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The Life of John Buncle, Esquire 
 
Half-Forgotten Books 
 
 Edited by E. A. Baker, M.A. 
 With a Special Introduction to each Volume 
 
 Tom BuUkley of Ussln^on. By R. Mounteney Jephson. 
 
 WUtefrlara ; or, tbe Days of Charles II. By Emma 
 Robinson. 
 
 The Mysteries of Udolpho. By Ann Radcliffe. 
 
 Caleb WllUams. By William Godwin. 
 
 gam Slick the Clockmaker. By Judge Haliburton. 
 
 Memoirs of Grlmaldl the Clown. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 With Cniikshank's Illustrations, and Introduction by Percy Fitz- 
 gerald, 
 
 Black Sheep. By Edmund Yates. 
 
 Guy Livingstone. By G. A. Lawrence. 
 
 Old Loudon Bridge. By G. H. Rodwell. 
 
 The Camp of Befage. By Charles Macfarlane. 
 
 Beading Abbey. By Charles Macfarlane. 
 
 Adventures of David Simple. By Sarah Fielding. 
 
 Willy BelUy. By W. Carleton. 
 
 The Hour and the Man. By Harriet Martineau. 
 
 The Fottleton Legacy. By Albert Smith. 
 
 The Fool of Quality. By Henry Brooke. 
 
 The Cruise of "The Midge." By Michael Scott. 
 
 The Nlghtslde of Nature. By Mrs. Crowe. 
 
THE 
 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF 
 
 JOHN BUNGLE 
 ESQUIRE 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS AMORY 
 
 with an Introduction by 
 
 ERNEST A. BAKER, M.A. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LIMITED 
 
 NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & Co. 
 
 1904 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The History of John Bwicle has never been a popular book. It is hardly 
 possible to imagine a period whose standard of taste and culture would render 
 it popular. Yet it is safe to predict that it will always, as in the past, be an 
 object of interest to the connoisseur, the explorer of curious by-paths of 
 literature, and to all who have a liking for the eccentricities of human nature, 
 when conjoined with strength and shrewdness, and with candour of expression. 
 Thrice during the last century was the book disinterred froni the obscurity 
 that covered it, and on each occasion by a critic distinguished by this taste 
 for originality. Charles Lamb, in The Two Races of Men, hits ofi the book 
 with delightful humour when he says, " In yonder nook, John Buncle, a 
 widower-volume, with ' eyes closed,' mourns his ravished mate." HazUtt's 
 enthusiasm led him, ill advisedly, to compare the author with a genius of 
 a far superior order : — 
 
 "The soul of Francis Rabelais passed into John {sic) Amory, the author of 
 The Life and Adventures of John Buncle. Both were phjfsicians, and enemies 
 of too much gravity. Their business was to enjoy life. Rabelais indulges 
 his spirit of sensuality in wine, in dried neats' -tongues, in Bologna sausages, 
 in botargos. J ohn Bimcle shows the same symptoms of inordinate satisfaction 
 in tea and bread-and-butter. While Rabelais roared with Friar John and the 
 monks, John Buncle gossiped with the ladies, and with equal and uncon- 
 trolled gaiety. These two authors possessed all the insolence of health, 
 so that their works give a fillip to the constitution ; but they carried ofi the 
 exuberance of their natural spirits in different ways. The title of one of 
 Rabelais' chapters (and the contents answer to the title) is, ' How they chirped 
 over their cups.' The title of a corresponding chapter in John Buncle would 
 run thus : ' The author is invited to spend the evening with the divine Miss 
 Hawkins, and goes accordingly ; with the delightful conversation that ensued.' " 
 
 The essay is so well known and so sententious that it has probably led 
 many a man to take its judgments on trust, and not trouble to peruse the 
 book for himself. Leigh Himt, on the contrary, in that charming literary vade 
 mecum of his, A Book for a Corner, entices one to get the book and read it, 
 or rather to roam about in its leisurely and disciursive pages. But whoever 
 has been so tempted hitherto must have met with an initial difliculty, the 
 extreme scarcity of the work. Amory pubUshed the first volumein 1756, along 
 with a complete edition in four volumes, i2mo. Another edition appeared 
 in three volumes in 1825, since which date the chances of coming across the 
 book in any form have steadily, grown more remote. 
 
 What is the peculiar attraction of John Buncle ? That a book is merely a 
 literary curiosity, or that it contains excellent passages iaterspersed amid a 
 huge extent of tedious prosing, is certainly not the thmg to secure the interest 
 of Lamb, Hazlitt, Leigh Hunt. What fascinates in the book is the vigoiu: 
 and the frankness with which a most exceptional, yet, in a way, a most re- 
 presentative kindof man reveals the whole of his character. For John Buncle 
 is an eccentric only in the sense that he carries very common traits of char- 
 acter to a strange excess. In his love of good living, his sensuality combined 
 with a Pharisaic animus against vice, in that blind egotism and portentous 
 arrogance, one might perceive the exaggeration of certain national qualities, 
 with which the author, who was in the first case anonymous, shows his 
 sympathy by exalting them to the degree of absurdity. John Bull, at least 
 one side of him, was caricatured, unintentionally, in John Buncle. And the 
 sectarian spirit that is so deeply ingrained in the national character is faith- 
 fully portrayed in John Buncle the unitarian, with his dogmatism and utter 
 intolerance, and his delight in wordy argument imtempered by the slightest 
 capacity for understanding his adversary's point of view. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 It is, in fact, such a paradox of a book that it tempts every one to fly into 
 paradoxes. Buncle himself is so hot in denouncing immorality and yet so 
 immoral ; condemns sensuality with so much eloquence yet is so shamelessly 
 sensual ; is so sincere and yet such a hypocrite ; so fervent in his religious 
 zeal, yet degrades religion so unblushingly to consecrate his iunholy appetites. 
 " It is impossible," said Leigh Hunt, " to be serious with John Bunde, Esq., 
 jolly dog. Unitarian, and Bluebeard; otherwise, if we were to take him at 
 bis word, we should pronounce him, besides being a jolly dog, to be one of a 
 very selfish description, with too good a constitution to correct him, a pzo- 
 <£gious vanity, no feeling whatever, and a provoidng contempt for everything 
 unfortunate, or opposed to his whims. He quarrels with bigotry, and is a 
 bigot ; with abuse, and riots in it He hates the cruel opinions held by 
 Athanasius, and sends people to the devil as an Arian. He kills ofi seven wives 
 out of pure incontinence and love of change, yet cannot abide a rake or even 
 the poorest victim of the rake, unless both happen to be his acquaintances. 
 The way in which he trsunples on the miserable wretches in the streets is the 
 very rage and triumph of hard-heartedness, furious at seeing its own vices 
 reflected on it, unredeemed by the privileges of law, divinity, and success. 
 But the truth is, John is no more responsible for his opinions than health itself, 
 or a high-mettled racer. He only ' thinks he's thinkmg.' He does, m reality, 
 nothing at all but eat, drink, talk, and enjoy himself. Amory, Buncle's 
 creator, was in all probability an honest man, or he would hardly have been 
 innocent enough to put such extravagances on paper." 
 
 Leigh Hunt also says in the same place : " John's life is not a classic : it 
 contains no passage which is a general favourite : no extract could be made 
 from it of any length to which readers of good taste would not find objections. 
 Yet there is so curious an interest in all its absurdities ; its jumble of the gayest 
 and gravest considerations is so founded in the actusd state of things ; it dmws 
 now and then such excellent porteaits from life ; and, above all, its animal 
 spirits are at once so excessive and so real, that we defy the best readers 
 not to be entertained with it, and having had one or two specimens, not to 
 desire more. Buncle would say, that there is ' cut and come again ' in him 
 like one of his luncheons of cold beef and a foaming tankard." 
 
 The Life of John Buncle has many of the same merits as the life of Samuel 
 Pepys, not the least of which is the unconscious humour of the book. Buncle 
 himself is utterly devoid of a sense of humour ; his heavy seriousness is 
 something tmconscionable. But I doubt if there be a more egregious example 
 in literature of the unintentionalljr comic. The entire plan, or no-plan, of 
 the book, with its aimless narrative and irrelevant digressions (the story 
 seems to exist for the sake of the digressions) is so absurd ; and the idea is 
 so comic of the man going out to try his fortune in the world, " not like the 
 Chevalier La Mancha, in hopes of conquering a kingdom, or marrying some 
 great Princess ; but to see if I could find another good country girl for a wife, 
 and get a Uttle more money; as they were the only two tibings united, 
 that could secure me from melancholy, and confer real happiness." 
 
 He puts the case with inimitable gravity : " In the next place, as 1 had 
 forfeited my father's favour and estate, for the sake of christian-deism, and 
 had nothing but my own honest industry to secure me daily bread, it was 
 necessary for me to lay hold of every opportunity to improve my fortune, 
 and of consequence do my best to gain the heart of the first luji young 
 woman who came in my way, after I had buried a wife. It was not fit for me 
 to sit snivelling ioi months, because my wife died before me, which was, at 
 least, as probable, as that she should be the survivor ; but instead of solemn 
 affliction, and the inconsolable part, for an event I foresaw, it was incumbent 
 on me, after a little decent mourning, to consecrate myself to virtue and good 
 fortune united in the form of a woman." 
 
 Most diverting of all are the scenes of love-making, a land of love-making 
 which is, surely, quite unique in literature or in life. What coy maiden was 
 ever wooed after the manner employed to win the " illustrious Statia " ? 
 Indelicacy almost ceases to be iiulelicate when it becomes so elephantine. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 " Pooder, iUiistrious Statia, on the importaat paint. Consider what it ig to 
 die a maid» when you may, in a regular way, produce heirs to that inestimable 
 blessing of life and favour, which the munificence of the Most High was pleased 
 freely to bestow, and which the great Christian mediator, agent, and nego- 
 ciator, republished, confirmed, and sealed with his blood. Marry then in 
 regard to the gospel, and. let it be the fine employment of your life, to open 
 gradually the treasures of revelation to the understandings of the little Christians 
 you produce. What do you say, illustrious Statia ? Shall it be a succession, 
 as you are an upright Christian ? And may I hope to have the honour of 
 sharing in the mutual satisfaction that must attend the discbarge of so mo- 
 mentous a dnty ? " 
 
 Needless to say, the lady is not proof against such eloquence ; and the 
 nuptials are concluded with a dispatch befitting the urgency of the obligation. 
 The disquisitions on fluxions, geometry, algebra (with diagrammatic iUus- 
 trations), on the Hebraic covenant, the rite of circumcision, and similMly 
 erudite topics, that take the place of amorous small talk, are equally enter- 
 taining in a way that their author never intended. The young ladies are 
 charming in spite of their inrodigious learning ; but more charming is the 
 force which their personal attractions add to their reasoning. " But is there 
 no other way," asks John Buncle of an accomplished female who has been 
 demonstrating a curious mathematical theorem, " of paying £100 in guineas 
 and pistoles, besides the six ways you have mentioned ? " ' There is no other 
 way, the fine girl answered." There is something most refreshing to hear 
 Buncle, the epicure, the amorous, and the successful, delivering himself 
 gravely on the subject of resignation to the decrees of providence : — 
 
 " This is a summary of my past life ; what is before me heaven only knows. 
 My fortune I trust with the Preserver of men, and the Father of spirits. One 
 thing I am certain of by observation, few as the days of the years of my pil- 
 grimage have been, that the emptiness, and unsatisfying nature of this lyorld's 
 enjoyments, are enough to prevent my having any fondness to stay in this 
 region of darkness Mid sorrow. I shall never leap over the bars of life, let 
 what will happen ; but the sooner I have leave to depart, I shall think it the 
 better for me." 
 
 " 'Tis a very interesting," as Charles Lamb says, " and an extraordinary 
 compound of all manner of subjects, from the depth of the ludicrous to the 
 heights of sublime religious truth. There is much abstruse science in it 
 above my cut, and an infinite fund of pleasanhry. John Buncle is a famous 
 fine man, formed in Nature's most eccentric hour." And with all its defects 
 and its ofEences against good taste. Lamb said emphatically to some one 
 who objected to the epithet so applied. The Life of John Buncle is " a healthy 
 book." It is perhaps a tribute to the originality of the book, and no detri- 
 ment to its real mCTits, that a Saturday Reviewer called it " a book which 
 nowadays would have been dated from Colney Hatch, or, more likely, sup- 
 pressed by the care of relatives." And that the Biographie Universdle 
 should rim it down is, perhaps, testimony as emphatic to its truly English 
 qualities. 
 
 John Buncle is virtually a sequel to an earlier book of Amory's published 
 in 1755, entitled. Memoirs contaimng the Lives of several Ladies of Great 
 Britain : " A History of Antiquities, Productions of Nature, and Monuments 
 of Art ; Observations on the Christian Religion as professed by the Established 
 Church and Dissenters of every Denomination ; Remarks on the Writings 
 of the Greatest English Divines ; with a Variety of Disquisitions and Opinions 
 relative to Criticism and Manners ; and many Extraordinary Actions.' 
 This is another Unitarian romance, as eccentric, rambling and bizarre in style 
 as John Buncle, which it resembles in every respect save that it is, perhaps, 
 even less like any other sort of book on record, and. has less of the personal 
 elem^it in it. But such episodes as the casual meeting of the author with the 
 beautiful Miss ISruce. in a Uttle mansion set amidst " the finest flowering 
 greens," in a sequestered spot among " the- vast lulls of NorthumbCTland," 
 a meeting that is, of course, the prelude to a lengthy discourse on Philosophic 
 
INTROD UCTION 
 
 Deism ; such characters as Miss West, Julia Desborough and Charles Benlow, 
 paragons of virtue, wisdom and orthodox Unitarianism ; with their adven- 
 tures in the wilds of northern England, the Hebrides, and a sort of Deistic 
 Utopia in the Cape Verde Islands, might have been taken from the 
 pages of John Buncle. A reader of the latter volume might easily fancy 
 himself familiar with such incidents as the two following, taken from the 
 Memoirs : — 
 
 " They were riding to Crawford Dyke, near Dunglass, the place I intended 
 for, and by a wrong turn in the road came to Mrs. Benlow's house instead 
 of going to Robin's Toad, where they designed to bait. It was between eight 
 and nine at night when they got to her door ; and as they appeared, by the 
 richness of their riding-dress, their servants, and the beautiful horses they 
 rid, to be women of distinction, Mrs. Benlow invited them in, and requested 
 they would lie at her house that night, as the inn they were looking for was 
 very bad. Nothing could be more grateful to the ladies than this proposal. 
 They were on the ground in a moment ; and all sat down soon after, with 
 the greatest cheerfmness, to a fine dish of trouts, roasted chickens, tarts, and 
 sparragrass. The strangers were quite charmed with everything they saw. 
 The sweet rural room they were in, and the wild beauties of the garden in 
 view, they could not enough admire ; and they were so struck with Mrs. 
 Benlow's goodness, and the lively, happy manner she has of showing it, 
 that they conceived immediately the greatest affection for her. Felicity 
 could not rise higher than it did at this table. For a couple of hours we 
 laughed most immoderately." 
 
