhort, before the ſun was up, or, with his auſpi⯑cious preſence, began to animate inferior na⯑ture, I left my chamber, and with my gun and dog, went out to wander over a pleaſant country. The different aſpects and the va⯑rious points of view were charming, as the light in fleecy rings encreaſed; and when the whole flood of day deſcended, the im⯑belliſhed early ſcene was a fine entertainment. Delighted with the beauties of this morn⯑ing, I climbed up the mountains, and tra⯑velled through many a valley. The game was plenty, and for full five hours, I journeyed onward, without knowing where I was going, or thinking of a return to college.

About nine o'clock however I began to grow very hungry, and was looking round to ſee if I could diſcover any proper habi⯑tation [31]to my purpoſe, when I obſerved in a valley, at ſome diſtance, ſomething that looked like a manſion. That way therefore I moved, and with no little difficulty, as I had a precipice to deſcend, or muſt go a mile round, to arrive at the place I wanted: down therefore I marched, got a fall by the way that had like to have deſtroyed me, and after all, found it to be a ſhed for cat⯑tle. The bottom however was very beau⯑tiful, and the ſides of the hills ſweetly copſed with little woods. The valley is ſo divided, that the riſing ſun gilds it on the right hand, and when declining, warms it on the left.

A pretty brook here likewiſe babbles along, and even Hebrus ſtrays not round Thrace with a purer and cooler ſtream.

Fons etiam rivo dare nomen idoneus, ut nec Frigidior Thracam nec purior ambiat Hebrus.

A Country Seat. In this ſweet and delicious ſolitude, I crept on for ſome time, by the ſide of the mur⯑muring ſtream, and followed as it winded through the vale, till I came to a little har⯑monick building, that had every charm and [32]proportion architecture could give it. It was ſituated on a riſing ground in a broad part of the fruitful valley, and ſurrounded with a garden, that invited a penſive wan⯑derer to roam in its delightful retreats, and walks amazingly beautiful. Every ſide of this fine ſpot was planted thick with under⯑wood, and kept ſo low, as not to prevent a proſpect to every pleaſing remote object.

Finding one of the garden doors left open, I entred immediately, and to ſcreen my ſelf from the ſcorching beams of the ſun, got into an imbowered way, that led me to a large fountain, in a ring or circu⯑lar opening, and from thence, by a gradual, eaſy, ſhady aſcent, to a ſemicircular amphi⯑theatre of ever-greens, that was quite charm⯑ing. In this were ſeveral ſeats for eaſe, re⯑paſt, or retirement; and at either end of it a rotunda or temple of the Ionick or⯑der. One of them was converted into a grotto or ſhell-houſe, in which a politeneſs of fancy had produced and blended the greateſt beauties of nature and decoration. The other was a library, filled with the fineſt books, and a vaſt variety of mathe⯑matical inſtruments. Here I ſaw Miſs Noel ſitting, and ſo intent at writing, that ſhe did not take any notice of me, as I ſtood at the window, in aſtoniſhment looking at the things before me, and eſpecially at the [33]amazing beauties of her face, and the ſplen⯑dor of her eyes; as ſhe raiſed them now and then from the paper ſhe writ on, to look in⯑to a Hebrew Bible, that lay open upon a ſmall deſk before her. The whole ſcene was ſo very uncommon, and ſo vaſtly amaz⯑ing, that I thought my ſelf for a while on ſome ſpot of magic ground, and almoſt doubted the reality of what my eyes beheld; till Miſs Noel, by accident, looked full at me, and then came forward to the open window, to know who I wanted.

Before I could anſwer, I found a venera⯑ble old gentleman ſtanding by my ſide, and he ſeemed much more ſurprized at the ſight of me than his daughter was; for, as this young lady told me afterward, ſhe gueſſed at once the whole affair; ſeeing me with my gun and dog, in a ſhooting dreſs; and knew it was a natural curioſity brought me into the garden, and ſtoped me at the window, when I ſaw her in ſuch an attitude, and in ſuch a place. — This I aſſured them was the truth of my caſe, with this ſmall addition however, that I was ready to periſh for want of ſomething to eat; having been from four in the morning at hard exerciſe, and had not yet broke my faſt.— If this be the caſe, ſays the good old man, you are welcome, Sir, to Eden-Park, and you ſhall ſoon have the beſt breakfaſt our houſe affords.

[34]Upon this Mr. Noel brought me into his houſe, and the lovely Harriot made tea for me, and had ſuch plenty of fine cream, and extraordinary bread and butter ſet before me, that I breakfaſted with uncommon pleaſure. The honour and happineſs of her company rendered the repaſt quite delightful. There was a civility ſo very great in her manner, and a ſocial goodneſs ſo charming in her talk and temper, that it was unſpeakable delight to ſit at table with her. She aſked me a number of queſtions relating to things and books, and people, and there was ſo much good ſenſe in every inquiry, ſo much good humour in her reflections and replications, that I was intirely charmed with her mind; and loſt in admiration, when I contemplated the wonders of her face, and the beauties of her perſon.

When breakfaſt was over, it was time for me to depart, and I made half a dozen at⯑tempts to riſe from my chair; but without her laying a roſy finger on me, this illuſtri⯑ous maid had ſo totally ſubdued my ſoul, and deprived me of all motive power, that I ſat like the renowned Prince of the Maſſa⯑getes, who was ſtiffened by inchantment in the apartment of the Princeſs Phedima, as we read in Amadis de Gaul. This Miſs Noel ſaw very plain, and in compaſſion to my misfortune, generouſly threw in a hint []now and then, for a little farther converſa⯑tion to colour my unreaſonable delay. But this could not have been of ſervice much longer, as the clock had ſtruck twelve, if the old gentleman, her father, had not re⯑turned to us, and told me, he inſiſted on my ſtaying to dine with him; for he loved to take a glaſs after dinner with a facetious companion, and would be obliged to me for my company. At preſent (Mr. Noel continued) you will excuſe me, Sir, as bu⯑ſineſs engages me till we dine: but my daughter will chat the hours away with you, and ſhew you the curioſities of her library and grott. Harriot will ſupply my place.

This was a delightful invitation indeed, and after returning my hearty thanks to the old gentleman for the favour he did me, I addreſſed my ſelf to Miſs Noel, when her father was gone, and we were walking back to the library in the garden, and told her in⯑genuouſly, that tho' I could not be poſitive as to the ſituation of my ſoul, whether I was in love with her or not, as I never had experienced the paſſion before, nor knew what it was to admire a woman; having lived till that morning in a ſtate of indifference to her ſex; yet, I found very ſtrange emo⯑tions within me, and I was ſure I could not leave her without the moſt lively and af⯑flicting inquietude. You will pardon, I [36]hope, Madam, this effuſion of my heart, and ſuffer me to demonſtrate by a thouſand and a thouſand actions, that I honour you in a manner unutterable, and from this time, can imagine no happineſs but with you.

A Conver⯑ſation with Miſs Noel, in relation to the Lan⯑guage of Adam, and the Primae⯑vity of the Hebrew Tongue. Sir, (this inimitable maid replied) you are an intire ſtranger to me, and to declare a paſſion on a few hours acquaintance, muſt be either to try my weakneſs, or becauſe you think a young woman is incapable of reliſh⯑ing any thing but ſuch ſtuff, when alone in converſation with a gentleman. I beg then I may hear no more of this, and as I am ſure you can talk upon many more rational ſubjects, requeſt your favor, to give me your opinion on ſome articles in this Hebrew Bible you ſee lying open on the table in this room. My father, Sir, among other things he has taken great pains to inſtruct me in, for ſe⯑veral years that I have lived with him in a kind of ſolitary ſtate, ſince the death of my mother, whom I loſt when I was very young, has taught me to read and under⯑ſtand this inſpired Hebrew book; and ſays we muſt aſcribe primaevity and ſacred prero⯑gatives to this language. For my part, I have ſome doubts as to this matter, which I dare not mention to my father. Tell me, if you pleaſe, what you think of the thing.

[37]Miſs Noel, (I anſwered) ſince it is your command, that I ſhould be ſilent as to that flame your glorious eyes and underſtanding have lighted up in my ſoul, like ſome ſu⯑perior nature, before whom I am nothing, ſilent I will be, and tell you what I fancy on a ſubject I am certain you underſtand much better than I do. My knowledge of the Hebrew is but ſmall, tho' I have learned to read and underſtand the Old-Teſtament in the Ante-Babel language.

My opinion on your queſtion is, that the Biblical Hebrew was the language of Para⯑diſe, and continued to be ſpoken by all men down to, and at the time of Moſes writing the pentateuch, and long after. Abraham, tho' bred in Chaldea, could converſe freely with the Egyptians, the Sodomites, and the King of Gerar; nor do we find, that any variety of ſpeech interrupted the commerce of his ſon Iſaac with the ſeveral nations a⯑round, or that it ever ſtopt Jacob in his tra⯑vels. Nay, the Iſraelites, in their journey through the deſarts of Arabia, (after they had been ſome hundred years in Egypt) tho' joined by a mixt multitude, and meeting with divers kinds of people, had not cor⯑rupted their language, and were eaſily un⯑derſtood, becauſe it was then the univerſal one. The ſimplicity and diſtinctneſs of the Hebrew tongue preſerved its purity ſo long [38]and ſo univerſally. It could not well be de⯑generate till the knowledge of nature was loſt, as its words conſiſt but of two or three letters, and are perfectly well ſuited to con⯑vey ſenſible and ſtrong ideas. It was at the captivity ⁽²⁾ , in the ſpace of ſeventy years, that the Jews, by temporiſing with the ig⯑norant victors, ſo far neglected the uſage of their own tongue, that none but the ſcribes or learned men could underſtand Moſes's books.

This I confeſs (Miſs Noel ſaid) is a plau⯑ſible account of the primaevity and pre-emi⯑nence of the ſacred Hebrew, but I think it is not neceſſary the account ſhould be al⯑lowed as fact. As to its being the language in Paradiſe, this is not very probable, as a compaſs of 1800 years muſt have changed the firſt language very greatly by an in⯑creaſe of words, and new inflections, ap⯑plications, and conſtructions of them. The few firſt inhabitants of the earth were oc⯑cupied in few things, and wanted not a [41]variety of words; but when their deſcendants invented arts and improved ſciences, they were obliged to coin new words and technical terms, and by extending and transferring their words to new ſubjects, and uſing them figuratively, were forced to multiply the ſenſes of thoſe already in uſe. The lan⯑guage to be ſure was thus gradually culti⯑vated, and every age improved it. All liv⯑ing languages are liable to ſuch change. I therefore conclude, that the language which ſerved the firſt pair would not do for ſuc⯑ceeding generations. It became vaſtly more copious and extenſive, when the numbers of mankind were great, and their language muſt ſerve converſation and the ends of life, and anſwer all the purpoſes of intelligence and correſpondence. New words and new terms of ſpeech, from time to time were neceſſary, to give true ideas of the things, actions, offices, places, and times peculiar to the Hebrews. Even Hutchinſon allows there was ſome coinage, ſome new words framed. We find in the lat⯑ter prophets words not to be met with in the Pentateuch: and from thence we may ſup⯑poſe, that Moſes uſed words unknown to Nimrod and Heber: and that the men at Shinaar ⁽³⁾ had words which the people be⯑fore []the flood were ſtrangers to. Even in the ſeventeenth century, there muſt have been a great alteration in the lan⯑guage of Adam; and when the venerable Patriarch and his family came into a new world, that was in a different ſtate from the earth before the deluge, and ſaw a vaſt va⯑riety of things without precedent in the old world, the alterations in nature and diet, muſt introduce a multitude of new terms in things of common experience and uſage; as, after that amazing revolution in the natural world, not only the clouds and meteors were different, and the ſouls that were ſaved had a new and aſtoniſhing view of the ruin and repair of the ſyſtem; but Noah did then be⯑gin to be an huſbandman; he planted a vine⯑yard; he invented wine; and to him the firſt grant was given of eating fleſh. All theſe things required as it were a new lan⯑guage, and the terms to be ſure with man⯑kind encreaſed. The Noachical language muſt be quite another thing after the great events of the flood. Had Methuſelah, who converſed many years with Adam, who re⯑ceived [41]from his mouth the hiſtory of the creation and fall, and who lived 600 years with Noah, to communicate to him all the knowledge he got from Adam; had this An⯑tediluvian wiſe man been raiſed from the dead to converſe with the poſtdiluvian fa⯑thers, or even with Noah, the year he died, that is, 350 years after the flood; is it not credible, from what I have ſaid, that he would have heard a language very different from that tongue he uſed in his converſa⯑tions with Adam, even in the 930th year of the firſt man ⁽⁴⁾ ? I imagine, Methuſelah [42]would not have been able to have talked with Noah, at the time I have mentioned, of the circumſtances that then made the caſe of mankind, and of the things of common experience and uſage. He muſt have been unable to converſe at his firſt appearance.

What you ſay, Madam, (I replyed) is not only very probable, but affords a ſatis⯑faction unexpected in a ſubject on which we are obliged, for want of data, to uſe con⯑jectures. I offer up to your ſuperior ſenſe the notion, that the Scriptures were wrote in the language of Paradiſe. Moſt certain it is, that even in reſpect of our own language, for example, the ſubjects of Henry the 1ſt, would find it as much out of their power to underſtand the Engliſh of George the 1ſt's reign, were they brought up again, as the ordinary people of our time are at a loſs to make any thing of the Engliſh written in the 1ſt Henry's reign. But when I have granted this, you will be pleaſed to inform me, how Abraham and his ſons converſed and com⯑merced with the nations, if the Hebrew was not the univerſal language in their time? If the miracle at Babel was a confuſion of tongues, as is generally ſuppoſed, how did the holy family talk and act with ſuch diſtant Kings and people? Illuminate me, thou glo⯑rious girl in this dark article, and be my teacher in Hebrew learning, as I flatter [43]my ſelf you will be the guide and dirigent of all my notions and my days. Yes, charm⯑ing Harriot, my fate is in your hands. Diſ⯑poſe of it as you will, and make me what you pleaſe.

You force me to ſmile, (the illuſtrious Miſs Noel replyed) and oblige me to call you an odd compound of a man. Pray, Sir, let me have no more of thoſe romantic flights, and I will anſwer your queſtion as well as I can; but it muſt be at ſome other time. There is more to be ſaid on the mi⯑racle at Babel, and its effects, than I could diſpatch between this and our hour of dining, and therefore, the remainder of our leiſure till dinner, we will paſs in a viſit to my grotto, and in walking round the garden to the parlour we came from. To the grotto then we went, and to the beſt of my power I will give my reader a deſcription of this ſplendid room.

A Deſcrip⯑tion of Miſs Noel's grotto. In one of the fine rotunda's I have men⯑tioned, at one end of the green amphitheatre very lately deſcribed, the ſhining apartment was formed. Miſs Noel's hand had covered the floor with the moſt beautiful Moſaic my eyes have ever beheld, and filled the arched roof with the richeſt foſſil gems. The Moſaic painting on the ground was wrought with ſmall coloured ſtones or peb⯑bles, and ſharp pointed bits of glaſs, mea⯑ſured [44]and proportioned together, ſo as to imitate in their aſſemblage the ſtrokes and colour of the objects, which they were in⯑tended to repreſent, and they repreſented by this lady's art, the Temple of Tranquillity, deſcribed by Voluſenus in his dream.

The Tem⯑ple of Tranquility and a re⯑markable Inſcription. At ſome diſtance the fine temple looks like a beautiful painted picture, as do the birds, the beaſts, the trees, in the fields about it, and the river which murmurs at the bot⯑tom of the riſing ground; Amnis lucidus & vadoſus in quo cernere erat varii generis piſces colludere. So wonderfully did this genius perform the piece, that fiſhes of ma⯑ny kinds ſeem to take their paſstime in the bright ſtream. But above all, is the image of the philoſopher, at the entrance of the temple, vaſtly fine. With pebbles and ſcraps of glaſs, all the beauties and graces are ex⯑preſſed, which the pencil of an able artiſt could beſtow on the picture of Democritus. You ſee him as Diogenes Ldertius has drawn him, with a philoſophical joy in his coun⯑tenance, that ſhews him ſuperior to all events. Summum bonorum finem ſtatuit eſſe laetitiam, non eam quae ſit eadem voluptati, ſed eam per quam animus degit perturbationis expers; and with a finger, he points to the following golden inſcription on the portico of the temple:— ‘[45]Flagrans ſit ſtudium bene merendi de ſeipſo, Et ſeipſum perficiendi.’ That is, By a rectitude of mind and life, ſe⯑cure true happineſs and the applauſe of your own heart, and let it be the labour of your every day, to come as near perfection as it is poſſible for human nature to get. This Moſaic piece of painting is indeed an ad⯑mirable thing. It has a fine effect in this grotto, and is a noble monument of the maſterly hand of Miſs Noel.

Nor was her fine genius leſs viſible in the ſtriking appearance of the extremely beau⯑tiful ſhells and valuable curioſities, all round the apartment. Her father ſpared no coſt to procure her the fineſt things of the ocean and rivers from all parts of the world, and pebbles, ſtones, and ores of the greateſt cu⯑rioſity and worth. Theſe were all diſpoſed in ſuch a manner as not only ſhed a glo⯑rious luſtre in the room, but ſhewed the un⯑derſtanding of this young lady in natural knowledge.

In one part of the grot, were collected and arranged the ſtony coverings of all the ſhell-fiſh in the ſea, from the ſtriated patella and its ſeveral ſpecies, to the pholades in all their ſpecies: and of thoſe that live in the freſh ſtreams, from the ſuboval limpet or um⯑bonated patella and its ſpecies, to the trian⯑gular, [46]and deeply ſtriated cardia. Even all the land-ſhells were in this collection, from the pomatia to the round-mouthed turbo. The moſt beautiful genera of the ſea-ſhells, in⯑termixed with foſſil corals of all the kinds; with animal ſubſtances become foſſil; and with copper-ores; agates; pebbles, pieces of the fineſt marmora and alabaſtritae, and the moſt elegant and beautiful marcaſites, and chryſtals, and ſpars. Theſe filled the greateſt part of the walls, and in claſſes, here and there, were ſcattered, as foils to raiſe the luſtre of the others, the inferior ſhells.

Among the ſimple ſea-ſhells, that is, thoſe of one ſhell, without a hinge, I ſaw ſeveral rare ones, that were neither in Mrs. O'Hara's, nor in Mrs. Crafton's grottos in Fingal, as I obſerved to thoſe ladies ⁽⁵⁾ . The ſhells I mean are the following ones.

• 1. The Sea Trumpet. The ſea-trumpet, which is in its per⯑fect ſtate, nine inches long, an inch and half diameter at its mouth or irregular lip, and the opening at the ſmall end about half an inch. The ſurface is a beautiful brown, prettily ſpotted with white, and the pipe has fourteen annular ridges that are a little ele⯑vated, and of a fine purple colour.
• 2. The Admi⯑ral. The admiral is vaſtly beautiful, a vo⯑luta two inches and a half long, and an inch in diameter, at the head, from whence it decreaſes to a cone with an obtuſe point. The ground colour is the brighteſt, elegant yellow, finer than that of Sienna marble, and this ground ſo variegated with the [48]brighteſt colours, that a little more than a third part of the ground is ſeen. Broad faſciae, the moſt charmingly varied, ſurround it, and the clavicle is the moſt elegant of ob⯑jects in colours, brightneſs and irregularities. There is a punctuated line of variations that runs in the centre of the yellow faſcia, and is wonderfully pretty. This beautiful Eaſt Indian ſells at a great price.
• 3. The Crown Imperial. The crown imperial is likewiſe ex⯑tremely beautiful. This voluta is four inches long, two in diameter at the top, and its head adorned with a charming ſeries of fine tubercles, pointed at the extremities. The ground is a clear pale, and near the head and extremity of the ſhell, two very beautiful zones run round. They are of the brighteſt yellow, and in a manner the moſt elegant, are variegated with black and white purple. It is an Eaſt Indian.
• 4. The He⯑brew Let⯑ter. The Hebrew letter, another voluta, is a fine curioſity. It is two inches in length, and an inch and a quarter in diameter at the top. It is a regular conic figure, and its ex⯑erted clavicle has ſeveral volutions. The ground is like the white of a fine pearl, and the body all over variegated with irregular marks of black, which have a near reſem⯑blance of the Hebrew characters. This ele⯑gant ſhell is an Eaſt Indian.
• 5. The white Voluta. The white voluta, with brown and blue and purple ſpots. This very elegant ſhell, whoſe ground is a charming white, is found on the coaſt of Guinea, from five to ſix inches in length, and its diameter at the head often three inches. It tapers gradually, and at the extremity is a large obtuſe. Its variegations in its ſpots are very beautiful, and its ſpots are principally diſpoſed in many circles round the ſhell.
• 6. The But⯑terfly. The butterfly is a voluta the moſt ele⯑gant of this beautiful genus. Its length is five inches in its perfection, and two and a half broad at the head. The body is an ob⯑tuſe cone: the clavicle is pointed, and in ſe⯑veral volutions. The ground is the fineſt yellow, and beautifyed all over with ſmall brown ſpots, in regular and round ſeries. Theſe variegations are exceeding pretty, and as this rare Eaſt Indian ſhell has beſide theſe beauties three charming bands round the body, which are formed of large ſpots of a deep brown, a pale brown, and white, and reſemble the ſpots on the wings of butterflies, it is a beautiful ſpecies indeed. The animal that inhabits this ſhell is a limax.
• 7. The Tulip Cylinder. The tulip cylinder is a very ſcarce and beautiful native of the Eaſt-Indies, and in its ſtate of perfection and brightneſs of colour, of great value. Its form is cylindric, its length four inches, and its diameter two and [50]a half, at its grateſt increaſe. Its clavicle has many volutions, and terminates in an obtuſe point. The ground colour is white, and its variegations blue and brown. They are thrown into irregular clouds in the moſt beautiful manner, and into ſome larger and ſmaller ſpots. The limax inhabits this fine ſhell.

I likewiſe ſaw in this grotto the fineſt ſpecies of the purpura, the dolia, and the porcellana. There was of the firſt genus the thorny woodcock: — of the ſecond, the harp ſhell: — and of the third, the argus ſhell.

• 8. The thorny Woodcock. The thorny woodcock is ventricoſe, and approaches to an oval figure. Its length, full grown, is five inches; the clavicle ſhort, but in volutions diſtinct; and its roſtrum from the mouth twice the length of the reſt of the ſhell. This ſnout and the body have four ſeries of ſpines, generally an inch and half long pointed at the ends, and ſomewhat crooked. The ſpines lie in regular, longitudinal ſeries. The mouth is almoſt round, but the opening is continued in the form of a ſlit up the roſtrum. The colour of this American, and extremely elegant ſhell, is a tawny yellow, with a fine mixture of a lively brown, and by bleaching on the coaſts, it gets many ſpots of white.
• 9. The Harp. The beautiful harp is a Chineſe; three inches and half long, and two and a half [51]in diameter. The ſhell is tumid and in⯑flated, and at the head largeſt. It has an oblong clavicle in ſeveral volutions, pointed at the extremity, and the other extreme is a ſhort roſtrum. The whole ſurface is orna⯑mented with elevated ribs, that are about twice as thick as a ſtraw, and as diſtant from each other as the thickneſs of four ſtraws. The colour is a fine deep brown, variegated with white and a paler brown, in a manner ſurprizingly beautiful.
• 10. The Argus. The extremely elegant argus is from the coaſt of Africa, and is ſometimes found in the Eaſt-Indies. Its length, in a ſtate of perfection, is four inches and a half; its di⯑ameter three. It is oblong and gibbous, has a wide mouth, and lips ſo continued beyond the verge, as to form at each extremity a broad and ſhort beak. The colour is a fine pale yellow, and over the body are three brown faſciae: but the whole ſurface, and theſe faſciae, are ornamented with multitudes of the moſt beautiful round ſpots, which re⯑ſemble eyes in the wings of the fineſt but⯑terflies. The limax inhabits this charm⯑ing ſhell. This creature is the ſea-ſnail.
• 11. The concha of Venus. The concha of Venus was the next ſhell in this young lady's collection that en⯑gaged my attention. One of them was three inches long, and two and a half in diameter. The valves were convex, and in longitudinal [52]direction deeply ſtriated. The hinge at the prominent end was large and beautifully wrought, and the opening of the ſhell was covered with the moſt elegant wrinkled lips, of the moſt beautiful red colour, finely in⯑termixed with white; theſe lips do not unite in the middle, but have ſlender and beau⯑tiful ſpines round about the truncated ends of the ſhell. This ſhell of Venus is an Ame⯑rican, and valued by the collectors at a high rate.
• 12. The Ham⯑mer Oyſter. But of all the curious ſhells in this won⯑derful collection, the hammer oyſter was what I wondered at moſt; it is the moſt extraordinary ſhell in the world. It reſembles a pickax, with a very ſhort handle and a long head. The body of the ſhell is in the place of the han⯑dle of the inſtrument, and is four inches and a half long, and one inch and a half in diameter. What anſwered to the head of the pickax was ſeven inches long, and three quarters of an inch in diameter. This head terminates at each end in a narrow obtuſe point, is uneven at the edges, irregular in its make, and lies croſswiſe to the body: yet the valves ſhut in the cloſeſt and moſt elegant manner. The edges are deeply fur⯑rowed and plated, and the lines run in ir⯑regular directions. The colour without is a fine mixture of brown and purple; and within, a pearly white, with a tinge of [53]purple. This rare ſhell is an Eaſt-Indian, and whenever it appears at an auction is rated very high. I have known ten guineas given for a perfect one.

With a large quantity of theſe moſt beau⯑tiful ſhells, which are rarely ſeen in any collections, and with all the family of the pectens, the cardiae, the ſolens, the cylindri, the murexes, the turbines, the buccina, and every ſpecies of the fineſt genera of ſhells, Miſs Noel formed a grotto that exceeded every thing of the kind I believe in the world; all I am ſure that I have ſeen, ex⯑cept the late Mrs. Harcourt's in Richmond⯑ſhire; which I ſhall give my Reader a de⯑ſcription of, when I travel him up thoſe Engliſh Alpes. It was not only, that Miſs Noel's happy fancy had blended all theſe things in the wildeſt and moſt beautiful diſpoſition over the walls of the rotunda; but her fine genius had produced a variety of grotts within her grotto, and falling wa⯑ters, and points of view. In one place, was the famous Atalanta, and her delightful cave: and in another part, the Goddeſs and Ulyſſes's ſon appeared at the entrance of that grott, which under the appearance of a rural plainneſs had every thing could charm the eye: the roof was ornamented with ſhell-work; the tapeſtry was a tender [54]vine; and limpid fountains ſweetly purled round.

An image of Epictetus and a re⯑markable Legend. But what above all the finely fancyed works in Miſs Noel's grotto pleaſed me, was, a figure of the Philoſopher Epictetus, in the centre of the grott. He ſat at the door of a cave, by the ſide of a falling water, and held a book of his philoſophy in his hand, that was written in the manner of the an⯑tients, that is, on parchment rolled up cloſe together. He appeared in deep meditation, and as part of the book had been unwrap⯑ped and gradually extended, from his knee on the ground, one could read very plain, in large Greek characters, about fifty lines. The Engliſh of the leſſon was this.

Old Mr. Noel's cha⯑racter. Such was Miſs Noel's grotto, and with her, if it had been in my power to chooſe, I had rather have paſſed in it, the day in talk⯑ing of the various fine ſubjects it contained, than go in to dinner; which a ſervant informed us was ſerving up, juſt as I had done reading the above recited philoſophi⯑cal leſſon. Back then we returned to the parlour, and there found the old Gentleman. We ſat down immediately to two very good diſhes, and when that was over, Mr. Noel and I drank a bottle of old Alicant. Tho' this Gentleman was upwards of eighty, yet years had not deprived him of reaſon and ſpi⯑rits. He was lively and ſenſible, and ſtill a moſt agreeable companion. He talked of Greece and Rome, as if he had lived there before the Aera of chriſtianity. The court of Auguſtus he was ſo far from being a ſtranger [57]to, that he deſcribed the principal perſons in it; their actions, their pleaſures, and their caprices, as if he had been their contempo⯑rary. We talked of all theſe great characters. We went into the the gallery of Verres. We looked over the antient theatres. Several of the moſt beautiful paſſages in the Roman po⯑ets this fine old man repeated, and made ve⯑ry pleaſant, but moral remarks upon them.

The cry (ſaid he) ſtill is as it was in the days of Horace—

And what Catullus told his Leſbia, is it not approved to this day by the largeſt part of the great female world?

The girls all learns this leſſon before their [58]A. B. C: And as to the opinion of the poet, it ſhews how ſadly the Auguſtan age, with all its learning, and polite advantages, was corrupted: and as Virgil makes a jeſt of his own fine deſcription of a paradiſe or the Ely⯑ſian fields; as is evident from his diſmiſſing his hero out of the ivory gate; which ſhews he was of the ſchool of Epicurus; it is from theſe things manifeſt, that we can never be thankful enough for the principles and dic⯑tates of reveled religion: we can never ſuf⯑ficiently adore the goodneſs of the moſt glo⯑rious Eternal for the goſpel of Jeſus Chriſt; which opens the unbounded regions of eter⯑nal day to the virtuous and charitable, and promiſes them a reſt from labour, and ever blooming joys: while it condemns the wicked to the regions of horror and ſolid darkneſs; that dreadful region, from whence the cries of miſery for ever aſcend, but can never reach the throne of mercy.—O heavenly religion! deſigned to make men good, and for ever happy: that preſerves the dignity of human nature — Guards and encreaſes virtue—And brings us to the realms of perfect reaſon and excellent glory.

But (continued this fine old Gentleman) Tibulius has ever pleaſed me in the de⯑ſcription of his miſtreſs: [59]

Theſe elegant lines contain an inimitably beautiful deſcription of outward grace, and its charming effects upon all who ſee it. Such a grace, without thinking of it, every one ſhould ſtrive to have, whatever they are doing. They ſhould make it habitual to them. Quintilian ſeems to have had theſe fine lines in view, in his deſcription of out⯑ward behaviour: Neque enim geſtum com⯑poni ad ſimilitudinem ſaltationis volo, ſed ſub⯑eſſe aliquid, in hac exercitatione puerili, un⯑de nos non id agentes, furtim decor ille diſ⯑centibus traditus ſubſequatur. Cap. 10.—I am not for having the mein of a gentleman the ſame with that of a dancing-maſter; but that a boy while young, ſhould enter upon this exerciſe, that it may communicate a ſe⯑cret gracefulneſs to his manner ever after.

In this manner, did the old gentleman and I paſs the time, till the clock ſtruck five, when Miſs Noel came into the parlour again, and her father ſaid he muſt retire, to take [60]his evening nap, and would ſee me at ſup⯑per; for with him I muſt ſtay that night. Har⯑riot, make tea for the Gentleman. I am your ſervant, ſir; and he withdrew. To Harriot then, my life and my bliſs, I turned, and o⯑ver a pot of tea was as happy, I am ſure, as ever with his Statira ſat the conqueror of the world. I began to relate once more the ſtory of a paſſion, that was to form one day, I hoped, my ſole felicity in this world, and with vows and proteſtations affirmed, that I loved from my ſoul. Charming an⯑gel, I ſaid, the beauties of your mind have inſpired me with a paſſion, that muſt en⯑creaſe every time I behold the harmony of your face; and by the powers divine, I ſwear to love you, ſo long as Heaven ſhall permit me to breath the vital air. Bid me then either live or die, and while I do live, be aſſured, that my life will be devoted to you only.—But in vain was all this warmth. Miſs Noel ſat as unmoved as Erycina on a monument, and only anſwered, with a ſmile, Since your days, ſir, are in my diſpoſal, I de⯑ſire you will change to ſome other ſubject, and ſome article that is rational and uſeful: otherwiſe, I muſt leave the room.

A ſe⯑cond con⯑verſation with Miſs Noel; re⯑lating to the Mira⯑cle at Babel, and the Confuſion of tongues. To leave me, I replied, would be in⯑ſupportable, and therefore, at once I have done. If you pleaſe then, Madam, [61]we will conſider the miracle at Babel, and enquire into the language of the world at that time. Allowing, as you have proved in our late converſation, that the language after the flood was quite another thing from that uſed in Paradiſe, and of conſequence, that Moſes did not write in that tongue which Adam and Eve converſed in; nor is Hebrew of that primevity which ſome great men af⯑firm; yet, if there was a confuſion of tongues at Babel, and many languages were ſpoken in the earth in the days of Abra⯑ham, then, how did he and his ſons con⯑verſe ſo eaſily with the various nations they paſſed through, and had occaſional connexions with? For my part, I think with Mr. Hutchinſon, that the divine interpo⯑ſition at Babel was for quite another end, to wit, to confound their confeſſion, and caſt out of their minds the name or object of it, that a man might not liſten to the lip or con⯑feſſion of his neighbour. They were made to loſe their own lip, and to differ about the words of their atheiſtical confeſſion.

As to a confuſion of confeſſions (Miſs Noel replyed), it appears to me to be a notion without any foundation to reſt on. The argument of Hutchinſon that the word Shep⯑hah, the name for a lip, when uſed for the voice or ſpeech, is never once in the Bible uſed in any other ſenſe than for confeſſion, is [62]not good; becauſe tho' Shephah is often ge⯑nerally uſed for religious diſcourſe or con⯑feſſion; yet the phraſes, other lips and other tongues, are alſo uſed for other langua⯑ges, utterances, pronunciations, dialects. St. Paul, 1. Cor. 14.21.22. applys Shephah to language or dialect in his quotation from the prophet Iſaiah, ch. 28. ver. 11.12.—He ſays, in the law it is written, With The words men of are not in the Greek. MEN OF other tongues and other lips will I ſpeak unto this peo⯑ple, and yet for all that, they will not hear me: —And the words of the prophet are, ſpeaking of Chriſt promiſed; with ſtammering lips, and another tongue will be ſpeak to this people. It is evident from this, that the Hebrew word Shephah here ſignifies tongues or languages, and not confeſſions or diſcourſe: So the apoſtle applies it, and explains the prophet: and by ſtammering lips Iſaiah means the uncouth pro⯑nunciations of barbarous dialects, or languages of the nations, which muſt produce in ſtran⯑gers to them ridiculous lips or mouths; and in this he refers undoubtedly to the ſtammering and ſtrange ſounds, at the Babelconfuſion; when God, by a miracle and viſible exhibition, di⯑ſtorted their organs of ſpeech, and gave them a trembling, heſitation, and precipitancy, as to vocal and other powers: In ſhort, the mi⯑raculous gift of tongues would in ſome mea⯑ſure affect the ſaints, in reſpect of pronuncia⯑tion, [31]as the miracle of Babel did the people of that place. ⁽⁶⁾ Nor is this the only place [64]in ſcripture where Shephah, lip, ſignifies lan⯑guage, pronunciations, and dialects; and where there is reference to the confuſion of tongues at Babel: Iſaiah ſpeaking of the pri⯑vileges of the godly, ſays,—Thou ſhalt not ſee a fierce people, of a deeper ſpeech than thou canſt perceive, (of a deeper lip than thou canſt bear, Heb.) of a ſtammering or ridiculous tongue, that thou canſt not underſtand. This is enough in anſwer to Mr. Hutchinſon and his fautors, in reſpect of what they ſay on the confuſion at Babel. This proves that the word Shephah, lip, ſignifies language, ut⯑terance, dialect, as well as confeſſion or diſ⯑courſe: and therefore, Moſes, in his account of the miracle at Babel, might have meant a confuſion of languages. That he did mean this, is plane not only from a tradition gone out into all the earth, which is a matter of greater regard than Mr. Hutchinſon's fan⯑cy; [65]but becauſe the ſacred oracles allude to this event. Beſide St. Paul aforementioned; the royal prophet in Pſalm 55. ver. 9. refers to the means of the diviſion of tongues, and denounces a curſe in terms taken from that inflicted at Babel. Swallow up, O Lord, and divide their tongues. This ſeems to deſcribe the manner of that confuſion; — that the ſubſtance of the one language was ſunk or ſwallowed up in a vaſt chaos of univerſal babble: and that out of that jargon, it was again (by another act) divided or broken into many particular diſſonant dialects, or tongues.

All this (I ſaid) is very juſt, and gives me delight and ſatisfaction. I am now con⯑vinced, not only, that Hebrew was not the language of Paradiſe, or that Adam did not ſpeak the tongue the old world uſed imme⯑diately before the confuſion at Babel; but likewiſe, that the diviſion there was a diviſion and confuſion of the one language then ſpoken; and not a confuſion of confeſſions, as Mr. Hutchinſon affirms. Inform me however, if you pleaſe, what you mean by that tradition you mentioned, which declared the miracle of Babel was a confuſion of languages.

The Jews tradition (replied Miſs Noel) is preſerved in their Targum, and tells us, that the whole earth after the flood was of one ſpeech, or ſort of words, and when at their firſt remove from Ararat, they came to Shinar, they conſulted to build them a city, [66]and a tower for an houſe of adoration, whoſe head might reach to, or be towards the Hea⯑vens, and to place an image of the hoſt of Heaven, for an object of worſhip, on the top of it; and to put a ſword in his hand, that he might make war for them againſt the divine armies, to prevent their diſperſion over the whole earth. Whereupon the word of the Lord was reveled from Heaven, to execute vengeance upon them, and the Lord corrupt⯑ed their tongue, broke their ſpeech into ſe⯑venty languages, and ſcattered them over the face of the whole earth. No one knew what his fellow ſaid: and they ſlew one another, and ceaſed from building the city. Therefore he called the name of it Babel; becauſe there the Lord mingled together the tongues of all the inhabitants of the other. This you read in the Targum that was written before the days of Jeſus Chriſt, as the Jews affirm: or, if not ſo early, yet it is a very antient book, and the doctor who compoſed it muſt certainly know the meaning of the word Shephah better than Mr. Hutchinſon. It appears upon the whole, that the argu⯑ment of this famous modern is without foundation.

It is indeed (I anſwered): But then I am not able to conceive how Abraham and his ſons converſed with ſo many nations —or how the Hebrew that Moſes writ in was preſerved. Illuminate me in theſe things, [67] illuſtrious Harriot, and from your fine un⯑derſtanding, let me have the honour and happineſs of receiving true Hebrew leſſons. Proceed I beſeech you, and ſtop not till you have expounded to my underſtanding the true nature of Cherubim? What do you think of Mr. Hutchinſon's Rub and Rubbim, and of his notions of Ezekiel's cherubic form.

To talk of Cherubim and Elohim (reſum⯑ed Miſs Noel), and ſay all that ought to be ſaid, (to ſpeak to any purpoſe) of the three heads and four viſages, the bull, the man, the lyon, and the eagle, mentioned in the prophet, requires more knowledge in Hebrew learn⯑ing than I pretend to be miſtreſs of, and muſt take up more time than there is now to ſpare. I may hereafter however, if you ſhould chance to come again to our houſe, let you know my fancys upon theſe grand ſubjects, and why I cannot accord with Mr. Hutchinſon and my father, in their notion of the Cherubim's ſignifying the unity of the eſſence, the diſtinction of the Perſons, and man's being taken into the eſſence by his perſonal union with the ſecond perſon, whoſe conſtant emblem was the lyon. This I con⯑feſs appears to my plain underſtanding very miſerable ſtuff. I can ſee no text either in the Old Teſtament, or in the New, for a plurality of Beings, co-ordinate and inde⯑pendent. The ſacred pages declare there is One original perfect mind. The Lord ſhall [68]be King over all the earth. In that day there ſhall be ONE LORD, and his name ONE; ſays the prophet Zechariah, ſpeaking of the pro⯑digious revolution in the Gentile world, whence in proceſs of time, by the Goſpel of Jeſus Chriſt, the worſhip of One true God ſhall prevail all over the earth, as univerſally as Polytheiſm had done before. — This I dare not obſerve to my father, as he is an admirer of Mr. Hutchinſon, and will not bear any contradiction: but my private judg⯑ment is, that Mr. Hutchinſon on the Che⯑rubim and Elohim or Eloim, is a mad commen⯑tator, as I may ſhow you, if we ever happen to meet again.

At preſent, all I can do more on the He⯑brew ſubject, is to obſerve that, in reſpect of the preſervation of the Hebrew tongue, I imagine the one prevailing language before the miracle at Babel, (which one language was afterwards called Hebrew) tho' divided and ſwallowed as it were at the Tower, was kept without change in the line of Shem, and continued their tongue. This cannot be diſputed, I believe. I likewiſe imagine, it muſt be allowed, that this Hebrew conti⯑nued the vernacular tongue of the old Ca⯑naanites. It is otherwiſe unaccountable how the Hebrew was found to be the language of the Canaanites, when the family of Abra⯑ham came among them again, after an ab⯑ſence of more than 200 years. If they had [69]had another tongue at the confuſion, was it poſſible for Abraham, during his temporary ſojournments among them, and in the ne⯑ceſſities of his peregrination, to perſuade ſo many tribes to quit their dialect, and learn his language;— or, if his influence had been ſo amazing, can it be ſuppoſed, they would not return again to their old language, after he had left them, and his family was away from them more than 200 years? No, Sir. We cannot juſtly ſuppoſe ſuch a thing. The language of the old Canaanites could not be a different one from the Hebrew. If you will look into Bochart ⁽⁷⁾ , you will find this was his opinion. That great man ſays the Ante-Babel language eſcaped the confuſion two ways, viz. by the Canaanites, through God's providence preſerving it in their co⯑lonies for the future uſe of the Hebrews, who [70]were to poſſeſs the land; and by the pa⯑triarch Heber, as a ſacred depoſitum for the uſe of his poſterity and of Abraham in parti⯑cular.

This being the caſe: the Phenician or Canaanitiſh tongue, being the ſame language that the line of Heber ſpoke, with this only difference, that by the latter it was retained in greater purity, being in the mouths of a few, and tranſmitted by inſtruction; it fol⯑lows, that Abraham and his ſons could talk with all theſe tribes and communities; and as to the other nations he had commu⯑nication with, he might eaſily converſe with them, as he was a Syrian by birth, and to be ſure could talk the Aramitiſh dialect as well as Laban his brother. The Aramitiſh was the cuſtomary language of the line of Shem. It was their vulgar tongue. The language of the old world, that was ſpoken immediately before the confuſion, and was called Hebrew from Heber, they reſerved for ſacred uſes.

Here Miſs Noel ended, and my amaze⯑ment was ſo great, and my paſſion had riſen ſo high for ſuch uncommon female intelli⯑gence, that I could not help ſnatching this beauty to my arms, and without thinking of what I did, impreſſed on her balmy mouth half a dozen kiſſes. This was wrong, and gave very great offence: but ſhe was too [71]good to be implacable, and on my begging her pardon, and proteſting it was not a wilful rudeneſs, but the magic of her glo⯑rious eyes, and the bright powers of her mind, that had tranſported me beſide my ſelf, ſhe was reconciled, and aſked me, if I would play a game of cards? With delight I replyed, and immediately a pack was brought in. We ſat down to cribbage, and had played a few games, when by accident Miſs Noel ſaw the head of my german flute, which I always brought out with me in my walks, and carried in a long pocket within ſide my coat. You play, Sir, I ſuppoſe, on that inſtrument, this lady ſaid, and as of all ſorts of muſick this pleaſes me moſt, I re⯑queſt you will oblige me with any thing you pleaſe. In a moment I anſwered, and tak⯑ing from my pocket book the following lines, I reached them to her, and told her I had the day before ſet them to one of Lulli's airs, and inſtantly began to breathe the ſofteſt harmony I could make —

Juſt as I was finiſhing this piece of mu⯑ſick, old Mr. Noel came into the parlour, [74]in his wonted good humour, and ſeemed very greatly pleaſed with me and my in⯑ſtrument. He told me, I was the young man he wanted to be acquainted with, and that if it was no detriment to me, I ſhould not leave him this month to come. Come, Sir, (continued this fine old gentleman) let me hear another piece of your muſick — vocal or inſtrumental — as you will, for I ſuppoſe you ſing as well as you play. Both you ſhall have, Sir, (I replied), to the beſt of my abilities, and by way of change, I will give you firſt a ſong, called the Solitude.

This ſong delighted the old gentleman to a great degree. He told me, he was charm⯑ed [77]with it, not only for the fine muſick I made of it, but the morality of it, and liked me ſo much, that I was moſt heartily wel⯑come to make his ſolitary retreat my home, as often and as long as I pleaſed. And in⯑deed I did ſo, and continued to behave in ſuch a manner, that in two months time, I gained ſo intirely his affections, and ſo to⯑tally the heart of his admirable daughter, that I might have her in wedlock when I pleaſed, after the expiration of that current year, which was the young lady's requeſt, and be ſecured of his eſtate at his death; beſide a large fortune to be immediately paid down; and this, tho' my father ſhould re⯑fuſe to ſettle any thing on me, or Miſs Noel, my wife. This was generous and charming as my heart could deſire. I thought my ſelf the happieſt of men. Every week I went to Eden-Park, one time or other, to ſee my dear Miſs Noel, and pay my reſpects to her worthy father. We were while I ſtayed a moſt happy family, and enjoyed ſuch ſatisfactions as few I believe have ex⯑perienced in this tempeſtuous hemiſphere. Mr. Noel was paſſionately fond of his daugh⯑ter, and he could not regard me more if I had been his own ſon. I loved my Harriot with a fondneſs beyond deſcription, and that glorious girl had all the eſteem I could wiſh ſhe had for me. Our mutual felicity could [78]riſe no higher till we gave our hands, as we had already plighted our hearts.

This world is a ſeries of viſionary ſcenes, and contains ſo little ſolid, laſting felicity, as I have found it, that I cannot call life more than a deception; and, as Swift ſays it, he is the happieſt man, who is beſt deceived. When I thought myſelf within a fortnight of being married to Miſs Noel, and thereby made as compleatly happy in every reſpect as it was poſſible for a mortal man to be, the ſmall pox ſteps in, and in ſeven days time, reduced the fineſt human frame in the uni⯑verſe to the moſt hideous and offenſive block. The moſt amiable of human creatures mor⯑tifyed all over, and became a ſpectacle the moſt hideous and unbearable.—This broke her father's heart in a month's time, and the paradice I had in view, ſunk into everlaſting night.

Miſs Noel's character. My heart, upon this ſad accident, bled and mourned to an extreme degree. All the tender paſſions were up in my ſoul, and with great difficulty could I keep my ruffled ſpi⯑rits in tolerable decorum. I loſt what I va⯑lued more than my life — more than repeat⯑ed millions of worlds, if it had been poſſible to get them in exchange. This engaged, be⯑loved partner, was an honour to her ſex, and an ornament to human kind. She was one of the wiſeſt and moſt agreeable of wo⯑men; [79]and her life quite glorious for piety to God, compaſſion to the neceſſitous and miſerable, benevolence and good will to all, with every other grace and virtue. Theſe ſhined with a bright luſtre in her whole de⯑portment, and rendered her beloved, and the delight of all that knew her. Senſe and genius were in her united, and by ſtudy, re⯑flexion, and application, ſhe improved the talents, in the happieſt manner. She had acquired a ſuperiority in thinking, ſpeaking, writing, and acting, and in manners, her be⯑haviour, her language, her deſign, her un⯑derſtanding, was inexpreſſibly charming. Miſs Noel died in the 24th year of her age, the 29th of December, in the year 1724.

A reflexion on the death of Miſs Noel. This diſmal occurrence ſat powerfully on my ſpirits for ſome time, and for near two months, I ſcarcely ſpoke a word to any one. I was ſilent, but not ſullen. As my tears and lamentations could not ſave her, ſo I knew they could not fetch her back again. Death and the grave have neither eyes nor ears. The thing to be done upon ſo me⯑lancholly an occaſion, is to adore the Lord of infinite wiſdom, as he has a right to ſtrike our comforts dead, and ſo improve the awful event, by labouring to render our whole temper and deportment chriſtian and divine, that we may able to live, while we do live, ſuperior to the ſtrokes of fortune, and the [80]calamities of human life; and when God bids us die, (in whatever manner, and at whatever time it may be) have nothing to do but to die, and ſo go enter into our ma⯑ſter's joy. This is wiſdom. This good we may extract from ſuch doleful things. This was the effect my dear Miſs Noel's death had on me, and when I ſaw myſelf deprived of ſo invaluable a thing in this world, I deter⯑mined to double my diligence in ſo acting my part in it, that whenever I was to paſs through the laſt extremity of nature, I might be diſmiſſed with a bleſſing to another world, and by virtue of the ſublime excellencies of our holy religion, proceed to the abodes of immortality and immutable felicity.

I wiſh I could perſuade you, reader, to reſolve in the ſame manner. If you are young, and have not yet experienced life, believe me, all is vanity, diſappointment, wearineſs, and diſſatisfaction, and in the midſt of troubles and uncertainties, we are haſtening on to an unknown world, from whence we ſhall never return again. Whe⯑ther our diſſolution be near, we know not; but this is certain, that death, that univerſal conqueror, is making after us apace, to ſeize us as his captives; and therefore, tho' a man live many years, and rejoice in them all, (which is the caſe of very few), yet let him remember the days of darkneſs.

[81]And when death does come, our lot may be the moſt racking pains and diſtempers, to faſten us down to our ſick-beds, till we reſign our ſpirits to ſome ſtrange region, our breath to the common air, and our bodies to the duſt from whence they were taken. Diſmal ſi⯑tuation! If in the days of our health, we did not make our happineſs and moral worth correſpond — did not labour, in the time of our ſtrength, to eſcape from wrong opinion and bad habit, and to render our minds ſin⯑cere and incorrupt; if we did not worſhip and love the ſupreme mind, and adore his divine adminiſtration, and all the ſecrets of his pro⯑vidence. If this was not our caſe, before corruption begins to lay hold of us, deplora⯑ble muſt we be, when torments come upon us, and we have only hopeleſs wiſhes that we had been wiſer, as we deſcend in ago⯑nies to our ſolitary retreat; to proceed from thence to judgment. Language cannot paint the horrors of ſuch a condition. The an⯑guiſh of mind, and the torture of body, are a ſcene of miſery beyond deſcription.