 " As I travelled once in the month of September, over a wild part of York- 
 shire, and fancied in the afternoon that I was near the place I intended to 
 rest at, it appeared, from a great water we came to, that we had for half a day 
 been going wrong, and were many a mUe from any village. This was 
 vexatious ; but what was worse, the winds began to blow outrageously, the 
 clouds gathered, and, as the evening advanced, the rain came down like water- 
 spouts from the heavens. AU the good that offered was the ruins of a nunnery, 
 within a few yards of the water, and among the walls, once sacred to devotion, 
 a part of an arch that was enough to shelter us and our beasts &om the floods 
 and tempest. Into this we entered, the horses, and Moses, and his master, and 
 for some hours were right glad to be so lodged. But, at last, the storm and 
 rain were quite over, we saw the fair rising moon hang up her ready lamp, 
 and with mild lustre drive back the hovering shades. Out then I came from 
 the cavern, and as I walked for a while on the banks of the fine lake, I saw a 
 handsome little boat, with two oars, in a creek, and concluded very justl3s 
 that there must be some habitation not far from one side or other of the 
 water. Into the boat therefore we went, having secured our horses, and began 
 to row round, the better to discover. Two hours we were at it as hard as we 
 could labour, and then came to the bottom of a garden, which had a flight of 
 stairs leading up to it. These I ascended. I walked on, and, at the farther end 
 of the fine improved spot, came to a mansion. I immediately knocked at the 
 door, sent in my story to the lady of the house, as there was no master, and 
 in a few minutes was shown into a parlour. I continued alone for a quarter 
 of an hour, and then entered a lady, who struck me into amazement. She 
 was a beauty, of whom I had been passionately fond when she was fourteen 
 and I sixteen years of age. I saw her first in a French family of distinction, 
 where my father had lodged me for the same reason as her parents had 
 placed her there ; that is, for the sake of the purity of the French tongue ; 
 and as she had a rational generosity of heart, and an understanding that was 
 siuprisingly luminous for her years ; could construe an Ode of Horace in a 
 manner the most delightful, and read a chapter iu the Greek Testament with 
 great ease every morning ; she soon became my heart's fond idol ; she appeared 
 m my eyes as something more than mortal. 1 thought her a divinity. Books 
 furnished us with an occasion of being often together, and we fancied the time 
 was happily spent. But all at once she disappeared. Asshehadavastfortune, 
 and as there was a suspicion of an amour, she was snatched away in a moment. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 and for twenty years from the afternoon she vanished, I could not see her or 
 hear of her : whether living or dead, I knew not till the night I am speaking 
 of, that I saw come into the room, the lovely Julia Desborough transformed 
 into Mrs. Mort. Our mutual surprise was vastly great. We could not speak 
 for some time. We knew each other as well as if it had been but an hour ago 
 we parted, so strong was the impression made. She was still divinely fair ; 
 but I wondered she could remember me so well, as time and many shaking 
 rubs had altered me very greatly for the worse. See how strangely things are 
 brought about ! Miss Desborough was removed all the way to Italy, kept 
 many years abroad that she might never see me more, and in the character 
 of Mrs. Mort, by accident, I found her in solitude in the same country I lived 
 in, and stiU my friend. This lady told me, she had buried an admirable hus- 
 band a few years ago, and, as she never had any liking to the world, 
 she devoted her time to books, her old favourites, the education of her daughter, 
 and the salvation of her soul. Miss Mort and she lived like two friends. They 
 read and spun some hours of their time every day away. 
 
 " They had a few agreeable neighbours, and from the lake and cultivation 
 of their gardens derived a variety of successive pleasures. They had no relish 
 for the tumultuous pleasures of the town ; but in the charms of letters and 
 religion, the philosophy of flowers, the converse of their neighbours, a linen 
 manufactory, and their rural situation, were as happy as their wishes could 
 rise to in this hemisphere. All this to me was like a vision. I wondered, 
 I admired. Is this Miss Desborough with whom I was wont to pass so many 
 hours in reading Milton to her, or Telemaque, or L'Avare de MoUere ? What 
 a fleeting scene is life ! But a little while and we go on to another world. 
 Fortimate are they who are fit for the remove, who have a clear conception 
 of the precariousness and vanity of all human things, and by virtue and piety 
 so strive to act what is fairest and most laudable, and so pass becomingly 
 through this life, that they may in the next obtain the blessed and immortal 
 abodes prepared for those who can give up their account with joy." 
 
 Though his admiration for the female sex was always enthusiastic, it is not 
 imtil he gets to the sequel that our author begins to show the sincerity of his 
 appreciation by marrying them. When he does begin, his perseverance is 
 limited only by his profound respect for hiunan and divine legislation. John 
 Buncle is a Mormon bom out of due time. Had he lived in the day of Joe 
 Smith, he would, beyond all manner of doubt, have proved his belief in a 
 religion so consistent with the dictates of reason and the constitution of man 
 by becoming one of the most distinguished of the Latter-Day Saints. Buncle 
 represents the man who, in Meredith's phrase, has neither rounded Seraglio 
 Point nor doubled Cape Turk ; yet his constitutional respect for law, rather 
 the letter than the spirit, is such that he finds a pleasure in restraining his 
 polygamous instincts — and denouncing those of other people. Buncle's 
 conscience was, in truth, a curious faculty. So long as he kept to the strict 
 article of a definite, but somewhat shaky, code of morals, he was never tired 
 of pluming himself upon his virtue, and compUmentiug those people who 
 agreed with him. When once he begins to argue with himself or his detractors 
 upon ethical questions, then his xmconscious humour becomes most delectable. 
 His apology to such as objected to the brevity of his periods of mourning for 
 his deceased wives and his haste in securing another partner, has been quoted 
 often enough, but I will venture to quote it again : — ((i 
 
 " I reply, that I think it unreasonable and impious to grieve immoderately 
 for the dead. A decent and proper tribute of tears and sorrow, humanity 
 requires ; but when that duty has been paid, we must remember, that to 
 lament a dead woman is not to lament a wife. A wife must be a living woman. 
 The wife we lose by death is no more than a sad and empty object, formed by 
 the imagination, and to be still devoted to her, is to be in love with an idea. 
 It is a mere chimerical passion, as the deceased has no more to do with this 
 world, than if she had existed before the flood. As we cannot restore what 
 nature has destroyed, it is foolish to be faithful to afiliction. Nor is this all, 
 if the woman we marry has the seven qualifications which every man would 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 wisb to find in a wife, beauty, discretion, sweetness ot temper, a sprightly wit, 
 fertility, wealth, and noble extraction, yet death's snatching so amiable 
 a wife iroia our arms can be no reason for accusing fate of cruelty, that is, 
 providence of injustice ; nor can it authorise us to sink into insensibility, 
 and neglect the duty and business of life. This wife was bom to die, and we 
 receive her under the condition of mortality. She is lent but for a term, 
 the limits of which we are not made acquainted with ; and when this term 
 is expired, there can be no injustice in taking her back ; nor are we to indulge 
 the transports of grief to distraction, but should look out for another with the 
 seven qualifications, as it is not good for man to be alone, and as he is by the 
 Abrahamic covenant bound to carry on the succession in a regular way if 
 it be in his power. Nor is this all, if the woman adorned with every natural 
 and acquired excellence is translated from this gloomy planet to some better 
 world, to be a sharer of the divine favour, in that peaceful and happy state 
 which God hath prepared for the virtuous and faithful, must it not be senseless 
 for me to indulge melancholy and continue a mourner on her account, while 
 she is breathing the balmy air of paradise, enjoying pure and radiant vision, 
 and beyond description happy ? 
 
 His other motives for desiring to get married as often as he decently could, 
 and the workings of his very peculiar conscience, are revealed with wonted 
 frankness in the following statement of his mental deliberations when con- 
 fronted with the responsibility of a choice of brides : — 
 
 " Against staying longer than two or three days, I had many good reasons 
 that made it necessary fcir me to depart : beside the unreasonableness of 
 my being an expense to Mr. Turner in his absence, or confining his sister to 
 the country ; there was Orton-Lodge, 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 Uked her and her circumstances, 
 and fancied 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 fortune : but this was an uncertainty 
 however, and in his absence, I could not in honour 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-VaJe, I had some reason to imagine her 
 heart might be gained : but for a man worth nothing to do this, in her brother's 
 house without his leave, was a part I could not act, though by missing her I 
 had been brought to beg my bread." 
 
 The moral, religious, and speculative digressions that take up by far the 
 greater space in the book are of singularly little interest to us. They contain 
 no original thought, and merely display the extent of their author's erudition. 
 The utmost praise one can give is that now and then he puts a commonplace 
 well, as for instance : — 
 
 " 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, though the reason of the procedure may be 
 beyond our view. We cannot judge certainly of the ends and purposes of 
 Providence, and therefore to pass judgment on the ways of God, is not only 
 impious, but ridiculous to the last degree." 
 
 Beyond that his science is absurd, his speculations are vain, and his reason- 
 ing, in spite of its pompous phrasing, very shallow. 
 
 Amory's exaggerated descriptions of scenery, in the Memoirs, and the earlier 
 part of John Btmcle, have drawn upon his head a great deal of ridicule. Per- 
 haps he has been laughed at rather unfairly, and more allowance ought to 
 have been made for the ideas of the time when he wrote. With hardly any 
 exception, the eighteenth century writers who have tried to deUneate savage 
 scenery have been aflBicted by emotions of nervousness and stupefaction 
 that seem rather absurd nowadays. This is how Pennant describes the 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 scenery of Derwentwater : " Here all the possible variety of Alpine scenery 
 is exhibited, with all the horror of precipice, overhanging rock, or 
 insulated pyramidal hills, contrasted with others whose smooth and 
 verdant sides, swelling into immense aerial heights, at once please 
 and surprise the eye. The two extremities of the lake afford most 
 discordant prospects : the southern is a composition of all that is 
 honible, an immense chasm opens," and so on. Dr. Brown, in his famous 
 letter, finds that " the full perfection of Keswick consists of three circum- 
 stuices, beatUy, horror, and immensity united." " On the opposite shore," 
 says he, " you will find rocks and cliffs of stupendous height, hanging broken 
 over the lake in horrible grandeur, some of them a thousand feet high, the 
 woods climbing up their steep and shaggy sides, where mortal foot never yet 
 approached. On these dreadful heights the eagles build their nests ; a variety 
 of waterfalls are seen poiuing from their summits, and tumbling in vast sheets 
 from rock to rock in rude and terrible magnificence," etc. At Malham Cove, 
 in Craven, one of the spots, probably, where Buncle encountered an impassable 
 range of unscalable " mountains," the poet Gray found it " safer to shelter 
 yourself close to its bottom" (lest any of the rocks at the summit should give 
 way and overwhelm the spectator), " and trust to the mercy of thatenormous 
 mass, which nothing but an earthquake can stir." " I stayed there," he 
 continues, " not without shuddering, a quarter of an hour, and thought my 
 trouble richly paid, for the impression will last for life." West, of Ulverston, 
 the author of the earliest guide to the Lakes, who fell foul of Gray for his 
 hyperbolic descriptions, speaks of ''an arrangement of vast mountains, 
 entirely new, both in form and colouring of rock ; large hollow craters scooped 
 in their bosoms, once the seeming seats of raging liquid fire, though at present 
 overflowing with the piorest water, that foams down the craggy brows." 
 Here we can almost picture the tarns on the hill-tops described by Buncle, 
 their depths communicatmg with the " abyss." And again we can realize 
 some of his difficulties in travelling when we read of another writer who found 
 the lake of Wastwater " of access most laborious from the nature of its 
 surrounding soil, which is utterly devoid of tenacity." West goes on, " The 
 lower parts are pastmred with a motley herd ; the middle tract is assumed by 
 the flocks, the upper regions (to man inaccessible) are abandoned to the birds 
 of Jove." Mr. W. P. Haskett Smith quotes Mrs. Radclifie touching the 
 ascent of Saddleback : " The views from the summit are exceedingly ex- 
 tensive, but those immediately under the eye on the mountain itself so tre- 
 mendous and appalling that few persons have sufficient resolution to experience 
 the emotions which those awful scenes inspire." " When we had ascended 
 about a mile," says another writer, " one of the party, on looking round, 
 was so astonished with the different appearance of objects in the valley so 
 far beneath us that he declined proceeding. We had not gone much further 
 till the other companion was suddenly taken ill and wished to loose blood and 
 return." 
 
 Buncle's romantic pen, sketching freely from memory, and biassed by his 
 constitutional megalomania, went very little farther, after all, when he turned 
 these awe-inspiring fells into ranges of impassable mountains. The lakes, 
 the tarns, the bogs, and the waterfalls are still there, and may have similar 
 effects on people who are prepared by a suitable education to be appalled. 
 Staimnore Forest has always been one of the wildest districts in Britain, and 
 in Amory's day still retained an evil reputation for murders and highway 
 robberies. The burning river may have had its origin in a reminiscence of 
 bog-fires, more plentiful then than now. The adjoining district of Craven 
 possesses genuine marvels enough in the way of caves, pot-holes and under- 
 ground water-channels, wet and dry, to furnish a Jules Verne with ample 
 materials for romance. Buncle has' simply multiplied the existing caverns 
 and magnified their proportions. If we make proper allowance for the atti- 
 tude of the time as regards natural sublimity, I think Amory is not a much 
 more flagrant offender against truth and probability than the author of 
 Lorna Doone. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 John Buncle is a personage of definite lineaments whom, once known, 
 we C£in never forget or confuse with any other personage, real or fictitious : 
 his author, Thomas Amory, is a very vague and unsubstantial being indeed. 
 Yet there is much to be said, if only on internal evidence, for the view that in 
 the creation we may recognize the authentic features of the author himself. 
 There is a certain class of books that convince their reader, although it might 
 be impossible to prove the case by actual reason, that they are autobiogra- 
 phical, in the sense that they express, more or less consciously, the character 
 of their writers. One feels it in reading them, the perception is intuitive and 
 irresistible. Whether it be the accent given to unimportant traits, or the 
 emergence of more intimate peculiarities, or something altogether un- 
 definable and intangible, we feel it, quite independently of external evidence, 
 in reading David Copperfield, Pendennis, or Jane Eyre, and even minor works 
 like The Fool of Quality. We feel it, never more strongly, whilst perusing 
 The Life of John Buncle, so strongly that it would require cogent proofs of 
 the contrary to unsettie our convictions. The reader must judge from the 
 following summary of what can be ascertained about Thomas .Aanory, from 
 the statements of himself, his son, and other persons, whether the validity 
 of the intuitive view is confirmed in the present instance. 
 
 A letter appeared in the St. James's Chronicle on October 25, 1788, inquiring 
 as to the authorship of John Buncle, and it was replied to in a letter, which 
 can be referred to in the Gentleman's Magazine (vol. Iviii. p. 1062), stating 
 that the unknown author was Thomas Amory, a native of Ireland, who had 
 been bred to some branch of the profession of physic, and was now living as a 
 recluse on a small fortune in Orchard Street, Westminster, with a country 
 house to which he occasionally retired at Belli ont, near Hounslow. The corres- 
 pondent went on to describe Amory as " A man of a very peculiar Look and 
 Aspect, though at the same time, he bore quite the Appearance of a Gentleman. 
 He read much ; and scarce ever stirred, but like a Bat, in the Dark of the 
 Evening ; and then he would take his usual Walk ; but seemed to be always 
 ruminating on speculative Subjects, even while passing along the most crowded 
 Streets." This elicited a reply from the son of the mysterious author, Robert 
 Amory, M.D., who controverted certain erroneous statements, and gave a 
 genealogy of the Amorys, whose Uneage he traced to Amory de Montford, 
 who married the sister of Henry II., and was created Earl of Leicester. 
 Amory " was not a native of Ireland. His Father, Councillor Amory, 
 attended King WUliam to Ireland, and was appointed Secretary for the for- 
 feited Estates in that Kingdom, and was possessed of very extensive Property 
 in the County of Clare. He was the youngest Brother of Amory or Damer, 
 the Miser, whom Pope calls ' the Wealthy and the Wise ' ; from whom comes 
 Lord Milton, etc., etc. My Grandfather married the Daughter of Fitzmaurice, 
 Earl of Kerry ; Sir William Petty another Daughter ; and the Grandfather 
 of the Duke of Leinster another." He goes on to state that Thomas Amory 
 lived on Mill Bank, Westminster, and for a few years rented a house at 
 Bedfont. He never had but one wife, and Robert Amory was himself the 
 only surviving child. At that date, 1788, his father was still living, though 
 now ninety-seven years old. When young he was a very handsome man. 
 He had published many reUgjous and poUtioal tracts, poems and songs. He 
 now lived in complete seclusion, not seeing anybody. 
 
 This letter was replied to by Louis Renas, who threw doubt and contumely 
 on the alleged genealogy, which he characterized as " an idle tale, void of 
 foundation or probability." The insult drew out a further letter from Dr. 
 Amory, who in an irritated manner reasserted his original statements, and 
 wound up by insinuating that his correspondent's real name was " Mr. Louis 
 the Ass," whence he said it would be easy for the Heralds Office to find out 
 his family, connections. This pretty controversy came to an end with a letter 
 from L. Renas, dated April 20, 1790, in which he apologized for a sUght error 
 in his previous communications, and admitted that Thomas Amory was indeed 
 the grandson of a lord — Baron Kerry — but reiterated his other contentions. 
 There can be little doubt that Robert Amory, M.D., had inherited some of 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 the eccentricities and a good deal of the temper of his father, who was as fond 
 of a dispute as his hero, John Bimcle. 
 
 Amory, if not a native of Ireland, seems to have lived in Dublin at some 
 period, and to have been acquainted with Swift. In 1751, on the publication 
 of Lord Orrery's remarks on the life and writings of Dr. Swift, the following 
 advertisement appeared in the Whitehall Evening Post, but there is no record 
 that the pamphlet was ever printed : " Soon will be published a Letter to Lord 
 Orrery in answer to what his Lordship says in his late remarks in praise of 
 Swift's Sermon on the Trinity ; being an attempt to vindicate the divinity 
 of God the Father Almighty, and to convince his Lordship, if he has a 
 mind open to conviction, that the tritheistic discourse preached by the Dean 
 of St. Patrick's is so far from being that masterpiece my Lord Orrery calls 
 it that it is in reality the most senseless and despicable performance ever 
 produced by orthodoxy to corrupt the divine religion of Jesus Christ. By 
 Thomas Amory, Esq." One would like greatly to read this fulmination by 
 a man who, to judge by the disposition of his fictitious counterpart, was 
 quick to wrath, a good hater, and outdid even that other eccentric of genius, 
 George Borrow, in the violence of his enmity for Roman Catholics, and most 
 other people who disagreed with him. In 1776 appeared an anonymous work 
 entitled John Buncle, jvmr.. Gentleman, 12 mo, Dublin, the author of which 
 was a certain Dr. Cogan. An anonymous pamphlet that appeared in the 
 same year as the Memoirs, entitled, " A Letter to the Reviewers occasioned 
 by their account of a book called Memoirs, etc." was presumably written 
 by Amory. In Notes and Queries for January 27, 1855, is quoted a letter 
 from,;" Amouri," (Thomas Amory) to an unnamed lady, enclosing a copy of 
 verses composed by ten gentlemen, including the writer, in praise of a certain 
 Molly Rowe. The following stanza is signed " T. Amory " : — 
 "In the dance, through the couples ascudding. 
 
 How graceful and light does she go ! 
 No EngUshman ever lov'd pudding 
 
 As I love my sweet Molly Rowe." 
 The pudding simile is certainly in the vein of John Buncle. The letter is 
 dated from Newton in Yorkshire, July th' 8, 1773. Amory died on November 
 25, 1788, at the age of ninety-seven. 
 
 It is regrettable that the Dictionary of National Biography and the latest 
 edition of Chambers's Cyclopaedia of English Literature should still persist 
 in the statement that the author of John Buncle must have been disordered 
 in his intellect, in spite of the indignation with which this charge, advanced 
 in the General Biographical Dictionary, in 1798, was repudiated by an able 
 writer in the Retrospective Review (vol. vi., 1822). Although it is insinuated 
 that anybody who admires the book must likewise be in want of medical 
 treatment, we can afford to bear the reflection with equanimity in the dis- 
 tinguished company of Lamb, HazUtt, Leigh Hunt, and other able men who 
 have confessed a liking for this strange book. 
 
 E.A.B. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE 
 
 John BuncUf the supposed autobiographer. 
 
 Mr. John Bnice^ his private tutor. 
 
 Harriot Noel, his first love, cut off by small-pox ou the eve of their marriage. 
 
 Mr. Noel, her father, owner of Eden Park. 
 
 Soto Finn, or O'Fin, Buncle's servant. 
 
 Dr. Whaley, Dean of Derry, his fellow-passenger in crossing from Dublin to Whitehaven. 
 
 Pierce Gavan, a fellow-commoner of Buncle's at Trinity CoUege, Dublin ; has a marvellous 
 
 escape from drowning. 
 Charles Henley, a young merchant, drowned in crossing the Irish Sea. 
 Whitwell, the mate of the packet. 
 
 Miss Melmothf Buncle's first wife, dies of fever at the end of two years. 
 Charles Turner, an old university friend, living in the wilds of Westmoreland and Yorkshire. 
 John Price, a farmer near Stainmore Forest, an old schoolfriend &om Dublin. 
 Martha, his wife, learned in divinity. 
 
 Mrs. Burcot {Axora), Superior of the female repubUc living at Burcot Lodge. 
 Mrs. Fletcher (Antimia), her friend and confidant among the hundred young women forming 
 
 the community. 
 The twenty philosophic recluses of Ulubrae. 
 Miss Harcouri, a learned young lady, foundress of a house of Protestant recluses in Rich- 
 
 mondshire. 
 Mr. Harcourt, her father. 
 Mr. Berrisfort, a learned gentleman. 
 A£ss Berrisfort, his sister, a daring horsewoman. 
 Miss Fox, their cousin. 
 The three Flemings, devout Roman Catholics, farmers in Stainmore, one of whom Buncle 
 
 converts. 
 Mr. Henley, the philosophic proprietor of the Groves of Basil. 
 StoHctj his daughter, Buncle's second wife, who dies in two years of small-pox. 
 Ten Ivonist friars and their ten wives in a Protestant monastery near Harrogate. 
 Miss Antonia Cranmer, a young lady of large fortune, who becomes Buncle's third wife, 
 
 and dies of small-pox at the end of two years. 
 Agnes Vane, her cousin. 
 
 Dorick Watson, a converted Roman Catholic, turned recluse. 
 Mr. Gollogher-\ 
 Mr. Gallaspy I 
 
 Mr. Dunkley 1 Six Irish gentlemen whom Bimcle meets with at Harrogate, his contem- 
 Mr. Makins j poraries at Trinity College, Dublin. 
 Mr. Monaghan I 
 Mr. O'Keefe J 
 
 Charles Hunt, owner of a small estate in Kildare in Buncle's boyhood. 
 Elizabeth, his daughter, ruined and deserted by Mr. R. 
 
 Miss Spence, of Westmoreland, Buncle's fourth wife, dies in six months of a malignant fever. 
 Miss Fox (Imoiada), an old flame of Buncle's. 
 Oliver Wincup, Esq., of Woodcester, an agreeable acquaintance. 
 Miss Veyssiere, a dashing young beauty, sacrificed to a rich old man. 
 Miss Turner, sister of Buncle's friend, Charles Turner, his fifth wife, killed in six weeks by 
 
 a carriage accident. 
 Mar^a Jacquelot, her £riend. 
 
 Miss Hinxworth, a gentleman's daughter, carried off by O'Regan. 
 O' Regan, an Irish dancing master. 
 
 Tom Clant^, landlord of the Cat and Bagpipe, near Knaresborough. 
 Miss Martha TUston \ Two beautiful young heiresses, wards of their tyrannical uncle 
 Miss Althea Uandsoy S Old Cock. 
 Old Cock, a villainous lawyer. 
 Ribble, a little old man, skilled in chemistry. 
 Richmond, hfe cousin, an invalid through debauchery. 
 Avery Moncton, a deluded husband, who turns hermit. 
 Edmund Curll, the famous bookseller, satirized by Pope in the Dunciad. 
 Carola Bennet, a courtesan who is married and reformed by a young cler^man. 
 Dunk the miser. 
 Miss Dunk, his daughter, afterwards Mrs. Stainville, and then the sixth Mrs. Buncle ; dies 
 
 in two years of small-pox. 
 Dr. Stainville, who exhumes and marries Miss Dunk. 
 Dr. Fitzgibbons, an Insh gentleman. 
 Julia, his daughter, Buncle's seventh wife, drowned shortly after their union. 
 
The Life of John Buncle, Esq. 
 
 Nee Vixit Male, qui Natiis Moriensque fefellit. 
 
 That the transactions of my life, and the observations and re- 
 flections I have made on men and things, by sea and land, in 
 various parts of the world, might not be buried in obhvion, and 
 by length of time be blotted out of the memory of men, it has 
 been my wont, from the days of my youth to this time, to write 
 down memorandums of every thing I thought worth noticing, 
 as men and matters, books and circumstances, came in my way ; 
 and in hopes they may be of some service to my fellow-mortals 
 I pubUsh them. Some pleasing and some surprising things the 
 reader will find in them. He will meet with miscellany thoughts 
 upon several subjects. He will read, if he pleases, some tender 
 stories. But all the relations, the thoughts, the observations, 
 are designed for the advancement of valuable learning, and to 
 promote whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, 
 whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, what- 
 soever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report. 
 
 About fifty years ago the midwife wheeled me in, and much 
 sooner than half a century hence, in all human probabiUty, 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 aU peradventure, brought his moral creatures 
 into being, in order to increase their virtue, and provide suitable 
 happiness for the worthy, the most unfortunate here may expect 
 immutable fehcity at last, if they have endeavoured, in pro- 
 portion to what power they had, to render themselves useful 
 and valuable, by a sincerity and benevolence of temper, a dis- 
 interestedness, 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 sym- 
 pathised with the afflicted, and my heart hath ever ached for the 
 miseries of others. My hand has often relieved when I wanted 
 
 1 B 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 the shilling to comfort myself, and when it hath not been in my 
 power to reheve, I have grieved for the scanty accommodations 
 of others. Many troublesome and expensive offices I have 
 undertaken 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 feUcitates my every day, let what 
 happen from without. This supports me under every affliction, 
 and enables me to maintain a habit of satisfaction and joy in the 
 general course of my hfe. 
 
 The things of my childhood are not worth setting down, and 
 therefore I commence my hfe from the first month of the seven- 
 teenth year of my age, when I was sent to the university, in 1720, 
 and entered a pensioner, though I had a larger yearly allowance 
 than any fellow- commoner of my college. I was resolved to 
 read there, and determined to improve my natural faculties to 
 the utmost of my power. Nature, I was sensible, had bestowed 
 no genius on me. This, and understanding, are only the privi- 
 lege of extraordinary 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, though it could never gain immortality 
 upon any account : and this was enough for me. I wanted only 
 to acquire such degrees of perfections as lay within the small 
 sphere nature had chalked out for me. 
 
 To this purpose I devoted my college life to books, and for 
 five years that I resided in the university, conversed so much 
 with the dead that I had very httle intercourse with the hving. 
 So totally had letters engaged my mind, that I was but little 
 affected towards most other things. Walking and music were 
 my favourite recreations, and almost the only ones I dehghted 
 in. I had hardly a thought at that time of the foolish choices 
 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 commonly indulge in. My relaxation after 
 study was my german-fiute and the conversation of some in- 
 genious, sober friend, generally my private tutor, Mr. John 
 Bruce, who was a bright and excellent man, and of whom you 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 
 
 will find a large account in the first volume of my Memoirs of 
 several Ladies of Great Britain, 1755, 8vo, p. 7. If the weather 
 permitted, 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 Harriet Noel you shaU have by and by. 
 
 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 philosophy, cosmography, 
 mathematics, and the languages, for four years, and the fifth 
 I gave to history. 
 
 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, till, by reading it three times over, I had made 
 a thorough acquaintance with my own understanding. 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 showed 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 
 improvement 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 aiid truth of understanding, which is the 
 great perfection of rational beings. 
 
 When I had done, for a time, with this admirable Essay, I 
 then began to study the first principles of things, the structure 
 of the universe, the contexture of human bodies, 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 nature in all her laws and produc- 
 tions. The study had a delightful influence on the temper of 
 my mind, and inspired into it a love of order in my heart, and in 
 my outward manners. It Ukewise led me to the great first cause, 
 and in repeated views of harmony, wisdom, and goodness, in all 
 the works of nature, riveted upon my mind a fixed conviction, 
 tha,t all is under the administration of a general mind, as far 
 remote from all mahce as frorn all weakness, whether in respect 
 of understanding, or of power. This gave me a due affection 
 towards the infinitely perfect Parent of Nature ; and as I con- 
 templated his glorious works, I was obliged in transports to 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 confess, that he deserved 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 whatever hardships are to be 
 endured for virtue's sake : that acquiescence and complacency 
 with respect to ill accidents, ill men and injuries, ought to be 
 our part under a perfect administration ; and with benignity 
 and constancy we must ever act, if there be a settled persuasion 
 that all things are framed and governed by an universal mind. 
 Such was the effect the study of natural philosophy 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 wisdom 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. 
 
 But upon ethics or moral philosophy I dwelt the longest. 
 This is the proper food of the soul, and what perfects it in all the 
 virtues and qualifications of a gentleman. This science I col- 
 lected 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 dehneated, 
 as far as human reason can go, that course of Ufe which is most 
 according to the intention of nature, and most happy ; had 
 shown that this universe, and human nature in particular, was 
 formed by the wisdom and counsel of a Deity, and that from the 
 constitution of our nature various duties arose : that since God 
 is the original independent being, complete in aU possible per- 
 fection, of boundless power, wisdom, and goodness ; the Creator, 
 Contriver, and Governor of this world, to whom mankind are 
 indebted for innumerable benefits most gratuitously bestowed ; 
 we ought to manifest the most ardent love and veneration 
 toward the Deity, and worship 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 Uberal 
 hand supplies us with all things conducive to such pleasure and 
 happiness as our nature can receive. 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 nature, jubtice and benevolence are 
 prescribed ; and aids and an intercourse of mutual of&ces re- 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 
 
 quired, not only to secure our pleasure and happiness, but to 
 preserve ourselves in safety and in life ; that the law of nature, 
 or natural right, forbids every instance of injustice, a violation 
 of Ufe, liberty, health, property ; and the exercise of our honour- 
 able, idnd powers, are not only a spring of vigorous efiorts to do 
 good to others, and thereby secure the common happiness ; but 
 they really procure us a joy and peace, an inward applause and 
 external advantages,; while injustice and malice, anger, hatred, 
 envy, and revenge, are often matter of shame and remorse, and 
 contain nothing joyful, nothing glorious : in the greatest affluence, 
 the savage men are miserable ; that as to ourselves, the voice of 
 reason declares, that we ought to employ our abiUties and oppor- 
 tunities in improving our minds to an extensive knowledge of 
 nature in the sciences ; and by diligent meditation and observa- 
 tion, acquire that prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude, 
 which should constantly govern our lives. That sohd prudence, 
 which abhors rashness, inconsiderateness, a foolish self -confi.d«nce 
 and craft, and under a high sense of moral excellence, considers 
 and does what is really advantageous in hfe. 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 
 appetites, and displays the grace and beauty of manners. And 
 that fortitude, which 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 
 exposed to in discharge of our duty ; as an early and painful 
 death with virtue and honour is highly preferable to the longest 
 ignominious Ufe, 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 fellows, and ourselves, and practise piety 
 toward God, good-will toward men, and immediately aim at our 
 own perfection, then we may expect, notwithstanding our being 
 involved in manifold weaknesses and disorders of soul, that the 
 divine goodness and clemency will have mercy on such as sincerely 
 love him, and desire to serve him with duty and gratitude ; will 
 be propitious and placable to the penitents, and aU who exert 
 their utmost endeavours in the pursuit of virtue : and since the 
 perfection of virtue must constitute the supreme fehcity of man, 
 our efforts to attain it must be effectual in obtaining complete 
 fehcity, or at least some lower degree of it. 
 