Or if without torment, we lie down in ſi⯑lence, and ſink into the land of forgetfulneſs, yet, ſince the Lord Jeſus is to raiſe us from the regions of darkneſs, and bring us to the ſeſſions of righteouſneſs, where all our ac⯑tions are to be ſtrictly tried and examined, and every one ſhall be judged according to [82]the deeds done in the body, whether they have been good or evil; what can ſcreen us from the wrath of that mighty power, which is to break off the ſtrong fetters of death, and to throw open the iron gates of the grave, if injuſtice, cruelty, and oppreſſion, have been our practice in this world; or if, in the neglect of the diſtreſſed and hungry, we have given up ourſelves to chambering and wantonneſs, to gluttony and volutuouſ⯑neſs? It is virtue and obedience, acts of good⯑neſs and mercy, that only can deliver us. If we worſhip in ſpirit and in truth the moſt glori⯑ous of immortal Beings, that God who is omni⯑potent in wiſdom and action, and perform all the offices of love and friendſhip to every man, then our Lord will pronounce us the bleſſed of his Father. If we do evil, we ſhall come forth unto the reſurrection of damnation. — This merits your attention, reader, and I hope you will immediately begin to ponder, what it is to have a place aſſigned in incon⯑ceivable happineſs or miſery for ever.

14. Left the Univerſity, and went down to ſee my father in the coun⯑try, and had a very mi⯑ſerable re⯑ception.

Having thus loſt Miſs Noel, and my good old friend, her worthy father, I left the univerſity, and went down to the country, after five years and three months abſence, to ſee how things were poſited at home, and pay my reſpects to my father; but I found them very little to my liking, and in a ſhort time, returned to Dublin again. He [83]had lately married in his old age a young wife, who was one of the moſt artful, falſe, and inſolent of women, and to gratify her to the utmoſt of his power, had not only brought her nephew into his houſe, but was ridiculouſly fond of him, and laviſhly gratifyed all his deſires. Whatever this little brute (the ſon of a drunken beggar, who had been a journey-man glover) was pleaſed, in wantonneſs, to call for, and that his years, then ſixteen, could require, my father's fortune in an inſtant produced; while ſcarcely one of my rational de⯑mands could be anſwered. Money, cloaths, ſervants, horſes, dogs, and all things he could fanſy, were given him in abundance; and to pleaſe the baſeſt of women, and the moſt cruel ſtep-mother that ever the Devil inſpired to make the ſon of another woman miſerable, I was denied almoſt every thing. The fine allowance I had at the Univerſity was taken from me. Even a horſe to ride out to the neighbouring gentlemen, was re⯑fuſed me, tho' my father had three ſtables of extraordinary cattle; and till I purchaſed one, was forced to walk it, where-ever I had a mind to viſit. What is ſtill more incredi⯑ble (if any thing of ſeverity can be ſo, when a mother-in-law is ſovereign) I was not al⯑lowed to keep my horſe even at graſs on the land, tho' five hundred acres of freehold [84]eſtate ſurrounded the manſion, but obliged to graze it at a neighbouring farmer's. Nor was this all the hard meaſure I received. I was ordered by my father to become the young man's preceptor; to ſpend my pre⯑cious time in teaching this youngſter, and in labouring to make the little deſpicable dunce a ſcholar. All this was more than I could bear. My life became inſupportable, and I reſolved to range even the wilds of Africa, if nothing better offered, rather than live a miſerable ſlave under the cruel tyranny of thoſe unrelenting oppreſſors.

My father however, by the way, was as fine a gentleman as ever lived, a man of ex⯑traordinary underſtanding, and a ſcholar; likewiſe remarkably juſt and good to all the world, except my ſelf, after I left the Uni⯑verſity: and to do him all the juſtice in my power, and vindicate him ſo far as I am able, I muſt not conceal, that great as the aſcendant was, which my mother-in-law had over him, and as much as he was hen⯑pecked by that low woman, who had been his ſervant maid, yet it was not to her only that my ſufferings were owing. Religion had a hand in my miſery. Falſe religion was the ſpring of that paternal reſentment I ſuffered under.

15. A religious diſpute with my Father.

It was my father's wont to have prayers read every night and morning in his [85]family, and the office was the litany of the common-prayer book. This work, on my coming home, was transferred from my ſiſter to me, and for about one week I perform⯑ed to the old gentleman's ſatisfaction, as my voice was good, and my reading diſtinct and clear: but this office was far from being grateful to me, as I was become a ſtrict Unitarian, by the leſſons I had received from my private tutor in college, and my own examinations of the vulgar faith. It went againſt my conſcience to uſe the tritheiſtic form of prayer, and became at laſt ſo un⯑eaſy to me, that I altered the prayers the firſt Sunday morning, and made them more agreeable to ſcripture as I conceived. My father at this was very highly enraged, and his paſſion aroſe to ſo great a height, upon my defending my confeſſion, and refuſing to read the eſtabliſhed form, that he called me the moſt impious and execrable of wretches, and with violence drove me from his pre⯑ſence. Soon after however he ſent me Lord Nottingham's Letter to Mr. Whiſton, and deſired I would come to him when I had carefully read it over. I did ſo, and he aſked me what I thought of the book. I anſwered, that I thought it a weak piece, and if he would hear me with patience, in relation to that in particular, and to the caſe in general, perhaps he might think my re⯑ligion [86]a little better than at preſent he ſup⯑poſed it to be. I will hear you, he ſaid: proceed. — Then I immediately began, and for a full hour repeated an apology I had prepared ⁽⁹⁾ . He did not interrupt me once, and when I had done, all he replyed was, I ſee you are to be placed among the incurables. Be gone, he ſaid, with ſtern diſdain; and I reſolved to obey. Indeed it was impoſſible for me to ſtay for my father took no farther notice of me, and my mo⯑ther-in-law and the boy, did all they could invent to render my life miſerable.

15. May 1, 1725. I left my father's houſe.

On the firſt day of May then, early in the morning, as the clock ſtruck one, I mounted my excellent mare, and with my boy, O'Fin, began to journey as [87]I had projected, on ſeeing how things went. I did not communicate my de⯑ſign to a ſoul, nor take my leave of any one, but in the true ſpirit of adventure, abandoned my father's dwelling, and ſet out to try what fortune would produce in my favor. I had the world before me, and Providence my guide. As to my ſubſtance, it conſiſted of a purſe of gold, that con⯑tained fifty Spaniſh piſtoles, and half a ſcore moidores; and I had one bank note for five hundred pounds, which my dear Miſs Noel left me by her will, the morning ſhe ſick⯑ened; and it was all ſhe had of her own to leave to any one. With this I ſet forward, and in five days time arrived from the Weſtern extremity of Ireland at a village called Rings-end, that lies on the Bay of Dublin. Three days I reſted there, and at the Conniving-Houſe ⁽¹⁰⁾ , and then got my horſes on board a ſhip that was ready to ſail, and [88]bound for the land I was born in, I mean Old England.

16. My depar⯑ture from Rings end, and what happened at ſea.

The wind, in the afternoon, ſeemed good and fair, and we were in hopes of get⯑ting to Cheſter the next day: but at mid⯑night, a tempeſt aroſe, which held in all the horrors of hurricane, thunder and light⯑ning, for two nights and a day, and left us no hope of eſcape. It was a dreadful ſcene indeed, and looked as if the laſt fatal aſ⯑ſault was making on the globe. As we had many paſſengers, their cries were terri⯑ble, and affected me more than the flaſhing fires and the winds. For my part, I was well reconciled to the great change, but I confeſs that nature ſhrunk at the frightful manner of my going off, which I expected every moment the ſecond night. At laſt however, we got into Whitehaven. It pleaſed the great King of all the earth to bid the ſtorm, Have done.

Four remarkable things I noticed while the tempeſt laſted.

The caſe of Dean Wha⯑ley.

One was, that the Dean [89]of Derry, Dr. Whaley, whom we had on board, (who had nineteen hundred a year from the church, for teaching the people to be Chriſtians) was vaſtly more afraid than one young lady of the company, who ap⯑peared quite ſerene. The Dean, tho' a fine Orator at land, was ridiculous in his fears at ſea. He ſcreamed as loud as any of the people: But this young lady behaved, like an angel in a ſtorm. She was calm and reſigned, and ſat with the mate and me, the ſecond night, diſcourſing of the divine power, and the laws of nature, in ſuch up⯑roars. By the way, neither mate, nor maſter, nor hand, could keep the deck. The ſhip was left to the mercy of the winds and waves.

The Caſe of Miſs Mel⯑noth.

The ſecond remarkable thing is, that as this young lady went into naked bed in her cabbin, the firſt night, before the tempeſt began to ſtir, it was not many hours till a ſea ſtruck us upon the quarter, and drove in one of our quarter, and one of our ſtern dead lights, where we ſhipped great quantities of water, that put us under great apprehenſions of foundering, and filled ſo ſuddenly the cloſe wooden bed in which Miſs Melmoth lay, that had not I chanced to be then leaning againſt the partition, and ſnatched her out, the moment I found my ſelf all over wet, and half covered with the breaking ſea, ſhe muſt inevitably have periſhed. I ran up on deck [90]with her in my arms, and laid her al⯑moſt ſenſeleſs and naked there: and as there was no ſtaying many minutes in that place, I threw my great coat over her, and then brought her down to my own birth, which I gave her, and got her dry cloaths from her trunk, and made her drink a large glaſs of brandy, which ſaved her life. She got no cold, which I thought very ſtrange, but was hurt a little in the re⯑move. When all was over, ſhe proteſted ſhe would never go into naked bed, on board ſhip, again.

The caſe of ſome offi⯑cers in the ſtorm.

The third particular is, that there were ſome officers on board, moſt monſtrouſly wicked men, and when we were given over by the captain, and no hope he thought of being ſaved, theſe warriors lamented like young children, and were the moſt diſmal, diſturbing howlers on board: yet, when we got on land, they had done with O Lord, O Lord, and began again their obſcene talk, and to damn themſelves at every word to the center of hell.

The caſes of Gavan and Henley.

The fourth thing was this. There was on board with us a young gentleman of my ac⯑quaintance, one Pierce Gavan, who had been a fellow-commoner in my time of Trinity, Dub⯑lin. The firſt day of the ſtorm, he was carried over-board by a rolling ſea, and fairly lodged in the ocean, at above twenty yards di⯑ſtance from the ſhip; but the next tumbling [91]billow brought him back again. He was laid on the deck without any hurt. On the contrary, one Charles Henley, a young mer⯑chant, was beat over, and we never ſaw him more.

Henley's character. Henley was not only a man of ſenſe and prudence, who had an honeſt mind, and a cultivated underſtanding, but by ſearch and enquiries into the doctrines, inſtitutions and motives of reveled religion, had the higheſt regard for the truths of genuine Chriſtianity, and choſe the beſt means in his power to make himſelf acceptable to God.

Gavan's character. Gavan, on the contrary, had no ſenſe of religion, nor did he ever think of the power and goodneſs of God. He was a moſt pro⯑phane ſwearer, drank exceſſively, and had the heart to debauch every pretty woman he ſaw, if it had been poſſible for him to do ſo much miſchief. — Yet this man, who never reformed that I heard, and whoſe impieties have ſhocked even young fellows who were no ſaints, was aſtoniſhingly preſerved; and Henley, who had the juſteſt natural notions, and liſtened to Revelation, periſhed miſera⯑bly? How ſhall we account for ſuch things? By ſaying, that the world that now is, and the world that is to come, are in the hands of God, and every tranſaction in them is quite right, tho' the reaſon of the procedure may be beyond our view. We cannot judge certainly of the ends and purpoſes of Pro⯑vidence, [92]and therefore to paſs judgment on the ways of God, is not only impious, but ridiculous to the laſt degree. This we know for certain, that whenever, or however, a good man falls, he falls into the hand of God, and ſince we muſt all die, the difference as to time and manner, ſignifies very little, when there is an infinite wiſdom to diſtin⯑guiſh every caſe, and an infinite goodneſs to compenſate all our miſeries. This is enough for a Chriſtian. Happy is the man, and for ever ſafe, let what will happen, who acts a rational part, and has the fear and love of God in his thoughts. With pleaſure he looks into all the ſcenes of futurity. When ſtorms and earthquakes threaten calamity, diſtreſs, and death, he maintains an inward peace.

17. The paſſen⯑gers land, and divide into ſeveral companies, May 10, 1725.

When we had obtained the wiſhed for ſhore, the paſſengers all divided. The Dean and his lady, and ſome other ladies, went one way, to an inn recommended to them by a gentleman on board; the war⯑riors and Gavan marched to another houſe; and the young lady, whoſe life was by me preſerved, and I, went to the Talbot, which the mate informed me had the beſt things and lodging, tho' the ſmalleſt inn of the town. This mate, Mr. Whitwell, deſerves to be particularly mentioned, as he was remark⯑able for good breeding, good ſenſe, and a [93]conſiderable ſhare of learning, tho' a ſailor; as remarkable this way, as the captain of the ſhip was the other way, that is, for being the rougheſt and moſt brutal old tar that ever commanded a veſſel.

18. The ſtory of Whit⯑well, the mate of the Skinner and Jenkins.

Whitwell the mate, about thirty-ſix years of age at this time, told me, he was the ſon of a man who once had a great for⯑tune, and gave him a univerſity education, but left an eſtate ſo encumbered with debts, and ruined with mortgages, that its income was almoſt nothing, and therefore the ſon ſold the remains of it, and went to ſea with an Eaſt-India captain, in the 22d year of his age, and was ſo fortunate abroad, that he not only acquired riches, in four years time that he trafficked about, between Batavia and the Gulph of Perſia, but married a young Indian Lady, (the daughter of a Ra⯑jah, or petty Prince in the Mogul Empire) who was rich, wiſe, and beautiful, and made his life ſo very happy, for three years that ſhe lived, that his ſtate was a mere Paradiſe, and he ſeemed a little ſovereign. But this fleeting ſcene was ſoon over, and on his re⯑turn to England with all his wealth, their ſhip was taken by the pirates of Madagaſcar, who robbed him of all he had, and made him a miſerable ſlave for two years and up⯑wards. That he eſcaped from them to the tawny generation of Arabs, who lived on [94]the mountains, the other ſide of this African iſland, and uſed him with great humanity; their chief being very fond of him, and en⯑tertaining him in his mud-wall palace: he married there a pretty little yellow creature, niece to the poor ruler, and for twelve months was very far from being miſerable with this partner, as they had a handſome cottage and ſome cattle, and this wife was good-humour itſelf, very ſenſible, and a re⯑ligious woman; her religion being half Ma⯑hometaniſm and half Judaiſm. But ſhe died at the years end, and her uncle, the Chief, not living a month after her, Whitwell came down from the mountains to the next ſea coaſt under the conduct of one of the Ara⯑bians, his friend, and meeting with a Eu⯑ropean ſhip there, got at laſt to London. A little money he had left behind him in England, by way of reſerve, in caſe of ac⯑cidents, if he ever ſhould return to his own country, and with this he dreſt himſelf, got into buſineſs, and came at laſt to be mate of the Skinner and Jenkins. His deſtiny, he added, was untoward, but as he had thought, and read, and ſeen enough in his wide travels, to be convinced, the world, and every being, and every atom of it, were directed and governed by unerring wiſdom, he derived hopes and comforts from a due acknowledgment of God. There are more [95]born to miſery than to happineſs, in this life: but all may die to be for ever glorious and bleſſed, if they pleaſe. — This concluſion was juſt and beautiful, and a life and ſenti⯑ments ſo uncommon I thought deſerved a memorial.

19. An uncom⯑mon ſcene of life.

Miſs Melmoth and I continued at the Talbot for three weeks, and during that time, breakfaſted, dined, and ſupped together. Except the hours of ſleep, we were rarely from each other. We walked out together every day, for hours converſed, ſometimes went to cards, and often ſhe ſung, delight⯑fully ſung, while on my flute I played. With the greateſt civility, and the moſt exact good manners, we were as intimate as if we had been acquainted for ages, and we found a ſatisfaction in each others company, as great as lovers generally experience: yet ſo much as one ſyllable of the paſſion was no mentioned: not the leaſt hint of love on either ſide was given, while we ſtayed at Whitehaven; and I believe, neither of us had a thought of it. It was a friendſhip the moſt pure and exalted, that commenced at my ſaving her life, in the manner I have related, and by ſome ſtrange kind of magic, our notions and inclinations, tempers and ſentiments, had acquired ſuch a ſameneſs in a few days, that we ſeemed as two ſpiritual Socias, or duplicates of each others mind. [96] Body was quite out of the caſe, tho' this lady had an extravagance of beauty. My ſole delight was that fine percepient, which ſhed a luſtre on her outward charms. How long this ſtate would have laſted, had we conti⯑nued more time together, and had the image of the late Miſs Noel been more effaced, or worn out of the ſenſory of my head, I can⯑not ſay; but while it did laſt, there could be nothing more ſtrange. To ſee two young people of different ſexes, in the higheſt ſpi⯑rits and moſt confirmed health, live together for twenty-one days, perfectly pleaſed with each other, intirely at their own diſpoſal, and as to fortune, having abundantly enough between them both for a comfortable life; and yet, never utter one word, nor give a look, that could be conſtrued a declaration of the paſſion, or a tendency towards a more intimate union; — to compleat that con⯑nexion which nature and providence requires of beings circumſtanced as we were; — this was very odd. Till the clock ſtruck twelve every night we ſat up, and talked of a vaſt variety of things, from the Bible down to the clouds of Ariſtophanes, and from the comedies and tragedies of Greece and Rome to the Minerva of Sanctius, and Hickes's northern Theſaurus. Inſtead of Venus or any of her court, our converſation would often be on the morals of Cicero, his aca⯑demicks, [97]and de finibus; on the Engliſh or the Roman hiſtory; Shakeſpear's ſcenes of nature, or maps of life; whether the OEdipus or the Electra of Sophocles was the beſt tra⯑gedy; and the ſcenes in which Plautus and Terence moſt excelled. Like two criticks, or two grammarians, antiquarians, hiſtorians, or philoſophers, would we paſs the evening with the greateſt chearfulneſs and delight.

Miſs Mel⯑moth's character. Miſs Melmoth had a memory aſtoniſh⯑ing, and talked on every ſubject extreme⯑ly well. She remembred all ſhe had read. Her judgment was ſtrong, and her re⯑flections ever good. She told me her mo⯑ther was another Mrs. Dacier, and as her father was killed in a duel, when ſhe was very young, the widow Melmoth, inſtead of going into the world, continued to live at her country ſeat, and diverted herſelf with teaching her daughter the languages of Greece and Rome, and in educating her heart and mind. This made this young lady a maſter of the Latin tongue and Greek, and enable her to acquire a knowledge ſo various and fine, that it was ſurpriz⯑ing to hear her expatiate and explain. She talked with ſo much eaſe and good humour, and had a manner ſo chearful and polite, that her diſcourſe was always entertaining, even tho' the ſubject happened to be, as it was one evening, the paulo [98]paulo poſt futurum of a Greek verb. Theſe things however were not the only admirable ones in this character. So happily had her good mother formed and inſtructed her mind, that it appeared full of all the princi⯑ples of rational honour, and devoted to that truly God-like religion, which exalts the ſoul to an affection rather than dread of the ſu⯑preme Lord of all things, and to a conviction that his laws lead us both to happineſs here and hereafter. She thorowly underſtood the uſe and excellence of Revelation, and had extracted from the inſpired volumes ever⯑laſting comfort and ſecurity under the appre⯑henſions of the divine Power and Majeſty: but ſhe told me, ſhe could not think rites and outward performances were eſſential to real religion. She conſidered what was juſt and beautiful in theſe things as uſeful and aſſiſting only to the devout mind.—In a word, this young lady was wiſe and good, humble and charitable. I have ſeen but one of her ſex ſuperior to her, in the powers of mind, and the beauties of body: that was Miſs Noel. Very few have I know that were equal.

20. Miſs Mel⯑moth and part, June 2, 1725.

The 2d day of June Miſs Melmoth and I left Whitehaven, and proceeded from thence to Weſtmoreland. We travelled for five days together, till we came to Brugh under Stainmore, where we ſtayed a night at [99] Lamb's, (a houſe I recommend to the rea⯑der, if ever he goes that way), and the next morning we parted. Miſs Melmoth and her ſervants went right onwards to Yorkſhire, and I turned to the left, to look for one Mr. Charles Turner, who had been my near friend in the Univerſity, and lived in ſome part of the north-eaſt extremity of Weſtmoreland, or York⯑ſhire. But before we ſeparated on the edge of Stainmore, we ſtopped at the Bell to breakfaſt, which is a little lone houſe on a deſcent to a vaſt romantic glin, and all the public houſe there is in this wild, ſilent road till you come to Jack Railton, the Qua⯑ker's houſe at Bows. We had a pot of coffee and toaſt and butter for breakfaſt, and as uſual we were very chearful over it; but when we had done, and it was time to de⯑part, a melancholy, like a black and diſmal cloud, began to overſpread the charming face of Charlotte, and after ſome ſilence, the tears burſt from her eyes. What is the matter, Miſs Melmoth, I ſaid — what makes this amazing change? I will tell you, Sir, this beauty replyed. To you I owe my life, and for three weeks paſt have lived with you in ſo very happy a way, that the end of ſuch a ſcene, and the probability of my never ſee⯑ing you L ore, is too much for me. Miſs Melmoth, (I anſwered) you do me more honor than I deſerve in ſhedding tears for [100]me, and ſince you can think me worth ſee⯑ing again, I promiſe you upon my ſacred word, that as ſoon as I have found a beloved friend of mine I am going up the hills to look for, and have paid my reſpects to him for a while, if he is to be found in this de⯑ſolate part of the world, I will travel with my face in the next place, if it be poſſible, to⯑wards the eaſt-riding of Yorkſhire, and be at Mrs. Aſgil's door, where you ſay you are to be found. This reſtored the glories to Charlotte's face again, and for the firſt time, I gave Miſs Melmoth a kiſs, and bid her adieu.

21. A journey among the hills, in that part of Stainmore, which be⯑longs to Weſtmor⯑land. 1725, June 8.

Having thus loſt my charming com⯑panion, I travelled into a vaſt valley, en⯑cloſed by mountains whoſe tops were above the clouds, and ſoon came into a country that is wilder than the Campagna of Rome, or the uncultivated vales of the Alps and Apennines. Warm with a claſſical enthu⯑ſiaſm, I journeyed on, and with fancy's eye beheld the rural divinities, in thoſe ſacred woods and groves, which ſhade the ſides of many of the vaſt ſurrounding fells, and the ſhores and promontories of many lovely lakes and bright running ſtreams. For ſeveral hours I travelled over mountains tremendous to behold, and through vales the fineſt in the world. Not a man or houſe could I ſee in eight hours time, but towards five in the afternoon, there appeared at the foot of [101]a hill a ſweetly ſituated cottage, that was half covered with trees, and ſtood by the ſide of a large falling ſtream: a vale extended to the ſouth from the door, that was termi⯑nated with rocks, and precipices on preci⯑pices, in an amazing point of view, and through the flowery ground, the water was beautifully ſeen, as it winded to a deeper flood at the bottom of the vale. Half a dozen cows were grazing in view: and a few flocks of feeding ſheep added to the beauties of the ſcene.

To this houſe I ſent my boy, to enquire who lived there, and to know, if for the night I could be entertained, as I knew not where elſe to go. O' Fin very quickly re⯑turned, and informed me, that one farmer Price was the owner of the place, but had gone in the morning to the next town, and that his wife ſaid, I was welcome to what her houſe afforded. In then I went, and was moſt civilly received by an exceeding pretty woman, who told me her huſband would ſoon be at home, and be glad ſhe was ſure to ſee me at their lone place; for he was no ſtranger to gentlemen and the world, tho' at preſent he rarely converſed with any one. She told me, their own ſupper would be ready an hour hence, and in mean time would have me take a can of fine ale and a bit of bread. She brought me a cup [102]of extraordinary mault-drink and a cruſt, and while I was eating my bread, in came Mr. Price.

22. A ſurpriz⯑ing meeting

The man ſeemed very greatly aſto⯑niſhed at entering the room, and after he had looked with great earneſtneſs at me for a little while, he cryed out, Good Heaven! What do I ſee! Falſtaff, my claſs-fellow, and my ſecond ſelf. My dear friend you are welcome, thrice welcome to this part of the world. All this ſurprized me not a little, for I could not recollect at once a face that had been greatly altered by the ſmall-pox: And it was not till I reflected on the name Price that I knew I was then in the houſe of one of my ſchool-fellows, with whom I had been moſt intimate, and had played the part of Plump Jack in Henry the fourth, when he did Prince Henry. This was an unexpected meeting indeed: and con⯑ſidering the place, and all the circumſtances belonging to the ſcene, a thing more ſtrange and affecting never came in my way. Our pleaſure at this meeting was very great, and when the moſt affectionate ſalutations were over, my friend Price proceeded in the fol⯑lowing manner.

Often have I remembered you ſince we parted, and excluſive of the Greek and Engliſh plays we have acted together at Sheridan's ſchool, in which you acquired no [103]ſmall applauſe, I have frequently thought of our frolickſome rambles in vacation time, and the merry dancings we had at Mother Red-Cap's in Back-Lane; the hurling matches we have played at Dolphin's-Barn, and the cakes and ale we uſed to have at the Organ-houſe on Arbor-Hill. Theſe things have often occurred to my mind: but little did I think we ſhould ever meet again on Stainmore-hills. What ſtrange things does time produce! It has taken me from a town life to live on the moſt ſolitary part of the globe:— And it has brought you to journey where never man I believe ever thought of travelling before. So it is, (I replyed), and ſtranger things, dear Jack, may happen yet before our eyes are cloſed: why I journey this untravelled way, I will inform you by and by; when you have told me by what ſtrange means you came to dwell in this remote and ſilent vale. That you ſhall know, (Mr. Price ſaid) very ſoon, as ſoon as we have eaten a morſel of ſomething or other which my dear Martha has prepared againſt my return. Here it comes, a fowl, bacon and greens, and as fine I will anſwer as London market could yield. Let us ſit down, my friend, and God bleſs us and our meat.

Down then we ſat immediatly to our diſh, and moſt excellent every thing was. [104]The ſocial goodneſs of this fond couple ad⯑ded greatly to the pleaſure of the meal, and with mirth and friendſhip we eat up our capon, our bacon, and our greens. When we had done, Price brought in pipes and tobacco, and a freſh tankard of his admi⯑rable ale. Liſten now (he ſaid) to my ſtory, and then I will hearken to yours.

23. The ſtory of Jack Price.

When I left you at Sheridan's ſchool, my remove was from Ireland to Barbadoes, to become a rich uncle's heir, and I got by my Indian airing a hundred thouſand pounds. There I left the bones of my mother's bro⯑ther, after I had lived two years in that burning place, and from thence proceeded to London, to ſpend what an honeſt, labo⯑rious man had long toiled to ſave. But I had not been above three months in the ca⯑pital of England, when it came into my head to paſs ſome time in France, and with a girl I kept made haſt to the French me⯑tropolis. There I lived at a grand rate, and took from the French Opera-houſe another where. The Gaul and the Briton were both extreme fine girls, and agreed ſo well toge⯑ther, that I kept them both in one houſe. I thought my ſelf ſuperlatively happy in hav⯑ing ſuch a brace of females, and ſpared no coſt in procuring them all the finery and pleaſures that Paris and London could yield. I had a furniſhed houſe in both theſe cities, [105]and with an expenſive equipage went back⯑wards and forwards. In four years time I ſpent a great deal of money, and as I had loſt large ſums at play, and theſe two whores agreed in the end to rob me, and retire with the money, where I ſhould never diſcover them, I found my ſelf in very mid⯑ling circumſtances, and had not ſix hun⯑dred pounds left in the fourth year from my uncle's death. How to diſpoſe of this and my ſelf was now the queſtion. What ſhall I do, (was my deliberation) to ſecure bread and quiet? Many a thoughtful hour this gave me, and at length I determined to purchaſe a little annuity. But before this could be effected, I went down to Weſtmoreland, on an information I had received, that my two ladies were at Appleby with other names, and on my money appeared as women of for⯑tune. But this journey was to no purpoſe, and I was preparing to return to London, when my wife you ſaw at the head of the table a while ago, came by chance in my way, and pleaſed me ſo well with her good underſtanding, face and perſon, that I re⯑ſolved to marry her, if ſhe would have me, and give her the management of my five hundred pounds on a farm, as ſhe was a farmer's daughter, and could manage one to good advantage. Her father was [106]lately dead, and this little mountain farm ſhe continued to occupy: therefore nothing could be more to my purpoſe, if I could pre⯑vail on her to make me her huſband, and with ſome difficulty ſhe did, to my unſpeak⯑able felicity. She had no money worth mentioning: but her houſe was pretty and comfortable, and her land had grain and cattle; and as I threw into her lap my five hundred pounds, a little before we were married, to be by her diſpoſed of and ma⯑naged, according to her pleaſure, ſhe ſoon made ſome good improvements and additions, and by her fine underſtanding, ſweet tem⯑per, and every Chriſtian virtue, continues to render my life ſo compleatly happy; ſo joyous and delightful; that I would not change my partner and condition, for one of the firſt quality and greateſt fortune. In her I have every thing I could wiſh for in a wife and a woman, and ſhe makes it the ſole ſtudy and pleaſure of her life to crown my every day with the higheſt ſatisfactions and comforts. Two years have I lived with her on theſe wild mountains, and in that time I have not had one dull or painful minute, but in thinking that I may loſe her, and be the wretched ſurvivor. That thought does ſometimes wound me. — In ſum, my friend, we are the happieſt of wedded mor⯑tals, and on this ſmall, remote farm, live [107]in a ſtate of bliſs to be envyed. This proves that happineſs does not flow from riches on⯑ly: but that, where pure and perfect love, ſtrict virtue, and unceaſing induſtry, are united in the conjugal ſtate, they can make the Stainmore mountains a Paradice to mor⯑tals, in peace and little.

But it is not only happineſs in this world that I have acquired by this admirable wo⯑man, but life eternal. You remember, my friend, what a wild and wicked one I was when a ſchool-boy, and as Barbadoes of all parts of the globe is no place to improve a man's morals in, I returned from thence to Europe as debauched a ſcelerate as ever of⯑fended Heaven by blaſphemy and illegal gra⯑tifications. Even my loſſes and approaching poverty were not capable of making any great change in me. When I was courting my wife, ſhe ſoon diſcerned my impiety, and perceived that I had very little notion of hell and heaven, death and judgment. This ſhe made a principal objection againſt being concerned with me, and told me, ſhe could not venture into a married connexion with a man, who had no regard to the divine laws, and therefore, if ſhe could not make me a Chriſtian, in the true ſenſe of the word, ſhe would never be Mrs. Price.

[108]This from a plain, country girl, ſurprized me not a little, and my aſtoniſhment aroſe very high, when I heard her talk of religion, and the great end of both, a bleſſed life after this. She ſoon convinced me, that religion was the only means by which we can arrive at true happineſs, by which we can attain to the laſt perfection and dignity of our na⯑ture, and that the authority and word of God is the ſureſt foundation of religion. The ſubſtance of what ſhe ſaid is as follows. I ſhall never forget the leſſon.

The plain declarations of our Maſter in the Goſpel reſtore the dictates of uncorrupted reaſon to their force and authority, and give us juſt notions of God and of our ſelves. They inſtruct us in the nature of the Deity, diſcover to us his unity, holineſs, and purity, and afford certain means of obtaining eternal life. Revelation commands us to worſhip One Supreme God, the Supreme Father of all things; and to do his will, by imitating his perfections, and practiſing every thing re⯑commended by that Law of Reaſon, which he ſent the Meſſiah to revive and enforce: that by repentance, and righteouſneſs, and acts of devotion, we may obtain the Divine favor, and ſhare in the glories of futurity: for, the Supreme Director, whoſe goodneſs gives counſel to his power, commanded us into exiſtence to conduct us to everlaſting happineſs, and therefore, teaches us by his [109]Son to pray, to praiſe, and to repent, that we may be entitled to a nobler inheritance than this world knows, and obtain life and immortality, and all the joys and bleſſings of the heavenly Canaan. This was the god⯑like deſign of our Creator. That ſuperior Agent, who acts not by arbitrary will, but by the maxims of unclouded reaſon, when he made us, and ſtationed us in this part of his creation, had no glory of his own in view, but what was perfectly conſiſtent with a juſt regard to the felicity of his rational ſubjects.

It was this made the Apoſtle ſhew Felix the unalterable obligations to juſtice and equity; to temperance, or, a command over the appetites; and then, by diſplaying the great and awful judgment to come, urge him to the practice of theſe, and all the other branches of morality; that by uſing the means preſcribed by God, and acting up to the conditions of ſalvation, he might eſcape that dreadful puniſhment, which, in the reaſon and nature of things, is connected with vice, and which the good government of the rational world requires ſhould be in⯑flicted on the wicked; and might, on the contrary, by that mercy offered to the world thro' Jeſus Chriſt, ſecure thoſe immenſe re⯑wards, which are promiſed to innocence and the teſtimony of an upright heart. This faith [110]in Chriſt St. Paul placed before the Roman governor in the beſt light. He deſcribed the complexion and genius of the Chriſtian faith. He repreſented it as reveling the wrath of God againſt all immorality; and as joining with reaſon and uncorrupted nature, enforc⯑ing the practice of every moral and ſocial duty.

What effect this diſcourſe had on Felix (Martha continued) in producing faith, that is, morality in an intelligent agent, we are told by the Apoſtle. He trembled: but ini⯑quity and the world had taken ſuch a hold of him, that he diſmiſſed the ſubject, and turned from a preſent uneaſineſs to profit and the enjoyment of ſin. He had done with St. Paul, and ſacrificed the hopes of eter⯑nity to the world and its delights.

But this (concluded Martha) will not I hope be your caſe. As a judgment to come is an awful ſubject, you will ponder in time, and look into your own mind. As a man, a reaſonable and ſocial creature, deſigned for duty to a God above you, and to a world of fellow-creatures around you, you will con⯑ſider the rules of virtue and morality, and be no longer numbered with thoſe miſerable mortals, who are doomed to condemnation upon their diſobedience. Thoſe rules lie open in a perfect goſpel, and the wicked can have nothing to plead for their behaviour. [111]They want no light to direct them. They want no aſſiſtance to ſupport them in doing their duty. They have a Goſpel to bring them to life and ſalvation, if they will but take notice of it; and if they will not walk in the light of God's law, this Goſpel muſt be their judgment and condemnation.

Say then, Sir, (Martha proceeded) can you be prevailed on to think of religion in its native purity and ſimplicity, and by the power of the Goſpel, ſo act with regard to virtue and piety, that when Chriſt ſhall come not only in the power, but in the wiſdom and the juſtice of God, to judge the world, you may be ſecured from that miſery and diſtreſs, which is prepared for iniquity; and enjoy that eternal life, which is to be the portion of the righteous?

In this extraordinary manner did Martha Harrington diſcourſe me, and the effect of it was (Jack Price continued), that I be⯑came a thorow reform from that hour. My rational life from that happy day commenced, and I entred ſeriouſly into my own breaſt, to think in earneſt of that ſolemn judgment to come. What Martha ſaid was ſo clear and ſtrong, that I had not a thought of reply⯑ing, but truth at once intirely ſubdued my heart, and I flew to the Son of God, to re⯑queſt his interceſſion with the Father of the Univerſe for the pardon of all my crimes. [112]The dignity and end of my being has ſince been the ſubject of my meditations, and I live convinced, that every thing is contemp⯑tible that is inconſiſtent with duty and mo⯑rality. This renders even my pleaſures more agreeable. This gives eternal peace to my mind.

24. A conver⯑ſation.

Here Price ended his remarkable ſtory, and according to our agreement, I began to relate what happened to me from the time we parted at ſchool, and concluded with informing him, that I was going in ſearch of Charles Turner, my near friend, when fortune brought me to his houſe: that this gentleman lived ſomewhere towards the confines of Cumberland and the North-riding of Yorkſhire, but where the ſpot was I could not tell, nor did I know well how to go on, as the country before me ſeemed unpaſſable, on account of its mountains, precipices, and floods: I muſt try however what can be done; not only in regard to this gentleman; but, becauſe I have rea⯑ſon to think it may be very much to my advantage, as he is very rich, and the moſt generous of men. If he is to be found, I know I ſhall be welcome to ſhare in his happineſs as long as I pleaſe, nor will it be any weight to him. Price to this replyed, that I was moſt heartily welcome to him as long as I pleaſed to [113]ſtay, and that tho' he was far from being a rich man, yet he had every day enough for himſelf and one more; and his Martha he was ſure would be as well pleaſed with my com⯑pany, as if I had been his own brother, ſince ſhe knew I was his eſteemed friend. —In reſpect of the way, he ſaid, he would enable me to find Mr. Turner, if he could, but the country was difficult to travel, and he doubted very much if one could go to the extremity of Cumberland or Yorkſhire over the hills; but we would try how⯑ever, and if it was poſſible, find out Mr. Turner's houſe. Yet ſolely with him I muſt not ſtay, if he could be ſeen. I muſt live between both, till I got ſome Northern girl, and had a wife and habitation of my own; and there is (continued Price) not many miles from me, a ſweet pretty laſs, the daughter of a gentleman-farmer, who is a very good man, and would, I believe, upon my recommendation, give you his girl, and a ſum of money, to ſit down on thoſe hills.—This is vaſtly kind, Jack, I an⯑ſwering, ſaid, and what I ſhall gratefully re⯑member ſo long as I live. I may ride ma⯑ny a mile I am ſure, and be an adven⯑turer many a long day, before I meet with ſuch offers again. Your ſweetly ſituated houſe and good things, with a fine nor⯑thern girl and money down, are benefits [114]not to be met with every day.—But at pre⯑ſent the object I muſt purſue, is my uni⯑verſity friend, Charles Turner, and if you pleaſe to do me the great favor of guiding me ſo far as you can over this wild, un⯑inhabited land, after I have ſtayed with you, for the firſt time, two or three days, and promiſe to abide many more hereaf⯑ter, if it be in my power, we will ſet out in queſt of what I want. As you will, my friend Price replyed: and for the pre⯑ſent, let us be gay. Here comes my belo⯑ved, with a little bowl of punch, and as ſhe ſings extremely well, and you have not forgot I fanſy our old ſong, we will have it over our nectar. You ſhall repreſent Janus and Momus, and I will be Chronos and Mars, and my wife Diana and Venus. Let us take a glaſs firſt — the liberties of the world—and then do you begin. We drank, and in the following manner I went on.

25. A SONG.

26. An account of Mrs. Price of Stanemore.

In this happy manner did we paſs the night in this wild and frightful part of the world, and for three ſucceeding even⯑ings and days, enjoyed as much true ſa⯑tisfaction as it was poſſible for mortals to feel. Price was an ingenious, chearful, en⯑tertaining man, and his wife had not on⯑ly ſenſe more than ordinary, but was one of the beſt of women. I was prodigi⯑ouſly pleaſed with her converſation. Tho' ſhe was no woman of letters, nor had any books in her houſe except the Bible, Barrow's and Wichcott's ſermons, Howell's Hiſtory of the World, and the Hiſtory of Eng⯑land, yet from theſe few, a great memo⯑ry, and an extraordinary conception of things, had collected a valuable knowledge, and ſhe talked with an eaſe and perſpicuity that was wonderful. On religious ſubjects ſhe aſtoniſhed me.

The nature, end, and deſign of chriſtiani⯑ty, conſi⯑dered in a converſa⯑tion. As Sunday was one of the days I ſtayed there, and Price was obliged in the afternoon to be from home, I paſſed it in converſation with his wife. The day introduced religion, [120]and among other things, I aſked her, which ſhe thought the beſt evidences of chriſtianity? The prophecies or the miracles?

Neither: (Mrs. Price replyed). The prophecies of the Meſſiah recorded in the old teſtament are a good proof of the chriſtian re⯑ligion, as it is plane from many inſtances in the new teſtament, that the Jewiſh converts of that generation underſtood them to relate to our Lord; which is a ſuffi⯑cient reaſon for our believing them. Since they knew the true intent and meaning of them, and on account of their know⯑ing it, were converted; the prophecies for this reaſon ſhould by us be regarded as divine teſtimony in favor of Chriſt Jeſus.—Then as to miracles, they are to be ſure a means of proving and ſpreading the chriſtian religion, as they ſhew the divine miſſion of the Meſſiah, and rouze the mind to attend to the pow⯑er by which theſe mighty works were wrought. Thus miracle and prophecy ſhew the teacher came from God. They contribute to the eſtabliſhment of his kingdom, and have a tendency to produce that faith which puri⯑fies the heart, and brings forth the new birth.

But the greater evidence for the truth of our holy religion, appears to me to be that which converted the primitive chriſtians, to wit, the powerful influence which the Goſpel has on the minds of thoſe who ſtudy [121]it with ſincerity, and the inward diſcoveries Chriſt makes to the underſtanding of the faithful by his light and good ſpirit. This exceeds the other evidences, if the heart be honeſt. The Goſpel is irreſiſtible, when the ſpirit of God moves upon the minds of chriſtians. When the divine power, diſ⯑penſed through Chriſt, aſſiſts and ſtrength⯑ens us to do good, and to eſchew evil, then chriſtianity appears a religion wor⯑thy of God, and in itſelf the moſt rea⯑ſonable. The compleat ſalvation deſerves our ready acceptation. That religion muſt charm a reaſonable world, which not only reſtores the worſhip of the one true God, and exhibits, in a perfect plan, thoſe rules of moral rectitude, whereby the conduct of men ſhould be governed, and their future happineſs ſecured; but, by its bleſſed ſpirit, informs our judgments, influences our wills, rectifies and ſubdues our paſſions, turns the biaſs of our minds from the ob⯑jects and pleaſures of ſenſe, and fixes them upon the ſupreme good. Moſt glorious ſure⯑ly is ſuch a goſpel.

But does not this operation of the ſpirit, (I ſaid) which you make the principal evidence for chriſtianity, debaſe human na⯑ture, and make man too weak, too helpleſs and depending a being? If voluntary good agency depends on ſupernatural influence [122]and enlivening aid, does not this make us mere patients, and if we are not moral a⯑gents, that is, have not a power of chuſing or refuſing, of doing or avoiding, either good or evil, can there be any human virtue? Can we in ſuch caſe approve or diſapprove our⯑ſelves to God. To me it ſeems that man was created to perform things natural, ratio⯑nal, and ſpiritual, and has an ability to act within the reach of his agency, as his duty requires. I think the moral fit⯑neſs of things is a rule of action to conduct our actions by, and that the great advantage of revelation conſiſts in its heavenly moral leſ⯑ſons, and the certainty of that future judg⯑ment and retribution, which has a power⯑ful influence upon a rational mind, and ſtrongly inclines a reaſonable being to ſave his ſoul, by ſo acting in this world, as to a⯑void everlaſting miſery, and enſure the favor of God, and eternal happineſs in another world. This appears to me more conſiſtent with the nature and the truth of things. It is more to the honour of hu⯑man nature, if I miſtake not, and gives more glory to God.

To this Mrs. Price anſwered, that as ſhe was ſenſible of the ſhortneſs of her own underſtanding, and believed the fa⯑culties of the human mind in general were weak and deficient, ſhe could not ſee any thing unreaſonable in ſuppoſing the [123]thing formed depended on, and was ſubject to the Creator that made it. It cannot be ab⯑ſurd ſurely to ſay, that ſo weak and helpleſs a being as a man, depends intirely on God. Where in the nature of things can we fix a ſtandard of certainty in underſtanding, and ſtability in practice, but in the fountain of truth, and all perfection?

But to our better comprehending this mat⯑ter, let us take a view of primitive Chriſtian religion.—Chriſtianity is a divine inſtitution, by which God declares himſelf reconciled to mankind for the ſake of his beloved ſon, the Lord Jeſus Chriſt, on condition of repentance, amendment of life, and perſeverance in a ſtate of holineſs; and that we might be able to per⯑form the things required of us, he offers the aſſiſtance of his good ſpirit. This laſt offer, in a proper ſenſe, is ſalvation; for according to his mercy, he ſaved us, by the waſhing of regeneration, and the renewing of the Holy Ghoſt. By grace are ye ſaved thro' faith, and that not of yourſelves; it is the gift of God. We find, then, that there are two parts in the Chriſtian religion: one, external and hiſtorical; the other, internal and expe⯑rimental. The firſt comprehends what is no more to be repeated, tho' the effects are laſt⯑ing and permanent, to wit, the life and good works of Jeſus, his miracles, death, and re⯑ſurrection; which declare him ſpotleſs virtue, [124]perfect obedience, and the ſon of God with power:—And in the ſecond part, we have that ſtanding experience of a divine help, which converts and ſupports a ſpiritual life: It is true, both the parts have a near relation, and in conjunction produce the good ends of religion. The ſecond is the effect of the firſt. Redemption from the power of ſin, ſanctifi⯑cation, and juſtification, are bleſſings wrought in us by the good Spirit of him, who without us did many glorious things, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himſelf a peculiar people zealous of good works: And, that they who live, ſhould not henceforth live unto themſelves, but unto him that died for them and roſe again. But, it is in the ſecond part, that the excellence of our holy religion conſiſts. We have no ability of ourſelves to take off our minds from the things that are evil, and engage them in the work of reli⯑gion and godlineſs. This is the gift of God. It is a continued miracle that cleanſes that pol⯑luted fountain the heart, and therefore I call this experience the principal evidence of the Chriſtian religion. It is the glory of chriſtianity, and renders it the perfection of all religions.

That chriſtianity (I replyed) is the per⯑fection of all religions, is granted, but that we have no ability to ſave our ſouls without a ſupernatural operation on them, this is what I ſtill have ſome doubt of. A careful exami⯑nation [125]of the ſubject, produces ſome hard objections, and therefore, madam, I will lay my difficulties before you, that your fine na⯑tural underſtanding may remove them, if it be poſſible. I will be ſhort on the article, for many words would only darken it.

In the firſt place, then, as to man's inabi⯑lity to live a religious life, and practice the precepts of the goſpel, it muſt be the effect of the human compoſition, or the effect of the agency of the ſerpent. If the former, it is chargeable upon the author of the compo⯑ſition; —if the latter, upon the agent which acts upon it. Man could not be cul⯑pable, I think, for a bad life, in either caſe. —If my nature be weakneſs itſelf—or the ſerpent is ſuperior to me—what good can be required of me? can the ſupreme reaſon call for brick, where there are no materials to make it with? will you ſay, yes; becauſe he gives ſupernatural ability to perform. But then, can this be called man's action? It is the action of the author by his miſerable creature, man: and in ſuch caſe, may we not ſay, that tho' commands are given to man to obey revealed laws, yet the obedience is performed by God?

In the next place, as man in his natural capacity, and all his natural powers, are the work of God, and as truly derived from him as any ſupernatural powers can be, it follows, [126]I imagine, that a voluntary agent's making a right uſe of the powers of his nature, is as valuable as his being compelled to act well and wiſely by a ſupernatural power. To aſſert, then, ſuch experiences or operations, to me ſeems to miſrepreſent the nature of a being excellently conſtituted to anſwer the good purpoſes he was created for. I am likewiſe, at preſent, of opinion, that depretiating our natural abilities, does not give ſo much glory to God as you imagine.

To this Mrs. Price replyed, that by the operation of the ſpirit, ſhe did not mean that man was purely paſſive, and had no part in the working out his ſalvation, but that God co-operates with man, and without deſtroying the faculty of reaſon, improves it by con⯑vincing and enlightning the underſtanding, and by moving and inclining the will towards ſuch objects as are acceptable to himſelf, and from thoſe that are contrary to his goſpel. The mind in this manner enlightned and af⯑fected, begins to act, and as the ſpirit moves upon the ſoul, the quickened man, under the divine direction, does all the good the ſcripture commands him to do, and eſchews the evil he is ordered to avoid. By God thro' Chriſt, he practices the excellent virtues re⯑commended in the holy books, and for this reaſon, the righteouſneſs which chriſtians bring forth, is called in ſcripture, the right⯑eouſneſs [127]of Chriſt, the righteouſneſs of God, and the righteouſneſs of faith. Chriſt is the efficient. We thro' him are made able to act. Notwithſtanding the weakneſs and incapacity of our nature, yet thro' faith in the power of God, which is given to all who believe in him, we are enabled to flee immorality and vice, and by a life of virtue and piety, to enjoy the pleaſure of a ſweet reflexion, and the praiſes of unpolluted reaſon.

That this is the caſe of man, the ſacred writings declare in a thouſand places, and ſet forth the exceeding greatneſs of God's power in this reſpect. The miniſtry of the goſpel appears to have been ordained for this end, and the perfection of the chriſtian religion, to reſt on this particular thing. The Lord died for our ſins, and roſe again for our juſtifi⯑cation, that we through power received from him, (the power of his reſurrection) might be made righteous. And the apoſtle adds, I am not aſhamed of the goſpel of Chriſt, for it is the power of God unto ſalvation, to every one that believeth, to the Jew firſt, and alſo to the Greek, for therein is the righteouſneſs of God revealed from faith to faith. And that the promiſe of the Holy Ghoſt had reference not only to the great effuſion of the Spirit at Pentecoſt, which was a ſolemn confirmation of the new and ſpiritual diſpenſation of the [128]goſpel; but alſo to that inſtruction which Chriſtians of every age were to receive from it continually, if they attended to it, is evi⯑dent from the promiſe of Chriſt,—I will pray the Father, and he ſhall give you another comforter, (the ſpirit of truth) that he may abide with you for ever. This ſpirit was to ſupply the place of his perſonal preſence. It was to become a teacher and comforter to his diſciples and followers to the end of time— to enlighten and incline their minds to piety and virtue—to enable them to do all things appertaining to life and godlineſs, and to have a faith in God's power and all-ſufficiency. This is the glorious ſpecific difference of Chriſtianity from all other religions. We have an inward inſtructor and ſupporter al⯑ways abiding with us. And what can be a higher honor to mankind, or an act of greater love in God, than for him to interpoſe con⯑tinually, and by his holy Spirit reſtore the teachable and attentive to that purity and up⯑rightneſs in which he at firſt created man? Glorious diſpenſation! Here is a compleat reparation of the loſs ſuſtained by tranſgreſ⯑ſion. We are created anew in Chriſt Jeſus, and are made partakers of the divine nature. Surely this is the utmoſt that can be expected from religion. In ſhort, (continued Mrs. Price) it is to me a moſt amazing thing, to ſee men of ſenſe diſclaim this help, argue for [129] ſelf-ſufficiency and independency, and receive only the outward appearance of the Son of God, in a literal, hiſtorical, and formal pro⯑feſſion of chriſtianity! This will never do the work. The outward appearance of the Son of God only puts us in a capacity of ſalvation: it is the inward appearance by the power and virtue of the ſpirit that muſt ſave us. The end of the goſpel is repentance, forgiveneſs of ſins, and amendment of manners; and the means of obtaining that end, is chriſtianity in the life, ſpirit and power of it.