 This beautiful, moral philosophy, I found scattered in the 
 writings of the old theist philosophers, and with great pains 
 reduced the various lessons to a system of active and virtuous 
 offices : but this I knew was what the majority of mankind were 
 incapable of doing ; and if they could do it, I saw it was far 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 inferior to revelation. Every Sunday I appropriated to the 
 study of revealed 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 rejoice the heart 
 and enlighten the eyes. What are all the reasonings of the philo- 
 sophers to the melody of that heavenly voice which cries con- 
 tinually "Come unto me aU ye that travail and are heavy laden, 
 and I will refresh you." And what could their lessons avail 
 without 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 admirable for the times 
 and men : but it admits of no comparison with the divine lessons 
 of our holy rehgion, and the charter of God's pardon granted to 
 us by his blessed 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 discourses, 
 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 solicitudes which attend upon large possessions, and give 
 us a mind capable of rehshing 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 revela- 
 tion, 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 ; they are so many warnings 
 not to set up our rest here, but to keep a steadfast 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 unrighteousness of men : that that scene 
 will open with the judgment seat of Christ, and we shall either 
 receive glory and immortaUty, 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 thoughtless 
 of the great concerns of eternity. These considerations made 
 me prefer revealed religion, in the beginning of my rational life. 
 The moraUty of the antient philosophers I admired. With 
 dehght I studied their writings, and received, I gratefully confess, 
 much improvement from them. But the rehgion of our blessed 
 Lord I declared for, and look on the promised Messiah as the 
 most consummate blessing God could bestow, or man receive. 
 God having raised up his son Jesus, sent him to bless you, in 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 
 
 turning every one of you from your iniquities. And would men 
 but hear and obey this hfe-giving Redeemer, his gospel would 
 restore reason and religion to their rightful authority over man- 
 kind ; and make ajl virtue, and true goodness, flourish in the earth. 
 
 But I must observe that, by the religion of the New Testament, 
 I do not mean any of those modern schemes of religion, which 
 discover the evident m.arks and signatures of superstition and 
 enthusiasm, or of knavery and imposture ; those systems which 
 even miracles cannot prove to be true, because the pieties are 
 absurd, inconsistent, and contradictory. The notions that are 
 not characterized by the reason of things, and the moral fitness 
 of actions, I considered as repugnant to the veracity, wisdom 
 and goodness of the Almighty, and concluded, that that only could 
 be Christian religion, which bore the visible marks and signatures 
 of benevolence, social happiness, and moral fitness, and was 
 brought down from heaven to instruct mankind in the worship 
 of one eternal mind, and bring them to repentance, and amend- 
 ment of hfe. This was the religion I found in my Bible. I saw 
 with pleasure, as I thoughtfully went through the divine pages, 
 that natural religion is the foundation and support of revelation : 
 suppUes the defects of nature, but never attempts to overthrow 
 the estabUshed principles of it, and casts new hght 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 believe in one 
 supreme independent first cause, and worship in spirit and truth 
 this one God and Father of all, in the name of Christ Jesus ; 
 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 determined to regard only this gospel doctrine. 
 
 The manner of my studying cosmography and mathematics 
 is not worth setting 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, kingdoms 
 and repubhcs comprised therein, and to be able to discourse 
 upon them. And in the other, I went no farther than to make 
 myself a master of vulgar and decimal arithmetic, the doctrine 
 of infinite series, and the apphcation of algebra, to the higher 
 geometry of curves. Algebra I was charmed with, and found so 
 much pleasure in resolving its questions, that I have often sat 
 till morning at the engaging work, without a notion of its being 
 day till I opened the shutters of my closet. I recommend this 
 study in particular to young gentlemen, and am satisfied, 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 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 an evening to clamorous pleasures ; or, at least, not be uneasy 
 for being alone now and then, since their algebra was with them. 
 In reading history, my last year's principal employment 
 during my residence in college, I began with the best writers of 
 antient history and ended with modern times, epochs, centuries, 
 ages ; the extent of empires, kingdoms, commonwealths ; their 
 progress, revolutions, changes and declensions ; the number, 
 order, and quaUties of the princes that have reigned over those 
 states and kingdoms, their actions military and civil ; the char- 
 acters 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 
 formed, but what the progress was of industry and property, 
 which may be called the generative 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 
 began to study my country's constitution, history and laws. 
 When I had finished the histories of France, Spain, Italy, and 
 Germany, and many more, then I turned to Great Britain, and 
 in the first place took a view of the Enghsh constitution and 
 government, in the antient books of the common law, and some 
 more modern writers, who out of them have given an account of 
 this government. From thence I proceeded 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 showed me the 
 true ground upon which they came to be made, and what weight 
 they ought to have. By this means I read the history of my 
 country with inteUigence, and was able to examine into the 
 excellence or defects of its government, and to judge of the fitness 
 or unfitness of its orders and laws. By this method I likewise 
 knew enough of the law for an Enghsh gentleman, though quite 
 ignorant of the chicane, or wrangUng and captious part, and was 
 well acquainted with the true mea.sure of right and wrong. The 
 arts how to avoid doing right, and to secure one's-self in doing 
 wrong, I never looked into. 
 
 Thus did I read history, and many noble lessons I learned from 
 it— just notions of true worth, true greatness, and sohd happiness. 
 It taught me to place merit where it only lies, not in birth, not 
 in beauty, not in riches, not in external show 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 integrity 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 generous contempt upon every- 
 thing that would tempt him to recede in the smallest degree from 
 the paths of rigid honesty, candour and veracity. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 
 
 Es modicus voti, presso lare, dulcis amicis; 
 Jam nunc astringas ; jam nunc granaria laxes; 
 Inque luto fixum possis transcendere nummum 
 Nee glutto sorbere salivam Mercurialem ? 
 Haee mea sunt, teneo, cum vere dixeris : Esto 
 IJberque ac sapiens, praetoribus acjove dextro. 
 Sin tu, cum fueris nostree paul6 ante farinae, 
 Pelliculam veterem retines, et fronte politus 
 Astutam vapido servas sub pectore vulpem ; 
 Quae dederam supr^, repeto, funemque reduco. 
 Nil tibi concessit ratio ; digitum exere peccas, 
 F.t quid tam parvum est ? Sed nuUo thure litabis. 
 Haereat in stultis brevis ut semuncia recti 
 HoBc miscere Nefas : — 
 
 Are you moderate in your desires, frugal, and obliging to your 
 friends ? Do you know when to spare, and when to be hberal, as 
 occasion requires ? And can you give a check to your avarice, in 
 spite of all temptations which are laid in your way? Can you 
 refrain from being too greedy in your pursuit after riches ? When 
 you can sincerely af&rm that you are master of yourself, and of 
 aU these good qualities, then you are free indeed, and wise, by 
 the propitious power of Jove and the Praetor. 
 
 But if you retain the old habits of a slave, and harbour ill quali- 
 ties, under the hypocritical 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 trans- 
 gress, though the thing be of so trifling a nature. All the sacri- 
 fices you can offer will never pass for a drachm of rectitude, while 
 your conduct is faulty. Wisdom is incompatible with foUy. 
 
 When to be bountiful, and when to spare, 
 And never craving, or oppress'd with care ; 
 The baits of gifts, and money to despise. 
 And look on wealth with imdesiring eyes ; 
 When thou can'st truly call these virtues thine. 
 Be wise and free by Heav'n's consent and mine. 
 
 But thou, who lately of the common strain, 
 Wert one of us, if still thou dost retain 
 The same ill habits, the same follies too. 
 Gloss' d over only with a saint-like show. 
 Then I resume the freedom which I gave. 
 Still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave. 
 Thou canst not wag thy finger, or begin 
 The least slight motion, but it tends to sin. 
 How's this ? Not wag my finger, he replies ? 
 No, friend ; not fuming gums, nor sacrifice. 
 Can ever make a madman free, or wise. 
 Virtue and vice are never in one soul : 
 A man is wholly wise, or wholly is a fool. 
 
 This is the great lesson, that virtue alone is true honour, true 
 freedom, and solid, durable happiness. It is indeed its own 
 reward. There are no satisfactions equal to, or comparable with 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 virtuous, rational exercises ; 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 pro- 
 portion to the improvements it makes, far beyond all that mere 
 sense can5deld, in the most advantageous circumstances of out- 
 ward enjoyment ; so in a state to come, it shall be so placed as 
 its improvements require, that is, be placed in circumstances 
 that shall afford it business or employment proportioned to its 
 capacity, and by means thereof the highest satisfaction. Such a 
 basis for building moral instructions upon, we find in history. 
 We are warned in some pages to avoid the miseries and wretched- 
 ness 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 of integrity in their full lustre, 
 and prove that virtue is the supreme beauty, the supreme charm : 
 that in keeping the precepts of moral rectitude, we secure a present 
 felicity and reward ; and have a presage of those higher rewards 
 which await a steady course of right conduct in another world. 
 — Glorious, natural virtue I Would mankind but hearken to its 
 voice, and obey its dictates, there would be no such beings as 
 invaders, deUnquents, and traitors, in this lower world. The 
 social inchnations and dispositions would for ever prevail over 
 the selfish appetites and passions. The law of benevolence 
 would be the rule of hfe. The advancement of the common good 
 would be the work of every man. 
 
 The case however is, that the generality of mankind are too 
 corrupt to be governed by the great universal law of social nature, 
 and to gratify ambition, avarice, and the like, employ a cunning 
 or power, to seize the natural rights and properties of others : 
 and therefore, 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 reUgion, 
 and so have three conducible means to social happiness. These 
 three are necessary to the being of a public, and of them, rehgion, 
 as I take it, is of the first consequence ; for the choice few only 
 mind a natural virtue, or benevolence flowing from the reason, 
 nature, and fitness of things ; and civil government cannot always 
 secure the happiness of mankind in particular cases : but reUgion, 
 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 liis 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 public 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 
 
 stock or common good. But, alas ! Religion is so far from being 
 rightly understood, 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 everything and 
 nothing, while they are screaming or forcing the people into their 
 several factions. This destroys the moment of reUgion, and the 
 multitude are thereby wandering into endless mazes and per- 
 plexities, and rendered a hairing, staring, wrathful rabble ; in- 
 stead of being transformed into such Christians as filled the 
 first church at Jerusalem ; Christians who acknowledged and wor- 
 shipped God the Father Almighty, in the name of Christ, that 
 is, under a beUef of that authority and power which the Father of 
 the universe has, for the good of mankind, conferred upon him ; 
 and in humihty 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 hke unto Christ. Golden 
 reUgion ! Golden age ! The doctrine of Christianity was then 
 a restoration of true religion : the practice of Christianity, a 
 restoration of human nature. But now, alas I too many ex- 
 plainers are employed in darkening and making doubtful the 
 revealed will of God, and by paraphrases, expositions, commen- 
 taries, notes, and glosses, have almost rendered revelation useless. 
 What do we see in the vast territories of popery, but a perfect 
 diaboUsm in the place of the religion of our Lord ? doctrines the 
 most impious and absurd, the most inconsistent and contra- 
 dictory in themselves, the most hurtful and mischievous in their 
 consequences ; the whole supported by persecution, by the sophis- 
 try of learned knaves, and the tricks of juggling 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 
 critics and expositors reducing the inspired writings to a dark 
 science ? without regard to the nature and intrinsic character of 
 their doctrines, do they not advance notions as true and divine, 
 which have not one appearance of divine authority ? but on the 
 contrary, mihtate with the reason of things, and the moral fitness 
 of actions ; and are so far from being plain and clear, free from all 
 doubtfulness, or ambiguity, and suited to the understandings 
 and capacity of men, that the darkness of them renders such pre- 
 tended revelations 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 unman us into believers. How the 
 Apostles argued for the great excellency and dignity of Christian- 
 ity is not with them the question ; so far as I am able to judge 
 from their learned writings ; but the fathers, and our spiritual 
 superiors have put upon the sacred writings the proper expli- 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 cations ; and we must receive the truth as they dispense it to us. 
 This is not right, in my conception. I own it does not seem to 
 answer the end of the Messiah's coming, which was to restore 
 Reason and Rehgion to their rightful authority over mankind ; 
 and to make all virtue, and true goodness, flourish in the earth ; 
 the most perfect blessing to 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 obhgation to find that to be truth 
 which is taught by these leaders. In truth, we should be un- 
 happy 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 myself, 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 revealed word of God learn that Christianity does not 
 consist in a jingle of uninteUigible sounds, and new fundamentals, 
 hewn out by craft, enthusiasm, 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, 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 studpng to imitate God, who is the most per- 
 fect understanding nature, in all his moral perfections ; in be- 
 coming 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 Uke to him 
 as possible. 
 
 In a word, to flee injustice, oppression, intemperance, impurity, 
 pride, unmercifulness and revenge : to practise justice, piety, 
 temperance, chastity, humility, beneficence, and placability : to 
 turn from our iniquities to the practice of aU 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 man- 
 kind. For the New Testament itself then we must declare, 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 
 inquiry is, that every thing necessary to be believed by a Christian, 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 13 
 
 is in those books not left to be gathered by consequences, or 
 imphcations ; but the things necessary to obtain the favour of 
 God promised to Christians 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.* 
 
 But it is time to tell my reader the story of the beautiful Har- 
 riet Noel, which I promised in a preceding page (p. 3, ante). 
 On the glorious first of August, before the beasts were rouSed from 
 their lodges, or the 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 auspicious presence, began to animate inferior nature, 
 I left my chamber, and with my gun and dog, went out to wander 
 over a pleasant country. The different aspects and the various 
 points of view were charming, as the light in fleecy rings increased ; 
 and when the whole flood of day descended, the embellished 
 early scene was a fine entertainment. Delighted with the beau- 
 
 * To the plain and satisfactory method of seeking for the faith in the sacred books, there 
 are many adversaries and many objections raised. There are, says a great man, a very 
 numerous body of Christians who know no other guides but the living guides of the present 
 ch\ircb ; and acknowledge no other faith, for the faith once delivered to the saints, but that 
 which is now delivered to them by their present rulers, as such. 
 
 To establish this point, the greater part of these lay down the infallibility of the present 
 church, and of every man of the past ages, through whose mouth, or by whose hands, the 
 present traditions of faith have descended to them. And this, indeed, would be a very good 
 method, if that single proof of infallibility could be proved. But this is a point so gross 
 and so utterly void of all proof, that a great body of the Christian world have broke lose 
 from the power of this monster, and declared for the New Testament itself, as the only guide 
 or rule of faith ; the only deliverer of the faith to us of later ages. 
 
 When this comes however to be put in practice, too many of the same persons who set 
 the scriptures up as the only guide, turn round on a sudden, and let us know, that they m ean 
 by it, not these sacred original writings themselves, but the interpretations, or sense, put 
 upon them by our spiritual superiors, to which we are bound to submit, and put under an 
 obligation to find that to be the truth which is taught by these leaders. 
 
 But to this we reply with reason, that though we ought to pay a regard of serious attention 
 to those whose business it is to find out and dispense the truth, and show the respect of a 
 due examination of what they affirm ; yeX we must not yield the submission due only to 
 inf aUibility. It is our glory not to submit to the voice of any man. We must reserve that 
 regard, for God, and for Christ, in matters of faith once delivered to the saints. 
 
 Others, again, of the reformed, tell us, that the surer way of knowing what was delivered 
 above eighteen hundred years ago, is to take the original faith from the Councils and 
 Fathers, grave and good men, who met and wrote for the settling of the faith. And to this 
 we answer, that these wise and good men cannot give so good an accoimt of the faith contained 
 in the original books as the books themselves which contain it. 
 
 To give an example to the plumose. If we would know the doctrine of the Church of England 
 at the Reformation, it is not the writings of particular divines, many years after that period, 
 that we must consult ; or any assembly of them ; but the authentic acts and declarations, 
 and sermons, made and recorded at the time ; for many of the doctrines thought essential 
 at the Reformation, have been since changed by gradual alterations ; by explainers using 
 their own style and manner of expression, and introducing their own scheme of philosophy, 
 and judgment in commenting, into the scheme of doctrine to be explained. This produces 
 great variation from what was once settled. What was once esteemed fundamental is thereby 
 altered. Let this be applied to the first Christian writers, after the Apostles were departed, 
 and as their language and philosophy were various, and they differed from one another, 
 great variations must creep into tiie doctrines delivered by them. It follows then, that 
 nothing but what Is recorded in the first original books tiien^elves can be firm and stable 
 to us in points of faith. In the original books only we can find the faith, without that confu- 
 sion and darkness, which human explications and additions have brought in by way of light. 
 
1 4 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ties of this morning, I climbed up the mountains, and traversed 
 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 to my purpose, when I observed in a valley, at some dis- 
 tance, something that looked like a mansion. That way there- 
 fore 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 cattle. The bottom however was very beautiful, 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. 
 
 Veniens dextrum latus aspiciat Sol, 
 
 Lsvum discedens ciirru fugiente vaporet. 
 
 A pretty brook here Ukewise babbles along, and even Hebrus 
 strays not round Thrace with a purer and cooler stream. 
 
 Fons etiam rivo dare nomen idoneus, ut nee 
 Frigidior Thracam nee purior ambiat Hebrus. 
 
 In this sweet and delicious solitude, I crept on for some time 
 by the side of the murmuring stream, and followed as it winded 
 through the vale, till I came to a little harmonic building, that 
 had every charm and 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 
 wanderer to roam in its delightful retreats, and walks amazingly 
 beautiful. Every side of this fine spot was planted thick with 
 underwood, and kept so low, as not to prevent a prospect to every 
 pleasing remote object. 
 
 Finding one of the garden doors left open, I entered imme- 
 diately, and to screen myself from the scorching beams of the sun, 
 got into an embowered way, that led me to a large fountain, 
 in a ring or circular opening, and from thence, by a gradual, easy, 
 shady ascent, to a semicircular amphitheatre of evergreens, that 
 was quite charming. In this were several seats for ease, repast, 
 or retirement ; and at either end of it a rotunda or temple of the 
 Ionic order. 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 Ubrary, 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 15 
 
 stood at the window, in astonishment, looking at the things 
 before me, and especially at the amazing beauties of her face, and 
 the splendour of her eyes ; as she raised them now and then 
 from the paper she was writing on, to look into a Hebrew Bible, 
 that lay open upon a small desk before her. The whole scene was 
 so very uncommon, and so vastly amazing, that I thought my- 
 self for a while on some spot of magic ground, and almost doubted 
 the reaUty of what my eyes beheld ; till Miss Noel, by accident, 
 looked fuU at me, and then came forward to the open window, 
 to know who I wanted. 
 
 Before I could answer, I found a venerable old gentleman 
 standing by my side, and he seemed much more surprised 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 stopped 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. 
 
 Upon this Mr. Noel brought me into his house, and the lovely 
 Harriet made tea for me, and had such plenty of fine cream, 
 and extraordinary bread and butter set before me, that I break- 
 fasted with uncommon pleasure. The honour and happiness 
 of her company rendered the repast quite delightful. I'here was 
 a ci\'iUty so very great in her manner, and a social goodness so 
 charming in her talk and temper, that it was unspeakable de- 
 light to sit at table with her. She asked me a number of ques- 
 tions 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 entirely 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 attempts to rise from my chair ; but without 
 her laying a rosy finger on me, this illustrious maid had so totally 
 subdued my soul, and deprived me of all motive power, that 
 I sat like the renowned Prince of the Massagetes, who was stiffen- 
 ed by enchantment 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 conversation to 
 colour my unreasonable delay. But this could not have been of 
 service much longer, as the clock had struck twelve, if the old 
 
1 6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 gentleman, her father, had not returned 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," continued he, 
 " you will excuse me, sir, as business engages me till we dine ; 
 but my daughter will chat the hours away with you, and show 
 you the curiosities of her library and grot. Harriet wiU 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 myself to Miss Noel, when her father was gone, 
 and we were walking back to the hbrary in the garden, and told 
 her ingenuously, that though 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 Uved till that morning in a state of 
 indifference to her sex, yet I found very strange emotions within 
 me, and I was sure I could not leave her without the most lively 
 and afflicting inquietude. " You will pardon, I 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." 
 
 " Sir," this inimitable maid repUed, " you are an entire 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 relishing 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 favour 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, has taken 
 great pains to instruct me, for several years that I have lived 
 with him in a kind of sohtary state, since the death of my mother, 
 whom I lost when I was very young, and has taught me to read 
 and understand this inspired Hebrew book ; and says we must 
 ascribe primjevity and sacred prerogatives 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 ? " 
 
 " Miss Noel," I answered, " since it is your command that 
 I should be silent as to that flame your glorious eyes and under- 
 standing have lighted up in my soul, like some superior 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, though I have 
 learned to read and understand the Old Testament in the ante- 
 Babel language. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 17 
 
 " My opinion on your question is, that the Biblical Hebrew 
 was the language of Paradise, and continued to be spoken by 
 all men down to, and at the time of Moses writing the Pentateuch, 
 and long after. Abraham, though bred in Chaldea, could con- 
 verse 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 around, 
 or that it ever stopped Jacob in his travels. Nay, the Israehtes, 
 in their journeys through the deserts of Arabia, after they had 
 been some hundred years in Egypt, though joined by a mixed 
 multitude, and meeting with divers kinds of people, had not 
 corrupted their language, and were easily understood, because 
 it was then ■ the universal one. The simplicity and distinctness 
 of the Hebrew tongue preserved its purity so long and so univer- 
 sally. It could not well be degenerate till the knowledge of nature 
 was lost, as its words consist but of two or three letters, and are 
 perfectly well suited to convey sensible and strong ideas. It was 
 at the captivity,t in the space of seventy years, that the Jews 
 by temporising with the ignorant 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," said Miss Noel, " is a plausible account 
 of the primaevity and pre-eminence of the sacred Hebrew, but 
 I think it is not necessary the account should be allowed as 
 fact. As to its being the language in Paradise, this is not very 
 probable, as a compass of eighteen hundred years must have 
 changed the first language very greatly by an increase of words 
 and new inflections, applications, and constructions of them. 
 The first few inhabitants of the earth were occupied in few things, 
 and wanted not a variety of words ; but when their descendants 
 invented arts and improved sciences, they were obhged 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 language 
 was thus gradually cultivated, and every age improved it. 
 AU living languages axe liable to such change. I therefore con- 
 clude, that the language which served the first pair would not 
 do for succeeding 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, 
 
 t The captivity here spoken of began at Nebuzaradan's taking and burning the city and 
 temple of Jerusdem, and sending Zedekiah, the last king, in chains, to Nebuchadnezzar, 
 who ordered his children to be butchered before his face, his eyes to be put out, and then 
 thrown into a dungeon, where he died. This happened before our Lord, 588 years ; after the 
 flood, 1766 : of ttie world, 3416. 
 
 IT 
 
18 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and times peculiar to the Hebrews. Even Hutchinson allows 
 there was some coinage, some new words framed. We find in 
 the latter prophets words not to be met with in the Pentateuch : 
 and from thence we may suppose, that Moses used words un- 
 known to Nimrod and Heber : and that the men at Shinaar * 
 had words which the people before the flood were strangers to. 
 Even in the seventeenth century, there must have been a great 
 alteration in the language 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 
 variety of things without precedent in the old world, the altera- 
 tions 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 begin to be an husbandman ; he planted a 
 vineyard ; he invented wine ; and to him the first grant was 
 given of eating flesh. All these things required as it were a new 
 language, and the terms with mankind increased. The Noahical 
 language must be quite another thing after the great events of 
 the flood. Had Methuselah, who conversed many years with 
 Adam ; who received from his mouth the history of the creation 
 and fall, and who Uved six hundred years with Noah, to com- 
 municate to him all the knowledge he got from Adam ; had this 
 ante-diluvian wise man been raised from the dead to converse 
 with the post-diluvian fathers, or even with Noah, the year he 
 died, that is three hundred and fifty 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 conversations with Adam even in the nine hundred and 
 thirtieth year of the first man ? f I imagine, Methuselah would 
 
 * Shinaar comprehends the plain of Chaldea or Babylonia in Asia ; and the " men of 
 Shinaar " were the first colony that Noah sent out from Ararat, the mountains of Armenia, 
 where the Ark rested after the flood, to settle in the grand plains of Babylonia, twelve hundred 
 miles from Ararat. This was in the days of Peleg, two hundred and forty years after the 
 flood, when the eight had increased to sixty thousand ; which made a remove of part of them 
 necessary. 
 
 t The extraordinary longevity of the ante-diluvians is accounted utterly incredible by 
 many moderns ; but it did not appear so unnatural to the early ages of Paganism. Let 
 no one, says Josephus, upon comparing the lives of the antients with our lives, and with 
 the few years which we now live, think that what we have said of them is false. I .have 
 for witness to what I have said, all those who have written antiquities, both among the Greeks 
 and Barbarians. For even Manetho, who wrote the Egyptian History ; and Berosus, who 
 collected the Chaldean Monuments ; and Mochus and Hostiasus ; atid besides these, Hierony- 
 mus the Egyptian, and those who composed the Phanician history, agree to what I here 
 say. Hesiod also, and Hecutaeus, and Hallanicus, and Acusilaus ; and besides these, Ephorus 
 and Nicolaus of Damascus, relate that the ancients lived a thousand years. 
 
 The antient Latin authors likewise confirm the sacred history in this branch : and Varro 
 in particular, made an enquiry. What the reason was that the antients lived a thousand 
 years ? 
 
 [The author had here promised " a continuation of this note in the Appendix," but it 
 may be proper to notice, that the first volume of this work was printed in 1756, and the second 
 
_ JOHN BUNGLE, ESQ. 19 
 
 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 repUed, " is not only very probable, 
 but affords a satisfaction unexpected in a subject on which we 
 are obliged, for want of data, to use conjectures. I yield to your 
 superior sense the notion, that the Scriptures were written in 
 the language of Paradise. Most certain it is, that even in respect 
 of our own language, for example, the subjects of Henry I 
 would find it as much out of their power to understand the English 
 of George the First's reign, were they brought up again, as the 
 ordinary people of our time are at a loss to make anything of 
 the English written in the first Henry's reign. But when I have 
 granted this, you will be pleased to inform me, how Abraham 
 and his sons conversed and commerced 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 glorious girl, in this 
 dark article, and be my teacher in Hebrew learning, as I flatter 
 myself you will be the guide and dirigent of all my notions and 
 my days. Yes, charming Harriet, my fate is in your hands. 
 Dispose of it as you will, and make me what you please." 
 
 " You force me to smile," the illustrious Miss Noel replied, 
 " and obUge 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 miracle 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 descrip- 
 tion of this splendid room. 
 
 In one of the fine rotundas I have mentioned, 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 pebbles, 
 and sharp pointed bits of glass, measured and proportioned 
 
 to whidi the Appendix was to have been added, did not make its appearance till 1766, and 
 then without the promised addition. What the Appendix was intended to comprise will be 
 found more fully noticed in the introductory portion to this volume. The mttteriai connected 
 with the dispersion at Babel, was derived by the author, from Blomberg's Li/e 0/ Edmund 
 Dickinson, M.D., 1739, 8vo, of which subsequent notice will be made. Ed.] 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 together, so as to imitate in their assemblage the strokes and 
 colour of the objects, which they were intended to represent, 
 and they represented by this lady's art, the Temple of Tranquillity, 
 described by Volusenus in his dream. 
 
 At some distance the fine temple looks like a beautiful painted 
 picture, as do the birds, the beasts, the trees in the fields about 
 and the river which murmurs at the bottom of the rising ground ; 
 ■' Amnis lucidus et vadosus in quo cernere erat verii generis pisces 
 colludere." So wonderfully did this genius perform the piece, 
 that fishes of many kinds seem to take their pastime 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 expressed, which the pencil 
 of an able artist could bestow on the picture of Democritus. 
 You see him as Diogenes Laertius has drawn him, with a philoso- 
 phical joy in his countenance, that shews him superior to all events. 
 Summum bonorum finem statuit esse Icetitiam, non earn quae sit 
 eadem voluptati, sed earn per quam animus degit perturbationis 
 expers ; and with a finger, he points to the following golden 
 inscription on the portico of the temple : 
 
 Flagrans sit studium bene merendi de seipso, 
 Et seipsum perficiendi. 
 
 That is, " by a rectitude of mind and Ufe, secure 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 admirable 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 beautiful 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 curiosity and worth. 
 These were all disposed in such a manner as not only shed a 
 glorious lustre in the room, but shewed the understanding 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 aU their species ; and 
 of those that hve in the fresh streams, from the suboval limpet 
 or umbonated patella and its species, to the triangular and deeply 
 striated cardia. Eyen all the land shells were in this collection, 
 from the pomatia to the round-mouthed turbo. The most 
 beautiful genera of the sea-shells, intermixed with fossil corals 
 of all the kinds ; with animal substances become fossil ; and with 
 copper-ores, agates, pebbles, pieces of the finest marmora and 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 
 
 alabastritae, and the most elegant and beautiful marcasites, 
 and crystals, 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. Grafton's grottos in Fingal, as I observed to those 
 ladies.* The shells I mean are the following ones. 
 
 The SEA-TRUMPET, which is in its perfect 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 elevated, and of a 
 fine purple colour. 
 
 The ADMIRAL is vastly beautiful, a voluta 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 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 objects 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 seUs at a great price. 
 