You talk extremely well, madam, (I ſaid) upon this ſubject, and have almoſt made me a convert to the notion of an inward appear⯑ance of the Son of God: but I muſt beg leave to obſerve to you, that as to what you have added, by way of explication and vin⯑dication of the operation of the ſpirit, to wit, that man has agency, and God co-operates with it, by which means the man is enabled to apply his agency to the performance of good; this does not ſeem to me to make the matter quite plain. The virtue or goodneſs of an agent muſt certainly ariſe from a right exerciſe of his own power, and how then can God's co-operating with him make him a better man? Can ſuch co-operation add any thing to my virtue, if my goodneſs is to be rated in proportion to the exertion of my own will and agency. If I am not able to ſave a [130]man from drowning, tho' I pity him, and do my beſt to preſerve his life; but God gives me ſtrength, or co-operates with me, and ſo the man is ſaved; can this add any thing to my virtue or goodneſs? It would be indeed an inſtance of God's goodneſs to the man; but as to myſelf, I did no more with the di⯑vine co-operation than I did without it. I made all the uſe I could of what power I had. This ſeems to me a ſtrong objection againſt the inward appearance: nor is it all there is to object. If I ſee a man in a deep wet ditch, in a dangerous and miſerable way, and am prompted by a natural affection, and the fit⯑neſs of relieving, to exert a ſufficient ſtrength I have, to take the man out of his diſtreſs, and put him in a comfortable way; (which is a thing I really did once, and thereby ſaved a uſeful life);—in this caſe, there was good done by an agent, without any ſupernatural co-operation at all: Many more inſtances might be produced: but from what has been ſaid, is it not plain, that much good may be done without any interpoſition;—and, with it, that no good can be added to the charac⯑ter of the agent?

But you will ſay, perhaps, that the good diſpoſition of the agent in ſuch caſes, is ſuper⯑natural operation, and without ſuch operation, he could not make a right uſe of his ability. To this we reply, that if by diſpoſition is [131]meant a given power to diſtinguiſh betwixt motive and motive, and ſo to judge of moral fitneſs and unfitneſs; or, a power to act from right motives, when ſuch are preſent to the mind;—theſe cannot be given, becauſe they are the powers which conſtitute a man a moral agent, and render him accountable for his actions. Without them he could not be a ſubject of moral government.

And if you mean by the term diſpoſition, God's preſenting ſuch motives to the mind, as are neceſſary to excite to right action; the an⯑ſwer is, that tho' God may kindly interpoſe, and in many inſtances, by ſupernatural ope⯑ration, preſent ſuch motives to the mind, yet ſuch operation cannot be always neceſſary, in order to our doing good.—In many caſes we ſee at once what good ought to be done, and we do it inſtantly of ourſelves, unleſs the natural faculties be perverted by falſe principles. If our fellow-creature falls into the fire, or has a fit, while we are near him, the fitneſs of relieving him, and the natural compaſſion eſſential to our conſtitu⯑tion, will make us fly to his aſſiſtance, with⯑out a ſupernatural operation. We want no di⯑vine impulſe to make us interpoſe. Without being reminded, we will do our beſt to reco⯑ver the man, if ſuperſtition or paſſion hath not miſled the natural powers of the mind. In a great variety of things, the caſe is the [132]ſame, and when at a glance we ſee the fitneſs of action, there is an immediate production of good.

It is not juſt then to aſſert that the heart cannot be the ſpring of good actions, without the actings of God. It is the ſeat and ſource of both evil and good. Man is capable of gi⯑ving glory to God, and of doing the con⯑trary. He is conſtituted to anſwer all the purpoſes of ſocial felicity, and to act a part ſuitable to, and becoming that reaſon and un⯑derſtanding, which God hath given him to guide his ſteps; and he may, on the con⯑trary, by abuſing his liberty, act an unſocial part in the creation, and do great diſhonour to his Maker, by the evil imaginations of his heart, and the violence his hand commits. This hath been the ſtate of human nature from the fall to the flood, and from the flood to our time. The human race have a natu⯑ral ability for good or evil, and are at liberty for the choice of either of theſe. If thou doeſt well, Cain, who haſt power, and is at liberty to do evil, thou ſhalt be accepted. And if thou doeſt not well, who haſt power, and is at liberty to do good, ſin lieth at the door. If this had not been the caſe of Cain, (and of others ſince his days), it ſeems to me at preſent, that God would act an unequal part with his creatures. Can happineſs or miſery be called reward or puniſhment, unleſs [133]the creature can voluntarily chuſe or avoid the thing which renders him the object of infliction or glory? I think not. For we muſt all appear before the judgment ſeat of Chriſt, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad. The agency of a ſerpent will be no plea then, for a Cain, I ſuppoſe: nor will Abel's title to an inheritance depend only on the good brought forth in him by the Lord.—And as to a ſelf-ſufficiency or independency in all this, as often charged, I can ſee none, for the reaſon already given, to wit, that my natural powers are as much the gift of God to me as ſupernatural powers can be, and render me as dependent a being. They are derived from him: It is his given powers I uſe, and if I make a right uſe of them, to anſwer the great and wiſe purpoſe I was created for, the good application muſt be as valuable as if I had applied ſupernatu⯑ral powers to the ſame purpoſe.

What you ſay, ſir, (Mrs. Price anſwered) has reaſon in it, to be ſure: but it ſeems in⯑conſiſtent with the language of the Bible, and takes away the Grace of God intirely, and the principal evidence of the Chriſtian religion: As to the neceſſary guilt of man⯑kind, Moſes ſays;—and God ſaw, that the wickedneſs of man was great in the earth; and that every imagination of the thoughts of [134]his heart, was only evil continually: and it re⯑pented the Lord, that he had made man on the earth, etc. And again;—The earth alſo was corrupt before God, and the earth was filled with violence: and God looked upon the earth, and behold it was corrupt, for all fleſh had corrupted his way on the earth. And God ſaid unto Noah, the end of all fleſh is come before me, for the earth is filled with violence thro' them; and behold, I will deſtroy them with the earth. But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.—The prophet Jeremiah does likewiſe affirm, The heart is deceitful above all things, and deſperately wicked. And St. Paul declares from Pſalm 14 and 53. There is none righteous, no not one; there is none that underſtandeth, there is none that ſeeketh after God. They are all gone out of the way, they are altogether become unprofitable; there is none that doth good, no not one. Their throat is an open ſepulchre; with their tongues have they uſed deceit; the poiſon of aſps is under their lips: whoſe mouth is full of curſing and bitterneſs. Their feet are ſwift to ſhed blood. Deſtruction and miſery are in their ways. And the way of peace have they not known.

Then as to grace, or the operation of the Spirit, to cure this miſerable condition of mankind, Peter ſaid unto them, repent, and be baptized every one of you, in the name of Jeſus Chriſt, for the remiſſion of ſins, and ye ſhall re⯑ceive [135]the gift of the Holy Ghoſt, for the promiſe is unto you and your children, and to all that are afar off. This is a very extenſive declaration both as to time and place. After Peter had told the people, the God of our fathers raiſed up Jeſus whom ye ſlew, and hanged on a tree, him hath God exalted with his right hand, to be a prince and a Saviour, for to give repentance unto Iſrael, and forgiveneſs of ſins, and we are his witneſſes of theſe things, and ſo alſo is the Holy Ghoſt, whom God hath given to them that obey him: the apoſtle adds, then they, (the Gentiles) were filled with the Holy Ghoſt. All who obeyed, without diſtinction, had the Holy Ghoſt given them, and it was a witneſs to them of the truth of Chriſt's divine miſſion, and the good effects of it, according to the promiſe of the Lord, to wit, he ſhall teſtify of me.

St. Paul likewiſe tells us, if any man have not the ſpirit of Chriſt, he is none of his. And if Chriſt be in you, the body is dead becauſe of ſin, but the ſpirit is life, becauſe of righteouſneſs; but if the ſpirit of him that raiſed up Jeſus from the dead, dwell in you, he that raiſed up Chriſt from the dead, ſhall alſo quicken your mortal bodies by his ſpirit that dwelleth in you. Therefore brethren, we are debtors, not to the fleſh to live after the fleſh, for if ye live after the fleſh ye ſhall die; but if ye thro' the ſpirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye ſhall live. For [136]as many as are led by the ſpirit of God, they are the ſons of God. For ye have not received the ſpirit of bondage again to fear, but ye have received the ſpirit of adoption, whereby we cry Abba Father, the ſpirit itſelf beareth witneſs with our ſpirit, that we are the children of God.—Here we ſee the neceſſity of having the ſpirit of Chriſt, and that thoſe who have it not, do not belong to him. They are none of his. We may likewiſe obſerve, that it mortifies the deeds of the body, and quick⯑ens the ſoul to a life of holineſs: the paſſage likewiſe ſhews, that the ſpirit bears witneſs with our ſpirits, and by an evidence peculiar to itſelf, gives us a certain ſenſe, or underſtan⯑ding of it.

In ſhort, Sir, a great number of texts might be produced, to ſhew not only the work and effect of the Divine ſpirit upon our minds; but that, it is an evidence, the princi⯑pal evidence and ground of certainty to be⯑lievers, reſpecting the truth of chriſtianity. I will mention however only two or three more, and then ſhall be glad to hear what you ſay to thoſe things.

What man knoweth the ſpirit of man, ſave the ſpirit of man which is in him? even ſo the things of God knoweth no man, but the ſpirit of God. Now we have received not the ſpirit of the world, but the ſpirit which is of God, that we might know the things which are freely [137]given to us of God.—Ye have an unction from the Holy one, and ye know all things. Theſe things have I written to you, concerning them that ſeduce you; but the anointing which ye have received of him, abideth in you, and ye need not that any teach you, but as the ſame anoin⯑ting teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even as it hath taught you, ye ſhall abide in it.—Hereby we know that he abideth in us by his ſpirit, which he hath given us. Hereby we know that we dwell in him, and he in us, becauſe he hath given us of his ſpirit.

What do you ſay to all this? do not the ſacred paſſages I have repeated ſeem to de⯑clare in the planeſt manner the neceſſary iniquity of man; that this is to be cured only, and his nature rectified by the operation of the Divine ſpirit; and that the effuſion of the ſpirit, both as to inſtruction and evidence, was not pe⯑culiar to the infancy of chriſtianity? This appears to my underſtanding. The very eſſence of the chriſtian religion I think from theſe ſcriptures conſiſts in the power and ef⯑ficacy of the ſpiritual principle.

The ſtate of religion from the creation to this time.

What you have ſaid madam, (I replied) ſeems ſtrong indeed in defence of the weak⯑neſs of man, and the operation of the ſpirit, and I ſhould be of your way of thinking as to the manifeſtation of it, but that I imagine the thing may be explained in a different [138]manner. Let us review our religion, if you pleaſe, and perhaps we may find, that a⯑nother account may be given of ſanctification, and the renewing the mind into a ſtate of holineſs.

When God called this world into being, his purpoſe was without all peradventure, that his rational creatures might enjoy the nobleſt pleaſures, and by conforming their conduct to the fitneſs and relation of things, from a due regard to the authority of the firſt cauſe, by whom this fitneſs and relation were wiſely conſtituted, ſecure all the bleſs⯑ings of this life, and honour, and glory, and immortality, in ſome future ſtate of exiſt⯑tence. This I think was the caſe. True religion was to form and fix every good prin⯑ciple in the human mind, produce all righte⯑ouſneſs in the converſation, and thereby ren⯑der mankind the bleſſed of the univerſal Father. They were to worſhip the one true God; the poſſeſſor of all being, and the foun⯑tain of all good; to believe in him, and have their truſt and dependence always on him; to be pure and peaceable, gentle and full of mercy, without partiality, without hypocriſy, and ſo devoted to holineſs and obedience, to every virtue and every good work which the law of reaſon can require from men; that after a long life ſpent in acting a part the moſt honourable to God, and the moſt [139]advantageous to mankind, in obeying the dictates of reaſon, and thereby imi⯑tating the example of God; they might be tranſlated to the regions of immortality and day, where the firſt and great original diſ⯑plays as it were face to face the perfections of the Deity, and from an all-perfect and holy being receive the vaſt rewards he has prepa⯑red for thoſe, who, in this firſt ſtate, have been to all the purpoſes of life and religion, perfect as he is perfect. For theſe reaſons did the ſupreme director, the greateſt and the beſt Being in the univerſe, command the human race into exiſtence. He gave them faculties to conduct them here through various ſcenes of happineſs to the realms of immortality and immutable felicity. It was a Godlike deſign.

But it was not very long before this hu⯑man race became corrupt, and not only did evil in the ſight of the Lord, but ceaſed to ap⯑prehend the firſt cauſe as one moſt perfect mind. The natural notions of moral per⯑fection which reaſon and the light of nature ſupply, they no longer minded, nor thought of what is fit and reaſonable to be done in every caſe. The paſſions began to influence and direct their lives: juſt and pure ideas of the Deity were loſt, falſe ones took place, and the miſchief and its fatal conſequences became very great. It was a melancholy [140]ſcene! The exalted notions of one glorious God, and of that true religion which ſubſiſts in the expectation of a future ſtate, were no longer known, nor did the race ever think of approving themſelves in the eye of an all per⯑fect and holy being. Superſtition and iniquity prevailed, and the ſpread of evil was wide.

God ſaw that the wickedneſs of man was great in the earth—the thoughts of his heart, evil continually, &c. as you have before quoted from the book of Geneſis; and be⯑cauſe the wickedneſs of the tenth generation was ſo great, and men no longer endeavoured after thoſe perfections, which are natural and proper to rational minds;—no longer thought of conforming themſelves to the di⯑vine nature, or ſtrove to imitate the excel⯑lencies of it, tho' conſtituted to give glory to their Maker, and endued with a reaſon and underſtanding ſufficient to teach them the rule of duty, and guide their ſteps in the ways of true religion; but againſt the light of their own minds, acted the moſt impious and un⯑ſociable part; therefore God repented that he had made them, that is, he did what is the product of repentance in men, when they un⯑do, as far as it is in their power, what they repent of, and deſtroyed his own work by that deſolating judgment, the flood. This ſeems to be the truth of the caſe. The words of Moſes do not mean the ſtate of hu⯑man [141]nature on account of the fall. They expreſs only the wickedneſs of the tenth gene⯑ration as a reaſon for the deluge at that time. There is not the leaſt ground for aſſerting from this paſſage in the ſacred hiſtorian, that man was unable to do good by his natural powers, and that his crimes were a reſiſting the act⯑ings of God upon his mind. The impiety of this generation was a mere abuſe of free will, and acting againſt the plain dictates of their own minds: therefore, when wilful op⯑preſſion and ſenſuality filled the earth, God deſtroyed the world by an inundation. Noah only, who was a juſt man, and perfect in his generation, with his family eſcaped.

This terrible execution of an awful ven⯑geance on the guilty race, demonſtrated to the ſurvivors, and to all the ages to come, the great malignity of ſin, and the uncontrolable ſupremacy of the divine government. As the venerable Patriarch and his family failed over the boſom of the boundleſs ocean of waters, and above the wrecks and ruins of this ter⯑reſtrial world, they adored to be ſure with grateful hearts, the Almighty Father of vir⯑tue and goodneſs, who had ſo wonderfully preſerved them, and were convinced by the amazing, ſtriking evidence, that ſin is the greateſt infamy and degradation of our rea⯑ſonable nature; that it has an inſuperable re⯑pugnancy and irreverſible contrariety, to our [142]true happineſs, and is infamous, pernicious, and ruinous, by the ſentence of the Almighty. The dreadful event unanſwerably evinced his conſtant actual cognizance of enormous faith and manners, and his unchangeable diſplea⯑ſure with them. This truth, which was learnt at firſt, by the expulſion from Para⯑diſe, and the ſad inheritance of Mortality, they ſaw again republiſhed in the moſt awful manner. This gave undoubtedly a very reli⯑gious turn to their minds, and they deter⯑mined to be ſure to adhere to thoſe excellent principles and practices, which had been, thro' God's goodneſs, their ſecurity in the ge⯑neral deſolation, and to flee the contrary ma⯑lignant ones which had procured that deſola⯑tion on the reſt. In a degree ſuitable to their nature and ability, they reſolved to imitate the perfections of God, and to employ the powers and faculties of reaſon in endeavour⯑ing to be juſt, and righteous, and merciful. And as the amazing operation of God in the deluge called for their wonder and praiſe, we muſt think their hearts glowed with the ſenſe of his goodneſs to them, and that they ex⯑tolled his mercy and power in the ſalvation they had received. So we are told by an in⯑ſpired writer. Noah reſtored the antient rites of divine ſervice, and built an altar to the Lord. And the Lord ſmelled a ſweet Savour, and ſaid, Never any more will I curſe the [143]ground for man's ſake, tho' the imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth; becauſe he will not hearken to the voice of reaſon, and with the greateſt ardor and contention of mind, labour to attain a conformity to the divine nature in the moral perfections of it; which is the true dignity of man, and the utmoſt excellence of human ſouls. Neither will I again ſmite any more every living creature as I have done. While the earth remaineth, ſeed⯑time and harveſt, and cold and heat, and ſummer and winter, and day and night ſhall not ceaſe.

Thus did God enter into a covenant with Noah, and his ſons, and their ſeed; and as the late amazing occurrences muſt incline the ſpectators of the flood to piety and goodneſs; and the fathers of the poſtdiluvian world were careful to inſtruct their children in the ſeveral parts of the ſtupendous fact, and from the whole inculcate the Being and Perfections of God, his univerſal dominion and actual pro⯑vidence and government over all things, his love of virtue and goodneſs and infinite de⯑teſtation of all ſin; to which we may add, that the imitation of God is not a new prin⯑ciple introduced into religion by revelation, but has its foundation in the reaſon and na⯑ture of things;—we may from hence conclude, that the riſing generation were per⯑ſons of conſpicuous devotion, and followed [144]after the moral virtues, the holineſs, juſtice and mercy which the light of nature diſco⯑vers. They were, I believe, moſt excellent mortals for ſome time. They obeyed to be ſure every dictate of reaſon, and adored and praiſed the inviſible Deity; the Supreme im⯑mutable mind.

But this beautiful ſcene had an end, and man once more forgot his Maker and him⯑ſelf. He proſtituted the honor of both, by robbing God of the obedience due to him, and by ſubmitting himſelf a ſlave to the ele⯑ments of the world. When he looked up to the heavens, and ſaw the glory of the ſun and ſtars, inſtead of praiſing the Lord of all, he fooliſhly ſaid, Theſe are thy Gods, O Man! A univerſal apoſtacy from the primi⯑tive religion prevailed. They began with the heavenly bodies, or ſydereal Gods, and pro⯑ceeded to heroes, brutes, and images, till the world was overflowed with an inundation of idolatry, and ſuperſtition; even ſuch ſuperſti⯑tion, as nouriſhed under the notion of Reli⯑gion, and pleaſing the Gods, the moſt beſtial impurities, the moſt inhuman and unnatural cruelties, and the moſt unmanly and contemp⯑tible follies. Moral virtue and goodneſs were totally extinguiſhed. When men had loſt the ſenſe of the ſupreme Being, the Creator, Go⯑vernor, and Judge of the world, they not only ceaſed to be righteous and holy, but became [145]neceſſarily vitious and corrupt in practice; for iniquity flows from corrupt religion, as the waters from the ſpring. The principles and ceremonies of the eſtabliſhed idolatries gave additional ſtrength to mens natural in⯑clinations, to intemperance, luſt, fraud, vio⯑lence, and every kind of unrighteouſneſs and debauchery. Long before the days of Moſes this was the general caſe. Idolatry had violated all the duties of true religion, and the moſt abominable practices by conſtitution were authoriſed. The Phalli ⁽¹¹⁾ and the Mylli ⁽¹²⁾ , rites that modeſty forbids to ex⯑plain, were eſteemed principal parts of their Ritual; virgins before marriage were to ſacri⯑fice their chaſtity to the honor of Venus; ⁽¹³⁾ [146]men were offered upon the Altars for Sacri⯑fices; and children were burnt alive to Mo⯑loch [147]and Adramalech. In a word, the moſt abominable immoralities univerſally prevailed; with the encouragements of religion, men were led into intemperance, uncleanneſs, murders, and many vices, inconſiſtent with the proſperity and peace of ſociety, as well as with the happineſs of private perſons; and that ſuch iniquities might have a perpetual ſource, the moſt ſhameful Idolatries were preſerved in oppoſition to the knowledge and [148]worſhip of the One true God. So general was this corruption and idolatry, that the infection ſeized the deſcendants of Shem, the pious race. Even Terah, the father of Abram, we find charged with it. And Abram himſelf was culpable I think in this reſpect, as the word Aſebes imports. It is rendered in our Bible ungodly, but it ſignifies more properly idolatry, and that is what St. Paul in the 4th chapter to the Romans hints. The Apoſtle ſpeaking of Abraham, ſays,—But to him that worketh not, but believeth in him that juſtifieth the ungodly, that is, an ungodly Ido⯑later, who has no manner of claim to the bleſſings of God, he muſt be juſtified upon the foot, not of his own prior obedience, but of God's Mercy.

In ſuch a calamitous ſtate, a Revelation to reſtore the Law of Nature, and make it more fully and clearly known, to enforce its obſervance, to afford helps and motives to the better performance of what it enjoins, and relieve the guilty mind againſt all its doubts, would certainly be a merciful vouchſafement from God to mankind, and be much for their advantage and happineſs; and therefore, in the year from the flood 428, After the flood 428. Bef. Chr. 1920. to provide for the reſtoration of the true religion, and preſerve the knowledge and worſhip of the One true God on earth, in oppoſition to the prevailing idolatry, and the groſs immorali⯑ties [149]that were the effects of idolatrous prin⯑ciples and practices, Jehovah commanded Abraham to leave his country, his kindred, and his father's houſe, and proceed with his family to the land of Canaan. Here God entered into Covenants with Abraham and his poſterity, Bp. Sher⯑lock on pro⯑pheey, well obſerves, that two covenants were given to Abraham, one a tem⯑poral cove⯑nant, to take place in the land of Canaan —the other, a covenant of better hope, to be performed in a better country. p. 134. to be inſtruments in the hands of providence for bringing about great deſigns in the world—that he and his poſterity were to be the Church of God, and depoſitaries of a hope, that the Covenant limited to Abra⯑ham and his choſen ſeed, was to grow in the fulneſs of time into a bleſſing upon all the nations of the earth. Abraham was at this time 75 years old, and God added to the pa⯑triarchal worſhip the viſible mark of Circum⯑ciſion, as a ſeal of a covenant between him⯑ſelf and Abraham.

Yet how fit ſoever ſuch a viſible mark might be, to keep in remembrance the cove⯑nant between God and the family of Abra⯑ham, it was found in experience, inſufficient to preſerve them from the idolatrous cuſtoms of their neighbours.—Some new laws, ſome further conſtitutions of worſhip were to be added, or, as the family of Abraham were ſituated in the midſt of idolaters and unrighteous ones, it was foreſeen they would ſoon fall from the eſſentials of religion; and inſtead of preſerving a right knowledge of God, of his Being, Perfections and Govern⯑ment, [150]a juſt ſenſe of the reverence all men owe to him, from a firm belief of his Be⯑ing, Power, Dominion, Juſtice, and Good⯑neſs, and an hearty concern to obey the known Will of God in all things; doing what is pleaſing in his ſight, ſeeking, and hoping their perfection and happineſs, in the likeneſs, and in the image of God; they would, on the contrary, ſerve other Gods, and make their idolatry, not a matter of harmleſs ſpeculation, but a fountain of the moſt dangerous immoralities; and therefore, as it was highly fit in it ſelf, and well beco⯑ming the wiſdom of God, he gave Moſes a chriſtianity in hieroglyphics, that is, a taber⯑nacle, a ſhechinah, a prieſthood, an altar, ſa⯑crifices, laws moral and ceremonial, with eve⯑ry conſtituent part of the hebrew ritual; be⯑ing figures of a better ſhekinah, temple, prieſt, altar, ſacrifice, revelation and bleſ⯑ſings—figurative repreſentations of the more perfect conſtitutions in the days of Meſſiah the King.—This was in the year 875 after the flood, and 1491 before Chriſt. By a ritual ſo becoming the wiſdom of God, given for a preſervative againſt idolatrous principles, and as a diſpenſation preparatory to that fu⯑ture heavenly religion, the Hebrew nation were guarded againſt the ſurrounding corrup⯑tions of the world, and raiſed up the defend⯑ers [151]of true religion, to preſerve the know⯑ledge and worſhip of the One true God.

But as mankind would not follow the light of nature, which is ſufficient, when attended to, for a conſtant univerſal practice of piety and morality; ſo neither would they be engaged by various reveled laws, from time to time given, and by the calls and leſſons of many prophets, to the practice of true religion and righteouſneſs; but as the heart is the ſeat and ſource of wickedneſs in man, according to the prophet Jeremiah, ſo even the hearts of the Jews became de⯑ceitful above all things, and deſperately wicked. And the Prophet goes on to ſhew, not the neceſſary inability of man without experiences, or an operating ſpirit within, (as you ſup⯑poſe, madam); but that, tho' men thus wickedly deceive one another, yet they can⯑not poſſibly by ſuch a wilful deſperate piece of wickedneſs deceive their Maker, becauſe to him the moſt ſecret receſſes of their hearts lie open; and, conſequently, in the iſſue, they deceive themſelves, ſeeing God, who knows the deceit which is lodged in their hearts, will render unto them according to their works, and according to the fruit of their doings: ſo that their hope and expec⯑tation will be diſappointed, even as a partridge is diſappointed that ſitteth on eggs, and hatcheth them not.

[152]And as St. Paul ſays from the xiv. and liii. pſalm, there was none righteous, no not one; there is none that underſtandeth, there is none that ſeeketh after God; and ſo on, as you madam, have quoted the verſes, in which the Apoſtle did not intend to ſhew the neceſſary pollution of man without the help of grace; but the groundleſsneſs of that opinion which the Jews had gone into, that they were the only people which pleaſed God; for they were as guilty as the Gentiles were in tranſgreſſing the law of nature. Neither of them had any legal title to juſtification. They were all very great tranſgreſſors. The throat of Jew and Gentile and open ſepulchre: their tongues, de⯑ceit: the poiſon of aſps under their lips: their mouths, full of curſing and bitterneſs: their feet, ſwift to ſhed blood. Deſtruction and miſery in their ways: and the way of peace have they not known: Therefore the juſtifi⯑cation of the Jew as well as the Gentile muſt be of grace, and not of debt.

In this was manifeſted the ineſtimable love of God in the redemption of the world by Jeſus Chriſt. Tho' Jew and Gentile were qualified to diſcern and do both good and evil, and the Jew had a written law as a further aſſiſtance, but nevertheleſs they violated the plain dictates of natural reaſon, and the divine precepts of the law, and by unrighteouſneſs and impurity, rendered themſelves objects of [153]judgment and condemnation; yet the father of the univerſe, in compaſſion to mankind, ſent a divine teacher from heaven, Chriſt, the true Prophet that was to come into the world, and by his divinely reveled teſtimony and authority, attempts to aboliſh the ſuperſtition of men, reclaim their wickedneſs, and bring them back to the true ſpiritual worſhip of God, and to that holineſs of life and manners which is agreeable to the uncorrupted light and dictates of nature. This was love. The bleſſed God, in compaſſion to human igno⯑rance and wickedneſs, contracted by men's own fault, gives them an expreſs revelation of his will, and re-eſtabliſhes the rule of pure uncorrupt religion and morality. He de⯑clares thoſe terms of ſinful man's reconcile⯑ment to him which he was pleaſed to ac⯑cept. Grace is manifeſted in the goſpel to turn men from their vanities, or idol ſervice, unto the living God, who made heaven and earth, and by the doctrine and ſacrifice of Jeſus Chriſt, to redeem us from all iniquity, and purify to himſelf a peculiar people, zea⯑lous of good works:—That denying all ungodly⯑neſs and worldly luſts, we ſhould live ſoberly, righteouſly, and godly in this preſent world, looking for that bleſſed hope, and the glorious appearance of the great God; who will judge the world by that divine perſon, and great temporary miniſter, whom he ſent before to [154]deſtroy ſin, and the kingdom of Satan; and to bring mankind into a perfect obedience to the will of the ſupreme Being. This ren⯑ders chriſtianity a heavenly thing. Reve⯑lation thus explained is beautiful and uſeful to an extreme degree. It does not contra⯑dict, but ſtrengthens the obligations of natu⯑ral religion.

Your account, Sir, (Mrs. Price anſwered) of man and religion is different indeed from mine, and I muſt allow your explications have reaſon in them: but ſtill they do not ſatisfy me, nor can I part with my own opinion. Two things in particular to me appear very ſtrange in your ſcheme. It ſeems to take away the neceſſity of the chriſ⯑tain revelation, if natural religion, duly at⯑tended to, was perfect, and ſufficient for vir⯑tue and holineſs, and thereby to gain the favor of God. If reaſon alone can do the work, if men pleaſe, then what need of the goſpel?—If men will conſider, (and without conſideration no ſcheme can be of ſervice), they may as well turn their thoughts to the law of nature as to the law of grace, if there is no difference betwixt the rule of nature and the law of Chriſt, with regard to the know⯑ledge of God, the maker of heaven and earth, and the worſhip due to him on that ac⯑count, and the practice of virtue and mora⯑lity.

[155]In the next place, if I underſtand you right, the grace of God is of no uſe at all in religion, as you account for ſalvation. What is out of order within us, in the mind and its faculties, the will and its affections, and wants to be ſet right in good thoughts and works, our own reaſon, in your notion of religion, is ſufficient to regulate, and unaſſiſted by the illumination of the holy ſpirit of God, we may live in an uncorrupted ſtate of piety and morality, and ſo ſave our ſouls, if we pleaſe. This is what I cannot believe. The grace of God in the goſpel is the glory and comfort of the chriſtian religion. A divine operation that renews and ſanctifies the mind is an in⯑valuable bleſſing, and in a manner inexpreſ⯑ſibly charming, ſatisfies me beyond heſitation, that the chriſtian religion is true, while it puts me in the actual poſſeſſion of the good effects of it. The ſpirit of God diſcovers to me the ſtate of my own mind, in all the circumſtances of a chriſtian life, ſets my follies, my neglects, and my failings, in order before me, which is the firſt right ſtep in or⯑der to the overcoming them; and then obſer⯑ving the diſcoveries I was not able to make my ſelf, and having a ſtrong faith in the di⯑vine power and ſufficiency, I am enabled to gain victories my inſufficient reaſon could ne⯑ver obtain. May this divine monitor then abide in my breaſt. It is by the heavenly aſſiſtance [156]of the holy ſpirit only, as vouchſafed in the chriſtian diſpenation, that I can ſecure for myſelf eternal life. The wiſe and prudent of this world may think as they pleaſe of this matter, and produce reaſonings againſt it be⯑yond my power to anſwer; but for my part, I muſt conſider it as the principle of my ſal⯑vation, and think I cannot be thankful e⯑nough for the ineſtimable bleſſing. It is to me a glorious inſtance of the great wiſdom and goodneſs of God.

Madam, (I replyed) in relation to your firſt objection, that I make no difference be⯑tween reveled and natural religion, for nature is as ſufficient as grace, in my account, I aſ⯑ſure you that I think the revelation of the goſpel excels the beſt ſcheme of natural reli⯑gion that could be propoſed; in declaring the terms of reconcilement, in demonſtrating the divine wrath againſt ſin, in the method of ſhewing mercy by the death of God's beloved Son, and the promiſe of free pardon on the condition of repentance and newneſs of life. This manner gives unſpeakable comfort to repenting ſinners. It gives the greateſt encou⯑ragement to engage them to the love of God and the practice of all his commandments; an encouragement that reaſon could not diſcover. To chriſtianity therefore the true preference is due. Tho' philoſophy or the doctrine of reaſon may reform men, yet the chriſtian re⯑ligion [157]is a clearer and more powerful guide. It improves the light of reaſon by the ſuper⯑natural evidence and declaration of God's will, and the means of man's redemption is a more efficacious motive and obligation to univerſal obedience than nature could ever with certainty propoſe. A revelation that has the cleareſt and ſtrongeſt evidence of being the divine will, muſt be the moſt eaſy and effectual method of inſtruction, and be more noticed than the beſt human teaching: and this will of God being truly and faithfully committed to writing, and preſerved uncor⯑rupt, muſt always be the beſt and ſureſt rule of faith and manners. It is a rule abſolutely free from all thoſe errors and ſuperſtitions, both of belief and practice, which no hu⯑man compoſure was ever before free from, or, probably, would have been free from, without the aſſiſtance of ſuch a revelation. Nor is this all. This is not the only ſupe⯑rior excellence of our holy religion.

A Mediator and crucified Redeemer brought into the Chriſtian revelation, has a noble effect on a conſidering mind, and ſhews the reaſonableneſs of the goſpel-diſpenſation. The wiſeſt and moſt rational heathens ever were for ſacrifices and mediators, as the greatneſs of God was thereby declared, and that not only ſin deſerved puniſhment, but mens lives to be forfeited by their breach of [158]the divine laws: and when a divine perſon, made man, like unto us, appears inſtead of all other mediators, by whom, as the inſtrument of the means of ſalvation, we are to offer up our prayers to the Only true God; and his voluntary dying in teſtimony of the truth of his miſſion and doctrine, is appointed to be inſtead of all other ſacrifices, and to re⯑main a memorial that God requires no atone⯑ment of us, but repentance and newneſs of life; and the ſpotleſs virtues and obedience of this divine Redeemer, are to be a moſt perfect and moving example for us to imi⯑tate;—this renders chriſtianity worthy of God, and makes it the perfection of religion. Great then are the advantages which the Re⯑velation of Chriſt Jeſus has above mere reaſon, darkened by the clouds of error and a gene⯑ral corruption. It is the moſt perfect rule of life. It is the moſt powerful means to promote a conſtant uniform practice of vir⯑tue and piety. It advances human nature to its higheſt perfection, fills it with all the fruits of righteouſneſs, and grants us privi⯑leges and bleſſings far ſuperior to what we could attain any other way.

With regard to the ſecond objection, that I take away the grace of God, to pre⯑ſerve the dignity of human nature, this is far from my intention. I do in⯑deed think, that as the Goſpel was given for [159]the nobleſt purpoſe; to wit, to call in an ex⯑traordinary manner upon mankind, to for⯑ſake that vice and idolatry, the corrupt creed of polytheiſm, the guilt of ſuperſtition, their great iniquities, violent paſſions, and worldly affections, which are all contrary to reaſon, and diſgrace human nature; and to practiſe that whole ſyſtem of morality, which they muſt know to be moſt uſeful to them;—that they might turn to a religion which had but One object, the Great Inviſible Being, all-knowing and all-ſufficient, to whom all the intelligent world are to make their devout applications; becauſe he is an infinite, inde⯑pendent, ſovereign mind, who has created all things, and abſolutely rules and governs all; poſſeſſes all natural perfections, exiſts in all duration, fills all ſpace with his preſence, and is the omniſcient witneſs of all their dif⯑ficulties and wants;—and that ſince they were bound by all the ties of moral duty to obey this one God, and obſerve the rational inſtitutions of religion, therefore they ſhould make it the labor of their whole lives to ex⯑cel in holineſs and righteouſneſs, and by vir⯑tue and piety unite themſelves to God, and entitle themſelves to glory at the great day: —That as this is the nature, end, and deſign of the chriſtian revelation, ſo I do think the goſpel of our ſalvation, the word of truth, (as an apoſtle calls it) is ſufficient for the [160]purpoſe, without immediate impulſes. As we have a reaſonable, intellectual nature, there is no want of mechanical powers. The words of Chriſt, which are the words of God, are, our life, and will, if attended to, and powerfully enable us to practiſe good works, and to excel, and perſevere therein. I can do all theſe things, through Chriſt, who ſtrengtheneth me, that is, through the written directions of Chriſt, and through the argu⯑ments and motives of the chriſtian doctrine. To ſay otherwiſe of the goſpel, is, in my opinion, injurious to it.

God may, to be ſure, give ſpecial aids to men, whenever he thinks fit. He may, by an extraordinary agency, render our faculties more capable of apprehenſion, where divine things are concerned:—may awaken a dor⯑mant idea, which lay neglected in the me⯑mory, with unuſual energy;—may ſecretly attract the more attentive regard of the mind, and give it an inclination and an ability of tracing its various relations, with an unuſual attention, ſo that a luſtre before quite un⯑known ſhall be (as it were) poured upon it; —the ſpirit of God may render the mind more ſuſceptible and more tenacious of divine knowledge; I believe he often does by in⯑terpoſition, if in the ſpirit of Chriſt's doc⯑trine we aſk it of the great Father of Lights, the Author of all the underſtanding divided [161]among the various ranks of created Beings; who, as he firſt formed the minds of angels and men, continues the exerciſe of their in⯑tellectual faculties, and one way or another communicates to them all the knowledge of every kind which they poſſeſs; (in which view all our knowledge of every kind may be called a revelation from God, and be a⯑ſcribed, as it is by Elihu in Job, to the in⯑ſpiration of the Almighty:) This the holy Spi⯑rit may do, and diſſipate a prejudice that op⯑poſes truth. But this is not always neceſſary: nor always to be expected. It is evident from the goſpel, that our Lord rather ſpeaks of his word and doctrine, as the aids to ſave mens ſouls, than of himſelf, or ſpirit, perſo⯑nally conſidered. Abiding in him, and he in them, as neceſſary to their bearing fruit, ſig⯑nifies a ſtrict and ſteady regard to his word, and the influence of that upon our minds. If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you; ye ſhall aſk what ye will, and it ſhall be done unto you: that is, If you continue to believe in me, and to pay a ſteady regard to my doctrine, you will be highly acceptable to God.

In ſhort, as no man can come unto me (ſays our Lord), except the Father which hath ſent me draw him: that is, no man will receive my pure, ſublime, and ſpiritual doctrine, un⯑leſs he have firſt gained ſome juſt apprehen⯑ſions concerning the general principles of religion: but if he has a good notion of [162]God and his perfections, and deſires to ad⯑vance in virtue, he will come unto me, and hearken to that revelation, which contains the beſt directions for the performance of all the duties, and the greateſt incitement to vir⯑tue, piety and devotion:—ſo, no man can come to the Father but by the Son, that is, by obeying the written word, and proceeding in that way in which the Son has declared it to be the will of the Father, that men ſhould come to him, namely, by keeping God's com⯑mandments, and by repentance and amendment of life; there being no other name, or way given among men, but this way given or de⯑clared by Jeſus Chriſt, by which they may be ſaved.—In all this, there is not a word of ſupernatural light or operation; tho' ſuch operation, as before obſerved, there may be. There is not a hint of man's natural inability.

To the glorious Goſpel then, the goſpel of our ſalvation, the word of truth, the word of life, let us come, and with diligence and im⯑partiality ſtudy it. Let us follow the truth we there find in every page, and it will ena⯑ble us to triumph over the temptations of al⯑lurement and of terror. We ſhall become the children of God by the ſpirit of adop⯑tion. We ſhall be eaſy and happy in this life, and glorious and ever bleſſed in that which is to come. If we obey the goſpel of the Son of God, and hearken to his word, [163]he will take us under his guardian care. He deſcended from Heaven, to deliver us from everlaſting ruin, he purchaſed us with the price of his own blood, and if we live up to the word of truth, he will conduct us ſafely through life and death, into the abode of holy and happy ſpirits, and at length raiſe our bodies from the duſt, and fix our com⯑pleat perſons in a ſtate of immortal glory and felicity.—This is my ſenſe of reli⯑gion. Where I am wrong, I ſhall ever be glad to be ſet right.

Mrs. Price made no reply, and ſo end⯑ed this remarkable converſation. On whoſe ſide the truth is, the reader is to judge. What ſhe ſays for ſupernatural operation is ſtrong and pious to be ſure: and conſidering Mrs. Price had no learning, and was almoſt with⯑out any reading, I thought it very wonderful to hear her on this, and many other ſubjects. She was ſuch another genius as Chubb, but on the other ſide of the queſtion; if ſhe had been able to write as ſenſibly and correctly as ſhe talked on ſeveral articles of religion, ſhe would have made a good author. So much goodneſs and good ſenſe I have not very often found in her kind. They merit a memorial in a journal of the curious things that have oc⯑curred to me in my life time.

28. My depar⯑ture from Laſco in Stanemore, a farther deſcription of this wild and ſolitary part of the world.

The 13th of June 1725, I took my leave of my friend, John Price, and his ad⯑mirable wife, promiſing to viſit them again as [164]ſoon as it was in my power, and proceeded on my journey in queſt of Mr. Turner. I would not let Price go with me, on ſecond thoughts, as many ſad accidents might happen in this rough and deſolate part of the world, and no relief in ſuch caſe to be found. If I fell, there was no one belonging to me to ſhed a tear for me: but if a miſchief ſhould befall Jack Price, his wife would be miſerable indeed, and I the maker of a breach in the ſweeteſt ſyſtem of felicity that love and good ſenſe had ever formed. This made me refuſe his re⯑peated offers to accompany me. All I would have was a boy and horſe of his, to carry ſome proviſions wet and dry, as there was no public houſe to be found in aſcending thoſe tremendous hills, or in the deep vales through which I muſt go; nor any houſe that he knew of beyond his own.

With the riſing ſun then I ſet out, and was charmed for ſeveral hours with the air and views. The mountains, the rocky precipices, the woods and the waters, appear⯑ed in various ſtriking ſituations every mile I travelled on, and formed the moſt aſtoniſhing points of view. Sometimes I was above the clouds, and then crept to inchanting vallies below. Here glins were ſeen that looked as if the mountains had been rent aſunder to form the amazing ſcenes: and there, foreſts and falling ſtreams covered the ſides of the hills. Rivers in many places, in the moſt [165]beautiful caſcades, were tumbling along; and cataracts from the tops of mountains came roaring down. The whole was grand, won⯑derful, and fine. On the top of one of the mountains I paſſed over at noon; the air was piercing cold, on account of its great height, and ſo ſubtle, that we breathed with difficulty, and were a little ſick. From hence I ſaw ſeveral black ſubjacent clouds big with thunder, and the lightning within them rolled backwards and forwards, like ſhining bodies of the brighteſt luſtre. One of them went off in the grandeſt horrors through the vale below, and had no more to do with the pike I was on than if it had been a ſummit in another planet. The ſcene was prodigious fine. Sub pedibus ventos & rauca tonitrua calcat.

Till the evening, I rid and walked it, and in numberleſs windings round unpaſſable hills, and by the ſides of rivers it was im⯑poſſible to croſs, journeyed a great many miles: but no human creature, or any kind of houſe, did I meet with in all the long way, and as I arrived at laſt at a beautiful lake, whoſe banks the hand of nature had adorned with vaſt old trees, I ſat down by this water in the ſhade to dine, on a neat's tongue I had got from good Mrs. Price; and was ſo de⯑lighted with the ſtriking beauties and ſtillneſs of the place, that I determined to paſs the night in this ſweet retreat. Nor was it one [166]night only, if I had my will, that I would have reſted there. Often did I wiſh for a convenient little lodge by this ſweet water ſide, and that with the numerous ſwans, and other fowl that lived there, I might have ſpent my time in peace below, till I was re⯑moved to the eſtabliſhed ſeat of happineſs a⯑bove.

29. A reflec⯑tion.

Had this been poſſible, I ſhould have avoided many an affliction, and had known but few of thoſe expectations and diſappoint⯑ments, which render life a ſcene of emptineſs, and bitterneſs itſelf. My years would have rolled on in peace and wiſdom, in this ſe⯑queſtered, delightful ſcene, and my ſilent me⯑ditations had been productive of that good temper and good action, which the reſur⯑rection of the dead, the diſſolution of the world, the judgment day, and the eternal ſtate of men, require us to have. Free from the various perplexities, and troubles I have ex⯑perienced by land and ſea, in different parts of the world, I ſhould have lived, in this para⯑dice of a place, in the enjoyment of that fine happineſs, which eaſy country buſineſs and a ſtudious life afford; and might have made a better preparation for that hour which is to diſunite me, and let my inviſible ſpirit depart to the ſhades of eternity. Happy they, who in ſome ſuch rural retirement, can employ ſome uſeful hours every day in the manage⯑ment of a little comfortable farm, and devote [167]the greater portion of their time to ſacred knowledge, Heavenly piety, and angelick good⯑neſs; which cannot be diſſolved when the thinker goes, nor be confined to the box of obſcurity, under the clods of the earth: but will exiſt in our ſouls for ever, and enable us to depart in peace to the happy regions. This has ever made me prefer a retired country life, when it was in my power to en⯑joy it. But be it town or country, the main buſineſs, my good readers, ſhould be to ſecure an inheritance in that eternal world, where the ſanctified live with God and his Chriſt. Getting, keeping, multiplying money; dreſs, pleaſure, entry; are not only little things for ſuch beings as we are: they are indeed ſad principal work for creatures that are paſſing away to an everlaſting ſtate; there to lament their loſt day, and talents miſapplied, in dread⯑ful agonies, in the habitations of darkneſs; —or, to remain for ever in the habitations of light, peace, and joy; if you have laboured to obtain, and improve in the graces and vir⯑tuous qualities which the goſpel recommends. Theſe are the treaſure and poſſeſſion worth a chriſtian's acquiring. Theſe only are porta⯑ble into the eternal world; when the body that was cloathed in purple and fine linen, and fared ſumptuouſly every day, is laid in a cold and narrow cave. Take my advice then, reader. Be ready. Let us ſo think and act in this firſt ſtate, that in the next, we [168]may meet in the regions of purity and right⯑eouſneſs, ſerenity and joy.

30. An account of an extra⯑ordinary effuſion of water from a moun⯑tain.

The lake I have mentioned was the largeſt I had ſeen in this wild part, being above a mile in length, and more than half a mile broad; and the water that filled it, burſt with the greateſt impetuoſity from the inſide of a rocky mountain, that is very wonderful to behold. It is a vaſt craggy precipice, that aſcends till it is almoſt out of ſight, and by its gloomy and tremendous air, ſtrikes the mind with a horror that has ſome⯑thing pleaſing in it. This amazing cliff ſtands perpendicular at one end of the lake, at the diſtance of a few yards, and has an opening at the bottom, that is wide enough for two coaches to enter at once, if the place was dry. In the middle of it, there is a deep channel, down which the water ruſhes with a mighty ſwiftneſs and force, and on either ſide, the ſtone riſes a yard above the impetuous ſtream. The aſcent is eaſy, flat and plane. How far it goes, I know not, being afraid to aſcend more than forty yards; not only on account of the terrors common to the place, from the fall of ſo much water with a ſtrange kind of roar, and the height of the arch which covers the torrent all the way; but becauſe as I went up, there was of a ſudden, an encreaſe of noiſe ſo very ter⯑rible, that my heart failed me, and a trem⯑bling [169]almoſt diſabled me. The rock moved under me, as the frightful ſounds encreaſed, and as quick as it was poſſible for me, I came into day again. It was well I did; for I had not been many minutes out, before the water overflowed its channel, and filled the whole opening in ruſhing to the lake. The increaſe of the water, and the violence of the diſcharge, were an aſtoniſh⯑ing ſight. I had a great eſcape.

31. The cauſe of the erup⯑tion of wa⯑ter from the inſide of the mountain, and its ſud⯑den en⯑creaſe.

As the rocky mountain I have men⯑tioned, is higher than either Snowden in North-Wales, or Kedar-Idris in Merioneth⯑ſhire, (which have been thought the higheſt mountains in this iſland), that is, it is full a mile and an half high from the baſis, as I found by aſcending it with great toil on the ſide that was from the water, and the top was a flat dry rock, that had not the leaſt ſpring, or piece of water on it, how ſhall we account for the rapid flood that proceeded from its inſide? Where did this great water come from?—I anſwer, might it not flow from the great abyſs — and the great en⯑creaſe of it, and the fearful noiſe, and the motion of the rock, be owing to ſome vio⯑lent commotion in the abyſs, occaſioned by ſome natural or ſupernatural cauſe?