 The CROWN IMPERIAL is likewise extremely 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 also 
 an East-Indian. ' 
 
 • I had once a sweet little country house in the neighbourhood of those ladies, and used 
 to be often at their gardens and grottos. Mrs. Grafton had the finest shells, but her grot 
 was dull and regular, and had no appearance of nature in the formation. She was a pious 
 plain, refined lady, but had not a fancy equal to the operation required in a shell-house. 
 
 The excellent, the polite, the well-bred, the good and unfortunate Mrs. O'Hara had a 
 glorious fancy. She was a genius, and had an imagination that formed a grotto wild and 
 charming as Calypso's. Her fancy did likewise form the garden, in which the grotto stood 
 near the margin of a flood, into a paradise of delights. Many a pleasing, solitary hour, have 
 I passed in this charming place ; and at last saw all in ruins ; the garden in disorder, and 
 every fine shell torn from the grotto. Such are the changes and chances of this first state ; 
 changes wisely designed by Providence as warnings not to set up our rest here : that we 
 may turn our hearts from this world, and with all our might labour for that hfe which shall 
 never perish. 
 
 What ruined Mrs. O'Hara's grotto deprived me of my little green and shady retreat. 
 Charles O'Hara, this lady's husband, a strange man, from whom I rented my pretty farm, 
 and to whom I had paid a fine to lower the rent, had mortgaged it, unknown to me, to the 
 famous Daher, and that powerful man swallowed all. All I had there was seized for arrears 
 of interest due of Mr. O'Hara, and as I was ever liable to distrainment, I took my leave of 
 Fingal. 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 exerted 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 resemblance of the Hebrew characters. 
 This elegant shell is an East-Indian. 
 
 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 gradu- 
 ally, 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. 
 
 The BUTTERFLY is a voluta the most elegant 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 obtuse cone : the clavicle 
 is pointed, and in several volutions. The ground is the finest 
 yellow, and beautified 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 Jarge 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. 
 
 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 ite diameter two and a half, at its greatest 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 in- 
 habits this fine shell. 
 
 I likewise saw in this grotto the finest species of the purpura, 
 the doha, 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. 
 
 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 a half long, 
 pointed at the ends, and somewhat crooked. The spines he 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 23 
 
 yellow, with a fine mixture of a lively brown, and by bleaching 
 on the coasts, it gets many spots of white. 
 
 The BEAUTIFUL HARP is a Chinese ; three inches and a half long, 
 and two and a half in diameter. The shell is tumid and inflated, 
 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 ornamented 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 surprisingly beautiful. 
 
 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 diameter 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 those fasciae are 
 ornamented with multitudes of the most beautiful round spots, 
 which resemble eyes in the wings of the finest butterflies. The 
 Umax inhabits this charming shell. This creature is the sea- 
 snail. 
 
 The CONCHA OF VENUS was the next shell in this young lady's 
 collection that engaged my attention. One of them was three 
 inches long, and two and a half in diameter. The valves were 
 convex, and in longitudinal 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 hps, of the most beautiful red colour, finely intermixed 
 with white ; these lips do not unite in the middle, but have 
 slender and beautiful spines round about the truncated ends of 
 the shell. This shell of Venus is an American, and valued by the 
 collectors at a high rate. 
 
 But of all the curious shells in this wonderful collection, the 
 HAMMER OYSTER was what I wondered at most ; it is the most 
 extraordinary shell in the world. It resembles a pick-ax, with a 
 very short handle and a long head. The body of the shell is 
 in the place of the handle 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 pick-ax 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 lie's crosswise to the body : yet the valves shut 
 in the closest and most elegant manner. The edges are deeply 
 furrowed and plaited, and the Unes run in irregular directions. 
 The colour without is a fine mixture of brown and purple ; and 
 within a pearly white, with a tinge of purple. This rare shell is an 
 
14 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 beautiful shells, which are 
 rarely seen in any collections, and with all the family of the 
 pectens, the cardiae, the solens, the cyUnderi, the murexes, the 
 turbines, the buccina, and every specis 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, 
 except the late Mrs. Harcourt's in Richmondshire ; which I 
 shall give my reader a description 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 grots within her grotto, and falling 
 waters, and points of view. In one place was the famous 
 Atalanta, and her deUghtful cave : and in another part, the 
 Goddess and Ulysses' son appeared at the entrance of that grot, 
 which under the appearance of a rural plainness had every thing 
 that could charm the eye : the roof was ornamented with shell- 
 work ; the tapestry was a tender vine, and, limpid fountains 
 sweetly purled round. 
 
 But what above all the finely fancied works in Miss Noel's 
 grotto pleased me, was, a figure of the philosopher Epictetus, in 
 the centre of the grot. 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 antients, that is, on parch- 
 ment rolled up close together. He appeared in deep meditation, 
 and as part of the book had been unfolded 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 — 
 
 " THE MASTER SCIENCE 
 
 " All things have their nature, their make and form, by which 
 they act, and by which they suffer. The vegetable proceeds 
 with a perfect insensibility. The brute possesses a sense of what 
 is pleasurable and painful, but stops at mere sensation. The 
 rational, like the brute, has all the powers of mere sensation, but 
 enjoys a farther transcendent faculty. To him is imparted the 
 master-science of what he is, where he is, and the end to which 
 he is destined. He is directed by the canon of reason to reverence 
 the dignity of his own superior character, and never wretchedly 
 degrade himself into a nature to him subordinate. The master- 
 science, he is told, consists in having just ideas of pleasures and 
 pains, true notions of the moments and consequences of different 
 actions and pursuits, whereby he may be able to measure, direct 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 25 
 
 or controul his desires or aversions, and never merge into miseries. 
 Remember this Arrianus. Then only, you are qualified for life, 
 when you are able to oppose your appetites, and bravely dare to 
 call your opinions to account ; when you have established 
 judgment or reason as the ruler in your mind, and by a patience 
 of thinking, and a power of resisting, before you choose, can bring 
 your fancy to the test of truth. By this means, furnished with 
 the knowledge of the effects and consequences of actions, you will 
 know how you ought to behave in every case. You will steer 
 wisely through the various rocks and shelves of Ufe. In short, 
 Arrianus, the deliberate habit is the proper business of man ; 
 and his duty, to exert upon the first proper call, the virtues 
 natural to lis mind ; that piety, that love, that justice, that 
 veracity, that gratitude, and that benevolence, which are the 
 glory of human kind. Whatever is fated in that order of incon- 
 troulable events, by which the divine power preserves and adorns 
 the whole, meet the incidents with magnanimity, and co-operate 
 with chearfulness in whatever the supreme mind ordains. Let a 
 fortitude be always exerted in enduring ; a justice in distribution ; 
 a prudence in moral of&ces ; and a temperance in your natural 
 appetites and pursuits. This is the most perfect humanity. 
 This do, and you will be a fit actor in the general drama ; and the 
 only end of your existence is the due performance of the part 
 allotted you." 
 
 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 
 talking 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 philosophical lesson. Back 
 then we returned to the parlour, and there found the old gentle- 
 man. We sat down immediately to two very good dishes, and 
 when that was over, Mr. Noel and I drank a bottle of old Alicant. 
 Though this gentleman was upwards of eighty, yet years had not 
 deprived him of reason and spirits. 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 sera of Christianity. 
 The Court of Augustus he was so far from being a stranger to; 
 that he described the principal persons in it ; their actions, their 
 pleasures, and their caprices, as if he had been their contemporary. 
 We talked of these great characters. We went into the gallery 
 of Verres. We looked over the antient theatres. Several of 
 the most beautiful passages in the Roman poets this excellent 
 old man repeated, and made very pleasant, but moral remarks 
 upon them. 
 
 " The cry," said he, " still is as it was in the days of Horace : — 
 
 O cives, elves, quaerenda pecunia primum est; 
 Virtus post nummos. — 
 
26 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Unde habeas nemo quaerit, sed oportet habere. 
 Quorum animis, a prima lanugine, non insedit illud ? 
 
 " And what Catullus told his Lesbia, is it not approved to this 
 day by the largest part of the great female world ? 
 
 Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus, 
 
 Rumoresque Sennm severiorum, 
 
 Omnes unius aestimemus assis. 
 
 Soles occidere et redire possunt. 
 
 Nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux, 
 
 Nox est perpetua una dormiendo. 
 
 Hffic discunt omnes ante Alplia et Beta puellse. 
 
 The girls all learn this lesson before their ABC; 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 
 of the Elysian fields ; as is evident from his dismissing his hero 
 out of the ivory gate ; which shews he was of the school of Epi- 
 curus ; it is from these things manifest, that we can never be 
 thankful enough for the principles and dictates of revealed 
 religion : we can never sufficiently adore the goodness of the most 
 glorious Eternal for the gospel of Jesus Christ ; which open the 
 unbounded regions of eternal 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 increases virtue, and brings us to the realms of perfect reason 
 and excellent glory. 
 
 " But," continued this fine old gentleman, " TibuUus has 
 ever pleased me in the description of his mistress ; — 
 
 Illam quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit, 
 Componit furtim subsequiturque decor ; 
 Seu solvit crines, fusis decet esse capillis ; 
 Sen compsit comptis est veneranda comis. 
 Urit seu Tyria voluit procedere puella ; 
 Urit seu nivea Candida veste venit. 
 Talis in ajterno felix Vertumnus Olympo 
 Mille habet ornatus, mille decenter habet. 
 
 " These elegant lines contain an inimitably beautiful descrip- 
 tion of outward grace, and its charming efiects 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. QuintiUan seems to have had these fine lines in view, 
 in his description of outward behaviour : ' Neque enim gestum 
 componi ad similitudinem saltationis volo, sed subesse aliquid. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE.^ESQ. 27 
 
 in hac exercitatione puerili, unde nos non id agentes, furtim 
 decor ille discentibus 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 secret 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 his evening 
 nap, and would see me at supper ; for with him I must stay that 
 night. " Harriet, make' tea for the gentleman. I am your 
 servant, sir," and he withdrew. To Harriet, then, my hfe, and 
 my bliss, I turned ; and, over 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 fehcity in this world ; and with 
 vows and protestations affirmed that I loved from my soul. 
 " Charming angel," I said, " the beauties of your mind have 
 inspired me with a passion that must increase every time I behold 
 the harmony of your face ; and by the powers divine, I swear to 
 love you as long as Heaven shall permit me to breathe the vital 
 air. Bid me then either live or die, and while I do hve, be assured 
 that my life will be devoted to you only." But in vain was all 
 this waHwttfT Miss Noel sat as unmoved as Erycina on a monu- 
 ment, and only answered, with a smile, " Since your days, sir, 
 are in my disposal, I desire you wiU change to some other subject, 
 and some article that is rational and useful ; otherwise I must 
 leave the room." 
 
 " To leave me," I repUed, " would be insupportable ; and, 
 therefore, at once I have done. If you please then, madam, 
 we wiU 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 conse- 
 quence, that Moses did not write in that tongue which Adam and 
 Eve conversed in ; nor is Hebrew of that primaevity which some 
 great men affirm ; yet, if there was a confusion of tongues at 
 Babel, and many languages were spoken in the earth in the days 
 of Abraham, how did he and his sons converse so easily with the 
 various nations they passed through, and had occasional con- 
 nexions with ? For my part, I think with Hutchinson, that 
 the divine interposition 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 confession of his neighbour. They were made to lose 
 their own Up, and to differ about the words of their atheistical 
 confession." 
 
28 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " As to a confusion of confessions," replied Miss Noel, " it 
 appears to me to be a notion without any foundation to rest on. 
 The argument of Hutchinson that the word ' shepah,' the name 
 for a Up, when used for the voice or speech, is never once in the 
 Bible used in any other sense than for confession, is not good j 
 because, though ' shephah ' is often generally used for religious 
 discourse or confession, yet the phrases, ' other lips ' and ' other 
 tongues,' are also used for ' other languages, utterances, pro- 
 nunciations, dialects' St. Paul, i Corinthians, ch. 14, v. 21, 22 ; 
 applies shephah to language or dialect, in his quotation from the 
 prophet Isaiah, ch. 28, v. 1 1, 12. He says, in the law it is written, 
 ' With men of * other tongues and other hps will I speak unto 
 this people, 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 he speak to this people.' 
 It is evident from this, that the Hebrew word shephah here 
 signifies tongues or languages, and not confessions or disceurse. 
 So the apostle applies it, and explains the prophet : and by 
 ' stammering lips,' Isaiah means the ' uncouth pronunciations 
 of barbarous dialects,' or languages of the nations, which must 
 produce in strangers to them ridiculous lips or mouths ; and in 
 this he refers undoubtedly to the stammering and strange sounds 
 at the Babel confusion, when God, by a miracle and visible 
 exhibition, distorted their organs of speech, and gave them a 
 trembling, hesitation and precipitancy, as to vocal and other 
 powers. In short, the miraculous gift of tongues would in some 
 meeisure affect the saints, in respect of pronunciation, as the 
 Miracle of Babel did the people of that place, t Nor is this the 
 
 • The words men of are not in the Greek. 
 
 + To this stammering or uncouth pronunciation of barbarous dialects the prophet Ezehiel 
 refers, chap. 36, v. 3, " Ye are made to come upon the lip of the tongues." : that is, ye are 
 become a bye-word even in the heathen gabble, among the babbling nations where ye are in 
 captivity. Holloway, the author of Letter and Spirit, says, the word barbarous, used in so 
 many languages, (with only their respective different determinations) for persons of strange 
 or foreign tongues, is a monument of the great confusion at Babel ; this word being a corruption 
 of the reduplicate Chaldee word Balbel, by changing the / in each place into r. Some say, 
 the word in the other languages is derived from the Arabic Barbar, to " murmur like some 
 beast." Scaliger defines it, Pronunciatio vitiosa et insuavis, literasque male exprimens, 
 blfBsorum balborumque more : which was hitting upon the truth as to part of the original 
 manner of the confusion. Indeed BJcsswsandBti^us, in Latin, are both derived in like manner 
 from Bdl and Balbel. The Welsh have preserved a noble word for this barbarism of confused 
 language in their compounded term Baldwraidd : which is a plain compound of the Hebrew 
 Bal, and Dabar, without any other deflection from the original Hebrew, than that of changing 
 the b in the latter member of the word Dabar into the Welsh u>, a letter of the same organ. 
 Moreover, from their said Baldwraidd, and Das, we again derive our Balderdash : which 
 therefore signifies strictly, a heap of confused or barbarous words, like those of the gabble 
 of dialects, orginally gendered at Babel. Se^Letier arid Spirit, c)i. 11. It is very remarkable, 
 that this learned gentleman says he had been long of Hutchinson's mind, as to a confusion 
 of confessions, and not of tongues ; but on weighing the matter, is now of another opinion. 
 Ibid. p. 115. Therefore, Hutchinson not infallible, but out for once, and as Dr. Sharp well 
 observes, this may be an earnest of deserting Hutchinson in other points of his new hypothesis. 
 See Dr. Sharp's Two Discourses on the Hebrew Tongue arid Character against Holloway. His 
 Two Discourses on EloMm, and Defertce. And his Three Discourses on Cherubim. The 
 Hutchinsonians lay the stress of their hypothesis on the Biblical Hebrew, being the language 
 of Adam in Paradise ; and if this be taken from them, they are left in a poor way indeed. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 29 
 
 only place in Scripture where shephah, Up, signifies language, 
 pronunciations, and dialects ; and where there is reference to 
 the confusion of tongues at Babel, Isaiah, speaking of the privileges 
 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 
 hear, Heb.) of a stammering or ridiculous tongue, that thou canst 
 not understand. This is enough in answer to Hutchinson and 
 his fautors, in respect of what they say on the confusion at Babel. 
 This proves that the word shephah, Up signifies language, utterance, 
 dialect, as well as confession or discourse ; and therefore, Moses, 
 in his account of the Miracle at Babel, might have mean'd a 
 confusion of languages. That he did mean this, is plain, not only 
 from a tradition gone out into all the earth, which is a matter of 
 greater regard than Hutchinson's fancy ; but because the sacred 
 oracles allude to this event. Beside St. Paul aforementioned, 
 the royal prophet in Psalm Iv. ver. 9, refers to the means of the 
 division of tongues, and denounces a curse in terms taken from 
 that inflicted at Babel. ' SwaUow 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 swaUowed 
 up in the 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 deUght and 
 satisfaction. I am now convinced, not only that Hebrew was 
 not the language of Paradise, or that Adam did not speak the 
 tongue the old world used immediately 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 Hutchinson affirms. Inform me, however, if 
 you please, what you mean by that tradition you mentioned which 
 declared the Miracle of Babel to be 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, and a tower for a house of adoration, whose head might 
 reach to, or be towards, the heavens, 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 revealed 
 from Heaven, to execute vengeance upon them, and the Lord 
 corrupted their tongue, broke their speech into seventy languages, 
 and scattered them over the face of the whole earth. No one 
 knew what his feUow said ; and they slew one another, and ceased 
 from building the city. Therefore he called the name of it 
 
30 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 
 af&rm ; 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 Hutchinson. It appears, upon the 
 whole, that the argument 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 wrote in was preserved. Illuminate 
 me in these things, illustrious Harriet, and from your fine under- 
 standing, 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 Hutchinson's Rub and 
 Rubbin, and of his notions of Ezekiel's cherubic form." 
 
 " To talk of Cherubim and Elohim," resumed 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 hon, 
 and the eagle, mentioned in the prophet, requires more know- 
 ledge in Hebrew learning 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 fancies upon these grand subjects, and 
 why I cannot accord with Hutchinson and my father, in their 
 notion of the Cherubim's signifpng 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 hon. This, I confess, 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 independent. The sacred pages declare there is 
 one original perfect mind. ' The Lord shall be king over aU the 
 earth. In that day there shall be one Lord, and his name 
 One,' says the prophet Zachariah, speaking of the prodigious 
 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 Hutchinson, and will not bear any contradiction ; but my 
 private judgment is, that Hutchinson on the Cherubim and 
 Elohim or Eloim, is a mad commentator, as I may show you, 
 if we ever happen to meet again. 
 
 " At present, all I can do more on the Hebrew subject, is to 
 observe that, in respect of the preservation of the Hebrew tongue, 
 I imagine the one prevaihng language before the Miracle of Babel, 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 31 
 
 which one language was afterwards called Hebrew, though 
 divided and swallowed as it were at the tower, was kept without 
 change in the Une of Shem, and continued their tongue. This 
 cannot be disputed, I believe. I likewise imagine, it must be 
 allowed that this Hebrew continued the vernacular tongue of 
 the old Canaanites. It is otherwise unaccountable how the 
 Hebrew was found to be the language of the Canaanites, when the 
 family of Abraham came among them again, after an absence 
 of more than two hundred years. If they had had another 
 tongue at the confusion, was it possible for Abraham, during 
 his temporary sojournments among them, and in the necessities 
 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 two hundred 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,* 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 colonies for the future use of the Hebrews, who were to 
 possess the land ; and by the patriarch Heber, as a sacred 
 depositum for the use of his posterity, and of Abraham in par- 
 ticular. 
 
 " This being the case : .the Phoenician 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 instruc- 
 tion ; it follows, that Abraham and his sons could talk with all 
 these tribes and communities ; and as to the other nations he 
 had communication with, he might easily converse with them, 
 as he was a Syrian by birth, and to be sure could talk the Ara- 
 mitish 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, was called Hebrew from 
 Heber, which they reserved for sacred uses." 
 
 t The great Samuel Bochart, born at Rouen, in 1599, was the minister of the reformed 
 church in the town of Caen, in Normandy. His principal works are his Phaleg and Canaan ; 
 works that show an amazing erudition, and ought to be well read by every gentleman ; you 
 should likewise have his Hierozoicon, or History of Animals mentioned in the Sacred Books. 
 It is a good supplement to his Scripture Geograjihy. His sermons and dissertations are also 
 very valuable. Bochart died suddenly in the Academy at Caen, on Monday, i6th May, 
 1667, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. Brieux wrote the following fine epitaph on him : — 
 Scilicet hac cuique est data sors ssquissima, talis 
 
 Ut sit mors, quails vita peracta fuit. 
 Musarum in gremio teneris qui vixit ab annis, 
 Musarum in gremio debuit ille mori. 
 
32 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Here Miss Noel ended, and my amazement 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 lips 
 half a dozen kisses. This was wrong, and gave very great offence, 
 but she was too good to be implacable, and on my begging her 
 pardon, and protesting it was not a wilful rudeness, but the 
 magic of her glorious eyes, and the bright powers of her mind, 
 that had transported me beside myself, she was reconciled, and 
 asked me, if I would play a game at cards ? " With delight," 
 I repUed, 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 aU sorts of music this pleases me most, I 
 request you will oblige me with an5rthing you please." "In a 
 moment, I answered, and taking 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 Lully's airs, and instantly began to 
 breathe the softest harmony I could make — 
 
 Almighty love's resistless rage, 
 No force can quell, no art assuage : 
 While wit and beauty both conspire. 
 To kindle in my breast the fire : 
 The matchless shape, the charming grace. 
 The easy air, and blooming face. 
 Each charm that does in Flavia shine. 
 To keep my captive heart combine. 
 
 I feel, I feel the raging fire ! 
 And my soul burns with fierce desire ! 
 Thy freedom, Reason, I disown. 
 And beauty's pleasing chains put on ; 
 No art can set the captive free. 
 Who scorns his offer'd liberty ; 
 Nor is confinement any pain, 
 To him who hugs his pleasing chain. 
 
 Bright Venus ! Offspring of the sea I 
 Thy sovereign dictates I obey ; 
 Submissive own thy mighty reign. 
 And feel thy power in every vein : 
 I feel thy influence all-confest, 
 I feel thee triumph in my breast ! 
 'Tis there is fix'd thy sacred court, 
 'Tis there thy Cupids gaily sport. 
 
 Come, my Boy, the altar place. 
 Add the blooming garland's grace ; 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 33 
 
 Gently pour the sacred wine, 
 
 Hear me, Venus I Power divine I 
 
 Grant the only boon I crave. 
 
 Hear me, Venxis I Hear thy slave ! 
 
 Bless my fond soul with beauty's charms. 
 
 And give me Flavia to my arms.* 
 
 Just as I was finishing this piece of music, old Mr. Noel came 
 into the parlour, in his wonted good humour, and seemed very 
 greatly pleased with ine and my instrument. 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 music — 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. 
 
 Ye lofty mountains, whose eternal snows 
 Like Atlas seem to prop the distant skies ; 
 
 While sheltered by your high and ample brows 
 All nature's beauties feast my ravish'd eyes : 
 
 And far beneath me o'er the distant plain 
 
 The thunders break, and rattling tempests reign, 
 
 * As this song is a short imitation of the nineteeath Ode of the first book of Horace, it is 
 worth your while, Reader, to see how the Rev. P. Francis has done the whole. I will here 
 set down a few lines : 
 
 " Urit me Gl^ceice nitor 
 
 Splendentis pario marmore purius : 
 Urit grata protervitas, 
 
 Et vnltus n iTninm lubricus aspici." 
 Which lines are imitated in the first verse of the above song, and a part of the second ; and 
 the ingenious Mr. Francis renders them in the following manner — 
 " Again for Glycera I bum. 
 And all my long forgotten flames return. 
 As Parian marble pure and bright, 
 
 The shining maid my bosom warms ; 
 Her face too dazzling for the sight. 
 Her sweet coqueting — ^how it charms ! " 
 The following : 
 
 " In me tota mens Venus 
 Cyprum deseruit — " 
 of which the third verse of the song is an imitation, Mr. Francis translates thus : 
 " Whole Venus rushing through my veins. 
 No longer in her favourite Cyprus reigns." 
 
 And the lines : 
 
 " Hie vivum mihi cespitem, hie 
 
 Verbenas, pueri, ponite thuraque 
 Bimi cum patera meri : 
 Mactata veniet kenior hostia : " 
 Which arc imitated in the fourth verse of the song, Mr. Francis translates as follows, 
 " Here let the living altar rise, 
 
 Adom'd with every herb and flower ; 
 Here flame the incense to the skies. 
 
 And purest wines libation pour ; 
 Due honours to the Goddess paid, 
 Soft sinks to willing love the yielding maid." 
 
34 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Here, when Aurora with her cheerful beam 
 
 And rosy blushes marks approaching day ; 
 Oft do I walk along the purling strea a. 
 
 And see the bleating flocks around me stray : 
 The woods, the rooks, each charm that strikes my sight. 
 Fills my whole breast with innocent delight. 
 
 Here gaily dancing on the flow'ry gromid 
 The cheerful shepherds join their flute and voice ; 
 
 While thro' the groves the woodland songs resound. 
 And fill th' untroubled mind with peaceful joys. 
 
 Music and love inspire the vocal plain. 
 
 Alone the turtle tunes her plaintive strain. 
 
 Here the green turf invites my wearied head 
 
 On nature's lap to undisturb'd repose ; 
 Here gently laid to rest, each care is fled ; 
 
 Peace and content my happy eye-lids close. 
 Ye golden flattering dreams of state adieu ! 
 As bright my slumbers are, more soft than you. 
 
 Here free from all the tempests of the great, 
 
 Craft and ambition can deceive no more ! 
 Beneath these shades I find a blest retreat. 
 
 From Envy's rage secure, and Fortune's power : 
 Here call the actions of past ages o'er. 
 Or truth's immortal source alone explore. 
 
 Here far from all the busy world's alarms, 
 I prove in peace the Muse's sacred leisure : 
 
 No cares within, no distant sound of arms, 
 Break my repose, or interrupt my pleasure. 
 
 Fortime and Fame ! Deceitful forms ! Adieu ! 
 
 The world's a trifle far beneath my view. 
 
 This song delighted the old gentleman exceedingly. He told 
 me, he was charmed with it, not only for the fine music I made of 
 it, but the morality of it, and liked me so much, that I was most 
 heartily welcome to make his Solitary retreat my home, as often 
 and as long as I pleased. And indeed I did so, and continued to 
 behave in such a manner, that in two months time, I gained so 
 entirely his affections, and so totally 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, though my father 
 should refuse to settle anything on me, or Miss Noel, my wife. 
 This was generous and charming as my heart could desire. I 
 thought myself 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 happly family, and enjoyed such satisfactions as few I 
 believe have experienced in this tempestuous hemisphere. Mr. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 35 
 
 Noel was passionately fond of his daughter, and he could not 
 regard me more if I had been his own son, I loved my Harriet 
 with a fondness beyond description, and that glorious girl had 
 all the esteem I could wi§h she had for me. Our mutual feUcity 
 could 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 Uttle 
 solid, lasting felicity, as I have found it, that I cannot call Ufe 
 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 
 completely happy in every respect as it was possible for a mortal 
 man to be, the small pox stepped in, and in seven days time, 
 reduced the finest human frame in the universe to the most 
 hideous and offensive block. The most amiable of human 
 creatures mortified all over, and became a spectacle the most 
 hideous and appalling. This broke her father's heart in a month's 
 time, and the paradise I had in view, sunk into everlasting night. 
 
 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 spirits in toler- 
 able decorum. I lost what I valued more than my life ; more 
 than repeated millions of worlds, if it had been possible to get 
 them in exchange. This engaged, beloved partner, was an honour 
 to her sex, and an ornament to human kind. She was one of 
 the wisest and most agreeable of women ; 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 shone with a bright lustre in her whole 
 deportment, and rendered her beloved, and the dehght of all 
 that knew her. Sense and genius were in her united, and by 
 study, reflection, 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 behaviour, 
 her language, her design and her understanding was inexpressibly 
 charming. Miss Noel died in the 24th year of her age, the 29th 
 of December, in the year 1724. 
 
 This dismal occurrence preyed 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 lamenta- 
 tions could not save her, so I knew they could not fetch her back. 
 Death and the grave have neither eyes nor ears. The thing to 
 be done upon so melancholy 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 be 
 able to live, while we do live, superior to the strokes of fortune 
 
36 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and the calamities of human hfe ; 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 to enter into our master'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 determined 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 subhme excellencies of our holy reUgion, proceed to 
 the abodes of immortahty 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 dis- 
 satisfaction, and in the midst of troubles and uncertainties, we 
 are hastening to an unknown world, from whence we shall never 
 again return. Whether 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, 
 though a man hve many years, and rejoice in them all, which is 
 the case of very few, yet let him remember the days of darkness. 
 
 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 situation I 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 sincere and incorrupt ; if 
 we did not worship and love the supreme mind, and adore his 
 divine administration, and all the secrets of his providence. If 
 this was not our csise, before corruption begins to lay hold of us, 
 deplorable must we be, when torments come upon us, and we 
 have only hopeless wishes that we had been wiser, as we descend 
 in agonies to our sohtary retreat : to proceed from thence to 
 judgment. Language cannot paint the horrors of such a condi- 
 tion. The anguish of mind, and the torture of body, are a scene 
 of misery beyond description. 
 
 Or, if without torment, we lie down in silence, 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 sdl our actions are to be strictly tried and 
 examined, and every one shall be judged according to 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 17 
 
 been our practice in this world ; or if, in the neglect of the dis- 
 tressed and hungry, we have given up ourselves to chambering 
 and wantonness, to gluttony and voluptuousness ? It is virtue 
 and obedience, acts of goodness and mercy, that only can dehver 
 us. If we worship in spirit and in truth the most glorious of 
 immortal beings, that God who is omnipotent in wisdom and 
 action, and perform all the offices of love and friendship to every 
 man, then will our Lord pronounce us the blessed of his Father. 
 If we do evil, we shall come forth into the resurrection of dam- 
 nation. This merits your attention, reader, and I hope you will 
 immediately begin to ponder, what it is to have a place assigned 
 in inconceivable happiness or misery for ever. 
 
 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 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 gratified all his desires. Whatever this httle 
 brute, the son of a drunken beggar, who had been a journeyman 
 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 demands could be 
 answered. Money, clothes, servants, horses, dogs, and all things 
 he could fancy, were given 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 everything. The liberal allowance I had at the 
 university was taken from me. Even a horse to ride out to the , 
 neighbouring gentlemen, was refused me, though my father had 
 three stables of extraordinary cattle ; and till I purchased one, 
 was forced to walk it, wherever I had a mind to visit. What is 
 still more incredible, if anything of severity can be so, when a 
 mother-in-law is sovereign, I was not allowed to keep my horse 
 even at grass on the land, though five hundred acres of freehold 
 estate surrounded the mansion, but obliged to graze it at a 
 neighbouring farmer's. Nor was this all the hard treatment I 
 received. I was ordered by my father to become the young 
 man's preceptor ; to spend my precious time in teaching this 
 youngster, and in labouring to make the httle 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. 
 