32. The origin of earth⯑quakes.

That there is ſuch an abyſs, no one can doubt that believes revelation, and from reaſon and hiſtory it is credible, that there are violent concuſſions on this vaſt collection [170]of water, by the divine appointment: and therefore, I imagine it is from thence the water of this mountain proceeds, and the great overflowing and terrifying ſound at cer⯑tain times. To this motion of the abyſs, by the divine power exerted on it, I aſcribe the earthquakes; and not to vapor, or electricity. As to electricity, which Dr. Stukeley makes the cauſe of the deplorable downfall of Liſ⯑bon Nov. 1. 1755., in his book lately publiſhed, (called, The Philoſophy of Earthquakes), there are many things to be objected againſt its being the origin of ſuch calamities:—one objection is, and it is an inſuperable one, that electri⯑cal ſhocks are ever momentary, by every ex⯑periment, but earthquakes are felt for ſeveral minutes. Another is, that many towns have been ſwallowed up in earthquakes, tho' Liſ⯑bon was only overthrown. Such was the caſe of the city of Callao, within two leagues of Lima. Tho' Lima was only tumbled into ruins, October 28, 1746; yet Callao ſunk downright, with all its inhabitants, and an unfathomable ſea now covers the fineſt port in Peru, as I have ſeen on the ſpot.— In the earthquake at Jamaica, June 7, 1692, in which ſeveral thouſands periſhed, it is certain, that not only many houſes, and a great number of people, were intirely ſwal⯑lowed up; but that, at many of the gapings or openings of the earth, torrents of water that formed great rivers, iſſued forth. This [171]I had from a man of veracity then on the ſpot, who was an eye-witneſs of theſe things, and expected himſelf every minute to deſcend to the bowels of the earth, which heaved and ſwelled like a rolling ſea. Now to me the electrical ſtroke does not appear ſufficient to produce theſe things. The power of electricity, to be ſure is vaſt and amazing. It may cauſe great tremors and undulations of the earth, and bring down all the build⯑ings of a great city: but as to ſplitting the earth to great depths, and forcing up tor⯑rents of water, where there was no ſign of the fluid element before, I queſtion much if the vehemence of the elemental electric fire does this.—Beſide, when mountains and cities ſink into the earth, and the deepeſt lakes are now ſeen to fill all the place where they once ſtood, as has been the caſe in many countries, where could theſe mighty waters come, but from the abyſs?—The great lake Oroquantur in Pegu, was once a vaſt city. In Jamaica, there is a large deep lake where once a mountain ſtood.—In an earthquake in China, in the province of Sanci, deluges of water burſt out of the earth, Feb. 7, 1556, and inundated the country for 180 miles. Many more inſtances of this kind I might produce, excluſive of Sodom, the ground of which was inundated by an irruption of waters from beneath, (which now forms the dead ſea) after the [172]city was deſtroyed by fire from above; that the land which had been defiled with the unnatural luſts of the inhabitants might be no more inhabited, but remain a laſting mo⯑nument of the divine vengeance on ſuch crimes, to the end of the world: and the uſe I would make of thoſe I have mentioned, is to ſhew, that theſe mighty waters were from the furious concuſſion of the abyſs that cauſed the earthquakes. Electricity, I think, can never make ſeas and vaſt lakes to be where there were none before. Locherne, in the county of Fermanagh, in the province of Ulſter in Ireland, is thirty three miles long, and fourteen broad, and as the old Iriſh chronicle informs us, was once a place where large and populous towns appeared, till for the great iniquity of the inhabitants, the people and their fair habitations were de⯑ſtroyed in an earthquake, and mighty waters from the earth covered the place, and formed this lake. Could the electrical ſtroke produce this ſea that was not to be found there before the deſtruction? Is it not more reaſonable to ſuppoſe, that ſuch vaſt waters have been forced by a ſupernatural commotion from the great abyſs, in the earthquake that deſtroyed the towns which once ſtood in this place?

To this then, (till I am better informed), I muſt aſcribe ſuch earthquakes as produce great rivers and lakes: and where no waters appear, I believe the earthquakes are cauſed [173]by the immediate finger of God; either operating on the abyſs, tho' not ſo as to make the water break out on the earth; or by di⯑recting the electrical violence or ſtroke; or otherwiſe acting on the ruined cities and ſhattered places.

33. A reflexion on ſecond cauſes, and the Deity's being not only at the head of na⯑ture, but in every part of it.

For my part, I think it is a grievous miſtake in our philoſophical enquiries, to aſ⯑ſign ſo much to ſecond cauſes as the learned do. The government of the univerſe is gi⯑ven to matter and motion, and under pre⯑tence of extolling original contrivance, the execution of all is left to dead ſubſtance. It is juſt and reaſonable (even Newton and Mac⯑laurin ſay) to ſuppoſe that the whole chain of cauſes, or the ſeveral ſeries of them, ſhould center in him, as their ſource and fountain; and the whole ſyſtem appear depending upon him, the only independent cauſe. Now to me this ſuppoſition does not appear either juſt or reaſonable. I think the noble phoeno⯑mena of nature ought to be aſcribed to the immediate operation of the Deity. Without looking for a ſubtile elaſtic medium, to pro⯑duce gravity; which medium Sir Iſaac con⯑feſſes he had no proof of; nor is there in reality ſuch a thing in the univerſe; I ima⯑gine the divine Newton would have done better, if, after eſtabliſhing the true ſyſtem of nature, by demonſtrating the law of gra⯑vity, he had ſaid this gravity was the conſtant and undeniable evidence of the immediate in⯑fluence [174]of the Deity in the material univerſe. A ſeries of material cauſes betwixt Deity and Effect, is, in truth, concealing him from the knowledge of mortals for ever. In the mo⯑ral government of the world, ſecond cauſes do, becauſe free-agents act a part; but, in the material univerſe to apply them, to me ſeems improper, as matter and motion only, that is, mechaniſm, come in competition with the Deity. Moſt certainly he conſtantly in⯑terpoſes. The Divine Power is perpetually put forth throughout all nature. Every par⯑ticle of matter, muſt neceſſarily, by its na⯑ture, for ever go wrong, without the conti⯑nued act of Deity. His everlaſting interpo⯑ſition only can cauſe a body moving in a cir⯑cle to change the direction of its motion in every point. Nor is it poſſible for ſubtile matter, the ſuppoſed cauſe of gravity, to know to impel bodies to a center, with qua⯑druple force at half the diſtance.

And as in gravity, and in the coheſion of the parts of matter, the Deity is, and acts in the motion of the celeſtial bodies, and in the reſiſtance the leaſt particles make to any force that would ſeparate them; ſo is his im⯑mediate power, I think for myſelf, exerted not only in earthquakes and tides, but in the circulations of the blood, lymph, and chyle, in muſcular motion, and in various other phoenomena that might be named. Books I know have been written, and ingenious [175]books they are, to ſhew the cauſes of theſe things, and trace the ways they are per⯑formed by the materials themſelves: but theſe explications never ſatisfied me. I had as many queſtions to aſk, after reading theſe books, as I had before I looked into them, and could find no operator but infinite power conducted by infinite wiſdom.

The perio⯑dical mo⯑tions of the waters of the ſea, owing to immate⯑rial power. As to the force of the moon, in raiſing tides, and, that ſpring tides are produced by the ſum of the actions of the two luminaries, when the moon is in Syzygy, there is a deal of fine mathematical reaſoning to prove it, which the reader may find in Dr. Halley's ab⯑ſtract of Sir Iſaac Newton's theory of the tides; and in Dr. Rutherforth's ſyſtem of natural philoſophy: but nevertheleſs, the concomi⯑tance of water and luminary, or the revo⯑lutions of ocean and moon anſwering one another ſo exactly, that the flow always hap⯑pens when the moon hangs over the ocean, and the ſpring tides when it is nearer the earth, which is ſuppoſed to be in the new and full moon;—this does not prove to me, that the periodical flux and reflux of the ſea is derived from mechaniſm. As we have two ebbs and two flows in twenty-four hours, and the moon comes but once in that time to our meridian, how can the ſecond ebb and flow be aſcribed to it? and when, beneath the ho⯑rizon, in the oppoſite hemiſphere, the moon croſſes the meridian again, is it credible, that [176]from the eaſtern and ſouthern ocean, round Good-Hope and Cape-Horn, it ſhould as ſoon overflow our coaſts, as when it is vertical to the ſhores of Guinea? — If the moon (in conjunction with the ſun) by preſſion and at⯑traction, was the principal cauſe of flux and reflux, why is there no eſtabliſhed tide on the Mediterranean-Sea, though of a vaſt breadth, and two thouſand miles in length from the Streights of Gibraltar to the coaſts of Syria and Paleſtine; but only ſome irre⯑gular and unaccountable ſwellings and falls in a few places of this ſea, to wit, at Tunis, Meſſina, Venice, and Negropont; and theſe ſwellings, as I have ſeen, flowing ſometimes 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 times in 24 hours; in the moſt irregular manner; againſt the fixed laws of preſſion and attraction, aſcribed to the moon and ſun, on a ſuppoſition of their cauſing the tides? — If preſſion, and the ſtrong attractive power of the moon, and the weaker influence of the ſun, forces the im⯑menſe ocean twice a day from its natural qui⯑etus, and rolls it in tides, why has the Caſ⯑pian Sea no Tide; no ſwelling or flow, re⯑regular or irregular, excepting that ſome⯑times, in the ſpace of 16 years, and never ſooner, it riſes many fathoms, and drowns the adjacent country; to the almoſtruin, ſometimes, of Aſtracan in Aſiatick Ruſſia; as happened when I was there to embark for Perſia? — If it be ſaid, that this is properly a lake, hav⯑ing [177]no communication with the ocean; yet, I anſwer, that it is in every quality of ſalt⯑neſs, etc. as much a ſea as any other ſea; and large enough for the luminaries attrac⯑tion and preſſion; being 500 miles from north to ſouth, and near 400 miles in breadth from eaſt to weſt: I ſay, large enough to avoid continuing neceſſarily in equilibrio, as Dr. Rutherforth ſays muſt be the caſe, on ac⯑count of the ſmall extent of this ſea. 500 by 400 miles of ſea does not require that ſuch a ſea ſhould preſs equally, or that the gravity of its water ſhould be equally diminiſhed in every part of it, and ſo out of the powers, addititious and ablatitious, of the luminary; that is, the force, with which the moon encreaſes the waters gra⯑vity, and the force, with which the moon diminiſhes the waters gravity. If the moon in zenith or nadir did the work, the equi⯑librium of the the Caſpian might be de⯑ſtroyed, as well as any other equilibrium of water, by force, addititious or ablatitious, or by the ſum of theſe forces: therefore, there might, by this theory, be tides in the Caſ⯑pian ſea, tho' not great ones. There are ſmall as well as great tides. The tides of the At⯑lantic ocean are inferior in every reſpect to thoſe of the larger Pacific ocean. A quarter of a great circle of the earth, that is, an ex⯑tent of ocean from eaſt to weſt 90°, is only [178]required, that the tides may have their full motion. A tide of leſs motion may be in ſuch an extent of ſea as the Caſpian.

In the laſt place, how does the theory of tides account for the regular peculiarity of the flux and reflux of the Atlantic, different from all other tides; while at Bathſha in the kingdom of Tunquin, there never is more than one tide in 24 hours; and ſome days, no tide? — For my part, I reſolve the whole into the immediate power of the Deity. This power is gravity, attraction, repulſe. The inactivity of matter requires the conſtancy and univerſality of divine power to ſupport the material univerſe, and move it as occaſion requires; that is, as infinite wiſdom ſees moſt conducive to the benefit of his creation.

Earth⯑quakes the effect of immaterial cauſes. Men of fine imagination may make a won⯑derful diſplay of mathematical learning in accounts of gravity, etc. combined with the principles of mechaniſm; and electricity, which is called the immediate officer of God Al⯑mighty; but the truth is, a conſtant repetition of divine acts in regular and irregular mo⯑tions of the earth and the ſeas. The finger of God moves the land and the waters.

In the caſe of earthquakes, as electricity, or aerial power, is inſufficient to produce them, in my opinion, for two reaſons before given; to wit, that the electrical ſtroke is ever ſingle and momentary, but the vibrations [179]of the earth, in a quake, are often 3 and 4 minutes, and have held to 7 minutes — and that, beſides the ſwelling and trembling of the earth, it has ſo opened at thoſe times, as to ſwallow not only houſes and people, but even mountains, and to ſend forth great ri⯑vers and vaſt waters. And, as ſubterranean fire and vapor, I think, can never do ſuch work, for many reaſons that may be offered, we muſt, I think, aſcribe the earthquakes to the immediate impreſſion of divine power; by which a city is tumbled into ruins in three or four minutes, in the ſad manner Liſbon was deſtroyed the firſt of November, 1755. or, the water of the great abyſs is with ſuch violence moved, that it ſhakes the arches of the earth, and where infinite wiſdom directs, is enabled by Almighty Power to open the globe with tremendous noiſes, and pour forth vaſt torrents of water, to cover a land where once a flouriſhing city has ſtood. The elec⯑tric ſtroke cannot be more dreadful than ſuch exertion of omnipotence. The immediate action of the Deity, to deſtroy, muſt be as efficacious ſurely as any ſubordinate agent or cauſe: and it muſt be more terrible to the mind, as there can be no ſuppoſition of acci⯑dent in ruin this way: but we ſee as it were the almighty arm, exerting an irreſiſtible force, that could in the ſame few moments [180]that a large town and its inhabitants are deſtroyed, ſhake the whole world into one dreadful ruin, or ſeparate it into nothing. To my apprehenſion, the aerial power of electricity is not ſo fearfully ſtriking, as the Creator's appearing, on the ſpot, to ſhake terribly the earth: and if we con⯑ſider, that it is on account of ſin, that God reſigns his omnipotence to his wrath, and commands his whole diſpleaſure to ariſe, muſt not this account of an earth⯑quake have the greateſt tendency to reform the manners of the ſurviving people?

An ac⯑count of muſcular motion; and that it is cauſed by a continued act of the Deity. As to muſcular motion, if it be rightly conſidered, it appears very plainly to proceed from a living force, impreſſed ab extra; that mechaniſm does not act as cauſe in this affair; but the divine power acts in the caſe, as it does in many different places of the human body at once, and with inexpreſſible variety.

Various are the accounts that learned men have given of muſcular motion, and ingenious are their reaſonings on the ſubject: but they are not ſatisfactory, nor do they at all explain the thing, and account for it. What is a muſcle?

It is to be ſure a bundle of ſmall blood veſſels, conſiſting of arteries and their return⯑ing veins, laid one upon another in their pa⯑rallel plates, running thro' the whole length of the muſcle; and at ſmall intervals, theſe [181]blood veſſels, or longitudinal, red, and fleſhy fibres, are contorted and bound about with ſmall, tranſverſe, and ſpiral ramifications and twinings of the nerves. This is a muſcle: it has two ends, or tendons, faſtened to two bones, one of which is fixed, and the other moveable; and by the contraction of the muſcle, the moveable bone is drawn upon its fulcrum towards a fixed point. This is in⯑diſputable; and it is likewiſe certain, that the muſcles are to be diſtinguiſhed in⯑to thoſe of voluntary, and thoſe of natural or neceſſary motion: that the voluntary muſcles have antagoniſts, which act alter⯑nately in a contrary direction, that is, are contracted by the command of the will, while the others are ſtretched, and again are extended, while the others are contracted: but the neceſſary muſcles have contracting and extending powers within themſelves, and need no antagoniſts.

This being the true ſtate of the muſcles, the queſtion is, what cauſes that elaſticity, ſpring, or power of contraction and reſto⯑ration, which their nervous coats and fibres have, to recover themſelves againſt a given weight or force that ſtretches them? The reply is, that many unanſwerable reaſons can be given to prove, that this contractive reſti⯑tutive force does not depend on the mixture, efferveſcence, or rarefaction of any fluids, [182]humours, or liquors within the body; and there is one convincing experiment that ſhews it.

Lay open the thorax of a dog, (as I have often done) and take a diſtinct view of that famous muſcle, the heart, in its curious and wonderful motion, while the animal is ſtill alive. In diaſtole, the muſcle is very red and florid, ſoft and yielding to the touch, and thro' it the vital fluid glows and ſhines; it appears in this ſtate fully repleniſhed and diſtended with blood: but in ſyſtole, as ſoon as it begins to contract, and the blood ruſhes out by the compreſſion of the contracting fibres, the heart loſes its florid colour, and be⯑comes pale and livid, compact and ſolid, and evinces that, during this ſtate of it, the muſ⯑cle contracts inwardly into its own denſe ſub⯑ſtance, and takes up leſs ſpace than before, till it returns to its diaſtole: then the blood which flowed from it with velocity, during ſyſtole thro' the coronary veins into the auri⯑cles, ruſhes back into it thro' the coronary ar⯑teries, reſtores the glowing florid colour, and inflates the muſcle, in order to ſtrain the nerves for the next contraction. It is plain from hence, that the heart has leſs blood and fluid in time of contraction, and that the con⯑traction is not cauſed by the addition of ano⯑ther fluid from the nerves, as the learned have aſſerted.

[183]And as to what they ſay of the longitudi⯑nal fibres being divided into innumerable lit⯑tle cells or bladders, which have communi⯑cations with the blood veſſels and nerves, and that in theſe veſicles, the blood and nervous fluid mix, ferment, and by rarefaction and expanſion, ſwell and blow up the cells, and thereby inflate and diſtend the muſcle, and increaſe its thickneſs, while its length is ſhortned:—this is ſo perplexed and un⯑reaſonable an hypotheſis, that I am aſtoniſhed how men of ſenſe ever came to think of ſuch a doctrine. There is no ſuch nervous fluid to be found, to cauſe this fermentation, rarefaction, etc; and if there was, expanſive force muſt lengthen as well as thicken, and the muſcle could not be ſhortned in length, and ſwelled in thickneſs. The natural ac⯑tion of the fluids upon the ſolids is, to in⯑creaſe dimenſions proportionably every way, that is, in the direction of the axis and con⯑jugate diameter equally. Beſide, if there was expanſion, circulation muſt ſtop. The diſtention of the veſicles, and the rapid exit of the rarifying fluid could not be at once.

The plain account of the matter is then, that muſcular motion is performed by the elaſ⯑ticity of the nervous fibrillae, contracting and reſtoring themſelves againſt the ſtretching force of the circulating blood. The contraction of the muſcle ſtraitens and compreſſes the blood⯑veſſels, [184]and forces the blood with impetuoſity thro' the heart; and this ſqueezing or pro⯑pelling force gives the fluid an impetus, that makes it return with violence upon the muſ⯑cle, in the courſe of its circulation; then by force and impulſe, it ſtretches the tranſverſe and ſpiral nervous fibres, and ſo extends the contracted muſcle, that drove it by contrac⯑tion from itſelf. Upon this, the blood⯑veſſels having obtained their due extent and capacity, the diſtending force of the blood of conſequence ceaſes: but the moment it does, the contractive power of the nerves begins to act again, and reſtores them to a contracted denſe ſtate, by a force exactly equal to that which extended them; till the returning propelled blood re-enters the muſ⯑cle, and ſtretches it again, as before deſcribed. Such are the two wonderful counter-forces that produce the natural involuntary motion of the heart, and carry on the circulation of the blood. You ſee with your eyes, in the opened live dog, this alternate contraction and extenſion; and as the ſtretching power is but a conſequence of the contracting power, contraction is the ſpring of this wonderful ac⯑tion, in which our will or free agency has no concern. And to what ſhall we aſcribe this aſtoniſhing operation, this amazing contrac⯑tive power, ſo exactly as to time, and ſo con⯑ſtantly continued on the muſcles of natural [185]or neceſſary motion; till the aequilibrium by ſome means or other be broken, and the mo⯑tion is preternaturally interrupted and ſuſ⯑pended? Will the great mechanical reaſoners ſay, that matter does this wonder—matter, that is blind and impotent? Stuff: We muſt aſcribe to a cauſe wiſe and powerful, not only the original contrivance of the thing, but the execution of this extraordinary ſcene. While you gaze upon this nobleſt muſcle of the dog, you ſee the Deity at work.

And if we turn our eyes from the muſ⯑cles of mere natural involuntary motion, (which performs by a contracting power, acting within them), to thoſe muſcles which move the bones and members of our bodies, by the command of the will, how adorable is the wiſdom and goodneſs of the Almighty Author of nature, not only in providing the animal machine with antagoniſtical muſcles, one of which is contracted, while the other is extended; but for ſtimulating, con⯑tracting, and compreſſing the nervous elaſtic cords and blood-veſſels, as our minds com⯑mand or determine! there is no poſſibility of accounting for the directions at pleaſure of the antagoniſtic muſcles, but by reſolving them into the continual preſence and action of the firſt cauſe. He enforces and executes. It is the active principle gives energy and mo⯑tion both to voluntary and neceſſary muſcles. [186]This, I think, is the truth of philoſophy. To ſuppoſe every thing to be effect without cauſe, is to reduce religion and philoſophy to the ſame deſperate ſtate. It deſtroys all the principles of reaſon, as well as of virtue and moral conduct.

To ſay all that can be ſaid, in as few words as poſſible, upon this article, it is not only the muſcular motion, neceſſary and ſpon⯑taneous ⁽¹⁴⁾ , that is cauſed by the action of the Deity; but the conſtant motions in the [187] ſtomach, lungs, inteſtines, and other parts of the body, are cauſed by an acting Di⯑vine Power. It can be demonſtrated, that in the action of ſoft bodies upon ſoft bodies, the motion is always diminiſhed; and of conſequence, it muſt be greatly leſſened in the yielding ſoftneſs of the fleſh and fluids of animal bodies. We ſee how ſoon water ſet⯑tles, after motion impreſt, by the bare attri⯑tion of its parts on one another; altho' it has no obſtacles to encounter, or narrow paſſages to move through. What then can we think of motion in ſuch narrow twining meanders, as veins, arteries, inteſtines, and lacteal veſ⯑ſels, thro' which the fluids of animal bodies are conveyed to parts innumerable? while the blood, lymph, and chyle creep thro' ſuch narrow winding veſſels, the whole motion of thoſe fluids muſt be conſumed every in⯑ſtant by the attrition of their parts, and the force of conſequence be renewed every in⯑ſtant. Here is a perpetual miracle. The Divine Power urges on theſe fluids ten thou⯑ſand ways at once. Reaſon muſt confeſs a miraculous power indeſinently and variouſly put forth in our bodies; while ignorance and vanity in vain attempts to account mechani⯑cally for the circulation of thoſe fluids. We are not only fearfully and wonderfully formed in the womb, but fearfully and wonderfully [188]preſerved every minute! creating power ne⯑ver ceaſes ⁽¹⁵⁾ .

The concluſion of the matter is, that the plain argument for the exiſtence of a Deity, obvious to all, and carrying irreſiſtible con⯑viction with it, is from the evident contri⯑vance and fitneſs of things to one another, which we meet with through all the parts of the univerſe. There is no need of nice and ſubtile reaſoning in this matter: a manifeſt contrivance immediately ſuggeſts a contriver. It ſtrikes like a ſenſation, and artful reaſon⯑ings againſt it may puzzle us, but it is with⯑out ſhaking our belief. No perſon, for ex⯑ample, who knows the principles of opticks, and the ſtruture of the eye, can believe that it is formed without ſkill in that ſcience; or that the ear was formed without the knowledge of ſounds.—This is a juſt argument, and forces our aſſent. But the [189]great Maclaurin ſhould not have ſtopped here. The plain argument for the exiſtence of a Deity grows ſtronger, when we add to it what is as evident as divine contrivance, to wit, the conſtant interpoſition of God, to ſup⯑port and move his creatures. Original con⯑trivance in the works of the creation is adora⯑ble. We are certain, demonſtratively cer⯑tain, that the heavens, the land, and the waters, and all the creatures in them con⯑tained, are the works of the living God: but it is the preſent performance that ſtrikes us like a ſenſation. With inexpreſſible plea⯑ſure we ſee creating power with our eyes. Which ever way we turn them, we behold Almighty Power employed, and continually acting under the direction of infinite know⯑ledge.

Since things are ſo, and all the works of nature, in the common voice of reaſon, de⯑clare the power and wiſdom of the Creator, and ſpeak his goodneſs in the innumerable mighty things he continually performs for our preſervation and happineſs, the contempla⯑tion of them ſhould warm our hearts with the Glory of the Almighty, and make us continually praiſe and adore that Almighty providence, which formed and ſuſtains not only the human race and this terreſtrial globe, but numberleſs other worlds and their inha⯑bitants, that hang in infinite ſpace. Theſe [190]mighty things diſplayed, ought ſurely to pro⯑duce the devouteſt prayers, and ſongs of praiſes in no common ſtrain; and eſpecially, if we add to thoſe works of nature, that ſe⯑cond creation, the ſtill greater work of grace. Such omnipotence in wiſdom and action, and ſuch amazing goodneſs as we ſee in the chriſ⯑tian goſpel, ſhould, I think, engage us to love and adore ſo great and good a Being as our Creator, and induce us to devote our lives to him.

For my part, when I conſider the mighty ſcene and proſpect of nature, and turn my thoughts from thence to God's word, that heavenly law, which directs our will and in⯑forms our reaſon, and teaches us in all things how to purſue our own happineſs, I am ſo ſtruck with a ſenſe of infinite wiſdom, goodneſs, and action, that I cannot help ex⯑tolling the king of the univerſe for the great⯑neſs of his power and mercy, and am neceſ⯑ſarily engaged in a ſcene of praiſe and devo⯑tion. Indeed the heart muſt be as hard and cold as marble, that does not glow, nor is inflamed with raviſhing love to the great Au⯑thor of all things; after viewing with atten⯑tion even one particular only in the works of nature, that material ſun, which now ſhines out with light and beauty to animate and re⯑freſh the world; and in the creation of grace, that ſun of righteouſneſs, who ſheds forth the [191]choiceſt bleſſings of Heaven upon the inha⯑bitants of the earth. Can we be ſilent, who behold and enjoy thoſe things! alaſs! too many can. Neither the Heavens, which de⯑clare the glory of God, nor the days of the goſpel, nor the righteouſneſs of the new law, are regarded by them. But the wiſe will ever join with all their hearts, in the moſt exalted prayer and praiſe, and adore the Giver of theſe good and perfect gifts; for all his bleſ⯑ſings vouchſafed us; and eſpecially, for the charter of his pardon granted by his bleſ⯑ſed Son, and the promiſes of everlaſting hap⯑pineſs and glory in a life to come, reaſon muſt declare it juſt to offer up religious praiſe, and make the greateſt mental and moral im⯑provement we can in this firſt ſtate.

34. An extra⯑ordinary loch on the top of a high moun⯑tain.

Another extraordinary thing I ſaw in the place I have mentioned, was a water on the top of a hill, which ſtood at the other end of the lake, and was full as high as the mountain, from the ſide of which, the wa⯑ter poured into the lake. This loch mea⯑ſured three quarters of a mile in length, and half a mile over. The water appeared as black as ink, but in a glaſs it was clear as other water, and bright in running down. It taſted ſweet and good. At one end, it runs over its rocky bank, and in ſeveral noiſy caſcades, falls down the face of the moun⯑tain to a deep bottom, where a river is form⯑ed, [192]that is ſeen for a conſiderable way, as it wanders along. The whole is a ſtriking ſcene. The ſwarthy loch, the noiſy de⯑ſcending ſtreams, clumps of aged trees on the mountain's ſide, and the various ſhoars and vallies below, afford an uncommon view. It was a fine change of ground, to aſcend from the beautiful lake, (encompaſſed with mountains, and adorned with trees) into which was poured from a gaping preci⯑pice, a torrent of ſtreams; and ſee from the reverſe of an oppoſite hill, an impetuous flood deſcending from the top to the fineſt points of view in the wildeſt glins be⯑low.

35. The cauſe of an un⯑fathomable loch on the top of the mountain.

What line I had with me, for expe⯑riments on waters and holes, I applied to this loch, to diſcover the depth, but with 300 yards of whipcord my lead could reach no ground, and from thence, and the black⯑neſs of the water, and the great iſſuing ſtream, I concluded, juſtly I think, that it went down to the great abyſs, the vaſt trea⯑ſury of waters within the earth. Many ſuch unfathomable lochs as this have I ſeen on the ſummits of mountains in various parts of the world, and from them, I ſuppoſe, the greateſt part of that deluge of waters came that drowned the old world. This leads me to ſay ſomething of the flood.

36. Remarks on the de⯑luge.

Many books have been written in re⯑lation to this affair, and while ſome contend for the overflowing of the whole earth to a very great height of waters—and ſome for a partial deluge only—others will not allow there was any at all. The divine au⯑thority of Moſes they diſregard. For my part, I believe the flood was univerſal, and that all the high hills and mountains under the whole heaven, were covered. The cauſe was forty days heavy rain, and ſuch an agi⯑tation of the abyſs, by the finger of God, as not only broke up the great deep, to pour out water at many places, but forced it out of ſuch bottomleſs lochs as this I am ſpeak⯑ing of on the mountains top, and from va⯑rious ſwallows in many places. This removes every objection from the caſe of the deluge, and gives water enough in the ſpace of 150 days, or five months of 30 days each, to over-top the higheſt mountains by 15 cubits, the height deſigned. The abyſs in ſtrong commotion, or violent uproar, by a power divine, could ſhake the incumbent globe to pieces in a few minutes, and bury the whole ruins in the deep. To me, then, all the reaſoning againſt the deluge, or for a partial flood, appear ſad ſtuff. Were this one loch in Stanemore to pour out torrents of water, down every ſide, for five months, by a di⯑vine force on part of the abyſs, as it might very eaſily by ſuch means do, the inundation [194]would cover a great part of this land; and if from every loch of the kind on the ſummits of mountains, the waters in like manner, with the greateſt violence, flowed from every ſide out of the abyſs, and that excluſive of the heavy rains, an earthquake ſhould open ſome parts of the ground to let more water out of the great collection, and the ſeas and oceans ſurpaſs their natural bounds, by the winds forcing them over the earth, then would a univerſal flood very ſoon prevail. There is water enough for the purpoſe, and as to the ſupernatural aſcent of them, natural and ſupernatural are nothing at all different with reſpect to God. They are diſtinctions merely in our conceptions of things. Regu⯑larly to move the ſun or earth; and to ſtop its motion for a day;—to make the waters that covered the whole earth at the creation, deſcend into the ſeveral receptacles prepared for them; and at the deluge, to make them aſcend again to cover the whole earth, are the effect of one and the ſame Almighty Power; tho' we call one natural, and the other ſupernatural. The one is the effect of no greater power than the other. With re⯑ſpect to God, one is not more or leſs natural or ſupernatural than the other.

The means which drained off the waters of the de⯑luge from the earth. But how the waters of the deluge were drawn off at the end of the five months, is another queſtion among the learned. The [195]ingenious Keile, who writ againſt the two ingenious Theoriſts, ſays the thing is not at all accountable in any natural way: the drain⯑ing off, and drying of the earth, of ſuch a huge column of waters could only be effected by the power of God: natural cauſes both in decreaſe and the increaſe of the waters muſt have been vaſtly diſproportionate to the effects; and to miracles they muſt be aſcribed. —This, I think, is as far from the truth, as the Theoriſts aſcribing both increaſe and de⯑creaſe to natural cauſes. God was the per⯑former to be ſure in the flood and the going off, but he made uſe of natural cauſes in both, that is, of the things he had in the be⯑ginning created. The natural cauſes he is the author of were at hand, and with them he could do the work. The ſun evaporated; the winds dried; and the waters no longer forced upwards from the abyſs, ſubſided into the many ſwallows or ſwallow-holes, that are ſtill to be ſeen in many places, on mountains and in vallies; thoſe on the mountains being neceſſary to abſorb that vaſt column of waters which roſe 15 cubits above the higheſt hills.

A ſwallow is ſuch another opening in the ground as Eldine Hole in Derbyſhire ⁽¹⁶⁾ , and [196]in travelling from the Peak to the northern extremity of Northumberland, I have ſeen many ſuch holes in the earth, both on the hills and in the vales. I have likewiſe met with them in other countries. By theſe ſwal⯑lows, a vaſt quantity of the waters to be ſure went down to the great receptacle; all that was not exhaled, or licked up by the winds; or, except what might be left to encreaſe the for⯑mer ſeas of the antediluvian world into thoſe vaſt oceans which now encompaſſes the globe, and partly to form thoſe vaſt lakes that are in ſeveral parts of the World. Theſe things eaſily account for the removal of that vaſt maſs of waters which covered the earth, and was in a mighty column above the higheſt hills. Every difficulty diſ⯑appears before evaporation, the drying winds, the ſwallows, and perhaps, the turning ſeas into oceans: but the three firſt things now [197]named were ſufficient, and the gentlemen who have reaſoned ſo ingeniouſly againſt one another about the removal of the waters, might have ſaved themſelves a deal of trouble, if they had reduced the operation to three ſimple things, under the direction of the Firſt Cauſe. The ſwallows eſpecially muſt do great work in the caſe, if we take into their number not only very many open gulphs or chaſms, the depth of which no line or ſound can reach; but likewiſe the communications of very many parts of the ſea, and of many great unfathomable lochs, with the abyſs. Theſe abſorbers could eaſily receive what had before come out of them. The ſun by eva⯑poration, with the wind, might take away what was raiſed. There is nothing hard then in conceiving how the waters of the de⯑luge were brought away.

But as to the lake I have mentioned, into which a rapid flood poured from the bowels of the mountain, what became of this water the reader may inquire? To be ſure, as it did not run off in any ſtreams, nor make the lake riſe in the leaſt degree, there muſt have been a communication in ſome parts of its bottom, between the water of it and the abyſs. As the loch on the top of the moun⯑tain I have deſcribed had no feeders, yet emitted ſtreams, and therefore muſt be ſup⯑ported by the abyſs; ſo this lake, with ſo powerful a feeder, not running over, or [198]emitting water any way, muſt diſcharge it⯑ſelf in the abyſs below. The caſe of it muſt be the ſame as that of the Caſpian ſea. Into this ſea many rivers pour, and one in parti⯑cular, the Volga I mean, that is more than ſufficient, in the quantity of water it turns out in a year, to drown the whole world. Yet the Caſpian remains in one ſtate, and does not overflow its banks, excepting, as before obſerved, ſometimes, in the ſpace of 16 years. It muſt by paſſages communicate with the great deep. It refunds the rivers into the great abyſs. The caſe of the Medi⯑terranean ſea is the ſame; for, tho' a ſtrong current from the Atlantic continually ſits through the Strait of Gibraltar, yet theſe waters do not make it overflow the country round it, and of conſequence, they muſt be carried off by a ſubterranean paſſage, or paſ⯑ſages, to the abyſs.

37. The jour⯑ney in Stane⯑more con⯑tinued. An ac⯑count of an aſſem⯑blage of black co⯑lumnar marble.

From the lake I proceeded the next morning, June 14, 1725, toward the north⯑eaſt end of Weſtmorland, having paſſed the night in a ſound ſleep under the trees by the water ſide, but was forced by the preci⯑pices, to ſhape my courſe from four in the morning till eight, to the north-weſt, and then the road turned eaſt-north-eaſt, till I came to a great glin, where a river made a rumbling noiſe over rocks and inequalities of many kinds, and formed a very wild wonderful ſcene. The river [199]was broad and deep, and on an eaſy deſcent to it, was an aſſemblage of ſtones, that ran in length about 100 feet, in breadth 30 feet, and ſomewhat reſembling the giant's cauſeway, in the county of Antrim, and province of Ulſter in Ireland; nine miles north eaſt from the pretty town of Colerain. The giants cauſeway, reader, is a prodigious pile of rocks, 80 feet broad, 20 feet above the reſt of the ſtrand, and that run from the bottom of a high hill above 200 yards into the ocean.

The aſſemblage of ſtones I am ſpeaking of are columns with ſeveral corners, that riſe three yards above the ground, and are joined as if done by art; the points being con⯑vex and concave, and thereby lying one in another. Theſe columns have five and ſix ſides, a few of them ſeven; and a number of them nicely and exactly placed together make one large pillar from one foot to two in dia⯑meter. They are ſo nicely joined, that al⯑tho' they have five and ſix ſides, as I before ſaid, yet their contexture is ſo adapted, as to leave no vacuity between them; the promi⯑nent angles of one pillar fitting, and falling exactly into the hollows left them between two others, and the plain ſides exactly anſwer to one another; ſo that thoſe hexagons and pentagons of columnar marble appear as if finiſhed by the hands of the moſt maſterly [200]workmen. All the pillars ſtood exactly perpendicular to the plane of the horizon.

Doctor Foley, in the philoſophical tran⯑ſactions, N^o. 212, ſpeaking of the giants cauſeway, ſeems to think theſe wonderful pillars are compoſed of the common ſort of craggy rock by the ſea ſide: and the authors of the complete ſyſtem of geography are of opinion, they reſemble the lapis Baſaltes; but ſome think they are a ſort of marble. Now the truth is, the Baſaltes of the antients is a very elegant and beautiful marble of a fine deep gloſſy black, like high poliſhed ſteel, and is always found erect in the form of regular angular columns, compoſed of a number of joints, fitted together, and mak⯑ing pillars: ſo that where ſuch pillars are ſeen, they are undoubtedly the columnar marble or touchſtone of the antients. Dr. Hill, in his hi⯑ſtory of foſſils, gives a good account of the nature of this body, and mentions ſeveral places it is to be found in; but ſeems not to have heard there was any of it among the northern mountains of our country.

This marble is one of the nobleſt pro⯑ductions of nature, and of all the foſſil kingdom, the moſt aſtoniſhing body. If art is requiſite for the formation of many things we ſee daily done with elegance and beauty; then certainly, mind itſelf, even the ſupreme mind, muſt have cauſed [201]ſuch effects as theſe aſtoniſhing marble pillars; which lie in vaſt compound perpen⯑dicular columns at great depths in the earth, (none in beds of ſtrata, like the other mar⯑bles), and riſe in ſuch beautiful joints and angles, well fitted together more than ſix and thirty foot above ground in ſome places. No other way could thoſe won⯑derful productions have come into being, but by that intelligent, active power, who ſpeaks intelligibly to every nation by his works. To talk as ſome people do, that neceſſity, which deſtroys the very idea of intelligent and deſigning activity — or chance, which is an utter abſurdity — or the ſea, according to Telliamed, generated and formed this genus of marble, and ſo wonderfully diſtinguiſhed it from all the other marmora; by making it into pentagon, hexagon, and ſeptagon co⯑lumns, and rendering the points of the co⯑lumns convex and concave, and ſo amazingly joining them together, that the prominent angles of one pillar fall exactly into the hol⯑low left beween two others, and the plain ſides exactly anſwer to one another, as be⯑fore obſerved, while all of them ſtand up perpendicular, contrary to the quality of all other marbles, and ſome lie in beds of ſtrata — To talk I ſay of the ſea, a chance, a neceſſity, doing this, or any thing of ſo won⯑derful a kind, is to produce ſchemes founded in ignorance, and everſive of true know⯑ledge, [202]inſtead of giving a rational, intelli⯑gible account of the formation of the world, its order and appearances. In this wonder⯑ful production, a due attention perceives in⯑finite art and power. Did we want that va⯑riety of things which employ the conſidera⯑tion of rational men, and force the tongues of thinking men to acknowledge creating power, this marble alone would be ſufficient to demonſtrate equal power directed by in⯑finite wiſdom.

38. An account f a burn⯑ing ſpring.

Another extraordinary thing I ſaw in a valley not far from that where the Baſalts ſtands. It is a boiſterous burning ſpring. It riſes with great noiſe and vibration, and guſhes out with a force ſufficient to turn many mills. The water is clear and cold, but to the taſte unpleaſant, being ſomething like a bad egg. I judged from the nature of its motion, that the water would take fire, and having lit my torch, ſoon put it in a flame. The fire was fierce, and the water ran down the vale in a blaze. It was a river of fire for a conſiderable way, till it ſunk under ground among ſome rocks, and thereby diſappeared. After it had burnt ſome time, I took ſome boughs from a tree, and tying them together, beat the ſurface of the well for a few minutes, and the burning ceaſed. The water was not hot, as one might ex⯑pect, but cold as the coldeſt ſpring could be. There are a great number of ſuch ſprings in [203]the world, but this is the largeſt I have read of, or ſeen. It differs from that of Broſeley in Shropſhire, within ſix miles of Bridge-north, in this reſpect, that Broſeley well will not continue to burn for any time, unleſs the air be kept from it; to which purpoſe they have encloſed it in an iron ciſtern with a cover to it; and to experiment the boiling a piece of meat by the fire of this ſpring, they clap the pot cloſe down when they cover is taken up, and then it burns as long as they will; mak⯑ing the largeſt joint of meat fit to eat in half the time the ſtrongeſt culinary fire could do the work. As to the medicinal virtues of the ſpring, in the mountains, I can only ſay, that as it has a copious ſulphur, and from thence flames like ſpirit of wine, it is probable it might be as effectual in commu⯑nicating ſanity in various caſes, as the fa⯑mous burning ſpring is in the palatinate of of Cracow of the leſſer Poland, mention'd in the Leipſic acts, An. 1684. p. 326. And as to the extinguiſhing this fire by beating it with twigs, it muſt to be ſure be for the reaſon given by Mr. Denis, that as the inflam⯑mability of ſuch ſprings is to be aſcribed to ſulphur, and to its exhalations burſting out of the water; ſo this floating flame, which is too ſubtle to heat the water, is ſtifled, by in⯑volving theſe ſpirits in the aqueous particles, by bruſhing the ſurface with brooms.

Conradus tells us, concerning the Poliſh [204]ſpring, that at one time, when it was kindled by lightning, the people neglected to put it out, and the ſtream proceeded on fire for al⯑moſt three years, and reduced all the neigh⯑bouring wood to aſhes. It is really a won⯑derful ſight to ſee ſuch a river of fire, and adorable muſt be that power, who has cauſed ſuch things. To ſay that matter and motion circumſcribe and regulate ſuch powers, is idle to the laſt degree. It is an inverſion of reaſon. The very exiſtence of the water and ſulphur of this ſpring, muſt be by the power of the Creator conſtantly put forth upon it, which cauſes the parts to be what we call ſuch things; and the motion of both muſt be an im⯑preſſion; for motion is not eſſential to matter. Nothing elſe could produce them, and a cauſe there muſt be equal to the various and wonderful effects of both, a cauſe that is in⯑finite, wiſe, and powerful. The Deity is every where preſent, and every where active. His power is indeſinently working, gives ex⯑iſtence to the various creatures, and produces the moſt noble phaenomena in nature. All we ſee, all we feel, fire and water, the uni⯑verſal variety of inanimate and animate crea⯑tures, are only the effects of his creating power conſtantly repeated. The exiſtence of the whole world is a continual new crea⯑tion; and therefore it becomes the bounden duty of all rational creatures, to worſhip this Almighty Power, as well for his works of [205]creation, as for the ways of his providence. Great and wonderful are thy works, O Lord God Almighty: and juſt and righteous are thy ways, O King of ſaints: who would not fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name, becauſe thou only art holy.

39. Another loch on the top of a high moun⯑tain, and a ſwallow in the bottom.

From the burning fountain we pro⯑ceeded for half an hour in the ſame valley right onwards, and then turned to the left in a courſe to the weſt, for about a mile, which brought us to the bottom of a ſteep moun⯑tain, we muſt aſcend, or go no farther. It was hard to get the horſes over this, and no leſs difficult to deſcend with them to a deep bottom on the other ſide of the hill: but with great hazard to ourſelves and the beaſts, we came down in ſafety. On the top of this mountain I ſaw another large loch that was black as ink in appearance, tho' bright when taken up in a glaſs; which, (as before obſerved) muſt be owing I ſuppoſe to its top communicating with the abyſs below; and in the bottom we deſcended to, there was a ſwallow larger than the one I ſaw before. I could make no diſcovery as to its depth, either by line or ſound; nor did my lead touch any water. On the ſloping way from the firſt chaſm in day to the gulph, were ſeveral lateral chambers, that deſcended one yard in ſix; but tho' the bottom was hard, the horrors of the places hindered me from going far. I went to the [206]end of the firſt, which was 67 yards, and having looked into the ſecond, to which a narrow ſhort paſs leads the inquirer, I made what haſte I could back; for the opening diſcovers a ſpace ſo vaſt, diſmal, and frightful, that it ſtrikes one to the heart. The bottom, as far as my light could enable me to diſtin⯑guiſh, was a continuance of ſtone; but neither top nor ſides were to be ſeen. It is a horrible place.

40. An amaz⯑ing arch thro' a mountain in a de⯑lightful ſpot of ground.

Leaving this bottom, we mounted ano⯑ther very high and dangerous hill, and from the top of it deſcended into twenty acres of as rich and beautiful ground as my eyes had ever ſeen. It was covered with flowers and aromatic herbs; and had, in the center of it, a little grove of beautiful trees; a⯑mong which were fruits of ſeveral kinds. A flowing ſpring of the pureſt water was in the middle of this ſweet little wood, and ran in pretty windings over the ground. It re⯑freſhed and adorned the field, and it was beautiful to ſee the deer from the hills, and the goats come down from the cliffs, to drink at theſe ſtreams. The whole was ſurrounded with precipices that aſcended above the clouds, and through one of theſe rocky mountains there was an opening that had a ſtupendous appearance.

It was a vaſt amazing arch, that had ſome reſemblance of the gothic iſle of a large cathedral church, and terminated in a view [207]of rocks hanging over rocks in a manner frightful to behold. It meaſured an hun⯑dred yards in length, 40 in breadth, and I judged it to be fifty yards high. The pending rocks in view incloſed a ſpace of four acres, as it appeared to me, and the bottom was ſo very deep that it looked like night below. What line I had could not reach it, nor could I make any thing of the depth by ſound. It ſeemed to me to be a vaſt ſwallow that went down to the abyſs. The whole was a ſcene that har⯑rowed the ſoul with horror.

41. An extra⯑ordinary paſſage thro' the mountains.

By the ſpring in the little grove I have mentioned, I ſat down at 8 in the morning, to breakfaſt on ſomething that one of my ſquires produced from his ſtore, while the other was looking for a paſſage or way on⯑wards, between thoſe vaſt precipices that ſur⯑rounded us. Two hours he waſted in an enquiry, and then returned, to let me know there was no paſſage that he could find: the encloſed rocks were one continued chain of unpaſſable mountains. Here then I thought was my ne plus ultra. As the man af⯑firmed there was no getting beyond the vaſt incloſing cliffs that walled in this charming ſpot of earth, I imagined for ſome time, that I muſt of neceſſity re⯑turn, and give over all thoughts of getting to the borders of Cumberland or Biſhop⯑rick that way. It ſeemed impoſſible to [208]proceed, and that was no ſmall trouble to my mind. It was a great journey round, and if I did ride it, I knew not where to turn in on the confines of the country my friend lived on; for I had loſt his directions, and had only a ſmall remembrance of his dwelling ſomewhere on the north edge of Weſtmoreland or Yorkſhire, or on the ad⯑joining borders of Cumberland, or the county of Durham. What to do I could not for ſome time tell: going back I did not at all like, and therefore, to avoid it if poſſible, reſolved to paſs the day in trying if I could find any way out, with⯑out climbing the mountain again that I had lately come down. Round then I walked, once, and to no manner of purpoſe, for I did not ſee any kind of paſs; but the ſecond time, as I marched on obſerving the hill, I took notice of a large clump of great trees in an angle or deep corner, that ſeemed to ſtand very oddly, and in the mountain above them there appeared as I thought a diſtance or ſpace that looked like an opening. I ſoon found it was ſo, and that at the back of this little wood, there lay a very narrow way, only broad enough for two horſes a-breaſt: that it extended due weſt for more than a mile, and then weſt-north-weſt for a quarter of a mile, till it terminated in a plain that was ſeveral miles in circumference, and in⯑tirely ſurrounded with hills. This I diſco⯑vered [209]in walking the paſs by myſelf, 1725. and then returned to bring the horſes and men, through this amazing way. It was quite dark, mere night all along; and the bottom very bad. It was likewiſe every dangerous. It was evident from the ground, that ſtones had fallen from the tops of the hills; and ſhould any deſcend from ſo vaſt a height on us, tho' even ſmall ones, they would without all peradventure be immediate death.

42. A reflexion on the com⯑pletion of every wiſh the moment it is formed.

The plain we came into from the de⯑file, was above a mile over to the oppoſite hills, and a-croſs it was a walk of aged oaks, that ſeemed, in ſuch a place, as the avenue that leads to the fairy caſtle of wiſhes. If ſuch beings there are, as Dr. Fowler, biſhop of Gloceſter, hath in one of his books af⯑firmed, then here, I ſaid, in this fine ro⯑mantic region, where all the charms of the field, the foreſt, the water, and the moun⯑tains, are united, may be their favorite man⯑ſion, and perhaps they will admit me into their fairy caſtle: then commences their friendſhip, and when they have all breathed on me, it is but wiſhing for the future, and the completion of every deſire is granted the moment it is formed. Would not this be compleat happineſs? what do you ſay, re⯑flexion?

No, (reflexion anſwered, as we rid up this avenue.) Imagination may form fine pictures [210]of felicity from an indulgence in every wiſh; but, ſo blind are mankind to their own real happineſs, that it is oftner to the gratification than to the diſappointment of their wiſhes that all their miſery is owing. We often chooſe what is not conſonant to the welfare of our nature, and ſtrive to avoid thoſe inci⯑dents which are fated in the order of incon⯑trolable events for our good. Frequently do we labour to ſecure the things that debaſe us into ſlaves, and overwhelm us with cala⯑mity; but ſeldom do we deſire, rarely do we ſtrive to obtain thoſe objects, and acquire that ſtation, which are moſt likely to render humanity as perfect as it can be in this world, rational and godlike, and thereby crown our lives with true happineſs. Many a man has purſued a Venus, an eſtate, an honour, with much toil and wonderful activity, and when poſſeſſed of the fancyed bleſſing, have been made very miſerable mortals. The wiſhed for beauty has often made even the huſband wretched. An aching ſcar is often covered with the laurel: and in reſpect of envied great fortunes, gaudy is the thing without, and within very often is mere bitterneſs. The wiſdom is, as to this world, not to get from the fairies a power of enjoying all that fancy may deſire, if that was poſſible; but, to act well and wiſely, in the moſt rea⯑ſonable, lovely, and fair manner, and pro⯑poſe [211]nothing of ourſelves, but with a reſerve that ſupreme wiſdom permits it; welcoming every event with chearfulneſs and magnani⯑mity, as beſt upon the whole, becauſe or⯑dained of infinite reaſon; and acquieſcing in every obſtruction, as ultimately reſervable to divine providence. This (continued reflexion), in reſpect of this life, were there no other, is preferable to the caſtle of wiſhes, if we could find it at the end of this avenue ⁽¹⁷⁾ .

But if another life is taken into the que⯑ſtion, the argument grows ſtronger againſt a power of enjoying all we could wiſh for.— As we are accountable creatures, and are pouring faſt out of time into eternity, reli⯑gion undoubtedly ought to be the main buſi⯑neſs of mortals;—that religion, which is a living principle, ſpring, or root of ac⯑tions [212]in the ſoul; wrought there by the hand of him that made us; and which requireth us to honour and fear God as the ſupreme Lord, to eſteem him as the chief good; and to exerciſe and expreſs that honour, that fear, and that eſteem, by all the means, and in all the ways, which reaſon and revelation ap⯑point for ſuch exerciſe and expreſſion; that we may gain the love of the Almighty, and obtain the eſtabliſhed ſeat of happineſs above: but ſuch force hath the objects of ſenſe upon the mind, that it is more than probable they would outweigh the diſtant hopes of religion, if wiſhing could bring in even a tenth part of what the vanity of man, and his ſenſes would call for. It would be ſo far from be⯑ing an advantage to mankind, if they could wiſh and have vaſt fortunes, all the pleaſures, the pomps and honours of the world, that they would thereby be deprived of the ra⯑tional joys of life, and be influenced to think no more of the excellency and beauty of re⯑ligion, and the good conſequences of ſerving God truly. They would not even divide themſelves between this world and the other. The Idol Gods of this ſtate would have all their ſervice. The wiſh then ſhould be for daily bread, and that the kingdom of God may come—his will be done in our ſouls. In theſe are comprized the greateſt and moſt va⯑luable bleſſings, and we are ſure we can ob⯑tain [213]them, if we will add to aſking an in⯑duſtry and prudence in acquiring, and take care by culture, to bring up the ſeeds of vir⯑tue and holineſs. This is enough to make us as happy here as reaſon can deſire. We have a ſufficiency to go through this world to that other where we are to be ſtationed for ever, and againſt the accidents of the way, we have the ſupports which innocence and virtue to the good adminiſter. Peace and tranquillity of mind here, and hopes full of comfort with reſpect to hereafter, are the in⯑gredients of our happineſs; a happineſs the greateſt! and we are certain that he, upon whoſe mercy and goodneſs we confeſs we ex⯑iſt, will, in regard to our confidence and truſt, our faith and religion, when this fleeting ſcene is over, make us glorious and ever bleſſed in the kingdom he has prepared for thoſe that rely on the Divine Goodneſs, and do their beſt to advance the ſtate of true vir⯑tue in the world. Let us not regret, then, the want of a caſtle of wiſhes. Let us not have a deſire of that wealth, dominion and ſplendor, which lives in contempt of the pro⯑phets, and riots in the heinous pleaſures of irreligion.

Let our great Maſter's Will be made the rule of all our actions, and let his intereſt be regarded, as our intereſt. Let us conſult his ho⯑nour, as our own honour; and having food and [214]raiment, be content, as we are haſting away with a never ceaſing pace, to the realms of eternity and unmixed bliſs. This is reaſon and light. This only deſerves our care. There is nothing worth wiſhing for, but the happi⯑neſs of God's preſence in our hearts; and the more immediate communications of his love and favour in the regions of day.

43. A deſcrip⯑tion of a natural grotto in one of the mountains of Stane⯑more. June 14, 1725.

Thus did reflexion entertain me, as I rid up this grand ſhady walk, which looked like the avenue I had read of in the Tales of the Fairies, and brought me to a natural grotto, more beautiful than Aelian's deſcrip⯑tion of Atalanta's, or that in Homer, where Calypſos lived. — It was a large cavern at the bottom of a marble mountain, and with⯑out, was covered round with ivy, that clung about ſome aged oaks, (on either ſide the en⯑trance) that ſeemed coeval with the earth on which they grew. Abundance of large lau⯑rel trees, in clumps, adorned an extenſive area before the door; and ſaffron, and hya⯑cinths, and flowers of many colours, covered in confuſed ſpots the carpet green. The beau⯑tiful ground refreſhed the ſight, and purified the air: and to enhance the beauties of the ſpot, a clear and cold ſtream guſhed from a neighbouring rock; which watered the trees and plants, and ſeemed to combat with the earth, whether of them moſt contributed to their growth and preſervation. It was a [215]ſweet rural ſcene. For charms and ſolitude the place was equally to be admired.

The inſide of this grotto was a beautiful green marble, extremely bright, and even ap⯑proaching to the appearance of the emerald. It was thick ſet with ſhells, and thoſe not ſmall ones, but ſome of the largeſt and fineſt kinds: many of them ſeemed, as it were, ſqueezed together by the marble, ſo as to ſhew the edges only; but more were to be ſeen at large, and filled with the pureſt ſpar. The whole had a fine effect, and as the cave had been divided by art into ſix fine apart⯑ments, and had doors and chimnies moſt ingeniouſly contrived, both the manſion and its ſituation charmed me in a high degree. It was a beautiful habitation indeed. On ei⯑ther ſide of it were many cottages, pretty and clean, and as ſheep were feeding on the field, ſome cows grazing, and various kinds of tame fowl before the doors, I concluded it was an inhabited place, before I ſaw any one.

44. The hiſtory of Azora.

The firſt human being I beheld, was an old woman, who appeared at the grotto door, and I requeſted her to inform me, who lived in this delightful place;—and which was my beſt way to Cumberland or Biſhoprick? Sir, (replied the good old woman) you are welcome to Burcott-Lodge. Women only are the inhabitants of this ſpot: and over the [216]hills before you, you muſt go, to get to the countries you mention. We are an hundred ſouls in all that live here, and our miſtreſs, ſuperior and head, is a young woman. Her name is Azora. Yonder ſhe comes, good⯑neſs itſelf, and as it is now ſeven in the even⯑ing, too late to proceed any farther in this part of the world, you had better walk up to her, and pay her your reſpects. Great was my ſurprize at what I heard. A little female republic among thoſe hills was news indeed: and when I came near Azora, my aſtoniſhment encreaſed.

45. July 19, 1726. We depart from Bur⯑cot-Ham⯑let, and ar⯑rive at a burning valley.

The 18th of June, 1725, I took my leave of Mrs. Burcot and Mrs. Fletcher, (for ſo they would be called, as they informed [279]me, after I had once uſed the word Miſs), and from this fine place, proceeded on my [280]journey, by a paper of written directions had received from them; as there was a pretty good, tho' a long and tedious way out [281]of the mountains, if a traveller knew the paſſes and turnings; but otherwiſe, it was ei⯑ther impoſſible to go on; or, a man muſt journey at the hazard of his life a thouſand [282]times a day, in croſſing waters and preci⯑pices.

[283]Our firſt labour was to aſcend a very nar⯑row ſteep way in the ſide of a mountain, which went up due north for a full mile, and [284]brought us to another large, ſtanding, black and unfathomable water, on the top of this high hill. There was no appearance of any [285]feeders to ſupply this frightful lake, and therefore, and on account of its blackneſs, the ſurface muſt communicate with the abyſs. From this water we rid due eaſt for half an hour, and then deſcended to a ſandy valley, where flames were riſing from the ground. The fire came up without noiſe, ſmoak, or ſmell, and appeared to me very wonderful: but ſuch things are common in many parts of the world. In the ſide of one of the Apen⯑nines, I have ſeen a large blazing vale. The learned tell us, this is owing to rich veins of bitumen, which crops in ſuch places, and the heat of the air between the hills, in ſhallow vallies, cauſes it to burn. This crop of bi⯑tumen, and accenſion by the agitation of a hot air, is well fancied, I own: but it does [286]not give me full ſatisfaction. I think of this, and many other natural things, as Mr. Moyle does of the Aurora Borealis;—that theſe uncommon appearances ſhould be looked on with wonder and admiration, and raiſe in us a due reverence of their great Author, who has ſhewn his Almighty power and wiſdom in forming ſuch an infinite variety of produc⯑tions in all parts of the univerſe. Philoſophy undertakes to account for every thing. I am ſure it is in many caſes miſtaken.

29. An account of a water⯑fall at Stanemore.

Having paſſed the burning valley, we rid over a river, that was up to the horſes bellies, very rapid, and a bad bottom, and then proceeded along a ſteep hill ſide, the courſe N. W. till we came to a rich low land, that was covered with flowers and aro⯑matic ſhrubs, and adorned with ſeveral clumps of oak, cheſnut, and white walnut trees. This plain is about twenty five acres, ſurrounded with ſtony mountains, ſome of which are very high and ſteep, and from the top of one of the loweſt of them, a cataract deſcends, like the fall of the river Niagara in Canada, or New France, in North America. Swifter than an arrow from a bow the rapid water comes headlong down in a fall of 140 feet, which is 3 feet more than the deſcent of Ni⯑agara. The river here, to be ſure, is not half ſo large as that which comes from the vaſt lakes of Canada, but it is a great and prodigious cadence of water, and tumbles [287]perpendicular in as ſurprizing a manner, from as horrible a precipice; and in this very nearly reſembles the Niagara-Fall; that as you ſtand below, as near the fall as it is ſafe to go, you ſee the river come down a ſloping moun⯑tain for a great way, as if it deſcended from the clouds. It is a grand and amazing ſcene. The water iſſues from a great lake on the top of a mountain that I found very hard to aſcend, and the lake has many viſible feeders from hills upon hills above it, which it is impoſſible to climb.

30. July 19, 1726. A dinner by a cata⯑ract, and a wonderful fall of O Fin the boy.

It was 12 o'clock by the time we arriv⯑ed at this water-fall, and therefore I ſat down by the ſide of it to dine, before I attempted to get up to the top of the precipice, and ſee from whence this water came. While my eyes were entertained with the deſcending ſcene, I feaſted on a piece of veniſon paſty, and ſome fine ale, which, among other pro⯑viſions, Mrs. Burcot had ordered her ſervants to put up for me: but as I was thus happily engaged, my lad, O Fin, had climbed up to the top of the water-fall, and was going to land from a tree that grew out of the rocky mountain, near the ſummit of the hill, when his foot ſlipt, and he came tumbling down in a miſerable way. I expected him in pieces on the ground, as I had him full in my view. There ſeemed no poſſibility of an eſcape: and yet he received no harm. In the middle of [288]the deſcent, he ſtuck in another projecting thick tree, and from it came ſafely down. This was a deliverance. Providence often ſaves us in a wonderful manner, 'till the work appointed to be finiſhed is done, or the limited time of our trial over. In relation to ſuch eſcapes, I could give myſelf as an in⯑ſtance many a time, and will here mention one extraordinary caſe.

31. A great de⯑liverance.

As I travelled once in the county of Kerry in Ireland, with the White Knight, and the Knight of the Glin ⁽²²⁾ . We called at Tere⯑lah [289]O Crohanes, an old Iriſh gentleman, our common friend, who kept up the hoſ⯑pitality of his anceſtors, and ſhewed how they lived, when Cormac Mac Cuillenan, the Generous, (from whoſe houſe he de⯑ſcended) was king of Munſter and Arch⯑biſhop [290]of Caſhel, in the year 913 ^(23.) There was no end of eating and drinking there, and the famous Downe Falvey played on the harp. For a day and a night we ſat [291]to it by candle-light, without ſhirts or cloaths on; naked, excepting that we had our breeches and ſhoes and ſtockings on; [292]and I drank ſo much burgundy in that time, that the ſweat ran of a red colour down my body; and my ſenſes were ſo diſordered, that when we agreed to ride out for a couple of hours to take a little air, I leaped my horſe into a dreadful quarry, and in the deſcent was thrown into a large deep water that was in a part of the frightful bottom, and by that means ſaved my life. When I came above water, I ſwam very eaſily out of the pit, and walked up the low ſide of the quarry as ſober as if I had not drank a glaſs. This is a fact, whatever the critics may ſay of the thing. All I can ſay to it is, my hour was not come.

49. 1725. June 11. The jour⯑ney con⯑tinued.

Having dined, and ſhot a buſtard that weighed forty pounds, I went on again, the courſe north-weſt for half a mile, and then, to my aſtoniſhment, it trended to the ſouth for more than an hour; which was going back again: but at laſt it turned about, and for half an hour, we went to the north⯑weſt again, and then due eaſt for a long time, till we came to hills upon hills that were [293]very difficult to paſs. We were obliged to alight at many of them, and walk them up and down, which was a delay of many hours: but we did it at laſt, and came into a large ſandy opening, that had a num⯑ber of rapid ſtreams breaking over it, that fell from the mountains, and with the foreſt on the ſurrounding hills, formed a very wild and pleaſing ſcene. Over this we went for half a mile, and then came to a long glin, ſo very deep and narrow, that it was quite night when we got to the bottom of it, tho' the ſun was not yet down; and it brought to my re⯑membrance Anchiſes's ſon, the wandering prince of Troy, when he deſcended to the ſhades below. It had the appearance indeed of ſome ſuch paſs, and was a frightful way, as hills, like Caucaſus and Atlas, were cloſe on either hand of us, and a river roared thro' the bottom of the ſteep deſcent; which we were obliged to walk down on foot. This could not be the right road I was certain. Azora and Antonia could never paſs this deep and rapid flood. It was too much for any man to venture into, without knowing where the torrent went, or how the channel of the river was form'd.

Up then I came again to the day, and re⯑ſolved to paſs the night at the foot of one of the woody hills, on the margin of the ſtreams that ſounded ſweetly over the ſhoars: [294]but how to proceed the next morning I knew not. As my paper of directions did not mention the dark ſteep deſcent we had been down, but a little valley that lay due eaſt, through which we were to go: no ſuch vale could we ſee, and of conſequence, in ſome turning of the road, we had gone wrong.

When I came among the trees, on the ſide of one of the mountains, I began to look for ſome convenient reſting place, while my two boys were picking the buſtard, and preparing a fire to roaſt it for ſupper, and wandered a good way till I ſaw a pretty hermitage in an open plain like a ring, and going up to it, found the ſkeleton of a man. He lay on a couch in an inward room without any cover⯑ing, and the bones were as clean and white as if they had come from the ſurgeons hands. The piſmires to be ſure had eaten off the fleſh. Who the man was, a paper lying on the table in a ſtrong box informed me. It was called the caſe of John Orton.

50. The CASE of JOHN ORTON.

51. A reflexion on the bones of John Orton.

This extraordinary paper ſurprized me very greatly, and when from reading it, I turned my eyes to the bones of John Orton, I could not help breaking out in the following reflection — And is this the once lively, gallant, drinking [305] Jack Orton, who thought for forty years that he was made for no higher end than to gra⯑tify every appetite, and paſs away time in a continual circle of vanity and pleaſure! Poor ſkeleton, what a miſerable ſpectacle art thou! Not the leaſt remain of activity and joy, of that ſprightlineſs and levity of mind, that jo⯑cund humour and frolic, which rendered thee the delight of the wild ſocieties of thy youthful time: Grim, ſtiff, and horrid, is the appearance now: vain mirth and luxury, licentious plays and ſports, can have no con⯑nection with theſe dry bones.

O Death, what a change doſt thou make! The bulk of mankind are averſe to ſerious thought, and hearken to the paſſions more than to the dictates of reaſon and religion: To kill time, and baniſh reflection, they in⯑dulge in a round of diſſipations, and revel in the freedom of vicious exceſſes: Their at⯑tention is engroſſed by ſpectacle and enter⯑tainments, and fixed to follies and trifles: giddy and unthinking, looſe and voluptuous, they ſpend their precious hours in the gay ſcenes of diverſions, pomp and luxury; and as if the grave and a judgment to come, were a romance of former times, or things from which they are ſecured, never think of theſe important and momentous ſubjects: with minds bewitched by exorbitant plea⯑ſure, and faculties enervated and broken by [306]idle mirth and vanity, they paſs their every day away without any of that conſideration which becomes reaſonable beings, and crea⯑tures deſigned for a ſtate of immortality: bu at laſt, you appear, and in a moment turn delight and admiration, into averſion and horror: ſtrength, wealth, and charms, you inſtantly reduce to weakneſs, poverty, and deformity, in the firſt place; and then, to a ſkeleton, like the bones before me.

Nor is this the worſt of the great revo⯑lution. When death approaches, the amuſe⯑ments of ſenſe immediately fail, and paſt tranſactions, in every circumſtance of aggra⯑vation, crowd into the mind: conſcience re⯑proaches loudly, the heart condemns, and the ſick tremble at the apprehenſions of a vengeance they laughed at in the days of di⯑verſion, and the midnight hours of the ball: as they come near the black valley, they ſee the realities of a future ſtate; and agonies con⯑vulſe their ſouls: terrors till then unknown enter their breaſts; and, in anxieties that are incapable of being uttered, and expectations the moſt torturing, on a review of life, they paſs from the plains of time into the ocean of eternity. Here lies the frame, like the dry bones before me; but, the ſoul is gone to the ſeſſions of righteouſneſs; and perhaps, the dreadful ſentence of the divine juſtice is pronounced on it. This is a tremendous [307]affair, that calls for timely and ſerious con⯑ſideration. Eternity! Eternal miſery! They that have done evil, to come forth unto the re⯑ſurrection of damnation!

I will take thy advice then, thou glorious penitent, John Orton; and ſince it is in my power to come forth unto the reſurrection of life, and obtain immortality, honour, and glory, with the righteous, in the kingdom of their father, I will open the reforming goſ⯑pel night and morning, and by its heavenly directions regulate my conduct. I am de⯑termined to make a wiſe and ſerious prepa⯑ration for death and judgment. To the beſt of my power, I will provide for that day, when the prayers and charities of the righ⯑teous will be brought forth as their memorials before the tribunal of Jeſus Chriſt.

This — this is the thing to be minded. The brighteſt ſcenes of worldly proſperity, and grandeur, are contemptible, when they do not accord with virtue and piety. Death, in a few years, blends the prince and the meaneſt ſubject, the conqueror and the ſlave, the ſtateſman, the warrior, and the moſt inſignificant, in one promiſcuous ruin; and the ſchemes, the competi⯑tions, and the intereſts, which have en⯑gaged the chief attention of the world, are brought to nothing, and appear, too often, ridiculous: but righteouſneſs is unchangeably [308]glorious, and in the univerſal ruin, receives no detriment: when all human power and policy will be extinct; concealed piety and perſecuted virtue, will again appear, and be owned as His by the Lord of Hoſts, in that day when he maketh up his jewels.

I will love thee therefore, O Lord, my ſtrength; yea, I will love thee: and it ever ſhall be my heart's deſire, that my ſoul may behold by faith in its ſelf, as in a glaſs, the glory of the Lord, able and ready to change it into the ſame image from glory to glory, reflected upon, and conveyed to it by the Spirit of the Lord. May my portion here be this bleſſed transforming union, that I may be made partaker of the divine nature, by impreſſions from it ^(24.) I ſhall then have [309]all I wiſh, and all I want. With a ſettled indifference I ſhall then look upon the high⯑eſt advantages of this world. I ſhall have [310]nothing to hope or to fear. The will of God will be to me unmixed felicity.

52. A medita⯑tion in a cloſet.

Such was the ſoliloquy I ſpoke, as I gazed on the ſkeleton of John Orton; and juſt as I had ended, the boys brought in the wild turkey, which they had very ingeniouſly roaſted, and with ſome of Mrs. Burcot's fine ale and bread, I had an excellent ſupper. The bones of the penitent Orton I removed to a hole I had ordered my lad to dig for them; the ſkull excepted, which I kept, and ſtill keep on my table, for a memento mori; and that I may never forget the good leſſon, which the percipient who once re⯑ſided in it, had given. It is often the ſub⯑ject of my meditation. When I am alone of an evening, in my cloſet, which is often my caſe, I have the ſkull of John Orton before me, and as I ſmoak a philoſophic pipe, with my eyes faſtened on it, I learn more from the ſolemn object, than I could from the moſt philoſophical and laboured ſpeculations. What a wild and hot head once: how cold and ſtill now; poor ſkull, I ſay: and what was the end of all thy daring frolics and gambols — thy licentiouſneſs and impiety? — A ſevere and bitter repentance. In piety and goodneſs John Orton found at laſt that [312]happineſs the world could not give him. There is no real felicity for man, but in reforming all his errors and vices, and entring upon a ſtrict and conſtant courſe of virtue. This only makes life comfortable; renders death ſerene and peaceful; and ſecures eternal joy and bleſſedneſs hereafter. Such are the leſ⯑ſons I extract from the ſkull of John Orton.

53. An inven⯑tory of the goods of John Or⯑ton.

When I had ſupped, I went about, to ſee what things Mr. Orton had left behind him in his little cottage, and I found a field bed-ſtead large enough for two, with a mat⯑traſs, ſilk blankets, quilt, and cotton cur⯑tains; two oak ſtools, and a ſtrong ſquare table of the ſame wood. An oak ſettee, on which his bones lay; a ſilver lamp to burn oil in; a tinder-box and matches; a caſe of razors; ſix handſome knives and forks in a caſe; half a dozen china plates, two china diſhes; and two pint mugs of the ſame ware; half a dozen drinking-glaſſes, a large copper kettle, a braſs ſkillet, two ſilver ſpoons, and a ſilver ladle; in a cheſt were cloaths and linnen, ſhoes and ſtockings, and various uſeful mat⯑ters. There were pens, ink, and paper in a wri⯑ting-deſk, and half a ſcore guineas; and on a ſhelf over it, a dozen good books; three of which were, a large Engliſh bible, Thomas a Kempis, and Sir Walter Raleigh's hiſtory of the world: under the ſhelf hung a plain gold watch, and a large ring ſun-dial. In a dark [313]cloſet, I found a box of ſea-biſkets, many flaſks of oil for eating, and jars of it for the lamp; honey, ſalt, and vinegar; four dozen of quart bottles of meath, and two ſtone bottles, that held three gallons each, full of brandy: this I ſuppoſe was againſt the days of weakneſs or ſickneſs. He had not uſed a pint of this liquor.

Having found theſe things within doors, I proceeded from the houſe to the garden, which lay at a ſmall diſtance from the little thatched manſion, and contained about four acres; it had been very beautifully laid out, and filled with the beſt fruit-trees, and all the vegetables: but it was run to ruin and high weeds, and ſhewed that its owner had been long dead. I ſuppoſe he died ſoon af⯑ter the date of his paper; for, I obſerved, that many prior dates had been ſtruck out; and had he lived after the year 1701, he would, in all probability, have razed that likewiſe, and ſet down 1702. Some ſudden ſickneſs muſt have ſeized him; and perhaps, when he found himſelf ſinking, he laid him⯑ſelf out naked on the wooden couch where I found his ſkeleton. I can no otherwiſe ac⯑count for his having no kind of covering over him. As to his bones being ſo clean, that to be ſure was performed by the ants. I took notice of many neſts here of the larger ants, in holes under the roots of great trees.

[314]That the piſmires are the beſt preparers of a ſkeleton is not only certain from the account the miſſionaries give of the coming on of the ants in Pegu; when in one night's time, the vaſt ſwarms of them that approach, re⯑duce every human creature they can faſten on to clean bones; which makes the people ſet fire to their habitations, when they have notice given them by a kind of ſmall mon⯑key they keep for the purpoſe of the motion of this terrible enemy: but it is plain from what I have often experimented.

When I want to make a ſkeleton of any ſmall animal, I put the dead creature in a box with holes in it among the ants, in their habitations, or neſts, or in ſuch parts of the houſe as a whole tribe will often march to, through ſeveral rooms, in one track or cer⯑tain road, to eat ſugar or ſweatmeats they have diſcovered, and then in two or three days, they will perform what the fineſt knife cannot execute. The big ants which are larger than a common houſe fly, and are ſeldom leſs than ſix thouſand in a neſt, will clear the bones of a rat in half a night's time.

There was a pretty little wooden ſummer-houſe in the centre of the garden, and in it had been in pots ſome curious plants and flowers. Here were various tools, and many inſtruments of gardening. It appeared from [315]them, and the great variety of things in the ground, that Mr. Orton muſt have uſed himſelf to hard labour, and found great pleaſure in his improvements and produc⯑tions. There was a deal of art and ingenuity to be traced in the wild wilderneſs the garden was grown into. It was plain from a book, called the Carthuſian gardener, which lay on a table in the ſummer-houſe, that he had made that buſineſs his ſtudy. Round this ſummer-houſe were the remains of many hives on benches, but the bees were all gone, and the ſtock ruined.

54. A ſcheme.

All theſe things, and the place, ſet me a thinking, and ſoon ſuggeſted to my fancy, that in my condition, I could not do better than ſucceed Mr. Orton on the pre⯑miſſes; but, without turning hermit. Here is (I ſaid) a pretty ſmall thatched manſion, that might eaſily be enlarged, if more rooms were wanting; and a garden, which labour would ſoon reſtore to its uſefulneſs and beau⯑ty, and make it produce the beſt vegetables in plenty. Here is fiſh in the waters, fowl of every kind, and deer on the mountains. Here are goats in great herds, for milk, for kids, and when cut, for excellent veniſon. Here is the fineſt water, and by getting bees, as Mr. Orton had, meath may be made that will be equal to the beſt foreign wine. As to the ſituation, it is moſt delightful. No⯑thing [316]can be more charming than theſe ſhores and breaking waters, the rocky precipices and the woody hills, which ſurround this little region. What then ſhould hinder but that I here ſit down, and put an end to my adventures; as the few things that are want⯑ing may be had at the next town, and a ſtock for years be in a few days ſecured? The man I am looking for may never be found; and if I ſhould meet with him, his circumſtances and temper may be changed: then, as to the world, I know not how to deal in any kind of buſineſs; and to live on the ſmall fortune in my poſſeſſion, muſt reduce me to poverty very ſoon. Here then it is good for me to reſide, and make myſelf as happy as I can, if it be not in my power to be as happy as I would. I have two lads with me, who are active, uſeful young men, willing to work, and pleaſed to ſtay where⯑ever I am; and if I can commence a matri⯑monial relation with ſome ſenſible, good-humoured, dear delightful girl of the moun⯑tains, and perſuade her to be the chearful partner of my ſtill life, nature and reaſon will create the higheſt ſcenes of felicity, and we ſhall live as it were in the ſuburbs of heaven. My lads too may pick up among the hills, upon ſcripture principles, two bouncing females: and a ſtate will in a little time be formed. This is fine. For [317]once in my life I am fortunate. And ſup⯑poſe, this partner I want in my ſolitude could be Miſs Melmoth, one of the wiſeſt and moſt diſcreet of women; a thinking bloom, and good-humour itſelf in a human figure; then indeed I muſt be happy in this ſilent, romantic ſtation. This ſpot of earth would then have all the felicities. — Reſolved. Concluſum eſt contra Manicheos, ſaid the great St. Auſtin, and with a thump of his fiſt, he cracked the table.

55. A fine rural ſcene.

Thus was my head employed, while I ſmoaked a pipe after ſupper, and I deter⯑mined to return to Orton's manſion, after I had found a way out of Stanemore: but the previous queſtion was, how I ſhould get out of the place I was in, without going back, as there appeared no paſſage onwards. I tried every angle the next morning, to no pur⯑poſe, and in vain attempted ſome hills that were too ſteep for the horſes. Down then again I went to the bottom of the black and narrow glin afore-mentioned, and with lights obſerved the rumbling deep river. It appeared more frightful than the firſt time I ſaw it, and there was no venturing into it. This troubled me not a little, as the water was not above eight yards broad, and there was an aſcending glin on the other ſide of it, that appeared to riſe into a fine woody coun⯑try. It was not half the length of that we [318]had deſcended, nor near ſo ſteep; it began to widen at the diſtance of a hundred yards from the water, ſo as to ſhew, at the ſum⯑mit, a fine plain encompaſſed with a ſweep of foreſt. We could ſee the ſun ſhining there. The view in contraſt was quite charming.

For ſome time I ſtood in this perplexed condition by the water-ſide, and could not tell what to do, when one of the lads came running to me, to let me know, that as he carefully examined the ſides of the glin we came down, he diſcovered to the left, about fourſcore yards above the river, a paſs wide enough for one horſe to go through, and he believed it was a way out. This was reviving news, and upon going into it, I found that it went ſtraight on among the mountains, like a rent, or open crack, for three hundred yards, and then turned to the left for about fifty more, when it winded a little, and be⯑gan to extend wider and wider every yard, till it brought us by ſeveral turnings to the beginning of a fine valley, where we again found the river we had ſeen in the bottom of the deep glin, and perceived that it ended in a great water, and went off in ſome ſub⯑terranean way. The mountains were almoſt cloſe to this fine water, on either hand, for near half a mile, and made a delightful rural [319]ſcene. We could ſee the river, as we looked up it, come tumbling on for a great way be⯑tween the ſteep rocky precipices; and the broad bright lake it formed between vaſt frowning mountains, with wood and lawns in it, at the end of the vale, were altogether a view moſt charming. This made me more highly value Orton-Lodge.

56. A deſcrip⯑tion of an extraordi⯑nary cave in Stane⯑more.

There is a cave there likewiſe that adds great beauty to the place, and in charms and wonders, exceeds the grot of Tunis, (a few miles eaſt of Carthage, directly under Cape-Bonn, formerly called the promontory of Mercury), where Aeneas ſheltered after the ſtorm ^(25.); and St. Donat's Cave in Gla⯑morganſhire, [320]which is much more beautiful, [321]than the African grot deſcribed in the firſt Aeneid. ^(26.)

[322]The cave in Stanemore is in the bottom of a perpendicular mountain of a vaſt height, the eaſt ſide of the lake, and four yards from the ſhoar. The entrance is a grand ſweep, high and broad as the grot, that is, in breadth 52 feet, in height 59. It is an hundred and forty ſeven feet long. The ſtone of it is ex⯑tremely beautiful; of a yellow and reddiſh colour, bright and glittering, and beautifully variegated with arched and undulated veins of various tinges. I broke off a piece of it, and found it a congeries of plates of ſpar, ſtained with a fine mixture of colours. It is a ſpecies of the alabaſter, called Marmor Onychites, on account of its tabulated zones, reſembling thoſe of the Onyx, and is very little inferior to the Aegyptian alabaſter. This Stanemore ſtone is far beyond the Corniſh and Derbyſhire alabaſter. The caverns there are but incruſted with a ſparry ſubſtance, as I have found upon various examinations; and, [323]as is evident to every eye that ſees the work⯑men making the elegant vaſes and chimney-columns we have of the alabaſter of thoſe counties: whereas in Stanemore, this alabaſter conſiſts of ſtrata of ſparry ſubſtance, tho' ſomewhat coarſer than this kind of Aegyptian ſtone.

The top of the cave is a bold arch, finiſhed beyond all that art could do, and the floor as ſmooth as it is poſſible to make the ſtone. At the far end of the grot, there are a dozen rows of ſeats like benches, that riſe one above another. The uppermoſt will hold but two people: on each of the others a do⯑zen may ſit with eaſe: they make the place look as if it was the aſſembly room, or coun⯑cil chamber of the water-nymphs. There was no water dropping from the roof of this cave; but in a thouſand places, where moſs had agreeably covered the walls, it crept through the ſides, and formed ſtreams that ran ſofyly over the ground, and weared it ſmooth. It brought to my remembrance ſome very poetical lines in Lucretius:

This was exactly the caſe of the water in this fine cave. In the loweſt harmony, it gently fell over the ſlanting floor, and as Oldham has it—

57. A deſcrip⯑tion of a fine ſeat in Yorkſhire-Stanemore; which be⯑longs to a ſociety of philoſophers.

Such was the delightful ſpot I at laſt diſcovered, when I thought I was come to the ne plus ultra, that is, had gone on till I could go no farther; and now ſeeing how my way lay, I departed from Orton-Lodge be⯑times the next morning, leaving my lad O Fin to keep poſſeſſion of the place till I re⯑turned, 1725. June 19. the 7th day ſince I left Jack Price. and with the other boy went thro' the lawns in the wood I have mentioned at the end of the vale. This brought me to a range of mountains moſt frightful to behold, and to the top of them, with great toil, we made a ſhift to climb, and from thence de⯑ſcended through many perils to a bottom be⯑tween the hills we had come down, and [325]ſome mountains that ſtood at a ſmall diſtance from them. This low ground trended north and north-weſt for an hour, and then turned north-eaſt for three hours more, a very bad way; ſtony and wet, and ſome ſtiff pieces of road: but the bottoms brought us at laſt into a large and ſpacious plain, that was ſur⯑rounded with hills, whoſe tops and ſides were covered with antient trees and lofty groves, and ſome mountains whoſe heads were above the clouds. Flowers and clover, and other herbs, adorned the ground, and it was watered with many never-drying ſtreams. The plain ſeemed a vaſt amphi⯑theatre, by nature formed; and variety and diſpoſition refreſhed the eyes whatever way they turned.

In the very center of this ground, I found a houſe and gardens that charmed me ve⯑ry much. The manſion had a ruſticity and wildneſs in its aſpect, beyond any thing I had ſeen, and looked like a maſs of materials jumbled together without order or deſign. There was no appearance of rule in any part, and where a kind of proportion was to be ſeen, it ſeemed as a ſtart into truth, by the inadvertent head of blind chance. It was the moſt gothick, whimſical, four-fronted thing, without, that ever my eyes beheld; and within, the moſt convenient, comfort⯑able dwelling I have ſeen.

The gar⯑dens of U⯑lubrae. This edifice, which looks more like a ſmall gothic cathedral, than a houſe, ſtands in the middle of large gardens, which are not only very fine, but uncommon, and dif⯑ferent from all the gardens I have been in. There is no more rule obſerved in them, than in the houſe; but the plantations of trees, and plots of flowers, the raiſed hills, the ar⯑tificial vallies, the ſtreams that water theſe vales, and the large pieces of water, and lakes, they have brought in, and formed, are inexpreſſibly charming and fine. Wild and natural they ſeem, and are a beautiful imitation of the moſt beautiful ſcenes of na⯑ture. The wilderneſs, the openings, the parterres, the gardens, the ſtreams, the lakes, the caſcades, the valleys and the riſing grounds, in the moſt various diſpoſition, and as if art had little, or no hand in the deſigns, have an admirable effect upon the eye.

The paſſages from valley to valley, between the hills they have made, are not by formal ſtraight walks, but by windings in various ways, which are decorated with little grotto's,and diverſified in the manner of laying out the ground: the ſtreams and ca⯑nals ſometimes ſerpent, and ſometimes ſpread away. Rocks artfully placed, ſeem to puſh the waters off, and on the banks are ſeeming wild productions of flowers. As the hills and riſings are ſprinkled with flowery trees, [327]ſo are theſe banks with all the ſweets that grow. Small boats are on the running ſtreams, and over them in many places, are winding bridges of wood, moſt ingeniouſly and finely made. Theſe ſtreams which they have from the mountains, ſupply the larger pieces of water; and in the largeſt of thoſe lakes they had raiſed a rock, in the moſt natural man⯑ner. On this is a ſummer-houſe of great beauty. It is the reverſe of the manſion, and has every charm that pure architecture could give it. It is large enough for a ſmall family.

58. An account of the phi⯑loſophers of Stanemore. 1725. June 19. 7th day.

When I came up to this ſeat, which the owners of it call Ulubrae, ſome gentle⯑men, who were in the gardens, ſaw me, and ſaved me the trouble of aſking admiſ⯑ſion, by inviting me in with the greateſt ci⯑vility; but they ſeemed under a vaſt ſurprize at my arrival; and much more ſo, when I gave them an account of the way I had tra⯑velled. It appeared almoſt incredible. They had not a notion of ſuch a journey. They told me I was in Yorkſhire now, and had been ſo, when I aſcended the high mountains that are ſome miles behind the hills that ſur⯑round their houſe; but they did not imagine there was any travelling over thoſe moun⯑tains, and the alps upon alps beyond them, to Brugh under Stanemore. The way (they ſaid) was very bad from their houſe to Eg⯑gleſton, [328]or Bowes, on account of hills, wa⯑ters, and wet bottoms; it was worſe to tra⯑vel northward to Biſhoprick; and ſcarce paſs⯑able to the north eaſt to Cumberland:—What then muſt it be to journey as I had done over the northern fells of Weſtmorland, and the bad part of Yorkſhire-Stanemore I had paſſed.

It was a terrible way (I replied), and what I often deſpaired of coming through, even at the hazard of my life. Frequently we were locked in by chains of precipices, and thought we ſhould never find a paſs: ſome of the mountains were ſo ſteep, that it was with the greateſt difficulty we could lead the horſes up and down them: and many rivers were ſo rapid, and rocky at bottom, that we were often in danger of being loſt: beſide, if fortune had not conducted us to the habi⯑tations of people we little expected to find, we might have periſhed for want of food, as my ſervant could not bring from Brugh pro⯑viſions ſufficient for ſo long and uncertain a way. All theſe difficulties I ſaw very ſoon; in leſs than a day's ride to the north from the Bell on the ſouthern-edge of Stanemore; a little lone public-houſe, that lies half way the turnpike-road, on the left hand, as the traveller goes from Bowes to Brugh, Penrith, and Carliſle: but friendſhip and curioſity were too many for all the obſtacles in the way; and in hopes of finding a beloved [329]friend, who lives ſomewhere towards the northern edge of Yorkſhire, or Weſtmorland, or on the neighbouring confines of Biſhop⯑rick, or Cumberland; and that I might ſee a part of England, which even the borderers on it are ſtrangers to, and of which Camden had not an idea ⁽²⁷⁾ ; I went on, and have had ſucceſs thus far. The journey has been worth my pains. I have beheld the moſt delightful ſcenes, and met with very extraor⯑dinary things: and ſhould I find my friend at laſt, my labours will be highly rewarded indeed.

The gentlemen I was talking to, ſeemed to wonder very much at me and my diſ⯑courſe; and as the reſt of the ſociety by this time came into the parlour, they introduced me to them, and then related what I had [330]ſaid. They all allowed it was very extraor⯑dinary, and requeſted I would oblige them with ſome particulars that occurred. I did immediately. I told them, among other things, of my reception at Burcot-Lodge—and the ſkeleton of John Orton which I found in the cottage on the ſide of a woody hill: I let them know the goods and conveniencies I ſaw there, and that I was ſo pleaſed with the beauties of the place, the little manſion, the once fine gardens, and the uſeful things on the premiſſes, that I intended to return to it, and make it my ſummer retreat: that I had left a man there to that purpoſe, who was at work in the garden, and expected to be back in a month's time, with ſuch things as were wanting to make it an agreeable and comfortable little country-houſe.

The philoſophers wondered not a little at what they heard. If they were ſurprized at ſeeing me as a traveller in ſuch a place, they were much more aſtoniſhed at my relation. They could not enough admire Mrs. Burcot and Mrs. Fletcher. The hiſtory of the pe⯑nitent Orton, they thought very ſtrange. They told me they were glad I had a thought of making Orton-Lodge a ſummer retreat, and hoped it would occaſion my calling upon them many times: that I ſhould always be heartily welcome to their houſe, and might with leſs difficulty go backwards and for⯑wards, [331]as their lodge was at my ſervice, whenever I was pleaſed to do them the favor to call. This was civil, and I returned them the thanks they deſerved.

Here dinner was brought in, and with theſe gentlemen I ſat down to ſeveral excel⯑lent diſhes. There was the beſt of every kind of meat and drink, and it was ſerved up in the moſt elegant manner: their wine in particular was old and generous, and they gave it freely. We took a chearful glaſs after dinner, and laughed a couple of hours away in a delightful manner. They were quite polite, friendly and obliging; and I ſoon found, in converſing with them, that they were men of great reading, and greater abilities. Philoſophy had not ſaddened their tempers. They were as lively companions, as they were wiſe and learned men.

Theſe gentlemen are twenty in number, men of fortune, who had agreed to live to⯑gether, on the plan of a college deſcribed by Mr. Evelyn in his letter to Mr. Boyle ^* ; but, with this difference, that they have no chap⯑lain, may riſe when they pleaſe, go and come as they think fit, and are not obliged to cul⯑tivate every one his garden. Every member lays down a hundred pounds on the firſt day of the year, and out of that fund they live, [332]pay their ſervants, keep their horſes, and purchaſe every thing the ſociety requires. What is wanting at home, this ſtoek pro⯑duces, and is to be expended only at Ulubrae, for every thing neceſſary and comfortable, except raiment and horſes. When they are abroad, it is at a plus-expence.

I call theſe gentlemen philoſophers, becauſe, excluſive of their good morals, they devote the principal part of their time to natural philoſophy and mathematicks, and had, when I firſt ſaw them, made a great number of fine experiments and obſervations in the works of nature, tho' they had not been a ſociety for more than four years. They make records of every thing extraordinary which come within their cogniſance, and regiſter every experiment and obſervation. I ſaw ſe⯑veral fine things in their tranſactions, and a⯑mong them a moſt ingenious and new me⯑thod of determining expeditiouſly the tan⯑gents of curve lines; which you know, ma⯑thematical reader, is a very prolix calculus, in the common way: and as the determina⯑tion of the tangents of curves is of the great⯑eſt uſe, becauſe ſuch determinations exhibit the quadratures of curvilinear ſpaces, an eaſy method in doing the thing, is a promotion of geometry in the beſt manner. The rule is this.

59. A rule to determine expedi⯑tiouſly, the tangents of curve lines.

Suppoſe B D E the curve, B C the ab⯑ciſſa = x, C D the ordinate = y, A B the tan⯑gent line = t, and the nature of the curve be ſuch, that the greateſt power of y ordinate be on one ſide of the equation; then y3 = − x3 − xxy + xyy − a3 + aay − aax + axx − ayy: but if the greateſt power of y be wanting, the terms muſt be put = 0.

Then make a fraction and numerator; the numerator, by taking all the terms, wherein the known quantity is, with all their ſigns; and if the known quantity be of one dimenſion, to pre⯑fix unity, and of two, 2, if of three, 3, and you will have − 3a3 + 2aay − 2aax + axx − ayy:

The fraction, by aſſuming the terms wherein the abſciſſa x occurs, and retaining the ſigns, and if the quantity x be of one dimenſion, to prefix unity, as above, etc, etc; and then it will be − 3x3 − 2xxy + xyy − aax + 2axx: [334]then diminiſh each of theſe by x, and the deno⯑minator will be − 3xx − 2xy + yy − aa + 2ax.

This fraction is equal to A B, and therefore t is = − 3a3 + 2aay − 2aax + axx − ayy/− 3xx − 2xy + yy − aa + 2ax In this eaſy way may the tangents of all geometri⯑cal curves be exhibited; and I add, by the ſame method, if you are ſkilful, may the tangents of infinite mechanical curves be determined. — Many other fine things, in the mathematical way, I looked over in the journal of theſe gen⯑tlemen. I likewiſe ſaw them perform ſeveral extraordinary experiments.

60. Microſco⯑pical obſer⯑vations made at U⯑lubrae.

They make all the mathematical inſtru⯑ments they uſe, and have brought the micro⯑ſcope in particular, to greater perfection than I have elſewhere ſeen it. They have them of all kinds, of one and more hemiſpherules, and from the invented ſpherule of Cardinal de Medicis, not exceeding the ſmalleſt pearl placed in a tube, to the largeſt that can be uſed. They had im⯑proved the double reflecting microſcope, much farther than Marſhal's is by Culpepper and Scar⯑let, and made ſeveral good alterations in the ſo⯑lar or camera obſcura microſcope; and in the catoptric microſcope, which is made on the model of the Newtonian teleſcope.

61. Colours in the micro⯑ſcope.

In one of their beſt double reflecting optical inſtruments, I had a better view of the variety and true mixture of colours than ever I ſaw before. The origins and mixtures were finely viſible. In a common green rib⯑bon, the yellow, the light red and a blue, appeared diſtinct and very plain: the lively green was a yellow and blue: in a ſea green, more blue than yellow: the yellow was a light red and a pellucid white: All the phoe⯑nomena of colours were here to be found out.

62. Works of art in the microſcope.

In this inſtrument, the fineſt point of a needle appeared more blunt and unequal, and more like a broken nail, than I had before ſeen it—the fineſt edge of a razor was like the back of a dog, with the hair up:— the fineſt paper, was great hairs, cavities, and inequalities—and the ſmootheſt plate of glaſs, was very rough, full of cracks, fiſſures and inequalities. Very different, indeed, are the things finiſhed by human art, from the things finiſhed by the hand of nature. The points, the edges, the poliſh, the angles, every thing that nature produces, appear in the inſtrument in a perfection that aſtoniſhes the beholder.

63. The vege⯑table king⯑dom in a microſcope.

In the views I here took of the vege⯑table world, with my eye thus armed, I ſaw many extraordinary things I had never ob⯑ſerved before. I took notice, in particular, [336]that a ſage leaf is covered with a kind of cobweb, in which ſwarms of little active creatures, with terrible horns and piercing eyes, are buſily employed: a mulberry leaf was an amazing flexus or net-work: we can ſee but 9 ribs on the ſigillum Solomonis; whereas my armed eye perceived here 74: in a nettle I obſerved its whole ſurface co⯑vered over with needles of the moſt perfect poliſh, An account of a nettle in the dou⯑ble reflect⯑ing micro⯑ſcope. every one of which had three points, (points very different from our fineſt points, not flat, but to perfection ſharp); and that theſe needles reſted on a baſe, which was a bag of a flexible ſubſtance, in form of a wild cucumber, and filled with a ſharp, poiſonous liquor: this is diſcharged at the extremity of every point of the needles that cover the ſur⯑face of the nettle: from a hole viſible in eve⯑ry point the poiſon is thrown out, and ex⯑cites a ſenſe of pain; and a heat ariſes as the blood flows more copiouſly to the wounded part: By preſſing with my finger the extre⯑mity of the prickles, the bag of poiſon fell; and on taking off the finger, it ſwelled again.—What a piece of workmanſhip is here in a nettle! Wonderful are thy works, O Lord God Almighty!

A ſorrel leaf, and buds of french bean and almond in a micro⯑ſcope. A leaf of ſorrel in this microſcope exhi⯑bited to my eye oblong, rough and ſtraight atoms, ſharp as needles, and from thence the tongue is twinged. In a bud cut away with [337]a fine needle from a ſteeped ſeed of a french bean, I ſaw the intire plant; and in an al⯑mond ſo cut away, the perfect tree. Many other wonderful things I obſerved of the ve⯑getable kingdom, in the microſcopes of theſe gentlemen.

64. A louſe and flea in a mi⯑croſcope.

As to the animal kingdom, my ob⯑ſervations on it, in the optical inſtruments at Ulubrae, were ſo many, that I could fill a vo⯑lume with the things I ſaw: but, as I have little room or time to ſpare, I ſhall only mention two or three.—In the double re⯑flecting teleſcope, a louſe and a flea were put; which are creatures that hate each other as much as ſpiders do, and fight to death when they meet. The flea appeared firſt in the box, A deſcrip⯑tion of a flea. and as he was magnified very great⯑ly, he looked like a locuſt without wings; with a roundiſh body, that is obtuſe at the end, and the breaſt covered with an armature of a triangular figure; the head ſmall in pro⯑portion to its body, but the eyes large, red, and very fierce; his ſix legs were long, ro⯑buſt, and made for leaping; the antennae ſhort, but firm and ſharp; its tail was ſcaly, and full of ſtings, and its mouth pointed in⯑to active pincers: his colour was a deep pur⯑ple.

The louſe. The louſe in white was next brought on, and had a well-ſhaped, oblong indented bo⯑dy: his ſix legs were ſhort, made for walk⯑ing [338]and running, and each of them armed at the extremity with two terrible claws: the head was large, and the eyes very ſmall and black: its horns were ſhort and jointed, and could be thruſt forward with a ſpring. Its ſnout was pointed, and opened, contracted, and penetrated, in a wonderful manner.

65. A battle in a microſ⯑cope be⯑tween a louſe and a flea.

The firſt that was brought on the ſtage was the flea, and to ſhew us what an active one he was, he ſprung and bounced at a ſtrange rate: the velocity of his motions in leaping, were aſtoniſhing; and ſometimes, he would tumble over and over in a wanton way: but the moment the louſe appeared, he ſtood ſtock ſtill, gathered himſelf up, and fixed his flaſhing eyes on his foe. The gal⯑lant louſe did with a frown for ſome time be⯑hold him, and then crouching down, began very ſoftly to move towards him, when the flea gave a leap on his enemy, and with his dangerous tail and pinching mouth, began the battle with great fury: but the louſe ſoon made him quit his hold, by hurting him with his claws, and wounding him with his ſharp ſnout. This made the flea ſkip to the other ſide of the box, and they both kept at a diſtance for near a minute, looking with great indignation at each other, and offering ſeveral times to advance. The louſe did it at laſt in a race, and then the flea flew at him, which produced a battle as terrible as [339]ever was fought by two wild beaſts. Every part of their bodies were in moſt violent mo⯑tion, and ſometimes the flea was uppermoſt, but more frequently the louſe. They did bite, and thruſt, and claw one another moſt furiouſly, and the conſequence of the dread⯑ful engagement was, that the flea expired, and the louſe remained victor in the box: but he was ſo much wounded, that he could ſcarce walk.—This battle was to me a very ſurprizing thing, as each of them was mag⯑nified to the ſize of two feet: But conſider⯑ing what ſpecs or atoms of animated matter they were, it was aſtoniſhing to reflexion to behold the amazing mechaniſm of theſe two minute things, which appeared in their exer⯑tions during the fray. It was ſtill more ſtrange to ſee the averſion theſe ſmall crea⯑tures had to each other, the paſſions that worked in their little breaſts, and the judge⯑ment they ſhewed in their endeavours to de⯑ſtroy one another. It is indeed a wonderful affair: nor was it the leaſt part of my admi⯑ration to ſee through the extraordinary tranſ⯑parencies of the louſe, the violent circulation of the blood in its heart. This was as plane to my eye, as red liquor forced by a pump in ſeveral experiments through circulating glaſs pipes.—As to the dead flea, it was opened, and by the camera obſcura or ſolar microſcope, (which magnifies the picture of [340]ſuch a body as a flea, to eight feet) ⁽²⁸⁾ we ſaw the inteſtines diſtinguiſhed and arranged in a manner that cannot be enough admired. It was full of eggs, and in every egg were many half-formed young ones.

66. Spiders in the great double mi⯑croſcope.

The water aranea, or great water ſpi⯑der, was next put in, and made a wonderful appearance in his greatly magnified ſtate. It is the largeſt of the ſpider kind, except the native of Apulia, called the Tarantula, and [341]is furniſhed at the head with a hard black forceps, which reſembles that of the Apulian araneus: the colour of its oval body is a blueiſh black, and has a tranſverſe line and two ſpots hollowed in it: its eight legs are very long, the joints large, and the little bones of the feet have different articulations: it was armed with briſtles like a boar, and had claws very black, not unlike an eagle: it had eight eyes, and ſix of them were diſ⯑poſed in form of a half moon on the fore⯑head; the other two were on the crown of the head; one to the left, the other to the right: This diſpoſition affords light to the whole body, and as theſe eyes are well fur⯑niſhed with cryſtalline humours, they are ſharp-ſighted beyond all creatures, and ſo nimbly hunt down flies: the mouth was full of teeth, and they looked like ſhort thick hairs.

In oppoſition to this amphibious creature, which walks on the mud at the bottom of ſtanding waters, as well as on the banks, the ſilvery-green bodied ſpider was put into the box, which is one of the claſs that lives in the woods, where it ſquats down on the branches of trees, and throws four of its legs forward, and four backward, extending them ſtraight along the bough; but the great water aranea, with his terrible wea⯑pon, the black forceps, in a minute deſtroyed [342]it, and we took the dead body out, to put in its place the red and yellow ſpider, which is a larger and ſtronger kind: this made a battle for two minutes, and hurt his foe: but he could not ſtand it longer: he expired at the victor's feet.

A reflexion on the works of nature as ſeen in the microſcope. Theſe things were a fine entertainment to me, as I had not before ſeen a ſolar, catoptric, or improved double-reflecting microſcope. I had now a nearer view of the ſkilful works of the ſupreme Artificer. With admiration I beheld the magnified objects — the won⯑derful arrangement of the inteſtines of a flea — the motion and ebullition of the blood of a louſe — their forms — the various ſpiders, ſo aſtoniſhingly framed — the gnat, that elephant in ſo ſmall a miniature — the amazing form of the ant — the aſtoniſhing claws and beautiful wings of a fly; the bones, nerves, arteries, veins, and moving blood in this very minute animal — the wonderful bee, its claws, its colours, and diſtinct rows of teeth, with which it ſips the flowers, and carries the honey home in its ſtomach, but brings the wax externally on its thighs — and a thouſand other things which manifeſt a Creator. In every object I viewed in the optical inſtruments, my eyes beheld one wiſe Being and ſupreme cauſe of all things. Every inſect, herb, and ſpire of graſs, declare eternal power and godhead. [343]Not only the ſpeech and language of the heavens, but of all the works and parts of nature is gone out into all the earth, and to the ends of the world; loudly proclaim⯑ing, that thou, O God, art Lord alone: Thou haſt made heaven, the heaven of hea⯑vens, and all their hoſts; the earth, and all things that are therein; therefore be thou our Lord God for ever and ever.

67. The library at Ulubrae.

The library belonging to theſe gen⯑tlemen is a very fine one, and contains many thouſand volumes; but is much more valua⯑ble for the intrinſick merit, than the number of the books: and as to antient manuſcripts, there is a large ſtore of great value: they had likewiſe many other curious monuments of antiquity; ſtatues, paintings, medals, and coins, ſilver, gold, and braſs. To deſcribe thoſe fine things would require a volume. Among the books, I ſaw the editions of the old authors, by the famous printers of the fifteenth and ſixteenth centuries; editions greatly prized and ſought after by moſt of the learned; but theſe gentlemen did not value them ſo much as the editions of the claſſicks, that have been publiſhed within this laſt century; eſpecially the quarto edi⯑tions done in Holland. They ſhewed me many errors in the Greek authors by the Ste⯑phens: and as to Plantin, excluſive of his negligence, in ſeveral places, his Italic cha⯑racter [344]they thought far inferior to the Roman, in reſpect of beauty. All this was true: and it is moſt certain, that the beſt corrected books are the beſt editions of the claſſicks. They are the beſt helps for our underſtanding them. There is no reaſon then for laying out ſo much money for the old editions, when in reality the modern ones are better.

68. An account of the bock called Vin⯑diciae con⯑tra Tyran⯑nes.

One of the books in this library, which I chanced to take into my hand was the famous Vindiciae contra Tyrannos, which came out in Latin and French in 1579, under the name of Stephanus Junius Brutus, and is a defence of liberty againſt tyrants. — This treatiſe proves, in the firſt place, that ſub⯑jects are not bound to obey princes, if they command that which is againſt the law of God; as the worſhip of a conſecrated wafer, and the theology of St. Athanaſius, mariona⯑latry, the demonalatry, and all the diaboliſm of popery; — 2dly, That it is lawful to reſiſt a prince, who, like James the Second, en⯑deavours to ruin the true church, and make the ſuperſtition of Rome the religion of the land; — 3dly, That it is lawful to reſiſt a prince, when he oppreſſes and ſtrives to ruin a ſtate; as when Charles the Firſt would exerciſe a power contrary to the intereſt of his people, contrary likewiſe to that of the [345]proteſtant religion ^(29.) ; and when James the Second began his tyranny, by diſpenſing with the penal ſtatute of 25 Car. 2. in the [346]caſe of Sir Edward Hales, notwithſtanding the true religion, the honour of Almighty God, the ſaſety of the government, and the [347]public good and peace of the nation depend upon this act of 25 Car. 2. — and 4thly, That neighbour princes or ſtates may be, or [348]are bound by law, to give ſuccours to the ſubjects of other princes, afflicted for the cauſe of true religion, or oppreſſed by ma⯑nifeſt [349]tyranny. Theſe truths are finely proved in this extraordinary book. The excellent author evinces, that juſtice requires, [350]that tyrants and deſtroyers of the common⯑wealth be compelled to reaſon. Charity challenges the right of relieving and reſtor⯑ing the oppreſſed. Thoſe that make no ac⯑count of theſe things, do as much as in them lies to drive piety, juſtice, and charity out of this world, that they may never more be heard of.

Who was the author of the Vin⯑diciae con⯑tra Tyran⯑nos. I aſked one of theſe gentlemen, if he knew who was the author of this book; for it was aſcribed to various men: — he told me, that the learned Hubert Languet was the reputed author, as we find in De la Mare's elogium upon him; but De la Mare was miſinformed by Legoux. The great Du Pleſſis ^(30.) was the author. D'Au⯑bigne [357] ⁽³¹⁾ , whoſe word is ſterling, affirms it. See here (Mr. Seymour ſaid) the 2d vo⯑lume of D'Aubigne's hiſtory, book 2. ch. 2. p. 108, il paroiſſoit un autre livre qui s'ap⯑pelloit [358]Junius, on défenſe contre les tyrans, fait par M. Du Pleſſis, renommé pour plu⯑ſieurs excellens livres. — And, (tom. 1. l. 2. ch. 15. pag. 91.) D'Aubigné dits, que M. du Pleſſis lui a avoué qu'il en eſtoit l'au⯑teur.

69. Account of the author of the fa⯑mous book de libe tate eccleſia⯑ſtica.

Another extraordinary book I ſaw in this library, was the famous piece de libertate eccleſiaſtica, written againſt the papal uſur⯑pations, at the time his holineſs, Camille Borghenſe, commonly called Paul V, had the memorable conteſt with the Venetians; and upon enquiring, who was the author of this ſcarce and valuable work; that was ſuperior even to Father Paul's book upon the ſame ſubject, in defence of the liberties of man⯑kind; Mr. Trenchard the preſident of the ſociety, ſhewed me Cappel's aſſertion of the true Faith againſt Roſweius the jeſuit. And in it the following paſſage, pag. 17. — In eccleſiaſtica antiquitate quam non eſſet Tyro Caſaubonus, docuit A. D. 1607. libro ſingulari de libertate eccleſiaſtica, cujus jam paginae 264. typis erant editae, cum rex Henricus IV. Compoſitis jam Venetorum cum pontifice Romano contro⯑verſiis, vetuit ultra progredi, et hoc ipſum quod fuerat inchoatum, ſupprimi voluit, ut ejus pauca nunc extent exemplaria. — And in the ſame book, I ſaw ſome manuſcript [359]references to Caſaubon's lettres, p. 628. 632, and 647. edit. Hag. — and to one place in Scaliger's letters, p. 345. ed. 1627. — Several places I turned to, and ſaw that Ca⯑ſaubon hinted to his friends, that he was the author of the book De Eccleſiaſtica Anti⯑quitate: and that Scaliger affirmed it ^(32.) — [360]The words— Vetuit ultra progredi, et hos ipſum quod fuerat inchoatum ſupprimi voluit— accounts for this being publiſhed imperfect; which all that ſee it wonder at.

70.

Many other extraordinary books and manuſcripts I ſaw in this library, and a great number of fine curioſities; but I can only mention one particular more. Engraven on a beautiful Cornelian, I ſaw the Roman god of bounds, with theſe words, Concedo nulli: and one of the gentlemen aſked me, what I ſup⯑poſed the meaning of this deſign? The em⯑blem (I anſwered) was a very juſt one, and in my opinion meant, that truth muſt never be given up. That (it was replied) was not the meaning of it, tho' my thought was not unjuſt. The deſign is to put one in mind of death, of which terminus is the juſteſt [362]emblem; and he ſays, Concedo nulli, I favour none, I ſuffer none to paſs the limit. There is (continued the gentleman) a little curious hiſtory depends on this. Here is a gold me⯑dallion, on one ſide of which you ſee the image of the great Eraſmus, and on the other this fancy; which he always wore in a ring, and from thence I had the medallion ſtruck. Eraſmus aſked the famous Carvajal, the Spaniſh cordelier, (juſt as I did you) what the meaning of this ring was. Carvajal, who had had ſome conteſts with Eraſmus, and hated him greatly, ſaid it owed its be⯑ing, without all peradventure, to the pride of Eraſmus, and meant, that he would ne⯑ver yield, right or wrong, to any one in the republic of letters. Eraſmus anſwered, that his explication was quite wrong, and that, on the contrary, he uſed the device, to kill his pride, and put him in mind of death, which ſuffers not the greateſt men to paſs the ſhort limit of time allotted them. This pleaſed me much, and I reſolved to get the fancy on a cornelian for a ſeal.

71. An account of ſeveral ſubterra⯑nean cham⯑bers, and an aſcent in the inſide of a moun⯑tain from the bottom to the top.

Another extraordinary thing theſe gentlemen ſhewed me was a hole leading to ſome wonderful caverns in the ſide of a mountain, about a mile to the north of their houſe. It reſembles at the entrance, Pen⯑park-hole, [363]in Glouceſterſhire ⁽³³⁾ , within three miles of Briſtol; but with this differ⯑ence, that Penpark-hole was once a lead ore pit, and one is let down by ropes through two tunnels, to the chamber; whereas the entrance of the place I am ſpeaking of is the work of nature, a ſteep and narrow deſcent of twenty-three yards, which I went down by having a rope under my arm, and ſetting my hands and feet againſt the ſides of the [364]paſſage, till I came to a flat rough rock, which opened 2 yards and a half one way, and 4 yards the other way. This little cavern was two yards high. We went from it into a more eaſy ſloping way, which brought us down⯑ward for thirteen yards, till we came to ano⯑ther cavern, that was ſix yards long, and four and a half broad. Here we found a perpendicular tunnel, two yards wide, and ſixty-ſeven yards deep; but where it went to, and what cauſed the noiſe below, the gentlemen who came thus far with me, could not tell; for they had never ventured into it, nor could they perſuade any of their people to be let down to the bottom, tho' they had found by the lead that there was hard ground below. I will then, (I ſaid) explore this ſubterranean realm, if you will let me and my lad down, with proper con⯑veniences for an enquiry of the kind, and I dare ſay I will give you a good account of the region below. This (they anſwered) was not ſafe for me to do. I might periſh many ways. The damps and vapours might kill me at once; or my lights by them might be put out, or kindle the vapour of the place below. But to this I ſaid, that I was ſure the noiſe we heard at the bottom was ſome running water, and wherever that was in the caverns of the earth, the air muſt be [365]pure and good. So Mr. Boyle ſays in his general hiſtory of the air; and ſo I have often found it in my deſcents to the deepeſt mines. — As you pleaſe then; (the gentlemen re⯑plied): you ſhall have every thing you can deſire, and be let down very ſafely, however you may fare when you get to the ground: and when you want to come up, pull the packthread you have in your hand, that will be tied to a bell at the top of the tunnel, and you ſhall be immediately drawn up again. Theſe things being agreed, they let me down in a proper baſket the next morning at eight o'clock, with a lighted torch in my hand, and ſoon after my man Ralph followed with every thing I had required. I was more than half an hour going down, for the rope was given like a jack line from the engine it came from. I ſaw ſeveral diſmal lateral holes by the way; but no miſchief or inconvenience did I meet with in my paſſage to the ground.

When I came to the bottom, 1725. June 20. 8th day from my leaving Jack Price's. I found I was in a chamber of a great extent, and tho' 103 yards from the day, breathed as free as if I had been above ground. A little river made a noiſe in its fall from a high rock, within four yards of the ſpot I landed on, and ran with impetuoſity in a rough channel I knew not where. The water was not deep, as we found with our poles, and but three yards broad, and there⯑fore [366]we croſſed it, at 100 yards from the fall, to get into a cavern that had an arched en⯑trance, on the other ſide, within two yards of the ſtream. Our courſe to the croſſing was due weſt, and then we went to the north, on paſſing the water, and walking up the ſecond cave.

In it we aſcended for 79 yards, an eaſy riſing way, and then came to a ſwallow, in⯑to which a river that ran towards us fell. Our courſe to this place was due north, but as the flood came from the weſt, we turned next to that point, and by the ſide of this water marched 50 yards. The cavern was ſo wide we could not ſee the walls, and the roof was of a vaſt height.

At the end of the 50 yards, the river ap⯑peared due north again, and by its ſide we went for 10 more, till we came to another vaſt cavern, that was a ſteep aſcending open⯑ing, down which the river very muſically came. This place was ſo like Pool's-hole, that I might think myſelf in the Peak. It was juſt ſuch another grand opening, up the inſide of a mountain, and had not only the deſcending flood, but as many beautiful ſtalactical concretions on the riſing way; which formed the moſt beautiful pillars, walls, and figures of the fineſt carved work; but in this it differed from Pools-hole, that the aſ⯑cending [367]opening in Richmondſhire is much wider; the rough, open ſteep, much higher to the roof; and this ſteep reaches to the ſummit of the vaſt hills, and ends in an opening in day. We came out this way on the top of an exceeding high mountain, after we had climbed from the bottom to the upper end 479 yards ⁽³⁴⁾ : add to this 229 yards, the way we had come from the bot⯑tom of the tunnel to the beginning of the watery ſteep, and our march through the [368]mountain, from the time we parted with the gentlemen, to our getting out at the top of it, was 708 yards.

This was a laborious route, and at the ha⯑zard of our lives, many times, performed. Once, in particular, my lad Ralph fell into the river with his torch in the great aſcent, and in ſtriving to ſave his life, I loſt the other light I carried in my hand. This reduced us to a ſtate of the blackeſt darkneſs, and in that condition, we could not ſtir. It was a horrible ſcene. It chilled my blood, and curdled it in my veins: but I had a tinder-box, matches, and wax-candle, in my pocket, and ſoon recovered the deſir⯑able light; at which we lit other torches, and proceeded to aſcend the rough and rocky ſteep, till we came to the fountain that made the deſcending flood. The opening upwards from that became very narrow, and the ſlant ſo great, that it was extremely difficult to go on; but as I could ſee the day at the end of it, I reſolved to ſtrive hard, and mount, if poſſible, theſe remaining 60 yards. In ſhort, we did the work. As before related, we [369]came out this way, and from the diſmal ca⯑verns of night aſcended to a delightful plain; from which we again beheld the glorious ſun, and had the fineſt points of view. It was by this time noon, and under the ſhade of ſome aged trees, that grew on the banks of a great lake, on the ſummit of this vaſt hill, I ſat down to ſome bread and wine I had brought with me for relief. Never was repaſt more ſweet. I was not only fa⯑tigued very much; but, had been in fear as to my ever climbing up, and knew not how to get down, when I had mounted two thirds of the way. The deſcent was a thouſand times more dangerous than the going to⯑wards the top.

72. We de⯑ſcended from the top of the mountain, we had travelled through, and arrive at Mr. Har⯑court's houſe.

When I had done, I walked about to ſee if there was any way down the moun⯑tain's ſides, to go to Ulubrae, from whence I came; but for miles it was a frightful per⯑pendicular rock, next that place, and im⯑poſſible for a goat to deſcend; and on the ſide that faced Biſhoprick, and a fine country houſe and gardens, about a quarter of a mile off, in a delightful valley, that extended with all the beauties of wood and lawn, meadow and water, from the foot of the mountain I was on, the precipice here was a terrible way for a man to venture down; but it was poſſible to do it with a long pole, at [370]the hazard of his life, as the rocks projected in many places, and the ſide went ſloping off; and therefore I reſolved to deſcend. I could not think of going back the way I came; ſince I had got ſafe into day again, I thought it better to riſk my limbs in the face of the ſun, than periſh as I might do in the black and diſmal inſide of thoſe tremendous hills. Beſides, the houſe in my view, might be perhaps the one I wanted. It was poſſible my friend Turner might live there.

With art and caution then I began to de⯑ſcend, and ſo happily took every offered ad⯑vantage of jutting rock and path in my way, that without any accident I got in ſafety down; tho' the perils were ſo great, that often I could not reach from rock to rock with my pole. In this caſe, I aimed the point of my pole at the ſpot I intended to light on, and clapped my feet cloſe to it, when I went off in the air from the rock: the pole coming firſt to the place broke the fall, and then ſliding gently down by it, I pitched on the ſpot I deſigned to go to, though ſix, ſeven, or eight fathom off, and the part of the rock below not more than a yard broad. It is a frightful piece of activity to a by⯑ſtander; but the youths on the moun⯑tains of Ireland make nothing of it: they are as expert at this work as the Teneriff [371]men: from them I learned it; and made Ralph ſo perfect in the action, while he tra⯑velled with me, that he could go from rock to rock like a bird.

My recep⯑tion at Mr. Harcourt's houſe. When we came to the ground, I ſent my man before me to the houſe, with my hum⯑ble ſervice to Mr. Harcourt the maſter of it, and to let him know, that I had travelled through the inſide of one of the high moun⯑tains that ſurrounded his houſe, and on com⯑ing out of the top of it, had made the preci⯑pice next him my road to the valley he lived in; that I knew not which way to turn next, in order to go to Cumberland, and begged leave to dine with him and receive his information. — This ſtrange meſſage, delivered by Ralph with much comic gra⯑vity, that gentleman could not tell what to make of; as I had ordered my young man not to explain himſelf, but ſtill ſay, that we had travelled the inſide of the mountain, and came down the precipice. This was ſo ſur⯑prizing a thing to Mr. Harcourt and his daughter, that they walked out with ſome impatience to ſee this extraordinary traveller, and expreſſed no little amazement, when they came near me. After a ſalute, Mr. Harcourt told me he did not underſtand what my ſervant had ſaid to him; nor could he comprehend how I arrived in this valley, as there was but one paſſage into it at the front [372]of his houſe; and my being on foot too, en⯑creaſed the wonder of my appearing in the place: but whatever way I came, I was wel⯑come to his houſe, and he would ſhew me the way in.

My arrival here, Sir, (I replied) is to be ſure very ſtrange, and would be almoſt in⯑credible to hear told by another perſon, of one that journeyed 229 yards deep, to the foundation of this Alp, on the other ſide of it, then aſcended a hollow way, till he got out at the top, and came down a high and frightful precipice to the vale below: But here I am a proof of the fact. I will ex⯑plain how it was done; and I began to re⯑late every particular at large.

But tell me, Sir, (Miſs Harcourt ſaid) if you pleaſe, why did you not return the way you came; ſince the other ſide of the moun⯑tain is impoſſible to deſcend, as you inform us, on account of its being a perpendicular ſteep; and that you muſt have hazarded your life a thouſand times, in coming down the way you did with the pole? I tremble as I look at the place, and only with fancy's eye, ſee you on the deſcent. Beſide, the gentlemen you left on the other ſide of the hill, will conclude you loſt, and be very greatly troubled on the account.

My reaſon, Madam, (I anſwering, ſaid) for coming down this very dangerous way, [373]was, becauſe I thought it, with all its perils, much ſafer than the inſide road I had come. My activity, I had reaſon to think, was ſu⯑perior to the difficulties of the outward way, and if I ſhould fall, it would be in the light of heaven, with a human habitation in view, that might afford me ſome relief, if I only broke my bones; but, if in deſcending the very ſteep and horrible caverns of the hill, which with the greateſt difficulty I climbed up, I ſhould happen to get a fall, as in all human probability I would, and break a limb in theſe moſt diſmal cavities of eternal night, I muſt have periſhed in the moſt miſer⯑able manner, without a poſſibility of obtaining any relief. Nor is this all, madam. The thing that brought me here among the mountains of Richmondſhire, was to find a gentleman of my acquaintance, and when I ſaw your houſe from the top of the mountain, I did not know but it might be his. I fanſied it was, as the ſituation anſwered my friend's deſcription of the ſpot he lived on.

And if it had been his, madam, it would have put an end to all my toils; for I am a wanderer upon the face of the earth, through the cruelty of a mother-in-law; and the un⯑reaſonableneſs of a rich father; who has for⯑ſaken me, becauſe I will not ſubmit to the declarations and deciſions of weak and fal⯑lible men, in matters of pure revelation and [374]divine faith, and own the infallibility of the orthodox ſyſtem. Becauſe the aſſent of my mind could not go beyond the perception of my underſtanding, and I would not allow that the popular confeſſion is the faith once delivered to the ſaints, therefore I was thrown off, and obliged to become the pilgrim you ſee before you.

This hiſtory of a forlorn ſeemed ſtranger to the young lady and her father than even the account of my journey through the in⯑ſide of a mountain, and down a precipice that a goat would ſcarce venture. They were both very greatly amazed at my relation, and Mr. Harcourt was going to aſk me ſome queſ⯑tions, when one of his ſervants came to let him know that dinner was ſerving up, and by this put an end to our converſation. The maſter of the houſe brought me into a fine room, and I ſaw on the table an elegant dinner: there was likewiſe a grand ſideboard, and ſe⯑veral men ſervants attending: miſs Harcourt ſat at the head of the table, and at her right hand two young ladies, vaſtly handſome, whom I ſhall have occaſion to mention here⯑after in this journal: two ladies more were on the other ſide of her, pretty women, but no beauties; and next them ſat three gentle⯑men; ſenſible, well-behaved men; one of them a maſter of muſick, the other a maſter [375]languages, and the third a great painter; who were kept in the houſe on large ſalaries, to teach the young lady theſe things: Mr. Harcourt placed me by himſelf, and was not only ex⯑tremely civil, but manifeſted a kind of fond⯑neſs as if he was well pleaſed with my arri⯑val. He and his daughter took great care of me, and treated me as if I had been a man of diſtinction rather than the poor pil⯑grim they ſaw me, with my ſtaff in my hand. The young lady talked to me in a very pleaſant manner, and as I ſaw the whole company were inclined to be very chearful, I clubbed as much as I could to promote good-humour, and encreaſe the feſtivity of the table. We laughed the afternoon away in a charming manner, and when we had done, we all went to walk in the gardens. Here the company ſoon ſeparated, as the various beauties of the place inclined various minds to different things and parts. Some, penſive roamed in ſhady walks; ſome ſat by playing fountains; and others went to gather fruits and flowers. I had the honour to walk with Miſs Harcourt to a canal at ſome diſtance, and as we went, this young lady told me, ſhe did not well underſtand me as to what I had ſaid of religion being concerned in my becoming a traveller, and deſired me to be a little more particular. That I will, [376]and immediately proceeded in the following manner.

73. A diſcourſe with miſs Harcourt in relation to my re⯑ligion.

My father, madam, is a man of great learning, virtue and knowledge, but ortho⯑dox to the laſt degree, and ſent me to the univerſity on purpoſe to make me a theologer, that I might be an able defender of the Creed of St. Athanaſius, and convince the poor people of the country he lived in, and in good time (he fondly hoped) the inhabitants of many other countries; that notwithſtand⯑ing the ſymbol I have mentioned is what no human apprehenſion can comprehend, and the judgment hath nothing to act on in the conſideration of it;—that there is nothing to be underſtood in that ſymbol, nor can a man form any determination of the matter therein contained; — yet they muſt believe this great and awful myſtery: that three per⯑ſons and Gods are only one perſon and God; and, on peril of eternal miſery, they muſt confeſs that, Father, Son, and Holy Ghoſt, tho' three Beings, as diſtinct as any three things in the univerſe, yet are only one Being. This myſtery I was to preach up in his church, (a church in a field, near his houſe, to which he had the right of preſenting,) and enflame the people againſt reaſon, that trai⯑tor to God and religion, which our adver⯑ſaries, the Chriſtian deiſts, would make Lord and King in oppoſition to faith. I [377]was to tell my beloved, that reaſon is a car⯑nal ſenſual devil, and that inſtead of heark⯑ening to this tempter, they muſt aſſent to thoſe heavenly propoſitions, which give wiſ⯑dom without ideas, and certainty without knowledge. You muſt believe, my beloved, that none is before or after the other. — None is greater or leſs than another. The infidels call this an unintelligible piece of non⯑ſenſe: but it is, my beloved, a very tran⯑ſcendent myſtery. It does, we muſt own, ſtagger and aſtoniſh us, being a thing beyond our reach to comprehend; but, it muſt be believed, on peril of eternal miſery, as I be⯑fore obſerved: and it is eaſy to be believed, for this plain reaſon, (given by a very learned and pious biſhop of our church) to wit, that it is too high to be by us comprehended. This was the opinion of that great prelate, Dr. Beveridge, in his Private Thoughts, p. 52. to which book I refer you, my beloved, for more of his admirable reaſoning on this ca⯑pital article, and farther obſerve to you, that not only this moſt pious biſhop, and many other moſt excellent prelates were of this way of thinking; but all the moſt admirable divines have declared in their ſermons, and other matchleſs writings, that the more incre⯑dible the Athanaſian creed is, and the fuller of contradictions, the more honour we do to our God in believing it. It is the glory of orthodox Chriſtians, that their faith is not [378]only contrary to the carnal mind, but even to the moſt exalted reaſon. In matters of faith, we muſt renounce our reaſon, even tho' it be the only thing that diſtinguiſhes us from the beaſts, and makes us capable of any religion at all. No human arguments are to interfere in this victorious principle: the catholic faith is the reverſe of rational re⯑ligion, and except a man believe it faith⯑fully, he muſt go into everlaſting fire and brimſtone ⁽³⁵⁾ .

In this manner, madam, like a mad bigot, a flaming zealot, and a ſublime believer, was I to preach to the people of Ireland, and be [379]an apoſtle for that faith which is an obedi⯑ence to unreaſonable commands: but un⯑fortunately, for my father's deſign; and for⯑tunately, for my ſoul; I was, on entring the univerſity, put into the hands of a gentle⯑man, who abhorred modern orthodoxy, and made the eſſential conſtitutive happineſs and perfection of every intelligent being conſiſt in the conformity of our mind to the moral rectitude of the Divine Nature. This ex⯑cellent man convinced my underſtanding, that even faith in Chriſt is of an inferior na⯑ture to this: it is only the means to obtain it. Such a conformity and obedience of the heart and conſcience to the will of God ought to be my religion, as it was the religion of our Saviour himſelf.

Thus, madam, was I inſtructed by a maſ⯑ter of arts, my private tutor, and when to his leſſons I added my own careful exami⯑nations of the vulgar faith, and the mind of our Lord as I found it in the books, I was thoroughly ſatisfied, that an act of faith is an act of reaſon, and an act of reaſon an act of faith, in religious matters; — that our Lord was not the great God; nor a part of that compound, called the Triune-God; the miſerable invention of divines; but, a more extraordinary meſſenger than the prophets under the law, choſen by the divine wiſdom, to publiſh the will of God to mankind, and ſent under the character of his ſon, and ſpi⯑ritual [380]heir of his inheritance the church, to new form the ages, and fix ſuch good prin⯑cipes in the minds of men, as would be productive of all righteouſneſs in the con⯑verſation: that he was ſent to deſtroy ſin and the kingdom of Satan; and to bring the human race to a perfect obedience to the will of the Supreme Being.

All this, madam, was as plain to me as the ſun in ſummer's bright day; and there⯑fore, inſtead of laying aſide my underſtand⯑ing, and believing things without any ratio⯑nal ground or evidence at all; — inſtead of going into order, to draw revealed con⯑cluſions from revealed propoſitions, and by a deep logic, make ſcripture conſequences, that have no meaning in the words, for the faith of the people; I was ſo free and inge⯑nuous as to let my father know, that of all things in the world I never would be a par⯑ſon, ſince the character obliged me to ſwear and ſubſcribe to articles I could not find in my bible; nor would I, as a layman, ever read, or join in the ſervice of reading the tritheiſtic liturgy and offices he uſed in his family. I was determined, tho' I loſt his favor and large fortune by the reſolution; to live and die a Chriſtian deiſt; confeſſing be⯑fore men the perſonal unity and perfections of the true God, and the perſonal mediatorial office of Jeſus Chriſt. As St. Paul mentained the perſonal unity and abſolute ſupremacy of [381]the true God, and in his deſcription of the Deity, did not tell the Athenians, that he was a Triune Being, to be conſidered under the notion of three perſons, of three under⯑ſtandings and wills, in a co-ordinate triplicity of all divine attributes and perfections; but one individual perſonal Agent, — one great Spirit, or mind, ſelf-exiſtent, and omnipotent in wiſdom and action — one Supreme Al⯑mighty Creator and Governor of the world, — the God and Father of Jeſus Chriſt; I ſhall therefore, in obedience to the apoſtle, and to the other inſpired writers, believe in an worſhip the ſame God, the One God, the only true God, as our Lord ſays in Matthew and Mark; — through the alone media⯑tion and interceſſion of Jeſus Chriſt, our Re⯑deemer and only begotten Son of God; — depending upon the effectual aid and aſſiſt⯑ance of the bleſſed Spirit, in hope of a glo⯑rious immortality. This is,—this ſhall be my religion, whatever I may feel from an antichriſtian tyranny, on account of the con⯑feſſion.—Tho' an outrage of uncharitable zeal ſhould ſtrip me of every worldly com⯑fort, and reduce me to a want of bread.—If I ſhould become a ſpectacle to men and angels by this faith, yet I will believe as Je⯑ſus Chriſt and his apoſtles have ordered the world to believe. — No unintelligible cant, or ſcholaſtic jargon for me. The Holy Ghoſt has in ſcripture expreſſed it ſufficiently and [382] unexceptionably clear, — that there is One Supreme Independent Firſt-Cauſe of all things, a Spirit, that is, One Spirit, One God: I am God, and there is none like me: I am God, and there is none elſe; beſide Me; with Me; none but Me. — Thus does the Holy Ghoſt declare; and what ſignify the deſpi⯑cable, heretical declarations of the doctors, in reſpect of this?

Then, as a teſt of Chriſtianity, the ſame bleſſed Spirit adds, — that Jeſus is the true Meſſiah, was ſent from God to reveal his will for the ſalvation of man, and is the only Mediator betwixt God and man. Thus has the Holy Ghoſt regulated our faith and prac⯑tice, and I think it incumbent on me to mind what he ſays, and flee the invented pieties of our theologers.—I did ſo, and diſobliged my father. I loſt his favor intirely. He would take no farther notice of me, and I became as you ſee a wanderer.

This diſcourſe, delivered with my fire and action, amazed Miſs Harcourt ſo greatly, that for ſome time after I had done, ſhe could not ſpeak, but continued looking with great earneſtneſs at me. At laſt however ſhe ſaid, I am glad, Sir, it has been my fate to meet with you, and muſt, when there is more time, converſe with you on this ſub⯑ject. My father and I have had ſome doubts as to the truth of the Athanaſian creed; but he told me, he did not chuſe to examine the [383]thing, as it had the ſanction of ages, and was believed by the greateſt divines in all nations. If it be wrong, let the church⯑men anſwer for it. But this does not ſatisfy me; and ſince I have ſeen one that has for⯑ſaken all rather than live a diſciple of Atha⯑naſius, after a thorough examination of the ſyſtem; and that you have now ſaid ſome things againſt it that ſhew the folly of be⯑lieving it, and make it a faith the moſt pre⯑poſterous and unreaſonable, I am determined to enquire into the merit of it, and ſee if chriſtians ought to acknowledge the ſupreme dominion and authority of God the Father; — that the Father is abſolutely God, the great God in the abſolute ſupreme ſenſe by na⯑ture; and the Son, only a God by communi⯑cation of divinity from the Father, that is, by having received from the Father, the Su⯑preme Cauſe, his being, attributes, and power over the whole creation: — or, if they ought to aſcribe ſupreme authority, and original independent abſolute dominion to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghoſt; three diſtinct ſupreme gods, and yet but one ſupreme God, as the church informs us in her famous creed, and thereby makes us ſwallow a contradiciton, as I have often thought, and a doctrine againſt which a great number of texts can be produced. This I will examine. My reaſon ſhall be no lon⯑ger ſilent in ſo important a caſe. If a [384] Trinity in unity of equal minds or gods is not to be proved by the inſpired writings, the doctors preaching it, and by creed re⯑quiring it, will be no juſtifiable plea or ex⯑cuſe for me, I am ſenſible, in the great riſing day. I had better, in ſuch caſe, leave all as you have bravely done, were my fa⯑ther ſo orthodox and furious a bigot as to force me to be a religioniſt againſt my con⯑ſcience. What I have to beg of you, Sir, (Miſs Harcourt continued) is, that you will to-morrow, oblige me with your thoughts on the texts I have marked, as produced by or⯑thodox divines for their myſterious religion. If you make me ſenſible that thoſe texts do not prove the doctrine they are brought for, and of conſequence, that the doctrine of the trinity as by them taught, is the work of uninſpired writers, I ſhall renounce it to be ſure. I will no longer miſtake contradic⯑tions for myſteries. The ſchemes and in⯑ventions of men ſhall not paſs with me for the revelations of God ⁽³⁶⁾ .

74. Mr. Har⯑court's ob⯑ſervation on our diſ⯑courſe, and generous offer to me.

Here Mr. Harcourt came up to us, and deſired to know, (if it was a fair queſ⯑tion) what we two had been talking ſo ear⯑neſtly on; for it ſeemed at a diſtance to be ſomething more than ordinary. I will tell you, Sir, his daughter replied, and imme⯑diately began to relate the whole conference, and her reſolution. Your reſolution (the father ſaid) is excellent. You have not only my conſent, but I recommend it to you as the nobleſt work you can employ any time on. For my part, Sir, (Mr. Harcourt con⯑tinued, turning himſelf to me) I never liked this part of our proteſtant religion, and have often wiſhed our public prayers had been more conformable to the ſimplicity of the goſpel; that we had been contented with what our Maſter and the Holy Spirit deli⯑vered, and not made human compoſitions the ſtandard of ſalvation: but ſince the church in her wiſdom has thought it ſhould be otherwiſe, I have ſubmitted to her authority, and been ſilent on the doctrines ſhe claims a right to determine; though ſome of them to me appear doubtful, and others repugnant to ſcripture: beſide, my ſtudies have been in other fields than that of controverſy: mathe⯑matics and antiquities have employed my time, and I have neither taſte nor capacity for that criticiſm which is neceſſary for the [386]examination of ſuch points: greatly however do I honour thoſe who have the ability and patience to go through the work, as I muſt own it is of the moſt importance, and that the orthodox faith is a ſad thing, if the truth be, after all our Athanaſian believing, that Chriſt is no more than God's inſtrument, as St. Peter and St. Paul name him; a ſucceſ⯑ful teacher of wiſdom, righteouſneſs, ſanctifi⯑cation, and redemption: and that God is to be owned and praiſed, as the true, chief, and original cauſe of all ſpiritual bleſſings, accord⯑ing to the counſel of his own will, his own good pleaſure, purpoſe, etc. without partner or ſe⯑cond perſon, to intreat and ſatisfy for us. If this be the caſe, may the Lord have mercy on our poor orthodox ſouls: and as it may be ſo, I honour you for enquiring into the matter, and eſpecially for your good Spirit in prefering the things that are eternal, when what you thought truth could not be held with things temporal. I have (Mr. Harcourt continued) a very great eſteem for you on this account, and if I can be of ſer⯑vice to you, I will. He imagined I might want money, and if I did, he would lend me a hundred guineas, without intereſt, pay⯑able on my note of hand, when I could. He immediately took out of his pocket-book a bank note for that ſum, and preſſed me to [387]accept it. He likewiſe invited me to ſtay at his houſe, while he continued in the coun⯑try, which would be for a month longer. He aſſured me alſo, that I might make it my reſidence after he left it, if I pleaſed: there would be two ſervants to attend me, and there was excellent mutton, and other things, for my table. Nor is this all; you ſhall have the key of my ſtudy.

Theſe offers aſtoniſhed me, and I ſaid, moſt generous Sir, I return you the thanks of a grateful heart, and will ever remember your goodneſs to me with that ſenſe ſuch un⯑common kindneſs deſerves, tho' I cannot en⯑joy the benefits you would make me happy with. As to money, I do not want any yet, and when I do, it will be time enough for me to borrow, if I ſhould find any one, like you, ſo benevolently diſpoſed as to lend me caſh without ſecurity and intereſt: and as to ſtaying at your houſe, that offer I cannot accept, as I am engaged to a near and rich friend, who will be to me a ſubaltern provi⯑dence, if he can be found, and ſecure me from the evils my attachment to truth has expoſed me to. One week however I will ſtay with you, ſince you are ſo good as to invite me in this kind manner.

Here then I ſtayed a week, and paſſed it in a moſt happy way. Mr. Harcourt was [388]fond of me, and did every thing in his power to render the place agreeable. His lovely daughter was not only as civil as it was poſ⯑ſible to be, but did me the honour to com⯑mence a friendſhip with me, which laſted from that time till death deſtroyed the gol⯑den thread that linked it.

75. An account of Harriot Euſebia Harcourt.

Reader, this young lady, Harriot Euſebia Harcourt, was the foundreſs of a re⯑ligious houſe of proteſtant recluſes, who are ſtill a ſociety in that part of Richmondſhire where firſt I ſaw her and her father. They are under no vow, but while they pleaſe to continue members, live as they do in nun⯑neries, and in piety, and in all the parts of the chriſtian temper, endeavour a reſem⯑blance of their divine Lord and Maſter; with this diſtinction however, that to the plan of the regards due from man by the divine Law to God, to his fellow-creatures, and to him⯑ſelf, they add muſick and painting for their diverſion, and unbend their minds in theſe delightful arts, for a few hours every day. This makes them excel in theſe particulars. They are great maſters in all kinds of mu⯑ſick, and do wonders with the pencil.

Euſebia was but juſt turned of twenty when I firſt ſaw her, in the year 1725, and then her muſical performances were admi⯑rable — her pictures had the ordonnance, [389]colouring, and expreſſion of a great maſter. She was born with a pictureſque genius, and a capacity to give meaſure and movement to compoſitions of harmony. Her muſic at the time I am ſpeaking of had a moſt ſurprizing power: and in painting, long before this time, ſhe aſtoniſhed. When ſhe was a child, nine years old, and had no maſter, ſhe would ſketch with a black lead pencil on a ſheet of paper the pictures of various kinds that came in her way, and make ſuch imi⯑tations as deſerved the attention of judges. This made her father get her an eminent maſter, and ſhe had not been long under his direction, when ſhe was able to infuſe a ſoul into her figures, and motion into her com⯑poſitions. She not only drew landſkips, and low ſubjects with a ſucceſs great as Teniers, but evinced by her paintings, that ſhe brought into the world with her an aptitude for works of a ſuperior claſs. Her pictures ſhew that ſhe was not the laſt among the painters of hiſtory. They are as valuable for the merit of the execution as for the merit of the ſubjects.

76. An account of Mrs. Harcourt's pictures of the Reve⯑lations of S. John.

Her hiſtories of the revelations of St. John, which ſhe finiſhed a little before her death, from the firſt viſion to the laſt, de⯑monſtrate a genius very wonderful, and that her hand was perfected at the ſame time [390]with her imagination. If this ſeries of pic⯑tures is not in every reſpect equal to Giotto's on the ſame ſubject, (which I have ſeen in the cloyſter of St. Clare at Naples), yet theſe paintings are treated with greater truth, and ſhew that the imagination of the painter had a hand and eye at its diſpoſal to diſplay the fineſt and compleateſt ideas. The great artiſt is obvious in them.

Pictures. The firſt picture of this Series is a re⯑preſentation of the inſide of the glorious temple, (that was made the grand ſcene of all the things St. John ſaw in the Spirit), the golden-lamp-ſconce, called the ſeven candleſticks, which afforded the ſanctuary all its light, and the auguſt perſonage, who appears in refulgent brightneſs in the viſion, in the midſt of the ſeven golden candleſticks. The majeſtic and godlike form which the apoſtle beheld is wonderfully painted. He is repreſented with more than human ma⯑jeſty. Like Raphael, in his picture of the Eternal Father, in one of the Vatican cha⯑pels, ſhe does not inſpire us merely with ve⯑neration, ſhe ſtrikes us even with an awful terror: elle n'inſpire pas une ſimple venera⯑tion, elle-imprime une terreur reſpectueuſe. In his right hand, this grand perſon holds the main ſhaft that ſupports the ſix branches of the ſix lighted lamps, and the ſeventh lamp [391]at the top of the main trunk, which gleam like a rod of ſeven ſtars, as it is written, having in his hand ſeven ſtars, and in this at⯑titude, with his face to the apoſtle, he ap⯑pears in the midſt of the ſeven golden can⯑dleſticks, the emblems of the churches, walking, or attending to trim them, the churches; with a ſharp two-edged ſword, that is, the powerful word of God, as Aaron walked to trim the real lamps with the gol⯑den ſnuffers. St. John is ſeen on the floor. He is looking in great ſurprize at the whole appearance, and as with amazement he be⯑holds the divine Perſon in the viſion, he ſeems ſtruck with dread, and going to faint away; as he ſays in the Apocalyps, — When I ſaw him, I fell at his feet as dead.

Picture 2. The next picture in this ſeries is a conti⯑nuation of, or another repreſentation of the inſide of the temple, the golden lamp-ſconce of ſeven golden candleſticks, and the auguſt perſonage in refulgent brightneſs, and ſplen⯑dors tranſcendently glorious; but with this difference, that in this piece, the divine per⯑ſonage does not hold the main ſhaft of the branches of lights in his right-hand, or ſtand in the midſt of the candleſticks; but, not⯑withſtanding his ſublime dignity, is painted with a godlike compaſſion in his face and manner, and with the greateſt tenderneſs [392]raiſes and ſupports the apoſtle. You ſee him (as St. John deſcribes him); — he laid his right-hand upon me (the hand which before held the ſeven ſtars, or lighted golden lamps, that exhibited an appearance not unlike a conſtellation of ſtars) ſaying unto me, fear not. I am the firſt and the laſt. I am he that liveth, even tho' I was dead, and behold I am alive for evermore, Amen. And I have the keys of hell and of death. — One almoſt hears theſe words from the lips of the auguſt form, ſo wonderfully is the figure painted,— ſo happily has the pencil counterfeited na⯑ture: and the apoſtle appears to revive in tranſports, as he knows from the words that it is his Lord and Maſter is ſpeaking to him. It is a fine picture.

Picture 3. The third painting in this ſeries is the ſubſequent viſion, in the 4th and 5th chap⯑ters of the Revelation of John the Divine. — In a part of the heavens that are opened, the throne of God is repreſented by a cryſtal ſeat or glory, and from it proceed flaſhings of a bright flame like lightning and thunder, to repreſent the awful majeſty of the One, and One Only, True God, the Supreme Lord of all things: ſeven lamps of fire are burning before this throne, as emblems of the ſeven ſpirits, or principal ſervants of God, to ſhew with what purity, conſtancy, and zeal, the ſpirits of the juſt [393]made perfect ſerve God in the heavenly church; and next them appears a cryſtal ſea of great brightneſs and beauty; much more glorious than the brazen ſea in the temple, which held the water for the uſe of the prieſts. This ſea alludes to that purity that is required in all perſons who have the honour and happineſs of a near approach to God, as he manifeſts himſelf on the throne of inacceſ⯑ſible light, or, in the moral Shechinah in this lower world ^(37.) The next figures are the four living creatures, or cherubim of Eze⯑kiel (which our Engliſh tranſlation very badly renders four beaſts) and they are placed in [394]the middle of each ſide of the throne, in he whole circle round about, full of eyes, not only before but behind: ſo as to have a direct and full view every way: without-ſide them, on ſeats, are the four and twenty elders placed, in white and ſhining garments, with crowns of gold upon their heads. The perſon who ſits on the throne appears in great majeſty and glory, and round about his throne the moſt beautiful rainbow is ſeen; to expreſs the glory of God, and his faithfulneſs to his co⯑venant and promiſe: the four living creatures next the throne, who repreſent the angels attendant on the Shechinah, and have the appearance of a lion, a calf, a man, and an eagle, full of eyes, and with ſix wings, to expreſs the great underſtanding and power of the angels, their activity, conſtancy, and good will; — they are drawn in the act of adoring and praiſing the eternal living God; and are anſwered by the four and twenty el⯑ders, the repreſentatives of the people, the churches. So inimitably are all theſe things painted, that the faces of the cherubim and the four and twenty elders ſeem to move in worſhip and thankſgiving: one acquainted with the divine ſongs, cannot help fanſying that he hears the four living creatures, ſaying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come; who for ever [395]waſt, and for ever wilt be, the one true God, the everlaſting Lord: and that the elders, that is, the Chriſtian people, reply, Thou art wor⯑thy, O Lord, to receive glory, and honour, and power: for Thou haſt created all things, and for Thy pleaſure they are and were created.

The apoſtle, St. John, appears in great admiration, on account of the things before him, but ſeems more particularly affected by a book ſealed with ſeven ſeals, which the perſon who ſits on the throne holds in his right-hand;—an angel who is painted in the act of proclaiming with a loud voice, Who is worthy to open the book, and to looſe the ſeals thereof — and a lamb with ſeven horns and eyes, ſtanding juſt before the throne, within the circles of the cherubim and elders: this Lamb, repreſented as a ſacrifice, and with ſeven horns and eyes, to ſhew the pow⯑er, wiſdom, and goodneſs of our Lord in the work of redemption, and the accom⯑pliſhment of all God's deſigns of wiſ⯑dom and grace, engages the attention and wonder of the apoſtle; and as this Lamb of God receives the book from the perſon on the throne, a riſing joy appears through the aſtoniſhment of St. John, and ſeems to be encreaſing, as he hears the living creatures and the elders ſing a new ſong, or hymn of a new compoſition, which expreſſes the pe⯑culiar [396]honour of the Son of God, and our peculiar engagements to him, in theſe words — Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the ſeals thereof: for thou waſt ſlain, and haſt redeemed us unto God by thy blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and na⯑tion. — Worthy is the Lamb that was ſlain to receive power and riches, and wiſdom and ſtrength, and honour, and glory, and bleſſing. — Bleſſing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto him, that ſitteth upon, the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever. — And as the angels conclude this ſolemn act of wor⯑ſhip by ſaying, Amen; and the people by wor⯑ſhipping him that liveth for ever and ever, the true God, who liveth and reigneth from everlaſting to everlaſting; and having raiſed up his Son Jeſus, ſent him to bleſs you in turn⯑ing every one of you from his iniquities; the apoſtle ſeems in pleaſure to join them, and ſhews a ſenſibility and action that is very wonderful. It is a charming picture. The divine artiſt has treated the whole ſubject with the moſt elaborate and beautiful expreſſion, and with a delightful richneſs of local co⯑lours. This painting gives the beholder a full and fine idea of the viſion ^(38.)

77. Miſs Har⯑court's cha⯑racter.

But it was not only in painting, and in muſick, that Miſs Harcourt excelled: ſhe had, when I firſt ſaw her, made great pro⯑greſs in her ſtudies, and diſcovered in her converſation extraordinary abilities. She talked wiſely and learnedly on many ſubjects, and in ſo charming a manner, that ſhe entered into the poſſeſſion of the heart, and the ad⯑miration of all that heard her: nor was it only in pure Italian, Spaniſh, and other lan⯑guages that ſhe could expreſs her notions; but, in he correcteſt Latin ſhe often ſpoke to me, and for an hour would diſcourſe in the Roman tongue, with as great eaſe as if ſhe had been talking Engliſh. She ſpoke it without any manner of difficulty, which was more than I could do. I was ſlow, and pauſed ſometimes; but this young lady went on with that volubility of tongue the women are born with. The language being Latin was no check to her natural fluency of ſpeech.

To all this let me add, and with truth I can add it, that Euſebia, from the time I was firſt acquainted with her to her death, walked in the fear of the Lord, and of conſequence, in the comforts of the Holy Ghoſt. Reli⯑gion [398]from her infancy as her ſtated and or⯑dinary buſineſs, and her ſole concern to know and do her duty to God and men. The Proverbs of Solomon, and the pattern of Chriſt, were her ſtudy when a very young girl, and from both ſhe acquired a conduct ſo prudent and evangelical, that ſhe ſeemed at the greateſt heights of grace and goodneſs which a mortal can reach, and appeared as one that had made a prodigious proficiency in divine knowledge, and in every virtue: yet there was nothing gloomy, or even for⯑mal in her behaviour: ſhe was good-hu⯑mour itſelf: frank and free; quite eaſy, and for ever chearful.

Her picture. Miſs Harcourt, at the time I am ſpeaking of, that is, in the one and twentieth year of her age, had all the qualities that conſtitute a beauty: ſhe was tall and graceful, and in every action, and her whole behaviour, to the laſt degree charming: her eyes were vaſtly fine, large and long, even with her face, black as night, and had a ſparkling bright⯑neſs as great as could appear from the refrac⯑tion of diamonds: her hair was as the po⯑liſhed jet, deep and gloſſy; and yet, her complexion freſh as the glories of the ſpring, and her lips like a beautiful flower.

This Lady was nine years abroad with her father, who died of the plague at Conſtanti⯑nople [399]in 1733, and in the courſe of her tra⯑vels, did me the honour to write me many fine letters, in which ſhe obliged me with her remarks on the things and people they ſaw in many countries. We held a corre⯑ſpondence together, for a conſiderable part of the time, and in return for her valuable favours, I ſent her the beſt account I could give of the matters that came in my way. Theſe letters may perhaps appear ſome day.

In the year 34 Mrs. Harcourt returned to England, and brought over with her ſome ladies, who became conſtituents of her clau⯑ſtral houſe. They formed the moſt rational and happy ſociety that ever united, and du⯑ring the life of the foundreſs, reſided ſome⯑times in one of the Weſtern Iſlands, but for the moſt part in Richmondſhire. Since her death, which happend in the year 45, they have lived intirely in the North of England, ſe⯑parated from all the world by the moſt dread⯑ful mountains. They were but twelve in number for ſeveral years, but, in the ſixth year of the Inſtituto, Mrs. Harcourt en⯑creaſed it to twenty-four members, by taking in twelve eleves or diſciples. The twelve ſeniors govern a year about in their turns, un⯑leſs it be the requeſt of the houſe, that the ſuperior for the year paſt ſhould continue in the office another year. This, and their eaſy [400]circumſtances, ſecure their peace, and as they are ever wiſe to that which is good, and ſimple concerning evil, they lead moſt happy lives: nor can it be otherwiſe with mortals who cultivate the grace of humility (the want of which lies at the bottom of all contentions,) and by a chriſtian prudence, make it their main work to facilitate the practice of piety, and to promote the plea⯑ſure and the luſtre of it. Glorious women! to letters, arts, and piety, they devote thoſe hours which others waſte in vanities the moſt ſenſeleſs and deſpicable; and purſuant to the advice, and according to the rule drawn up by their illuſtrious foundreſs, live as beings that have ſouls deſigned for eternity. They act continually upon a future proſpect, and give all diligence in making conſtant advances toward the perfect day. Mrs. Harcourt ſhewed them what an uninſpired mortal could do by the means of grace: that it was poſ⯑ſible for aſſiſted human nature (feeble as fleſh and blood is) to reſiſt temptations the moſt violent, and by the ſupreme motives of our religion, acquit ourſelves like chri⯑ſtians. If there be a devil to aſſault, a cor⯑rupt heart to oppoſe, and many difficulties to be encountred, yet her conduct was a de⯑monſtration, that thoſe who are heirs of the heavenly country, may chuſe and pro⯑ſecute [401]their beſt intereſts, and improve the divine life to a high degree. Let us (ſhe uſed to ſay) make ſalvation not only a con⯑cern on the bye, but the governing aim thro' the preſent life, and we ſhall not only live like the primitive chriſtians, but die for our holy faith, with more reſolution than the worthies of Greece and Rome, tho' death ſhould appear in all his array of terrors. Neither adverſity nor proſperity could then tempt us to drop a grain of incenſe before any idol, or commit any action that diſhonoured the goſpel. Let what will happen, in all events, we ſhould ſecure the future happi⯑neſs of our ſouls, and thereby provide for the everlaſting glory and felicity of our bo⯑dies too in the morning of the reſurrection.

78. 1725. Our return to Ulubrae by a dan⯑gerous way.

The twenty-fifth day of June I took my leave of Miſs Harcourt and her father, and the reſt of the good company, and on horſes I borrowed, we returned to the philoſophers at Ulubrae. It was nineteen miles round of moſt terrible road; a great part of it being deep and ſwampy bottom, with holes up to the horſes ſhoulders in ſome places; and for ſeveral miles, we were o⯑bliged to ride on the ſides of very ſteep and craggy mountains, in a path ſo very narrow, that we riſked life, and paſſed in terror: a wrong ſtep would have been deſtruction be⯑yond [402]recovery. It was likewiſe no ſmall perplexity to find, that I was going back again, the courſe being ſouth and ſouth⯑weſt; and that there was no other way of journeying from Mr. Harcourt's to Ulubrae, but through the paſs I firſt travelled from Weſtmorland; unleſs I rid from Mr. Har⯑court's into Cumberland, and then round through Biſhoprick to the valley the gen⯑tlemen lived in. On then I went at all hazards, and in a tedious manner was forced to creep the way: but to make ſome amends, the proſpects from the hills were fine, and things very curious occurred. Groupes of creſts of mountains appeared here and there, like large cities with towers and old Gothick edifices, and from caverns in their ſides torrents of water ſtreamed out, and tumbled in various courſes to the moſt delightful vales below. In ſome of the vaſt hills there were openings quite through, ſo as to ſee the ſun, at the end of three or four thouſand yards; and in many of them were ſloping caverns, very wonderful to behold.

79. A fine chamber in a moun⯑tain, and a paſſage from the room to a valley on the other ſide of the vaſt preci⯑pice.

I found in one of them, near the top of a very high mountain, a deſcent like ſteps of ſtairs, that was in breadth and height like the iſle of a church, for 300 yards, and then ended at a kind of door, or ſmall arched opening, that was high enough [403]for a tall man to walk into a grand room which it led to. This chamber was a ſquare of 17 yards, and had an arched roof about 20 high. The ſtone of it was a green marble, not earthy and opake, but pure and cryſtalline, which made it appear very beautiful, as the walls were as ſmooth as if the beſt poliſh had made them ſo. There was another opening or door at the other ſide of this chamber, and from it likewiſe went a deſcent like ſteps, but the down⯑ward paſſage here was much ſteeper than the other I had come to, and the opening not more than one third as wide and high; nar⯑rowing gradually to the bottom of the ſloping road, till it ended in a round hole, a yard and a quarter every way. I could ſee the day at the opening below, tho' it ſeemed at a great diſtance from me, and as it was not dangerous to deſcend, I determined to go down.

The deſcent was 479 yards in a ſtraight line, and opened in a view of meadows, ſcattered trees, and ſtreams, that were en⯑chantingly fine. There appeared to be about four and twenty acres of fine land, quite ſurrounded with the moſt frightful precipices in the world, and in the center of it a neat and pretty little country houſe, on an eaſy riſing ground. I could diſcover with my long [404]glaſs a young and handſome woman ſitting at the door, engaged in needle-work of ſome kind; and on the margin of a brook hard by, another charmer ſtood, angling for fiſh of ſome ſort: a garden appeared near the manſion that was well improved; and in the fields were ſheep and goats, horſes, and cows: cocks and hens, ducks and geeſe, were walking about the ground; and I could perceive a college of bees. The whole formed a charming ſcene.

80. An account of the inha⯑bitants of the valley I came into.

Pleaſed with the view, and impatient to know who the two charmers were, I quite forgot the poor ſituation in which I left Tim, holding the horſes at the mouth of the cavern, on the dangerous ſide of ſo high a hill, and proceeded immediately to the houſe, as ſoon as I had recovered myſelf from a fall. My foot ſlipt in the paſſage, about ſix yards from the day, and I came rolling out of the mountain in a violent and ſurprizing manner. It was juſt mid-day when I came up to the ladies, and as they did not ſee me till they chanced to turn round, they were ſo amazed at my appearing, they changed colour, and one of them ſhrieked aloud; but this fright was ſoon over, on my aſſuring them that I was their moſt humble ſervant, and had againſt my will tumbled out of the hole that was at the bottom of that vaſt mountain before them. This I explained, [405]and proteſted that I had not a thought of paying them a viſit, when curioſity led me into an opening near the top of the hill, as I was travelling on; but that when I did get through ſo wonderful a paſſage, and ſaw what was ſtill more ſtrange, when I arrived in the vale, to wit, two ladies, in ſo wild and ſilent a place, I judged it my duty to pay my reſpects, and aſk if you had any commands that I could execute in the world? This was polite, they ſaid, and gave me thanks; but told me, they had no favor to aſk than that I would dine with them, and inform them how it happened that I was obliged to travel over theſe ſcarce paſſable mountains, where there was no ſociety nor ſupport to be had. Beſide, if in riding here, you ſhould receive a miſchief, there was not a poſſibility of getting any relief. There muſt be ſomething very extraordinary ſurely, that could cauſe you to journey over ſuch frightful hills, and through the deep bottoms at the foot of them.

Ladies (I replied), neceſſity and curioſity united are the ſpring that move me over theſe mountains, and enable me to bear the hardſhips I meet with in theſe ways. Forced from home by the cruelties of a ſtep-mother, and forſaken by my father on her account, I am wandering about the precipices of Rich⯑mondſhire in ſearch of a gentleman, my Friend; to whoſe hoſpitable houſe and gene⯑rous [406]breaſt I ſhould be welcome, if I could find out where he lives in ſome part of this remote and deſolate region: and as my cu⯑rioſity is more than ordinary, and I love to contemplate the works of nature, which are very grand and aſtoniſhing in this part of the world, I have gone many a mile out of my way while I have been looking for ſeveral days paſt for my friend, and have ventured into places where very few I believe would go. It was this taſte for natural knowledge that travelled me down the inſide of the mountain I am juſt come out of. If I had not had it, I ſhould never have known there was ſo delightful a little country here as what I now ſee: nor ſhould I have had the honor and happineſs of being known to you.

But tell me, Sir, (one of theſe beauties ſaid) how have you lived for ſeveral days among theſe rocks and deſart places, as there are no inns in this country, nor a houſe, ex⯑cept this here, that we know? are you the favorite of the fairies and genies — or does the wiſe man of the hills bring you every night in a cloud to his home?

It looks ſomething like it, madam, (I anſwering ſaid) and the thing to be ſure muſt appear very ſtrange: but it is like other ſtrange things: when the nature of them is known, they appear eaſy and plain. This [407]country I find conſiſts, for the moſt part, of ranges and groups of mountains horrible to behold, and of bogs, deep ſwampy narrow bottoms, and waters that fall and run innu⯑merable ways: but this is not always the caſe: like the charming plain I am now on, there are many flowery and delicious exten⯑ſive pieces of ground, encloſed by vaſt ſur⯑rounding hills — the fineſt intervals be⯑twixt the mountains: the ſweeteſt interchange between hill and valley, I believe in all the world, is to be found in Richmondſhire, and in ſeveral of thoſe delightful vales I diſco⯑vered inhabitants as in this place: but the houſes are ſo ſeparated by fells ſcarce paſſable, and torrents of water, that thoſe who live in the centre of one group of mountains know not any thing of agreeable inhabitants that may dwell on the other ſide of the hills in an adjacent vale. If there had been a fine ſpot at the bottom of the precipice I found the opening in, and people living there, (as might have been the caſe) you ladies who live here, could have no notion of them, as you knew nothing of a paſſage from the foot to the ſummit of yonder mountain, within ſide of the vaſt hill, and if you did, would never venture to viſit that way; and as there is not a paſs in this chain of hills, to ride or walk through, to the other ſide of them: but the way out of this valley we are now [408]in, as I judge from the trending of the mountains all round us, muſt be an opening into ſome part of Cumberland. For this reaſon Stanemore hills may have ſeveral fa⯑milies among them, tho' you have never heard of them, and I will now give you an account of ſome, who behaved in the moſt kind and generous manner to me. Here I be⯑gan to relate ſome particulars concerning my friend Price and his excellent wife; the ad⯑mirable Mrs. Burcot and Mrs. Fletcher; the philoſophers who lived at Ulubrae, to whom I was returning; and the generous Mr. Har⯑court, and his excellent daughter, whom I left in the morning; and at whoſe houſe I arrived by travelling up the dark bowels of a tremendous mountain; as, on the contrary, I arrived at theirs by a deſcent through yon⯑der frightful hill, till I came rolling out by a fall within, in a very ſurpriſing and comical way; a way that would have made you laugh, ladies; or, in a fright, cry out, if you had happened to be walk⯑ing near the hole or opening in the bot⯑tom of that hill, when, by a ſlip of my foot, in deſcending, a few yards from the day, I tumbled over and over, not only down what remained of the dark ſteep within, but the high ſloping bank that reaches from the the outſide of the opening to the firſt flat part of the vale. There is nothing wonderful [409]then in my living in this lone country for ſo many days. The only ſtrange thing is, con⯑ſidering the waters and ſwamps, that I was not drowned; or, an account of the preci⯑pices and deſcents I have been engaged on, that I did not break my neck, or my bones: but ſo long we are to live as Providence hath appointed for the accompliſhment of the grand divine ſcheme. Till the part allotted us is acted, we are ſecure. When it is done, we muſt go, and leave the ſtage for other players to come on.

The ladies ſeemed greatly entertained with my hiſtories, and eſpecially with my tumb⯑ling out of the mountain into their vale. They laughed very heartily; but told me, if they had happened to be ſitting near the hole, in the bottom of that tremendous rocky mountain, as they ſometimes did, and often wondered where the opening went to, and that I had come rolling down upon them, they would have been frightened out of their ſenſes; for they muſt have thought it a very ſtrange appearance: without hear⯑ing the hiſtory of it, they muſt think it a prodigious occurrence, or exception from the conſtant affairs of nature.

This might be, ladies, (I anſwered,) but from ſeeing me before your eyes you muſt own, that many things may be fact, which at firſt may ſeem to exceed the common li⯑mits [410]of truth. Impoſſible or ſupernatural ſome people conclude many caſes to be that have not the leaſt difficulty in them, but happen to be made of occurrences and places they have not ſeen, nor heard the like of before. Things thought prodigious or in⯑credible by ignorance and weakneſs, will appear to right knowledge and a due judg⯑ment very natural and accountable to the thoughts.

Here a footman came up to us, to let his miſtreſs know that dinner was on the table, and we immediately went in to an excellent one. The ladies were very civil to me, and exerted a good humour to ſhew me, I ſup⯑poſe, that my arrival was not diſagreeable to them, tho' I tumbled upon their habitation, like the genie of the caverns, from the hol⯑lows of the mountains. They talked in an eaſy, rational manner, and aſked me many queſtions that ſhewed they were no ſtrangers to books and men and things: but at laſt it came to paſs, that the eldeſt of thoſe ladies, who acted as miſtreſs of the houſe, and ſeem⯑ed to be about one or two and twenty, deſired to know the name of the gentleman I was looking for among theſe hills, and called my friend. My reaſon, Sir, for aſking is, that you anſwer ſo exactly in face and perſon to a deſcription of a gentleman I heard not very [411]long ago, that I imagine it may be in my power to direct you right.

Madam, (I replied), the gentleman I am in ſearch of is Charles Turner, who was my ſchoolfellow, and my ſenior by a year in the univerſity, which he left two years before I did, and went from Dublin to the north of England, to inherit a paternal eſtate on the deceaſe of his father. There was an uncom⯑mon friendſhip between this excellent young man and me, and he made me promiſe him, in a ſolemn manner, to call upon him as ſoon as it was in my power; aſſuring me at the ſame time, that if by any changes and chances in this lower hemiſphere, I was ever brought into any perplexities, and he alive, I ſhould be welcome to him and what he had, and ſhare in his happineſs in this world, while I pleaſed. This is the man I want: a man, for his years, one of the wiſeſt and beſt of the race. His honeſt heart had no deſign in words. He ever ſpoke what he meant, and therefore, I am ſure he is my friend

To this the lady anſwered, Sir, ſince Charles Turner is the man you want, your enquiry is at an end, for you are now at his houſe; and I, who am his ſiſter, bid you welcome to Skelſmore-Vale in his name. He has been for a year and a half laſt paſt in Italy, and a little before he went, gave me ſuch a deſcription of you as enabled me to [412]gueſs who you were after I had looked a while at you, and he added to his deſcrip⯑tion a requeſt to me, that if you ſhould chance to call here, while I happened to be in the country, that I would receive you, as if you were himſelf; and when I removed, if I could not, or did not chuſe to ſtay lon⯑ger in the country, that I would make you an offer of the houſe, and give you up all the keys of it, to make uſe of it and his ſer⯑vants, and the beſt things the place affords, till his return; which is to be, he ſays, in leſs than a year. Now, Sir, in regard to my brother and his friend, I not only offer you what he deſired I ſhould, but I will ſtay a month here longer than I intended; for this lady, (my couſin, Martha Jacquelot) and I, had determined to go to Scarborough next week, and from thence to London: nor is this all: as I know I ſhall the more oblige my brother the civiller I am to you, I will, when the Scarborough ſeaſon is over, if you chuſe to ſpend the winter here, come back to Skelſmore-Vale, and ſtay till Mr. Turner returns.

This diſcourſe aſtoniſhed me to the laſt degree — to hear that I was at my friend Turner's houſe, — he abroad, and to be ſo for another year: the poſſeſſion of his ſeat offered me; and his charming ſiſter ſo very civil and good, as to aſſure me ſhe would [413]return from the Spaw, and ſtay with me till her brother came home: theſe were things ſo unexpected and extraordinary, that I was for ſome time ſilent, and at a loſs what to ſay. I pauſed for ſome minutes, with my eyes faſtened on this beauty, and then ſaid — Miſs Turner, the account you have given of your brother, and the information that I am now at his houſe — his friendly of⯑fers to me by you, and your prodigious ci⯑vility, in reſolving to return from Scar⯑borough, to ſtay with me here till your bro⯑ther arrives, are things ſo ſtrange, ſo un⯑common, and exceedingly generous and kind, that I am quite amazed at what I hear, and want words to expreſs my obligations, and the grateful ſenſe I have of ſuch favors. Accept my thanks, and be aſſured, that while I live, I ſhall properly remember the civility and benevolence of this day; and be ever ready, if occaſion offered, and the fates ſhould put it in my power, to make a due return. Your offer, madam, in particular, is ſo high an honour done me, and ſhews a ſpirit ſo hu⯑mane, as I told you I was an unfortunate one, that I ſhall ever think of it with plea⯑ſure, and mention it as a rare inſtance of female worth: but as to accepting theſe moſt kind offers, I cannot do it. Since Mr. Tur⯑ner is from home, I will go and viſit another friend I have in this country, to whom I [414]ſhall be welcome, I believe, till your bro⯑ther returns. To live by myſelf here at my friend's expence, would not be right, nor agreeable to me: and as to confining you, madam, in ſtaying with me, I would not do it for the world. Sir, (Miſs Turner replied) in reſpect of my ſtaying here, it will be no confinement to me, I aſſure you. My heart is not ſet upon going to London. It was only want of company made Miſs Jacquelot and me think of it, and if you will ſtay with us, we will not even go to Scarborough this ſeaſon. — This was goodneſs indeed: but againſt ſtaying longer than two or three days, I had many good reaſons that made it neceſſary for me to depart: beſide the un⯑reaſonableneſs of my being an expence to Mr. Turner in his abſence, or confining his ſiſter to the country; there was Orton-Lodge, where I had left O Fin, my lad, at work, to which I could not avoid going again: and there was Miſs Melmoth, on whom I had promiſed to wait, and did intend to aſk her if ſhe would give me her hand, as I liked her and her circumſtances, and fanſied ſhe would live with me in any retreat I pleaſed to name; which was a thing that would be moſt pleaſing to my mind. It is true, if Charles Turner had come home, while I ſtayed at his houſe, it was poſſible I might have got his ſiſter, who was a very great [415]fortune: but this was an uncertainty how⯑ever, and in his abſence, I could not in ho⯑nour make my addreſſes to her: if it ſhould be againſt his mind, it would be acting a falſe part, while I was eating his bread: Miſs Turner to be ſure had fifty thouſand pounds at her own diſpoſal, and ſo far as I could judge of her mind, during the three days that I ſtayed with her at Skelſmore-Vale, I had ſome reaſon to imagine her heart might be gained: but for a man worth no⯑thing to do this, in her brother's houſe, with⯑out his leave, was a part I could not act, tho' by miſſing her I had been brought to beg my bread. Three days then only I could be prevailed on to ſtay, and the time indeed was happily ſpent.

Miſs Tur⯑ner's cha⯑racter. Miſs Turner was good-humoured, ſenſible, and diſcreet, as one could wiſh a woman to be, talked pleaſantly upon common ſubjects, and was well acquainted with the three no⯑bleſt branches of polite learning, antiquity, hiſtory, and geography. It was a fine en⯑tertainment to hear her. She likewiſe un⯑derſtood muſick, and ſung, and played well on the ſmall harpſichord: but her moral character was what ſhed the brighteſt luſtre on her ſoul. Her thoughts and words were ever employed in promoting God's glory, her neighbour's benefit, and her own true welfare; and her hand very often, in giving [416]to the poor. One third of her fine income ſhe devoted to the miſerable, and was in every reſpect ſo charitable, that ſhe never indulged the leaſt intemperance in ſpeaking. She deteſted that calumny and reproach which aſſaſſinates a credit, as much as ſhe abhorred the ſhedding a man's blood. The goodneſs of her heart was great indeed: the integrity of her life was glorious. She was perfection, ſo far as the thing is con⯑ſiſtent with the nature and ſtate of man here—as it was poſſible for a mortal to be exempt from blame in life, and blemiſh of ſoul. An abſolute exemption from faults cannot be the condition of any one in this world: But (to the ladies I now ſpeak), you may, like miſs Turner, be eminently good, if you will do your beſt to be perfect in ſuch a kind and degree as human frailty doth admit.

81. Miſs Jac⯑quelot's character.

Miſs Jacquelot was by the head lower than miſs Turner, and her hair the very re⯑verſe of my friend's ſiſter, that is, black as the raven: but ſhe had a moſt charming little perſon, and a mind adorned with the fineſt qualifications. Reaſon never loſt the command in her, nor ceaſed to have an in⯑fluence upon whatever ſhe did. It ſecured her mind from being ever diſcompoſed, and diſengaged her life from the inconveniencies which a diſregard to reaſon expoſes us to [417]By a management it dictated, ſhe enjoyed perpetual innocence and peace. She never uttered a word that intrenched upon piety, infringed charity, or diſturbed the hap⯑pineſs of any one, nor at any time ſhew⯑ed the leaſt ſign of a vain and light ſpirit: yet ſhe had a ſportfulneſs of wit and fancy that was delightful, when ſhe could handſomely and innocently uſe it, and loved to exert the ſallies of wit in a lepid way, when they had no tendency to defile or diſcompoſe her mind, to wrong or harm the hearer, or her neighbour, or to violate any of the grand duties incumbent on us; piety, charity, juſtice, and ſobriety. Every thing that reaſon made unfit to be expreſſed, in relation to theſe virtues, ſhe always care⯑fully avoided; but otherwiſe, ſuch things excepted, would enliven and inſtruct by good ſenſe in jocular expreſſion, in a way the moſt charming and pleaſing. She was very wiſe, agreeable and happy. She was very good and worthy.

This young lady was a great maſter on the fiddle, and very knowing in connoiſſance. She painted well, and talked in an aſtoniſh⯑ing manner, for a woman, and for her years, of pictures, ſculpture, and medals. She was indeed a fine creature in ſoul and body.

82. My depar⯑ture from Skelſmore-Vale.

With theſe ladies I ſpent three days in Skelſmore-Vale; and the time we talked, walked, played, and laugh⯑ed away. Sometimes we rambled a⯑bout the hills, and low adown the dales. Sometimes we ſat to ſerious ombre; and often went to muſick by the falling-ſtreams. Miſs Turner ſung; miſs Jacquelot played the fiddle: and on my German flute I breathed the ſofteſt airs. We were a happy three, and parted with regret on every ſide. Fain would they have had me ſtay, and Scarbo⯑rough and London ſhould be thought of no more: but the reaſon of things was againſt it, and the 28th day of June I took my leave. Through the mountain I had deſcended, I went up again to Tim and my horſes; who were ſtabled in the mouth of the cavern above, and had got provender from the vale below.

83. A morning reflexion on the ri⯑ſing ſun, and the Great Spi⯑rit who created it.

The ſun was riſing as we mounted the horſes, and ſtruck me ſo powerfully with the ſurpaſſing ſplendor and majeſty of its appearance, ſo cheared me by the gladſome influences, and intimate refreſhment of its all-enlivening beams, that I was contriving as I rid on an apology for the firſt adorers of the ſolar orb, and imagined they intended nothing more than the worſhip of the tran⯑ſcendent majeſty of the inviſible Creator, [419]under the ſymbol of his moſt excellent and nearly reſembling creature; and this accord⯑ing to ſome imperfect tradition, that man, as a compound Being, had, in the beginning, a viſible glorious preſence of Jehovah Elo⯑him — a viſible exhibition of a more di⯑ſtinguiſhed preſence by an inexpreſſible brightneſs or glory: this is ſome excuſe for the firſt worſhippers of the ſolar orb: and when the thing conſecrated to the imagery and repreſentation of its Maker, became the rival of his honours, and from being a help to devotion, was advanced into the ſupreme object of it; yet conſidering the prodigious glory of this moving orb, and that all ani⯑mated nature depends upon its auſpicious preſence, we cannot wonder that the Egyp⯑tian ruraliſts, without a creed, and without a philoſophy, ſhould be tempted to ſome warmer emotion than a merely ſpeculative admiration, and inclined to ſomething of immediate devotion. That univerſal chorus of joy that is manifeſted at the illuſtrious ſo⯑lemnities of opening ſun-ſhine, might tempt the weak to join in a ſeemingly-religious ac⯑clamation. At leaſt I am ſure there is much more to be ſaid for this ſpecies of idolatry, than for the papiſts worſhipping dead men, ſtocks, bones, and clouts. They have not only revelation expreſsly againſt them — Thou ſhalt worſhip the Lord thy God, and him [420]only ſhalt thou ſerve. (Matt. iv, 10.) — Nei⯑ther ſhalt thou ſet up any image or pillar. (Deut. xvi. 22.) But downright reaſon de⯑monſtrates that the things are uſeleſs to the preſervers, and offenſive to God: whereas, on the contrary, when the eye beholds that glorious and important luminary of heaven, and conſiders the benefits diſpenſed to man⯑kind by the means of its moſt beautiful and invigorating beams, it might ſtrike not only an unpractiſed thinker, and cauſe the vul⯑gar, (who are not able of themſelves to raiſe their thoughts above their ſenſes, and frame a notion of an inviſible Deity), to acknow⯑ledge the bleſſings they received, by a de⯑votion to this fanſied viſible exhibition of di⯑vinity: but even ſome of the wiſe ones who were a degree above the abſurdity of popular thinking, might be led to addreſs themſelves to the golden ſun, in ſplendor likeſt heaven. They might aſcribe the origin of their own exiſtence, and the world's, to this ſeemingly adequate cauſe, and genial power of the ſyſtem; when they beheld him returning again in the eaſt, (as I now ſee him) after the gloom and ſadneſs of the night; again the reſtorer of light and comfort, and the renewer of the world; regent of the day, and all th'horizon round, inveſted with bright rays; that all inferior nature, the earth's own form, and the ſupports of its animated inhabitants, [421]ſeem to depend on his diſpenſing authority, and to be the effects of his prolific virtue, and ſecret operation: they might ſuppoſe, in the corruption of tradition, or when the re⯑veled truth and direction was loſt, and reaſon not as now in its maturity of age and ob⯑ſervation, that ſome kind of glory ſhould be given to the ſubordinate divinity (as they fanſied) of this heavenly body, and that ſome homage was due to the fountain of ſo much warmth and beneficence. This (I imagine) may account for the earlieſt kind of idolatry; the worſhip paid to the ſun. The effects of his preſence are ſo great, and his ſplendour ſo overpowering and aſtoniſh⯑ing, that veneration and gratitude united, might ſeduce thoſe ignorant mortals to deify ſo glorious an object. When they had loſt the guard of traditionary revelation ⁽³⁹⁾ , [422]and wanted thoſe helps to judgment which are derived from the experience, obſerva⯑tion, and reaſoning of paſt times, the ſpecious [423]idolatry might have been introduced, and ſomething tolerably plauſible perhaps was pleaded by the better heads of thoſe times. [424]Excluſive of an imperfect notion of the Deity's appearing by Shechinah, and that the ſun might be the viſible exhibition (as [425]obſerved); they might, in the next place, conclude from the extraordinary motion of the luminary, that he was an animated be⯑ing, and noble intelligence, placed in the higheſt poſt of honor and uſefulneſs, and employed by God as his firſt miniſter and ſervant; for which reaſon, they thought it their duty to magnify and venerate the ſun, whom the Creator had exalted ſo high; as the chief miniſters of kings are had in honor, which is reflected back on their royal maſ⯑ters. Thus might the novel impiety come on. They might, in the beginning, worſhip [426]the ſun as the Shechinah, appearing by a glorious light, or in a celeſtial train attend⯑ing the preſence, which, at ſo great a di⯑ſtance, muſt appear in an indiſtinct, lumi⯑nous viſion; but more generally, as the mi⯑niſter of God; an animated being, who had a principle of conſciouſneſs put into it; as the human body has, ſeated in it, a human ſoul; and that this glorious creature was enabled to perform the etherial journeys by its own underſtanding and will, and to make all lower nature happy by his benign and diffuſive influence; could ſee as far as he is ſeen, and every way was fitted for the noble work he had to execute. Thus did the ſun commence a God. He muſt, (they thought) from every appearance, in his wondrous, uſeful courſe, have the moſt exalted powers; be wiſe and benevolent, great and good. And when the worſhip of this luminary was once eſtabliſhed, it could not be long before the moon was deified: and then the ſtars be⯑came conſervators of the univerſe. From thence idolatry went on, and added to the heavenly bodies the emblematic doctrine, and animal apotheoſis. Artificial fire was conſe⯑crated, and made the ſymbol of ſidereal ſplen⯑dors. Deity was exhibited to the multitude in the forms of its effects, and innumerable orders of inferior divinities by degrees ſprang up. Succeſſive enlargements of the ſyſtem [427]of natural apotheoſis prevailed; and, at laſt, the world, which ought only to have been regarded, as the magnificent theatre of divine perfections, was itſelf blaſphemouſly adored, as the independent proprietor of them.

It is evident from hence that a reveled rule was wanting, or man had need of phyſics, to ſuppreſs the riſing tranſports of a too eager gratitude, and guard a⯑gainſt the inclination to worſhip this riſing, lucid being, now ſo glorious before me; whoſe motion is ſo ſteady and uniform, ſwift, regular, and uſeful, that it ſeems to manifeſt itſelf a wiſe and intelligent being. Without the lights of philoſophers, or the ſupernatural aſſiſtance of religion, it was hard for recent and wondering mortals, to refrain from worſhiping that beautiful body, as they ſaw it proceeded with the greateſt harmony, and ſhed innumerable bleſſings on them. But pure reveled religion diffuſes ſuch a light as manifeſts the error: and a correct and philoſophic reaſoning, (in this im⯑proved age the ſafe guide, and proper arbi⯑trator of religion) not only refuſes to addreſs itſelf to that God of the antient popular theology, but proves the worſhip impious and abſurd.

Right reaſon and revelation demonſtrate from the matchleſs graces and glories of na⯑ture, which occur in great variety, and with⯑out [428]number, wherever we turn our eyes, that there is a Creator of infinite power, wiſdom, and goodneſs; who beautifully provides for the uſes and occaſions of human life, and produces repeated millions of ob⯑jects that bear the ſtamp of omnipotence, and remain perpetual monuments of the di⯑vine benevolence. Manifold are thy works, O Lord; in wiſdom haſt thou made them all!

And eſpecially, when from the earth I lift up my eyes to the heavens, and behold among the wonders of the firmament, that vaſt and magnificent orb, the ſun now riſing before me, brightning by degrees the hori⯑zon, and pouring the whole flood of day upon us; the wonderful and grand ſcene ſtrikes powerfully on my mind, and cauſes an awful impreſſion. With ſentiments of the greateſt admiration, I conſider the illuſ⯑trious object, and feel the kindly heat of that bright luminary, inſpiring me with more than uſual gladneſs. And what power is it that ſupplies this fountain of light and heat, with his genial and inexhauſted trea⯑ſure — who diſpenſes it with ſuch muni⯑ficent, yet wiſe profuſion? It muſt be ſome Almighty Being. It muſt be the work of the Deity, that is, the powerful, wiſe, and good Parent of mankind, the Maker, Pre⯑ſerver, and Ruler of the world; for his perfections are ſtampt upon the work. The [429]evidence of reaſon declares it. Chance or neceſſity cannot form or guide. An active underſtanding only, and intending cauſe, can produce, and direct: and this cauſe, muſt be all-ruling wiſdom, and unlimited power, in conjunction with the moſt amiable good⯑neſs. This is plain to a thorough and rational examination. A ſupreme Being, an eternal ſelf-exiſtent mind, who comprehends and preſides over all, muſt impart the benefits of that glorious creature before me, uſing it as an inanimate, unconſcious, inſtrument of conveying light, heat, and prolific influences to the earth; which, by infinite power, is rendered as much active in ſending the ve⯑gete juices through the veſſels of all plants, as the ſun is in diffuſing its rays upon the ſurface of the globe we inhabit. The ſun, and moon, and ſtars, are but inſtruments in his hand, for bringing about mechanically whatever good effects he has created them to produce. Our holy religion and philoſophic reaſoning evince this truth. This glorious ſun bears the ſignatures of its author, and the finger of God is diſcernible every where. The wiſdom and loving-kindneſs of the Lord are viſible, whatever way we turn. His bounty appears by its conſtant, yet vo⯑luntary communication, and is the more to be admired as it is a never-failing principle. This riſing luminary that viſits our earth, is, [430]in particular, a daily freſh inſtance of the divine favor; and did not God's goodneſs only, prevent its ſuſpenſion, we ſhould be involved in the utmoſt horror, nay, inevitable ruin: and when, in the evening it leaves us overſpread by the darkneſs, to viſit others with its benign influences; the change is charming, for night gives man a neceſſary vacation from the labours of the day. In ſleep he takes the ſweeteſt refreſhment, till this riſing ſun, by the beneficent direction of its great Author, again appears in grace and ſplendor, and diſplays the face of nature in unſpeakable beauties. Every where the bounty of the ſupreme Spirit I ſee diffuſed; through air, through earth, and in the wa⯑ters. No place is without witneſſes of his liberality; and life is the care of his provi⯑dence.

Of him then ſhould our ſongs be, and our talking of all his wonderful works. We ſhould join in adoring him, and acknowledge him worthy to receive glory and honour and power, who has created all things, and for his pleaſure they are and were created. And it follows, that we ſhould likewiſe abſolutely ſubmit to this ſovereign Being, and ever re⯑ſign ourſelves to his direction and diſpoſal. Where can ignorance and impotence find ſo ſafe and ſure a refuge as in infinite wiſdom, and almighty power?

84. A delight⯑ful land⯑ſcape be⯑twixt the mountains.

In this manner were my thoughts employed, as we rid over the brows of many high hills, with the riſing ſun before me, till we deſcended to a narrow wet bottom, which trended due weſt for an hour, and brought us to the foot of another high mountain. This we aſcended with the horſes as far as it was poſſible to bring them, and from thence I climbed up to the top, by a ſteep craggy way, near 200 yards. This was very difficult and dangerous, but I had an enchanting proſpect, when I gained the ſummit of the hill. A valley near a mile in breadth appeared betwixt the oppoſite moun⯑tains, and that on which I ſtood; and a river was running through it, that ſpread ſome⯑times into little lakes, and ſometimes fell headlong from the rocks in ſounding caſ⯑cades. The fineſt meadows, and little thickets, bordered thoſe waters on every ſide, and beyond them the vaſt hills had a fine effect in the view: ſome were covered with foreſt; and ſome with precipitating ſtreams. I was charmed with this aſſem⯑blage of the beauties of nature. It is a more delightful landſcape than art has been able to form in the fineſt gardens of the world.

85. A pretty country ſeat.

The deſcent was eaſy to this beautiful vale, and after I had feaſted my eyes with the proſpect of the place, I went down to ſee who lived in a houſe covered with creep⯑ing [432]greens, that ſtood by a ſonorous water⯑fall. Some wiſe one perhaps, (I ſaid) who ſcorns the character of the libertine, or the ſot, and to the purſuits of avarice and am⯑bition leaves the world; to enjoy in this fine retreat the true happineſs of man; by em⯑bracing that wiſdom which is from above, and aſpiring to an equality with ſaints and angels: happy man! if ſuch a man be here. Or, it may be, ſome happy pair poſſeſs this charming ſpot of earth, and in diſcharging all the duties of the matrimonial relation, enjoy that fulneſs of ſatisfactions and felicities, which the divine inſtitution was deſigned to produce. Happy pair indeed! if ſuch a pair be here.

86. A ſtrange meeting.

But when I came near the manſion, no human creature could I ſee, nor, for ſome time, could I find an entrance any way. The gate of the garden in which the houſe ſtood was faſt, and ſo was every window and door: but as the gardens were in fine order, and full of fruits, vegetables, and flow⯑ers, I knew it muſt be an inhabited place, tho' its people were from home. With my pole therefore I leaped a deep moat, which ſurrounded the garden, and for half an hour continued walking about it, pulling ſome things, and looking at others, in hopes that ſome one might be ſeen: no ſoul how⯑ever appeared, and I was going to return to [433]my horſes, when, by accident, I came to a de⯑ſcent of ſtairs, that was planted round with ſhade of laurel, ever-green, and branching palm. Down I went immediately. I walked thro' a long arched paſſage, in which two lamps were burning, and at the end of it came to an open door, that admitted me into an en⯑try which led to a flight of ſtairs. Should I go any farther, was the queſtion? If any one within, I might greatly offend: and if it was the habitation of rogues, I might find myſelf in a pound. What ſhall I do then? Go on, (ſays curioſity) and bravely finiſh the adventure.

Softly then I aſcended, liſtening, by the way, if I could hear any voice, and proceed⯑ed upwards, to the firſt floor. A door was there open, and on my tiptoes I went to look in: but, all I could ſee was a room well furniſhed, and through it I paſſed to another, which was likewiſe full of fine things, and had a door unlocked, that open⯑ed into a large library. The books were all bound in vellum, in an extraordinary man⯑ner, the collection valuable, and moſt judi⯑ciouſly ordered. Mathematical inſtruments of all Sorts were on a table, and every thing looked as belonging to a ſcholar and man of fortune. Great was my amazement, as I ſaw no living creature. I knew not what to think of all theſe things: nor did my aſto⯑niſhment diminiſh, when I went from the [434]library into two very handſome bedcham⯑bers, and ſaw in one of them the apparel of a woman; in the other the dreſs of a man.

Muſing on theſe matters, and looking over the books, I continued near an hour, when I turned round to depart, and ſaw at the door of the library I was in, a gentleman, and two young ladies in riding-dreſſes, who ſeemed more than amazed at the ſight of me. The man's face I knew very well, and ſoon remembred he was one of the com⯑pany that came over with me from Ireland in the Skinner and Jenkins, and a perſon I had thought a very odd man; for he never ſtirred out of his birth all the while he was on board, nor ſpoke a ſyllable to any one, ex⯑cept myſelf; and that only for a couple of hours after we landed; when he was pleaſed to ſingle me out, and requeſted we might dine together; to which I ſaid, with plea⯑ſure, Sir, and he came with miſs Melmoth and me to our inn. With us he ſat for the time I have ſaid, and talked like a man of ſenſe and virtue. He was but three or four years older than I was, and yet ſo very grave, that in reſpect of temper, he was fit for the bench. He told me, he lived in too remote a place, ever to expect to ſee me in the coun⯑try; but he had a houſe in London, where he was every winter, if not hindered by ſick⯑neſs, and to a part of it I ſhould be wel⯑come [435]if it was agreeable to me to im⯑prove our acquaintance. Many other civil things he ſaid, and ſhewed a regard for me that I little expected, and could not but wonder at. All this made me as well known to him as he was remembred by me; but he looked as it were ſcared at the ſight of me, in the place I now appeared in; where I ſtood leaning on my long pole (when he came to the cloſet door), and was reading out the following lines in a book I chanced to take into my hand; to which I added a few reflexions:

87. A paſſage I chanced to turn to in a Greek author.

‘ [...]’ Eſt ut dicis. Vera praedicas, vir ſapiens. ‘Quae ad Deos ſpectant, pulcherrimum ſacri⯑ficium et cultum eſſe maximum ducito, ſi teip⯑ſum quam optimum et juſtiſſimum praebeas. [...]: Prae⯑bere ſe quam optimum ac juſtiſſimum, pluris apud Deos quam multae victimae. Sperandum eſt enim tales potius, quam qui victimas multas proſternunt, quidpiam boni a Diis immorta⯑libus accepturos. Quam optimum cor ac juſ⯑tiſſimum ad aras feramus, & bonum a numine ſemper lucrabimus.’

[436]True, moſt excellent ſage. Rectitude and Benevolence are the perfection of rational na⯑ture, and when by philoſophy, we acquire a temper, diſpoſition and action, that are con⯑formable to the truth of things, and conti⯑nually diſplay ſtrict juſtice and univerſal cha⯑rity, we offer the nobleſt ſacrifice to heaven, and are conſimilated with the Deity. By this divine affection, or order and goodneſs, we manifeſt a continual uſe and employ⯑ment of ourſelves for the glory of the ſu⯑preme virtue, and may by this means, ex⯑pect to obtain the infinite mercy of God; when ſlaughtered Hecatombs are deſpiſed; and the creeds of incomprehenſible myſteries, and the external modes and forms of church⯑iſm, may be conſidered only as the weakneſs and blindneſs of reverend heads. Thouſands of rams, and ten thouſand rivers of oil; ſpe⯑culative faith, rites and ceremonies, are no⯑thing, abſtracted from that temper and af⯑fection, which unites us to the Deity, and to the whole ſyſtem of rationals. Virtue and charity is religion.

88. Mr. Berris⯑fort's kind reception of me.

This paſſage and reflexion pronounced very loud, with an enthuſiaſm that ſeizes me when I take a claſſic in my hand, added greatly to the aſtoniſhment of finding me in the cloſet, and for ſome time the gentleman was not able to ſpeak, or come forward; but [437]at laſt, moving towards me, as I did to him, the moment I ſaw him, he ſaid, by what ſtrange chance have I the favor of ſeeing you here? Inform me, I beſeech you, in the name of friendſhip, what ſurprizing acci⯑dent has thrown you on this ſolitude; with⯑out horſe or ſervant — and how did you get over the broad moat of water, as the two garden gates were locked?

Mr. Berrisfort (I anſwered), you may well wonder at ſeeing me in this remote and ſilent part of the world, and eſpecially at my being in your ſtudy, without either horſe or attendant in waiting, that you could find, on coming home; but the thing was all natu⯑ral, in the common courſe of events, as you ſhall hear.

Three weeks after you left me at White⯑haven, I ſet out from that place for Brugh under Stanemore, and went from thence up the northern mountains, in ſearch of a gen⯑tleman I had ſome buſineſs with, who lives but a few miles beyond you, and on my return from his houſe, as the road lay very high on the ſide of yonder vaſt hill, I quitted my horſe out of curioſity, to climb up to the top of the mountain, and ſee what kind of country lay on the other ſide of this long range of high hills. It was with great difficulty I got up to the pike, and few, perhaps, but myſelf, would attempt it: I was rewarded however by the [238]fine proſpect, and ſeeing the deſcent on this ſide eaſy, and a houſe and large gardens before me, I could not refrain from going down to the bottom. I marched on to take a view of the manſion and improvements, and as I ſaw ſome ver fine things in the gardens, and no ſign of any living creature; the gates ſhut, and every place to appearance faſtened, I leaped the moat with this pole, and after I had wandered about the ground, by acci⯑dent came to the ſhady encloſure, in which I found the deſcending ſtairs from the gar⯑den; and ſeeing the lamps burning in the paſſage, could not avoid going down, and proceeded till I arrived at this fine library. My admiration was great, you may be ſure, and the books too ſtrong a temptation for me not to mind them. With great plea⯑ſure I looked into many of them, and at laſt opened the Greek writer I was reading out, when you came to the door of your ſtudy. Such were the cauſes that brought me where you find me.

(Mr. Berrisfort replied): Sir, I am glad there was any thing in the force and opera⯑tion of caſualties, that could bring you to my houſe, and I aſſure you upon my word, that you are moſt heartily welcome. As I lay in my cabbin on ſhip-board, I conceived a great regard for you, on account of many [439]things I heard you ſay, and particularly, for your lively arguments with Dr. Whaley, be⯑fore the ſtorm began, in defence of the di⯑vine Unity, and againſt that miſerable theo⯑logy which the monks have invented, and con⯑tinue to ſupport, tho' it militates with the reveled truths of God, and the reaſon and fitneſs of things. I was greatly pleaſed with your different definitions of churchiſm and religion, and honoured you not a little for what you ſaid in oppoſition to unintelligible myſtery, and the glare of ceremony; at the ſame time, that you contended for the wor⯑ſhip of the univerſal Father, and that ſober, righteous, and godly life, which ſprings from the love of truth, virtue, and moral rectitude. Once more then I aſſure you, Sir, I am moſt heartily glad to ſee you, and I ſhall take it as a great favour if you will paſs the ſummer with me in this wild coun⯑try place. Every thing ſhall be made as agreeable as poſſible, and, excluſive of this cloſet of books, which you ſhall poſſeſs while you ſtay here, we will hunt, and ſet, and ſhoot, and enjoy all the pleaſures of the field: but in the mean time, as it is now ten o'clock, we ought to think of breakfaſt, and he deſired his ſiſter, a moſt charming creature, to call for it immediately, and I ſoon ſaw ſeveral ſervants bring in every thing that was elegant and excellent. He told me [440]I need be under no uneaſineſs about my mare and horſes, for there was a ſteep narrow way for them to come down to his ſtables, about half a mile from the place I left them, and he would immediately ſend one of his ſervants to bring them.

This was vaſtly civil and affectionate, and I told Mr. Berrisfort, that I was under great obligations to him for his goodneſs, which I ſhould ever have an extreme ſenſe of, but I was obliged to go on upon buſineſs: a few days however I would enjoy the happineſs he offered me, and we paſſed them in a very delightful manner.

89. Manner of living at Yeoverin-Green.

Early in the morning, we went out with the hounds, and for half a dozen hours, had the dogs in full cry before us. We had hawks and pointers in the afternoon, and enjoyed abroad all the ſports of the field. Within, when our labours were over, we had the moſt elegant dinners and ſuppers; every thing, of meat and drink, that the beſt taſte could deſire: and the converſation was excellent after the repaſts.

90. Characters of Mr. Ber⯑risfort, his ſiſter, and Miſs Fox.

Mr. Berrisfort was a man of letters and breeding; and the ladies had ſenſe, and were no ſtrangers to the beſt Engliſh books. They underſtood no other language than their mother tongue, but the choiceſt au⯑thors of every kind that our country has produced, they had read with great care. [441]The maſter of Yeoverin-Green was a learned, worthy, polite man, free in diſcourſe (if he knew his company, and liked them, but otherwiſe quite mute,) and he was inſtruc⯑tive in every thing he ſaid. His ſiſter and couſin were very good; diſcreet in their be⯑haviour, temperate in their diſcourſe, and eaſy in their manner. They had no learn⯑ing; they pretended to no criticiſm; but talked, without vanity, of the beſt things, and what they did ſay, they expreſſed in a moſt agreeable way. There was no being dull with ſuch people, in ſuch a place. I have ſeen very few young ladies in my time that I liked better than thoſe girls. They both charmed me with their perſons, their faces, their good manners, and their chat; but I could not enough admire Miſs Berris⯑fort for one particular, in which ſhe not only excelled Miſs Fox, but all the women that I have ever ſeen. This was in hunting. In the field, ſhe ſeemed the ſilver-ſhafted queen.

91. The daring ſpirit of Miſs Ber⯑risfort in hunting.

Mr. Berrisfort and Miſs Fox followed the dogs with caution, and never attempted any thing that could hazard their necks or their bones: but the charming Juliet Ber⯑risfort had ſo violent a paſſion for the diver⯑ſion of the field, that ſhe was ſeized with a kind of enthuſiaſm when ſhe heard the cry of the hounds, and as if ſhe had been the [442] goddeſs of the ſilver bow, or one of her im⯑mortal train, went on without a thought of her having brittle limbs. She leaped every thing to keep in with the dogs; five-bar gates; the moſt dangerous ditches and pales; and drove full-ſpeed down the ſteepeſt hills, if it was poſſible for a horſe to keep his feet on them. She frightened me the firſt morn⯑ing I was out with her. She made my heart bounce a thouſand times. I expected every now and then that ſhe would break her neck; that neck where lillies grew. I was reckoned a very deſperate rider by all that knew me, and yet, with this young lady, I pauſed ſeveral times at ſome leaps, when ſhe did not heſitate at all. Over ſhe went, in a moment, without thinking of the perils in her way; and then, if I broke my neck, I could not but purſue.

92. An account of two falls in the field.

It was not in my complexion to ſtay, and by that means, I got a terrible fall the ſecond day; whether by my own fault, or my horſe's, I cannot tell: but as no bone was broke, and I had received no o⯑ther miſchief than a black eye, a bruiſe in my ſide, and a torn face, I was ſoon on my [443]mare again, and by Miſs Berrisfort's ſide. She laughed immoderately at me, while the dogs were at fault, as my bones were ſafe, and adviſed me with a humorous tender⯑neſs, to ride with her brother and Miſs Fox. It was not however very long before I had more ſatisfaction than I deſired; for in half an hour's time, we came to ſome pales, which the ſtag went over, and I leaped firſt; but Miſs Berrisfort's horſe, tho' one of the beſt in the world, unfortunately ſtruck, and cleared them in ſuch a manner, that the lovely Juliet came over his head. She fell very ſafely in high graſs, where I waited for her, for fear of an accident of any kind, and did not receive the leaſt hurt; but in the violence of the motion, and the way ſhe came down, the curtain was thrown on her breaſt, and ſhe lay for ſome moments ſtunn'd upon the ground. In a minute however I ſnatched her up, and ſet her on her feet. She came to herſelf immediately, and thanked me for my care of her; but was vexed to the heart at what had happened. She requeſted I would not mention the thing to her brother, or Miſs Fox, and hoped I would be ſo generous as not to ſpeak of it to any one. — Miſs Berrisfort (I ſaid) it is not in my ſoul to ex⯑tract a mirth from the bad fortune of any one; and much leſs is it in my power to ri⯑dicule, or laugh at a woman of diſtinction, [444]for an accident like this. You may believe me, when I promiſe you, upon my word, and ſwear it by every ſacred thing, that I will not ſo much as hint it to any mortal while you remain in this world. This gave her ſome relief, and by her foot in my hands, I lifted her into her ſaddle again. — Two benefits were from this miſchance derived. One was, that for the future, this lady hunt⯑ed with a little more caution, and did not take the leaps ſhe was wont to do: — the other, that it gained me her heart, (though I did not know it for many months), and thereby ſecured for me the greateſt happi⯑neſs, againſt a day of diſtreſs. From the moſt trivial things the moſt important do often ſpring: but I proceed.

93. A religious converſa⯑tion be⯑tween Bob Berrisfort and Jack Buncle.

Vexatious as the fall was to this young lady, it was I however that had all the pain, by the miſchief I received when my horſe threw me. My eye was in a ſad black way, my ſide troubled me, and the ſkin was off half my face: yet I did not much mind it, as the diverſion was good, and that imme⯑diately after the death of the ſtag, we haſt⯑ened back to an excellent dinner, and ſome flaſks of old generous wine; to which Bob Berrisfort and I ſat for two or three hours. The ladies had left us, to change their dreſs, and walk in the gardens, and we fell into very ſerious chat.

[445]I am thinking (Mr. Berrisfort ſaid, after a conſiderable pauſe, as we ſat ſmoaking a pipe over againſt each other), that the cauſe you gave Dr. Whaley, on ſhip-board, for the decay of chriſtianity, was the beſt I have heard. I remember you told this divine, that it was not a want of faith in the preſent generation that made ſo many renounce chri⯑ſtianity; for, the world were no enemies to a republication of the law of nature by the man Chriſt Jeſus; but the thing that makes infidels, and ſupports infidelity, is the ex⯑travagant doctrines which the theologers have obtruded upon the church, as eſſential parts of chriſtianity. Enthuſiaſm, abſur⯑dity, and error, and the blind and bloody ſcenes of cruelty and ſuperſtition, have been the great ſtumbling-blocks to mankind, and given the moſt ſad, ſevere and laſting ſtabs, to the intereſts and ſucceſs of the pure and peaceable goſpel of Chriſt. This is juſt. But excluſive of this, may we not ſay, that there are ſo many ſeeming contradictions, and a multiplicity of obſcure paſſages in it, that it looks as if it could not be, in its pre⯑ſent condition, a rule of faith: and that chriſtians differ ſo much about the meaning of the texts of their bible, that reaſon knows not what to ſay to a religion ſo variouſly re⯑preſented. It is not only the two great camps, papiſt againſt proteſtant, and prote⯑ſtant [446]againſt papiſt, who make the religion as different as black and white: that the re⯑formed miſſion at Malabar tell the Indians they muſt not hearken to the jeſuits, if they expect ſalvation; and the monks at Coroman⯑del declare, on the contrary, to thoſe Indians, that they will be damned to eternity, if they are converted to what the Daniſh miniſters call chriſtianity; which made the famous bramin Padmanaba ſay, that it was impoſſible for him to become a chriſtian, till the learned chriſtian prieſts had agreed among them⯑ſelves what chriſtianity was; for he had not erudition and judgment enough to decide in the intricate controverſy: but, excluſive of this, proteſtants are ſo divided among them⯑ſelves, even the church of England againſt the church of England—diſſenters againſt diſſenters — and give ſuch different ac⯑counts of the reveled ſyſtem, that it requires more underſtanding, and ſtrict, ſerious en⯑quiry, than the generality of people have, or can ſpare, to be able to determine in what party of the celebrated critics and expoſitors true religion is to be found: and when the controverſy is ſo dark and various, and the authorized profeſſors can never agree among themſelves, what can a man of a plain under⯑ſtanding ſay to it? This makes many (I ima⯑gine) turn from the ſcriptures to ſtudy na⯑ture, and the general laws which are eſta⯑bliſhed [447]among the ſeveral gradations, ranks and claſſes of beings, ſo far as they are connected with intelligent, moral agency. In the natural, agreeable pages of that infi⯑nite volume, we ſee and perceive beauty and order, art, wiſdom, and goodneſs, and are thereby led to the Creator and Governor of the world, the univerſal cauſe, preſerver, and director of nature. We diſcover his providence, meaſures and benevolence, the rules and principles of eternal, immutable wiſdom and reaſon, and by them are com⯑pelled to confeſs a univerſal, intelligent Efficient; one infinite, eternal, omnipotent, wiſe, good Being, from whom all others derive, and on whom all others neceſ⯑ſarily depend, and that continually. In ſhort, by ſtudying nature, we diſcover a God of truth, order and rectitude, and as we find perfect univerſal truth, and moral recti⯑tude to be the higheſt perfection in the Deity, our reaſon informs us, that we ought to ſhew our love of God, by a love of theſe; and that a regular, uniform purſuit of them, muſt be the only true and rational purſuit of human happineſs. Here is a plain and good religion. Can we wonder then that many ſtudy and follow nature, and diſregard thoſe intereſted commentators, who, like oppoſite counſel at the bar, multiply and make void the law by different and contradictory plead⯑ings on it? — Here Bob ended, and lit [448]his pipe again, while Jack laid his down, and went on in the following manner:

To this Mr. Berrisfort ſaid, that he thought my plea for original chriſtianity was good, and allowed it was not the goſpel that was faulty in myſtery and obſcurity, contra⯑diction and inconſiſtency; but, human ig⯑norance, and human vanity, which have load⯑ed it with abſurdities, while they excluded reaſoning about it, and warped its fair and heavenly maxims to the intereſts of ſyſtems [452]and temporalities. However (Bob conti⯑nued), you will allow, I believe, that the ſacred writers had not perpetually the aid of an unerring Spirit, and therefore are ſome⯑times inconſiſtent in their accounts: that as they were ſometimes deſtitute of divine aſ⯑ſiſtance, they were liable to error when guided only by the human ſpirit, and did act like common men upon ſeveral occaſions. This ſeems to be evident from the relations, and the human ſentiments of the apoſtles. The evangeliſts ſpeak of the ſame facts dif⯑ferently; and in citing prophecy, while one adapts a fact to the letter of the prophecy, another accommodates the letter of the pro⯑phecy to the letter of the fact: I mean here, the aſs and colt in Matthew, and the colt only in John, and their citing Zechariah (ix. 9.) differently. And as to the other ſa⯑cred writers, does not the diſpute between Paul and Peter, ſhew a ſubjection, ſome⯑times, to ignorance and error? does not the quarrel between Barnabas and Paul let us ſee, that one of them was miſtaken, and both of them to be blamed? Tell me like⯑wiſe, what you think of Mark and John's different accounts of the time of the crucifix⯑ion — and does not Matthew contradict Mark in his relation of the reſurrection of Jeſus?

Jack Buncle to this replied, that however ſome zealots may contend for the perpetual inſpi⯑ration [453]of the ſacred writers, yet he could not think ſuch doctrine neceſſary to the creed of a chriſtian: Jeſus only is called the truth, and was incapable of error. Chriſt only, in all his actions, was directed by a prophetic ſpirit. All other men, prophets and apoſtles, were ſometimes left to the guidance of their own ſpirit; and therefore all things which they have ſignified to us by their words or deeds, are not to be conſidered as divine oracles. Nec adeo omnia, quaecunque dictis ſignificarunt aut factis, ea pro divinis oracu⯑lis habenda. Nullus, excepto Domino, fuit unquam prpheta, qui omnia egerit ſpiritu pro⯑phetico. So Limborch, Dodwell, and Baxter ſay, and of the ſame opinion were Grotius and Eraſmus ⁽⁴⁰⁾ They aſſert, that the apoſtles, [454]on ordinary occaſions, were ordinary men. All true chriſtian critics muſt allow this, and grant that, the univerſal inſpiration of the [455]ſacred penmen, is a notion founded in the prejudices of pious men and their miſtaken ſenſe of ſcripture. Such infallible authority [456]they think the beſt way to ſilence all objec⯑tions, and weakly embrace the hypotheſis to advance the honour of religion.

But our allowing this, and that there are ſome diſagreements and variations in the evangeliſts, cannot hurt the goſpel. St. Paul [458]might reprove St. Peter, and ſpeak himſelf ſometimes after the manner of men; yet, we ſee where they had the divine aſſiſtance in [459]their explications, and the power of working miracles to confirm their doctrine; and there, as rational and thinking men, we muſt allow [460]the authority of the ſacred books: the few places that have the marks of weakneſs, only ſerve to convince us, that the divine writers [461] [462]of the books made not the leaſt pretenſion to perpetual inſpiration. In ſuo ſenſu abundat — aliquid humanae fragilitatis diſſentio ha⯑bet: [463](ſays Jerome.) Human frailty and their own ſenſe honeſtly appear, when there was not an occaſion for infallibility and miracle. But whenever the preachers of the New Teſtament were wanted for the ex⯑traordinary purpoſes of divine providence, [464]they were made ſuperior to the infirmities of nature: their underſtandings were enlarged [465]and inlightened and an inſpired knowledge rendered them incapable of error. This, in my judgment, is ſo far from ruining the au⯑thority [266]of ſcipture, that it is the greateſt confirmation of its truth. It ſhews the ho⯑neſty of the preachers of the New Teſta⯑ment, [467]in owning they were only occaſionally inſpired: and when the incredulous ſee the ingenuous acknowledgment of what is hu⯑man [468]in the inſpired writings, the truth of our religion muſt be more conſpicuous to their eyes: whereas the truths of the Teſtament [469]are hid from them, by making God the dictator of the whole; becauſe they think that impoſſible, and therefore conclude, the chriſtian religion has no better foundation. In ſhort, there is no reaſon to believe that the apoſtles were extraordinarily inſpired, when they ſay it not; and when their diſ⯑courſes have in them no mark of ſuch like inſpiration. It is ſufficient, (ſays Le Clerc), if we believe that, no prophet of the New Teſtament has ſaid any thing in the name of God, or by his order, which God has not effectually ordered him to ſay; nor has un⯑dertaken to foretell any thing, which God [470]had not indeed truly reveled to him:— that every matter of fact related in the books is true, and the records, in general, the trueſt and moſt holy hiſtory that ever was publiſhed amongſt men, notwithſtanding the writers may be miſtaken in ſome ſlight cir⯑cumſtances: — that all the doctrines pro⯑poſed are really and truly divine doctrines, and there is no ſort of reaſoning in the dog⯑matical places of the holy ſcriptures, that can lead us into error, or into the belief of any thing that is falſe, or contrary to piety:— that Jeſus Chriſt was abſolutely infallible, as well as free from all ſin, becauſe of the God⯑head that was always united to him, and which perpetually inſpired him; inſomuch, that all he taught is as certain as if God himſelf had pronounced:— and in the laſt place, that God did often dictate to the apoſtles the very words which they ſhould uſe. Theſe five heads are enough to believe. We allow in theſe things the authority of the holy ſcrip⯑tures, and they who affirm more are de⯑ceived ⁽⁴¹⁾ .

[471]The caſe is the ſame as to differences, want of exactneſs, and ſmall miſtakes. We may juſtly celebrate the harmony or agree⯑ment [472]of the ſacred writers, with regard to the principal tranſactions by them men⯑tioned, [473]as a ſtrong proof of the integrity of the evangeliſts, and of the certainty of the fact. This evinces the truth of chri⯑ſtianity: but in matters of very ſmall mo⯑ment, we muſt allow a want of accuracy, or ſlips of memory, or different informa⯑tions. This cannot hurt the authority of the goſpels, as it proves the honeſty of the writers by ſhewing they did not compoſe by compact: and I think, that ſome of the evangeliſts having been eye-witneſſes of, and [474]actors in the facts of the ſeveral goſpels; and others having written from the information of thoſe who had got a perfect information of all things from the very beginning, is an argument ſolid and rational for the credibi⯑lity of the evangelical hiſtory. It is ſufficient. I am ſure it is better to allow this, than to ſay the writers of the four goſpels were mere organs, when the little omiſſions and inac⯑curacies obſervable in their records, cannot be accounted for, if we ſuppoſe that God conveyed the facts and truths through them, as pipes, to the world. It muſt needs be a perfect work, which the ſpirit of God di⯑rects.

No contra⯑diction in St. Mark's and St. John's ac⯑count of the cruci⯑fixion. As to St. Mark and St. John's accounts, I ſee no contradiction in the relations. St. John ſays, (reckoning as the Romans did, [475]as he was then in Aſia, and Jeruſalem de⯑ſtroyed) that at the ſixth hour, that is, ſix o'clock in the morning, he brought Jeſus out to them again, the laſt time, and ſtrove to mitigate the rage of the Jews, and ſave the life of Chriſt: but as this was what he could not do, he waſhed his hands before them all, to let them know he was not the author of the innocent man's death, and after that, de⯑livered him up to the ſoldiers, to be cruci⯑fied, when they had ſcourged him.

When all this was done, (ſays St. Mark, reckoning in the Jewiſh manner), it was the third hour, that is, nine o'clock in the morn⯑ing, and they crucified him. This perfectly reconciles the two evangeliſts. There is no ſign of a contradiction in the places.

The teſti⯑mony of St. Matthew and St Mark's ac⯑counts of the reſur⯑rection of Jeſus. As to St. Matthew and St. Mark's ac⯑counts of the reſurrection of Jeſus, they are not ſo free from obſcurity, but I can ſee no inconſiſtency in them. If St. Matthew ſays, the Lord appeared to Mary Magdalene, and the other Mary, that might be, without a contradiction, tho' St. Mark ſays, he ap⯑peared firſt to Mary Magdalene. The caſe to me appears to be this. Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and the other women, went with ſpices and ointments to embalm the body, Sunday the 28th of April, early in the morning, about ſix and [476]thirty hours after it had been laid in the ſe⯑pulchre, and when they arrived at the place, found not the body, but two angels, as young men in white apparel, who told them Jeſus of Nazareth was riſen to life again, as he him⯑ſelf foretold, and therefore they muſt make haſte to his apoſtles, to acquaint them with the news, and let them know that they would ſee him in Galilee, according to his predic⯑tion. With theſe joyful tidings the women haſtened away to the eleven diſciples, and related to them what they had heard and ſeen. The apoſtles looked upon this account as a dream or viſion; but however, on Mary Magdalene's aſſuring Peter and John apart, that ſhe had really been in the tomb, and found it empty; from whence it was moſt certain, that either Jeſus was riſen, or they had removed his body; theſe apoſtles ran both to the ſepulchre, and Mary Magdalene, went with them. Peter and John then ſaw, that it was as ſhe had affirmed, and after they had viewed the tomb, the clothes, and the napkin, returned from the ſepulchre, greatly wondering what was become of their maſter's body: but Mary continued at the monument, lamenting very greatly, that ſhe could not ſee Jeſus either alive or dead, and while ſhe thus bemoaned herſelf, the Lord appeared to her. As St. Mark ſays, Jeſus [477]appeared firſt to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had caſt out ſeven devils: and after ſhe had reverenced her dear Lord and Maſ⯑ter, he bid her go immediately to his diſ⯑ciples, and tell them ſhe had ſeen him: let them alſo know that I have aſſured thee, I ſhall quickly leave this world, and aſcend to the God and Father of us all, my Father and your Father, my God and your God, unto thoſe happy manſions where he manifeſts his preſence in a moſt eſpecial manner; there to receive full power over all things both in heaven and earth, and to prepare a place for you; that where I am, there ye may be alſo. Mary accordingly departed. She told the apoſtles that Jeſus had appeared to her, and acquainted them with the joyful meſ⯑ſage.

As to the other women, it is evident that they likewiſe went a ſecond time to the ſe⯑pulchre, to look for the body of their maſter, and having in vain ſearched for it, were re⯑turning to the apoſtles, to let them know they had enquired to no purpoſe, when Je⯑ſus himſelf met them, ſaying All hail. Does not this reconcile Mark's account with Mat⯑thew's? I think ſo. To me it is ſo very plain from what all the ſacred relators have declared of the matter, that I am aſtoniſhed how Jerom could be ſo perplexed with the [478]two accounts, as to ſay, that Mark's account, (the laſt twelve verſes of his goſpel) might be rejected here as ſpurious, becauſe it was found only in a few copies of that goſpel, and contradicted the other evangeliſts. Non recipimus Marci teſtimonium, quod in raris fertur evangeliis — praeſertim cum diverſa atque contraria evangeliſtis ceteris narrare videatur.

In the next place, if the account I have given was liable to any objection, and you could ſhew me that it was not the truth of the caſe; which, at preſent, I think impoſſible: If it was evident from the goſpels, that the women were not a ſecond time at the tomb, but that Jeſus appeared to Mary Magdalene and the other women, the firſt time they were all there together, yet this may be, as I ap⯑prehend, without Mark's contradicting Mat⯑thew. The meaning of the words of Mark — he appeared firſt to Mary Magdalene — might be, that as ſhe and the women were returning from the monument, to tell the news to the apoſtles, Jeſus appeared to them, and in particular, addreſſed himſelf to Mary Magdalene; directing his diſcourſe to her, and ſpeaking familiarly and affectionately to her, to diſtinguiſh her as his conſtant follower in his life-time, and one on whom he had worked a great miracle of healing. [479]This, I imagine, might very juſtly be term⯑ed — he appeared firſt to Mary Magdalene — To appear firſt to any one of a company, as I take it, is to come up to, or ſtand before ſome particular perſon, in order to ſpeak to ſuch perſon. This, in my ima⯑gination, removes the difficulty, and recon⯑ciles Mark to Matthew: but to this expli⯑cation I prefer the women's being at ſecond times at the ſepulchre; that is, Mary Mag⯑dalene a ſecond time, when Peter and John went to the tomb, on what ſhe had earneſtly told them apart: and afterwards, the other Mary, Salome, Joanna, etc. a ſecond time. The goſpels, in my opinion, make this very plain ^(42.)

What has been ſaid, (Mr. Berrisfort told me), ſeems plauſible, nd ought to ſatisfy every honeſt man. It gives me content: but there is one thing ſtill that perplexes me, [480]and that is, the various lections of the New Teſtament. Do they not hurt the book?

No: (Jack Buncle replied), notwithſtand⯑ing the cry of infidels, and that ſome learned men of the church of Rome have endea⯑voured to ſhake the credit of the two teſta⯑ments, and to bring the people to the papal chair, to know the truth, on account of the various readings; yet, nevertheleſs, they are rather an advantage and ſecurity to the ſacred text than a detriment to the written word. They corroborate the authority of the ſacred book, and give it additional advantages.

It is a truth that there are many various read⯑ings in Terence, Livy, Virgil, Caeſar, Thucy⯑dides, Homer, Plutarch, etc. and yet who de⯑nies the genuineneſs and great uſe of thoſe noble authors of ſenſe and politeneſs? who is ſo hardy as to queſtion whether the works univerſally aſcribed to them be their own and the product of thoſe immortal wits? On the contrary, men of thought and clear heads, converſant in thoſe ſtudies, will agree that thoſe authors of antiquity of which there are the moſt various readings, are rendered the moſt pure and correct. And why ſhould not the various readings of the bible rather lead men of ſound learning and judgment to the true meaning of the divine writers, than endanger their miſtaking their genuine lan⯑guage and ſenſe.

[481]Where there are ſeveral readings, it is highly probable one of them is the original; and it is eaſier by their help to rectify the miſtakes of ſome copies, for when we have only one manuſcript, there may be ſcope for fancy; but none for judicious compariſon and well-grounded criticiſm.

Style and language may be diſtinguiſhed by a happy genius of natural ſagacity, im⯑proved by true learning and proper applica⯑tion, as well as ſtatues, pictures, and me⯑dals. No age can counterfeit Cicero, Te⯑rence, St. Mark, St. John, St. Paul, no more than a counterfeit picture, medal, etc. can be impoſed on, and deceive the com⯑pleat maſters and judges of thoſe ingenious profeſſions and ſciences.

Secondly, there is nothing in the various lections that affects the eſſentials of religion, or can imply a conſiderable depravation of the copies, that alters or weakens one moral contained in the divine books. And there⯑fore, though it cannot with reaſon be ſup⯑poſed, that God Almighty ſhould work per⯑petual miracles to prevent the miſtakes and blunders of every careleſs or corrupt hand, of thoſe numerous tranſcribers of thoſe ſa⯑cred volumes, no more than by a reſiſtleſs power and reſtraint to prevent all the errors and villanis committed by free and account⯑able creatures; yet the argument receives ſtrength, that notwithſtanding the innume⯑rable [482]variations, miſtakes and contradictions in ſmall matters, the all-ſeeing eye of Pro⯑vidence has ſo watched his own bleſſed and glorious revelations to mankind, that all the tranſcripts of that divine volume agree in the eſſential doctrine and grand deſign of chriſtia⯑nity. This is a truth that Infidels and Pa⯑piſts cannot diſprove.

I obſerve in the laſt place, that excluſive of the care of Providence, there could not poſſibly happen any detriment to our ſacred records by various readings: for though in an innumerable number of copies of the goſpel that were made before printing was known, and in the many tranſlations of it into ſeveral languages, where the idioms are different, and the phraſe may be miſtaken, it was almoſt impoſſible there ſhould not be various lections, and ſlips of amanuenſes, yet the ſacred volumes in the early ages of chriſtianity, were diſpoſed into innumerable hands, tranſlated into ſo many languages, kept in ſo many libraries, churches, and in private families of believers, and ſo carefully preſerved and revered as the authentic deeds and charters of eternal happineſs, that they were not capable of being falſified.

Nor could thoſe ineſtimable copies, ſcat⯑tered as they were over the then diſcovered world, and in the noble language ſo univer⯑ſally known and acceptable, be liable to ha⯑zards, by ſudden revolutions and public diſ⯑aſters; [483]becauſe thoſe convulſions and ſur⯑prizing calamities, could not happen alike in every country at one time.

Neither could a general corruption of manners, a ſpirit of profuſeneſs or ſuperſti⯑tion, nor the wicked example, and ſtrong influence of tyrannical princes, of an apo⯑ſtate clergy, and atheiſtical miniſters of ſtate, prevail over many diſtant and independant nations, to endeavour to corrupt and deſtroy their ſacred book.

On the contrary, we are to conſider that chriſtianity was the eccleſiaſtical law of all chriſtian nations under the ſun. The great law which aſſured to them their religious right and properties, their claims and titles to immortality, to the inheritance of the ſaints in light, an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, that fadeth not away, reſerved for them in the heavens. Which, to every one that deſerves the name of man and chri⯑ſtian muſt be infinitely more dear than titles to lands on this earth. For men are naturally more watchful in a matter ſo dear to them, and every believer would think himſelf con⯑cerned, no more to let a change of conſe⯑quence to paſs uncorrected, than the children of this world, who are wiſeſt in their gene⯑ration, would overlook a flaw in deeds of ſale, or contract, which would aſſert their title, and evacuate the main intention of making ſuch indentures.

[484]The primitive chriſtians muſt be ſuppoſed to be exceeding watchful and jealous that no corruption or abuſes ſhould be put on that ſacred book, more dear and valuable to them than all other intereſts and treaſures. When theſe brave champions of the croſs were brought to the tribunals of the heathen perſecutors, and were commanded to deliver their bible to the flames, they moſt cou⯑rageouſly refuſed it, and gave their bodies to be burnt rather than the divine book.

In ſhort, it is eaſier to ſuppoſe, a new bible or a new ſtatute book might be impoſed at this time of day upon this nation, without diſcovery, than to ſuppoſe a forged goſpel, a new teſtament corrupted ſo far as to be in⯑ſufficient for the good ends Providence de⯑ſigned by it, could be impoſed on the uni⯑verſal chriſtian world. It is eaſier to ſup⯑poſe that any forgery might creep into the municipal law of any particular nation, than that all the nations, whither chriſtianity is ſpread, ſhould conſpire in the corrup⯑tion of the goſpel: which moſt ſacred inſtitution is to all chriſtians of infinite⯑ly greater concern and value than their temporal laws, and all the ſecular immuni⯑ties and privileges which they ſecure to them.

And without ſuch a wicked conſert, or ſuch an aſtoniſhing careleſsneſs and negligence in all chriſtian people and nations ſuppoſed (which would be a monſtrous ſuppoſition) [485]No ſuch forgery, no ſuch alteration of eſ⯑ſentials could paſs undiſcovered in the goſ⯑pel, which was ſpread in the hands, hearts, and memories of myriads of rational devout chriſtians of all ranks, qualities and ſex, was conſtantly read in private families, frequently explained in ſchools, and daily uſed in public divine offices. It was impoſſible then in the nature of things that there could be any ſuch alterations or corruptions introduced into the ſacred text as would affect its doctrines, mo⯑rals, or truth of its hiſtorical relations, or defeat the bleſſed end and deſign of the goſ⯑pel revelation in any period of time, from the beginning of chriſtianity to this preſent age ⁽⁴³⁾ .

And if from this unanſwerable way of reaſoning in defence of the genuine purity of [486]the ſacred ſcriptures, we look next upon the Providence of the Great God in this im⯑portant caſe, is it not conſonant to ſound ſenſe, and the notions that rational creatures muſt have of the ſupreme and all-perfect Being, firmly to believe that the ſame good⯑neſs and providence, which took care for the writing, would likewiſe take care for preſerving theſe ineſtimable books, ſo free at leaſt from corruption, that they might be ſufficient for the gracious ends for which they were written, and be able to make us wiſe to ſalvation? I think ſo. To me it is evident, that ſince infinite goodneſs was pleaſed to reveal a religion, that teaches men to know Jehovah to be the true God, and to know Jeſus Chriſt, whom he hath ſent; his providence muſt not only preſerve the book on which the doctrine depends, but ſo ſecure it from corruption, as to render it a plain rule to mankind. While there is a provi⯑dence, the holy ſcriptures will remain the ſa⯑cred and unalterable ſtandard of true religion.

What you ſay (Mr. Berrisfort replied) ſeems to me to be true. I have nothing to object. But once more — let me aſk you, in reſpect of the aſcenſion, which followed the reſurrection of Jeſus, is it not very ſtrange, that this is not mentioned by any of the apo⯑ſtles who are ſaid to have been eye-witneſſes of the fact, but Luke and Mark only are the relators of the thing, who were not apo⯑ſtles, [487]and had all they writ from the informa⯑tion of the apoſtles. If the apoſtles, Matthew and John, did really ſee with their eyes the Lord Jeſus taken up from them into heaven, might we not expect, that they would write the hiſtory of that ſtill more wonderful tran⯑ſaction, as well as they had ſo exactly related the reſurrection of Jeſus? for the men, who ſtood gazing up into heaven, after the Lord was carried up in a cloud (as Luke ſays they did) not to mention ſo very wonderful and intereſting an affair in their goſpels; — and men who did not ſee the thing, to relate it as part of the hiſtory they had received from the apoſtles; — this is what aſto⯑niſhes me. If it was a truth, ſurely ſo im⯑portant a one ought not to be omitted by thoſe who ſaw it: ſince Matthew and John did write hiſtories of Chriſt, why ſhould they be ſilent on this grand article, and take no notice of it in their records? What do you ſay to this?

I will tell you, (I replied): in the firſt place, noſtrum non eſt providentiae divinae ra⯑tiones reddere. Placuit ſpiritui ſancto ita di⯑rigere calamos Matthaei et Joannis, ut nar⯑ratione reſurrectionis dominicae evangelia ſua concluderent. (Sic refert Philippus a Lim⯑borch). — It does not become us to call Pro⯑vidence to account, or aſſign the ways it ought to act in: infinite wiſdom thought fit to appoint, that Matthew and John ſhould [488]end their goſpels with the relation of our Lord's reſurrection: the reſurrection demon⯑ſtrated the divine miſſion of Jeſus Chriſt. To it, as a proof the moſt valid, and unexcep⯑tionable, our Lord referred the Jews, and therefore, to it, as the great fundamental, Matthew and John appealed: they proved it by declaring that they had converſed with Jeſus Chriſt after he aroſe from the ſepul⯑chre; and when that was proved, there could be no diſpute about any thing elſe. The divinity of the chriſtian religion, and the aſcenſion and glory of their Lord, reſt on this baſe. All the bleſſings likewiſe of the goſpel, regeneration, our reſurrection, and life eternal, are aſcribed by the apoſtles, Pe⯑ter and Paul, to the reſurrection of Chriſt: and for theſe reaſons, to be ſure, when John had deſcribed his Lord's reſurrection, he add⯑ed, — and many other ſigns truly did Jeſus in the preſence of his diſciples, which are not written in this book — But theſe are writ⯑ten, that ye might believe that Jeſus is the Chriſt, the Son of God, and that believing, ye might have life through his name. We muſt allow then, that the account of the aſcen⯑ſion by Luke and Mark, may be authentic, tho' not mentioned by Matthew and John.

In the next place, St. John is not totally ſilent as to the aſcenſion of our Lord. In his ſixth chapter, ver. 62. it is written — What and if ye ſhall ſee the Son of Man aſ⯑cend [489]up where he was before? and in the 7th chapter, ver. 39th. But this ſpake he of the Spirit, which they that believe in him ſhould receive. For the Holy Ghoſt was not yet given, becauſe that Jeſus was not yet glorified. Here moſt certainly the apoſtle ſpeaks of the aſcenſion of his Maſter, and tho' he did not write the hiſtory of it, yet, not ob⯑ſcurely, ſays the thing was to be; which confirms the accounts of St. Luke and St. Mark. And ſince, in the 14th and 15th chapters of St. John, ver. 16.26. the apoſtle declares, that Jeſus foretold he would ſend to them, his diſciples, the Comforter or holy Spi⯑rit from the Father, after his aſcenſion to heaven; and that the apoſtles demonſtrated by miracles, after the death of their Lord, that they had received this Comforter or divine Spirit, it follows, that the aſcenſion and glo⯑rification of Jeſus is as much aſſerted and confirmed by the goſpel of St. John, as if that apoſtle, like Luke, had writ the hiſtory of it. This is evident to me. I think it is not poſſible to diſpute it.

The ſum of the whole is, that the preju⯑dices of the pious, and the arts of the crafty and intereſted, have defaced the true goſpel of Chriſt, and ſubſtituted human notions and conſequences in the place of divine revela⯑tion: but let us ſtrip the ſacred records of the falſe gloſſes and ſyſtems, with which the theoriſts have covered it, and allow the [490]enemy, that the apoſtles, ſometimes want⯑ing the unerring ſpirit of their Maſter, were liable to ſlight miſtakes, and inadvertencies, in the repreſentation of ordinary events; that they did, ſometimes, by too great an affection for their Maſter's doctrine, ſtrain ſome things, and cite prophecies that did not relate to Jeſus in any ſenſe at all ⁽⁴⁴⁾ ; — [491]let this be done to remove incumbrances, to clear up difficulties, and to anſwer objections otherwiſe unanſwerable, and the writings of [492]the apoſtles will appear to be a globe of light from heaven; to irradiate the human underſtanding, and conduct the ſons of men [493]to the realms of bliſs. Their leſſons are the dictates of the Spirit of God: their ſanctions are of ſuch force, in a cer⯑tainty of future judgment and retribution, [494]that they incline a rational to have a ſerious regard to them.

In a word, the religion of nature is per⯑fect, but men are imperfect, and therefore [495]it pleaſed God to ſend our Saviour into the world, to republiſh the law of reaſon by his preaching, and in the writings of the apoſtles, and by him to give many motives to men, to incite them to perform their duty, as ſet forth in his written laws, and in the more ſtriking example of our Lord, his only-begotten Son. Let us be chriſtians then, my dear Bob, and adore the divine goodneſs, for the life eternal prepared for the righteous, as declared in the ſacred records. Let us hearken to the apoſtles, (who, knowing the terror of the Lord, perſuade men), and ſo govern and conduct ourſelves by the rules of revelation, that when the man Chriſt Jeſus, who ap⯑peared in the world to redeem us, will re⯑turn to judge us by the goſpel, we may aſ⯑cend with him to the unbounded regions of eternal day, and in ever-blooming joys, live for ever in the preſence of God.— I have done. Where you think I am wrong, you will be pleaſed to ſay.

[496]My friend replied, that he had no objec⯑tion to make: he was quite ſatisfied; and obliged to me for my advice. Thus ended the converſation between Bob Berrisfort and Jack Buncle.

94. 1725. July 3. My depar⯑ture from Yeoverin-Green, and arrival at a ſhaking-bog, at the bottom of a moun⯑tain.

The 3d day of July, I left Yeoverin-Green, and ſet out again for Ulubrae, to get my horſes and portmanteau, but proceeded now on foot; becauſe, by climbing over a high mountain, which it was impoſſible for a horſe to aſcend, and then walking half a mile over a ſhaking-bog, where a beaſt could not go, I was to ſave many miles; and beſide, Mr. Berrisfort was ſo obliging as to ſend one of his ſervants back with Mr. Harcourt's horſes, which I knew not which way to return. With my pole in my hand then I ſet out, and after I had bid adieu to my friends, who walked with me a couple of miles to the foot of the hills, I bagan to mount the Alp at Six in the morning, and at eight arrived on its ſummit. Here I had a fine road, due ſouth, for an hour, till I came to a very ſteep deſcent, that led to the ſhaking-bog, as my paper of directions informed me. It was an ugly way down, and the better to go it, I reſolved firſt to breakfaſt, and bid Tim ſee what he had got in his wallet. Imme⯑diately he produced a roaſt fowl, a man⯑chet, and a bottle of cyder, and among ſome trees, on the brow of a hill, by the [497]ſide of a ſpring, that ran off the Way I was to go, I ſat down to the repaſt. I gave my Lad half the Bird, and the other half I diſ⯑patched in a very ſhort Time, drank a Pint of Cyder, and was on my Feet again. I then began to deſcend, and in an Hour made a Shift to get to the bottom, tho' the way was bad; being very ſteep, wet, and ſlippery. I came to a dirty lane, about two hundred yards long, and that ended at the ſhaking-bog.

95. The nature of a ſhak⯑ing bog.

This kind of bog I take to be an abyſs of ſtanding water, covered with a thin arch of earth, that is, a water communicating with the abyſs ſo covered, or weakly vaulted over: and of this opinion I find the right reverend Erich Pontoppidan is, in his na⯑tural hiſtory of Norway. The biſhop does not tell his reaſon for ſo thinking; but mine is, that I have ſeen in Ireland the arches of ſeveral of thoſe bogs broken, and a deep un⯑fathomable water at ſome diſtance from the arch. They are very dangerous, frightful places, and many of them play up and down, like a long plank, in a very ſurprizing Man⯑ner.

96. We return from the bog to the Mountain, and arrive at a far⯑mer's houſe.

To go half a Mile over ſuch a bog, and the moſt elaſtic of them I had ever tried, was what I did not much like; tho' the author of my paper of directions, an old ſervant of Mr. Berrisfort, affirmed it was quite ſafe; and as to Tim, he would not, [498]on any conſideration, croſs it. He was poſi⯑tive we ſhould ſink beyond Recovery. What to do then, was the queſtion? I tried for ſome Time to go round the bog, at the bottom of the encloſing mountains, but that was ſoon found impoſſible, and therefore, it only remained, to go up again to the top of the hill, and try onwards for ſome other de⯑ſcent beyond the bog. We did ſo, and after walking two hours ſouth-weſt, at a good rate, had a view of a deep glin, to which we deſcended by an eaſy ſlope, and marched thro' it, to the weſt, and north-weſt for two hours, till it ended at a wood. This we paſſed without any difficulty, as there were walks cut through it, and came out into a broad valley, that had a river very near us, and a ſweet pretty cottage on the margin of the flood. I went up to the houſe to aſk my way, and found at the door three men, the eldeſt of whom ſeemed to be about thirty years old. They aſked me very civilly to walk in, and ſeemed to wonder not a little at ſeeing me and my man, in ſuch a place, with our poles in our hands.

97. An account of Mr. Fleming, and his two brothers.

Theſe Men were three brothers, and Roman catholics. Two of them were gentle⯑men-farmers, who lived together, and jointly managed the country buſineſs. The eldeſt was a Franciſcan frier, who came to viſit them. Their good manners, in their plain dreſs, ſurprized me; and their benevolence, made me wonder a great deal more. Their maid [499]laid a clean cloth in a minute, and brought ſome cold roaſt beef, good bread, and fine ale. They bid me heartily welcome many times, and were ſo frank and generous, ſo chearful and gay; eſpecially the eldeſt of the farmers, who ſang ſeveral good ſongs over a bowl of punch after dinner, that I could not think of leaving them immediately, if I had known my road, and was eaſily prevailed on to ſtay ſeveral days. A friendſhip com⯑menced immediately between the eldeſt Fleming and me, and there was not one cold or croſs minute in it for the few years that he lived. He loved me as his brother from the firſt day he ſaw me, and I had ſo great a regard for him, that with a ſorrow I cannot help, I think of his death to this day. How to account for ſuch ſudden paſſions I know not. The thing has always appeared to me very ſtrange. Mr. Fleming to be ſure was a man of a bright and very extraordinary under⯑ſtanding, though no more than a farmer in this world, had a moſt happy temper, a generoſity too great for his fortune, and was for ever chearful and free; but theſe things, however pleaſing, could not be the cauſe of the ſudden and laſting friend⯑ſhip between us, as I have been ac⯑quainted with men of fortune who equalled him in theſe reſpects, and yet they never ſtruck me more than for the preſent Time. Whatever might be the cauſe, the fact is [500]certain. No two men ever liked one another more than we did from the firſt hour of our acquaintance, and as I had the happineſs of converting him to the proteſtant religion, it is poſſible, that might cement a friendſhip, which, a ſameneſs of diſpoſition had helped to produce ⁽⁴⁴⁾ . This is all I can ſay as to [501]the reaſon of this matter. In reſpect of the thing, it was of the greateſt ſervice to me. My new acquired friend aſſiſted me to the utmoſt of his power, in the accompliſhment [502]of my deſigns, in that part of the world I then was. I had his head, his hand, and his houſe at my ſervice, and by them I was enabled to give a roundneſs to a ſyſtem, that was too happy to laſt long.

98. My arrival at Ulubrae, and what paſſed there.

But as to the ſhaking bog I was to have paſſed to go to the gentlemen at Ulubrae, Fleming told me, I had a fortunate eſcape in not venturing over it; for, tho' it be paſſable in one narrow way, about a yard broad, yet a ſtranger to the bog muſt periſh in attempt⯑ing to croſs; as the timber cauſeway that was made over the great marſh, time out of mind, is inviſible in many places, and one ſinks for ever, the moment he ſteps off that way: but I will ſhew you an eaſy road (my new friend continued) to the gentlemen's houſe, to whom I am no ſtranger, and will make you acquainted with ſome paſſes thro' the mountains, that will render it eaſier riding over this country than you have found it. He did ſo, and by his guidance I ar⯑rived at Ulubrae, the 7th day of July; being the 17th day from the morning I left the philoſophers. The gentlemen were ſtartled at the ſight of me, as they concluded I had periſhed, and had, as they aſſured me, [503]mourned my ſad fate: they were impatient to hear the adventure of the mountain, and by what ſtrange means, I was jumbled all the way to Tom Fleming's; who lives ſo far from the hill I went into; and the road from it to his houſe, ſcarce paſſable for a mortal. Inform us, we beſeech you, how theſe ſtrange things came to paſs.

Gentlemen, I ſaid, I am extremely o⯑bliged to you for your concern for me, and will tell you my ſtory as ſoon as we have dined, as the ſervants are now bringing the diſhes in, and accordingly, when we had done, I gave them a relation in detail. They were greatly pleaſed with my hiſtory, and much more, to have me returned to them in ſafety again. If they had not ſeen me, they ſaid, they could not believe the thing, and they would order the whole account to be entered in the journal of their ſociety, as the moſt extraordinary caſe they had ever known: or, perhaps, ſhould ever hear re⯑lated again. Their ſecretary, as directed, writ it down in the big book of tranſactions, and it remains in their records to this day.— In ſhort, reader, theſe worthy men were ſo greatly rejoiced at my being alive, when they thought me for certain among the dead, that they put the bottle round in a feſ⯑tal manner after dinner. We drank and laughed till it was midnight.

99. My depar⯑ture from Ulubrae to Eggleſton.

The 8th day of July, I took my [504]leave of the gentlemen at Ulubrae, and pro⯑ceeded to the Eaſt-riding of Yorkſhire, to look for Miſs Melmoth. Fleming came with me as far as Eggleſton to ſhew me the paſſes between the hills, and the beſt ways over the mountains. Many vaſt high ones we croſſed, and travelled through very wonderful glins. Several ſcenes were as charming as any I had before ſeen, and the low ways as bad; but he knew all the roads and croſs turnings per⯑fectly well, and ſhortned the journey a great many miles. I had told him the bu⯑ſineſs I was going on, and he requeſted, if I ſucceeded, that I would bring Miſs Mel⯑moth to his houſe, that his brother might marry us; and as to Orton-Lodge, which I had deſcribed to him, and told him where to find, (for he had no notion of it, nor had ever been among the fells of Weſtmoreland; as he thought that country unpaſſable), he promiſed me, he would go there himſelf, and bring with him two labouring men to aſſiſt my lad, in putting the garden and houſe in the beſt condition they were ca⯑pable of receiving; that he would bring there ſeeds, and trees, ſuch as the ſeaſon allowed, and do every thing in his power, to render the place convenient and pleaſing: he would likewiſe ſell me a couple of his cows, a few ſheep, and other things, which I ſhould find before me at the lodge, and let me have one of his maids for my ſervant in [505]the houſe. This was good indeed. I could not wiſh for more

100. 1725, From Eg⯑gleſton I went to Mrs. Aſ⯑gil's to look for Miſs Mel⯑moth; but ſhe was gone.

The 9th of July, early in the morn⯑ing, Fleming and I parted, and I proceeded as faſt as well I could to the appointed ſta⯑tion: but when I came up to Mrs. Aſgill's door, the 2d day in the evening, July 10, and aſked for Miſs Melmoth, an old man, the only perſon in the houſe, told me, Mrs. Aſgill had been dead near a month, and Miſs Melmoth went from thence immediately after the funeral of her friend; that ſhe had left a letter with him for a gentleman that was to call upon her; but that letter by an accident was deſtroyed, and where the lady then was, he could not ſo much as gueſs: he farther told me, that Miſs Melmoth had ſold the goods of the houſe, and the ſtock, bequeathed to her by her deceaſed friend, to the gentleman who inherited the late Mrs. Aſgill's jointure, and ſhe would return no more to the place. This was news to me. It ſtruck me to the ſoul. Doleful tidings, how ye wound. What to do I could not tell, but as I rid to the next town, determined at laſt, to try if I could hear of her at York. To that city I went the next day, aſked at the inns, walked the walls, and went to the aſſembly-room. My enquiries were all in vain. One gentleman only did I ſee who was acquainted with her, and he knew nothing of her preſent abode. From York then I proceeded the next morn⯑ing [506]to ſearch other towns, and left no place unexamined where I could think ſhe might be. Three weeks were ſpent in this manner, without hearing a ſyllable of her, and then I thought it was beſt to return to my lodge; for what ſignified my five hundred pounds to appear with in the world. It muſt be ſoon gone as I had not the leaſt notion of any kind of trade; and if I joined any one that was in buſineſs, I might be miſtaken in the man, and ſo cheated and undone. Then what could I do but carry a brown muſket, or go a hand before the maſt; for, as to being an uſher to a ſchool for bread, were I reduced to want, that was the life of all lives that I moſt abhorred. Nothing elſe then had I for it but my ſilent mountain-lodge, which kind providence had brought me to. There I re⯑ſolved to go, and in that charming ſolitude, peruſe alone the book of nature, till I could hear of ſome better way of ſpending my time.

101. By acci⯑dent, I meet Miſs Melmoth.

To this purpoſe then I went the 2d of Auguſt, 1725, to Barnard's Caſtle in Durham, and intended the next morning to ſet out for Mr. Fleming's houſe in Stanemore, to go from thence to my cottage on the ſide of a Weſtmorland-Fell: but after I had rid a mile of the road to Eggleſton, where I pur⯑poſed to dine, I called out to my lad to ſtop. A ſudden thought came into my head, to ride firſt to Gretabridge, as I was ſo near it, [507]to ſee ſome fine Roman monuments, that are in the neighbourhood of that village. To that place I went then, and paſſed the day in looking over all the antiquities and curioſi⯑ties I could find there. I returned in the evening to my inn, and while a fowl was roaſting for my ſupper, ſtood leaning againſt the houſe-door, looking at ſeveral travellers that went by, and ſome that came to reſt where I did that night. Many figures I be⯑held, but none I knew. At laſt there came riding up to the inn, full ſpeed, a young lady on a moſt beautiful beaſt, and after her, two horſes more; on one of which was her man ſervant, and on the other her maid. She had a black maſk on her face, to ſave her from the duſt and ſun, and when ſhe lit from her horſe, ſhe id not take it off, but went with it on into the houſe, after ſhe had looked for a moment or two at me. This I thought very ſtrange. A charmer to be ſure, I ſaid. With what life and grace did ſhe come to the ground! but how cruel the dear little rogue is, to conceal the wonders of its face. Landlord, I ſaid to the maſter of the houſe, who was coming up to me, can you contrive a way to get me one view of that maſked lady, and I will give you a pint. — Sir, mine hoſt replied, that I can do very eaſily, for this lady has ſent me to let you know, ſhe wants to ſpeak with you — [508]with me! — Tranſporting news! I flew to her apartment, and there ſaw that dear irreſiſtable creature, who had added to the inferior charms of face and perſon, that wiſ⯑dom and goodneſs of conauct and converſation, which are the true glory of a woman. It was Miſs Melmoth. She had heard I had been at Mrs. Aſgill's houſe, and did not get the letter ſhe left for me; which made her think of riding towards Gretabridge, on an imagination ſhe might find me thereabout; as ſhe remembered to have heard me ſay, in one of our converſations, that I intended as ſoon as I could, to look at the Roman anti⯑quities in this place: but ſhe had very little hopes (ſhe added) of ſucceeding in her en⯑quiry; as little as I had of her riding up to the inn; and this made the meeting the more pleaſing. It did enhanſe the pleaſure indeed. It turned the amour into an adventure, and gave it that delicious flavor, which the mo⯑derns read of in the hiſtories of paſt times, but rarely experience in theſe days. The reader that has been engaged in ſuch a won⯑derful, and tender ſcene, can only form an idea of a felicity, which words would in vain attempt to expreſs.

As ſoon as we had ſupped, I recited my adventures ſince we parted, and gave Miſs Melmoth a flowery deſcription of Orton-Lodge; then aſked, if ſhe would bleſs me with her [509]hand, and ſit down with me in my pretty ſolitude.

Sir, (Miſs Melmoth replied), if you re⯑quired it, I would go with you to Hudſon's-Bay, had I a hundred thouſand, inſtead of four thouſand pounds; which is my for⯑tune, excluſive of ſome perſonal eſtate, which my friend Mrs. Aſgill by her will bequeathed me; and the whole is at your ſervice, to diſpoſe of as you pleaſe.

Give me thy hand then (I ſaid,) thou ge⯑nerous girl. You make me the happieſt of men, and in return I ſwear by that one, ſu⯑preme, tremendous Power I adore, that I will be true and faithful to thee, till death diſ⯑ſolves the ſacred obligation. Twice do I ſwear by the great Spirit, in whoſe dread preſence I am, with your right hand now locked faſt in mine, acroſs this table, and call on him as witneſs to our vows, that nei⯑ther time, nor chance, nor aught but death's inevitable hand, ſhall e'er divide our loves. Miſs Melmoth ſaid, Amen.

102. 1725. Miſs Mel⯑moth and I proceed to Orton-Lodge, and are married by Father Fleming.

Early the next morning, the third of Auguſt, we rid to Eggleſton, where we breakfaſted, and proceeded from thence to Mr. Fleming's houſe, up Stanemore hills, where we arrived at nine o'clock in the evening, and had beds there that night. My friend Tom and his brother Jemmy, were gone to a fair; but the eldeſt bro⯑ther, [510]the Franciſcan fryer, was at home, and entertained us very well. We took him with us very early the next day to Orton-Lodge, which we reached at eight in the evening, and found the houſe and garden in good order. My friend, Mr. Fleming, had done every thing poſſible, to make it a con⯑venient and comfortable place. He had made near the Lodge two little rooms for ſervants, and had put a bed in the green-houſe in the garden for a friend. He had likewiſe ſent there a couple of cows, ſome ſheep and lambs, ducks and geeſe, cocks and hens, and every neceſſary he thought we might want there. Good Tom Fleming. There never was a better man, or a kinder friend, to his ſmall power.

We had likewiſe fiſh in abundance, in the waters at the foot of our hills, and goats and kids, and plenty of wild fowl. Few things were wanting that reaſon could deſire; and for us, who thought that happineſs, that is, pleaſure and repoſe, did not precariouſly depend on what others think, or ſay, or do; but ſolidly conſiſted in what we ourſelves did feel, and reliſh, and enjoy, there could not be a more delightful ſtation diſcovered on this globe.

To conclude, the beſt things that Orton-Lodge afforded, were ordered to the fire, and before they were brought on the table, the [511]man of God threw the fillet or ribband over our hands, according to the Romiſh man⯑ner, and pronounced the nuptial benediction on us. Huſband and wife we ſat down to ſupper.