38 THE LIFE OF 
 
 My father, however, by the way, was as fine a gentleman as 
 ever hved, a man of extraordinary understanding, and a scholar ; 
 likewise remarkably just and good to all the world, except myself, 
 after I left the university : 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 ascendancy was, which my mother-in-law had 
 over him, and as much as he was henpecked by that low-bred 
 woman, who had been his servant maid, yet it was not to her 
 only that my sufferings were owing. ReUgion had a hand in 
 my misery. False rehgion was the spring of that paternal 
 resentment I suffered under. 
 
 It was my father's being wont to have prayers read every 
 night and morning in his family, and the office was the Utany of 
 the common prayer-book. This work, on my coming home, 
 was transferred from my sister to me, and for about one week I 
 performed 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 uneasy to me, that I altered the prayers the first Sunday 
 morning, and made them more agreeable to Scripture as I con- 
 ceived. My father at this was very highly enraged, and his 
 passion axose to so great a height, upon my defending my con- 
 fer ..ion, and refusing to read the estabUshed form, that he called 
 me the most impious and execrable of wretches, and with violence 
 drove me from his presence. Soon after, however, he sent me 
 Lord Nottingham's Letter to Mr. Whiston, and desired I would 
 come over 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 religion a little better than at present he 
 supposed it to be. "I wUl hear you," he said, " proceed." I 
 then immediately began, and for a full hour repeated an apology 
 I had prepared."* He did not interrupt me once, and when I 
 had done, all he rephed was, " I see you are to be placed among 
 the incurables. Begone," he said, with stem disdain ; and I 
 
 * Tbe reader will find this apology in the Appendix to this life, [see note, p. 41, ante]. 
 By scripture and argument, without any regard to the notions of the fathers, I there endeavour 
 to prove, that God the Father, the beginning and cause of all things, is One Being, infinite in 
 sudi a manner, that bis infinity is an infinity of fulness as well as immensity ; and must^. 
 not only without limits, but also without diversity, defect or interruption : and of conse- 
 quence his Unity so true and real, that it will admit of no diversity or distinction of persons : — 
 that as to the Lord J esus Christ, he was the servant chosen of thi^ tremendous God, to redeem 
 mankind ; but his holy soul so far in perfection above Adam or any of his posterity, and pos- 
 sessed so much a greater sh^e of the indwelling of the divine life and nature than any other 
 creature, that be might, compared to us. with a just figure of speech, be called God. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 39 
 
 resolved to obey. Indeed it was impossible for me to stay, for 
 my father took no farther notice of me, and my mother-in- 
 law and the boy, did all they could invent to render my life 
 miserable. 
 
 On the first day of May, 1725 ; early in the morning, as the 
 clock struck one, I mounted my excellent mare, and with my 
 boy O'FiN, began to journey as I had projected, on seeing how 
 things went. I did not communicate my design to a soul, nor 
 took 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 favour. I had the world before me, and 
 Providence my guide. As to my substance it consisted of a 
 purse of gold, that contained 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 
 sickened ; 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 Ring's-end, that lies on 
 the Bay of Dublin. Three days I rested there^ and at the Con- 
 niving House,* and then got my horses on board a ship' that was 
 ready to sail, and bound for the land I was born in, I mean Old 
 England. 
 
 The wind, in the afternoon, seemed good and fair, and we were 
 in hopes of getting to Chester the next day ; but at midnight a 
 tempest arose, which held in all the horrors of hurricane, thunder 
 and lightning, 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 assault was making on the globe. As we had many pas- 
 sengers, their cries were terrific, 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 on the second night, I 
 expected every moment. At last, however, we got into White- 
 haven. It pleased the great King of all the earth to bid the 
 storm Have done. 
 
 Four remarkable things I noticed while the tempest lasted. 
 One was that the Dean of Derry, Dr. Whaley, whom we had on 
 board, who had nineteen hundred a year from the church, for 
 
 • The Conniving-House, as the gentlemen of Trinity call'd it in my time, and long after 
 was a little publichoUse, kept by Jack M'Lean, about a quarter of a mile beyond RingS:end, 
 on the top of the beach, within a few yards of the sea. Here we used to have the finest fish 
 at all times, and in the season, green peas and all the most excellent vegetables. The ale 
 here was always extraordinary, and every thing the best ; which, with its delightful situation 
 rendered it a charming place of a summer's evening. Many a happy evening have I passed 
 in this pretty thatched house with the famous Larhev Grogan, who played on the bag-pipes 
 extremely well ; dear Jack Lattin, matt^less on the fiddle, and the most agreeable of com- 
 panions ; that ever charming young fellow. Jack Wall, the son of counsellor Maurice Wall 
 the most worthy, the most ingenious, the most engaging of men ; and many other delightful 
 fellows, who went in the days of their youth to the shades of eternity. When! think of them 
 and their evening songs " We will go to Johnny M'Lean's to try if his ale be good or not 
 etc." and that years and infirmities begin to oppress me— What is life ! 
 
40 THE LIFE OF 
 
 teaching the people to be Christians, was vastly more afraid than 
 one young lady of the company, who appeared quite serene. 
 The Dean, though 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 during the second night 
 discoursing of the divine power, and the laws of nature in such 
 uproars. 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 second remarkable thing was that as this young lady went 
 naked into bed in her cabin, 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 Ughts, 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 I not 
 chanced to be leaning against the partition, and snatched her out, 
 the moment I felt myself all over wet, and half covered with the 
 breaking sea, she must inevitably have perished. I ran up on 
 deck with her in my arms, and laid her almost 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 berth, which I gave her, and got her dry clothes from her 
 trunk, and made her drink a large glass of brandy, which saved 
 her Ufe. She got no cold, which I thought very strange, but was 
 hurt a httle in the remove. When all was over she protested 
 she would never go naked into bed, on board ship, again. 
 
 The third particular was, 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 hke 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 centre 
 of hell. 
 
 The fourth thing was this. There was on board with us a 
 young gentleman of my acquaintance, one Pierce Gavan, who 
 had been a fellow-commoner in my time of Trinity, DubUn. 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 distance 
 from the ship ; but the next tumbling billow brought him back 
 again. He was laid on the deck without any hurt. On the 
 contrary, one Charles Henley, a young merchant, was beat 
 over, and we never saw him more. 
 
 Henley was not only a man of sense and prudence, who had 
 an honest mind, and a cultivated understanding, but by search 
 
JOHN BUNGLE, ESQ. 41 
 
 and enquiries into the doctrines, institutions and motives of 
 revealed 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, on the contrary, had no sense of religion, nor did he 
 ever think of the power and goodness of God. He was a most 
 profane 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 even shocked young fellows 
 who were no saints, was astonishingly preserved ; and Henley, 
 who had the most just natural notions, and listened to Revelation, 
 perished miserably ! 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, though the reason of the procedure may be beyond 
 our view. We cannot judge certainly of the ends and purposes 
 of Providence, 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 differ- 
 ence as to time and manner, signifies very Uttle, when there is 
 an infinite wisdom to distinguish 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. 
 
 May loth.— 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 warriors 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 lodgings, though the smallest inn of the town. This 
 mate, one Whitwell, deserves to be particularly mentioned, 
 as he was remarkable for polite breeding, good sense, and a 
 considerable share of learning, though a sailor ; as remarkable 
 this way, as the captain of the ship was the other, that is for being 
 the roughest and most brutal old tar that ever commanded a 
 
 vessel. 
 
 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 fortune, 
 and gave him a university education, but left an estate so encum- 
 bered with debts, and ruined with mortgages, that its income 
 was almost nothing, and therefore the son sold the remains of if 
 
42 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and went to sea with an East India captain, in the twenty-second 
 year of his age, and was so fortunate abroad, that he not only 
 acquired riches, in the four years time that he trafficked about, 
 between Batavia and the Gulph of Persia, but piarried a young 
 Indian lady, the daughter of a Rajah, or petty Prince in the Mogul 
 Empire ; who was rich, wise and beautiful, and made his Ufe so 
 very happy, for the three years she lived, that his state was a 
 Paradise, and he seemed a little sovereign. But this fleeting 
 scene was soon over, and on his return 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 
 more than two years, when he escaped from them to the tawny 
 generation of Arabs, who lived on the mountains, the other side 
 of this African island, who used him with great humanity ; their 
 chief being very fond of him, and entertaining him in bus 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 religious woman ; her reUgion being half 
 Mahometanism and half Judaism. But she died at the year's 
 end, and her uncle the chief, not Uving a month after her, Whit- 
 well came down from the mountains to the next sea coast under 
 the conduct of one of the Arabians, his friend, and meeting with 
 a European ship there, got at last to London. A Uttle money he 
 had left behind him in England, by way of reserve, in case of 
 accidents, if he should ever return to his own country, he regained, 
 and with this dressed himself, got into business, and came at 
 last to be mate of the ship called 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 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 sentiments so uncommon I 
 thought deserved a memorial. 
 
 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, delightfully 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 other's company, 
 as great as lovers generally experience ; yet not so much as one 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 43 
 
 syllable of the passion was 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 incUnations, tempers and sentiments, had 
 acquired such a sameness in a few days, that we seemed as two 
 spiritual sodas, or duplicates of each other's mind. Body was 
 quite out of the case, though this lady had an extravagance of 
 beauty. My sole delight was that fine percipient, which shed a 
 lustre on her outward charms. How long this state would have 
 lasted, had we continued 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 cannot say ; but while it did last, there could be 
 nothing more strange. To see two young people of different 
 sexes, in the highest spirits and most confirmed health live 
 together, for twenty-one days, perfectly pleased with each other, 
 entirely at their own disposal, and as to fortune, having abun- 
 dantly 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 complete that connexion which nature and 
 providence requires of beings circumstanced as we were : was 
 very odd. We sat up till the clock struck twelve every night, 
 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 Acade- 
 mics, and De Finibus ; on the English or the Roman History ; 
 Shakespeare's scenes of nature, or maps of hfe ; whether the 
 CEdipus or the Electra of Sophocles was the best tragedy ; and 
 the scenes in which Plautus and Terence most excelled. Like 
 two critics, or two grammarians, antiquarians, historians, or 
 philosophers, would we pass the evening with the greatest cheer- 
 fulness and delight. 
 
 Miss Melmoth had an astonishing memory, and talked on 
 every subject extremely well. She remembered all she had read. 
 Her judgment was strong, and her reflections always good. She 
 told me her mother was another Mrs. Dacier, and as her father 
 was killed in a duel, when she was very young, the widow Mel- 
 moth, instead of going into the world, continued to hve 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 enabled her to acquire a knowledge so 
 various and fine, that it was surprising to hear her expatiate and 
 
44 THE LIFE OF 
 
 explain. She talked with so much ease and good humour, and 
 had a manner so cheerful and polite, that her discourse was 
 always entertaining, even though the subject happened to be, as 
 it was one evening, the paulo post future 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 principles of rational 
 honour, and devoted to that truly God-Uke religion, which exalts 
 the soul to an affection rather than dread of the supreme Lord of 
 things, and to a conviction "that his laws lead us both to happiness 
 here and hereafter. She thoroughly understood the use and 
 excellence of Revelation, and had extracted from the inspired 
 volumes everlasting comfort and security under the apprehen- 
 sions 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, and that was Miss Noel. Very 
 few have I known that were equal. 
 
 The second 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 Lamb's, a house I recommend to the 
 reader, 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 Charles 
 Turner, who had been my near friend in the university, and who 
 lived in some part of the north east extremity of Westmoreland, 
 or Yorkshire. 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 glen, and all the public house 
 there is in this wild silent road, till you come to Jack Railton, 
 the quaker's house at Bows. We had a pot of coffee and toast 
 and butter for breakfast, and, as usual, we were very cheerful 
 over it ; but when we had done, and it was time to depart, 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 Mel- 
 moth," I said : " what makes this amazing change ? " "I will 
 tell you, sir," this beauty replied. " 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 probabiUty of my never 
 seeing you more, is too much for me." " Miss Melmoth," I 
 answered, " you do me more honour than I deserve in shedding 
 tears for me, and since you can think me worth seeing again, I 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 45 
 
 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 desolate part of the world, I will travel with my face in the 
 next place, if it be possible, towards 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 bade her adieu. 
 
 June 8th. — Having thus lost my charming companion, I 
 travelled into a vast valley, enclosed 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 Appenines. Warm with a classical enthusiasm, 
 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 most enchanting 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 a hill a sweetly situated 
 cottage, that was half covered with trees, and stood by the side 
 of a large falUng stream : a vale extended to the south from the 
 door, that was terminated with rocks, and precipices on precipices, 
 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 sxreep added to the beauties of the 
 .scene. 
 
 To this house I sent my boy, to inquire who Uved there, and 
 to know, if for the night I could be entertained, as I knew not 
 where else to go. O'Fin very quickly returned, arid 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 exceedingly pretty woman, who 
 told me her husband would soon be at home, 'and be glad, she was 
 sure, to see me at their lonely place ; for he was no stranger to 
 gentlemen and the world, though at present he rarely conversed 
 with any one. She told me, their own supper would be ready in 
 an hour hence, and in the meantime would have me take a can 
 of fine ale and a bit of bread. She brought me a cup of extra- 
 ordinary malt-drink and a crust, and while I was eating my 
 bread, in came Mr. Price. 
 
 The man seemed very greatly astonished at entering the room, 
 and after he had looked with great earnestness at me for a Uttle 
 while, he cried out, " Good heaven ! What do I see ! Fai^taff, 
 
46 THE LIFE OF 
 
 my class-fellow, and my second self. My dear friend you are 
 welcome, thrice welcome to this part of the world." All this 
 surprised me not a Uttle, 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 considering the place, and all the circumstances 
 belonging to the scene, a thing more strange and afEecting 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 following manner. 
 
 " Often have I remember'd you since we parted, and exclusive 
 of the Greek and EngUsh plays we have acted together at Sheri- 
 dan's school,* in which you acquired no small applause, I have 
 frequently thought of our frolicsome rambles in vacation time, 
 and the merry dancings we had at Mother Red-Cap's in Back- 
 Lane ; the hurUng matches we have play'd 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 
 httle did I think we should ever meet again on Stainmore-hills. 
 What strange things does time produce I It has taken me from a 
 town Ufe to Uve on the most solitary part of the globe : — and it 
 has brought you to jcurney where never man I believe even 
 thought of traveUing before." " So it is," I replied, " and strange 
 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 starange means you came to dwell 
 in this remote and silent vale." " That you shall know," said he, 
 " 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 immediately to our dish, and most excellent 
 every thing was. The social goodness of this fond couple added 
 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 admirable ale. " Listen now, said he, " to my story, and then 
 I will hearken to yours. 
 
 " When I left you at Sheridan's school, my remove was from 
 
 • The School-house of the famous Dr. Sheridan, in Capel Street, Dublin, where many of 
 the younger branches of the most distinguished families in Ireland, at that period received 
 the first rudiments of their education; was formerly King James II. 's Mm^house. The 
 only view of it extant, is a vignette in Samuel Whyte's Poems, printed by Subscription at 
 Dublin, in 1793. 8vo. p. 44. Ed. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 47 
 
 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 brother, after I had Uved two years in that 
 burning place, and from thence proceeded to London, to spend 
 what an honest, laborious man had long toiled to save. But I had 
 not been above three months in the capital of England, when it 
 came into my head to pass some time in France, and with a girl I 
 kept made haste to the French metropolis. There I Uved at a 
 grand rate, and took from the French Opera-house another whore. 
 The Gaul and the Briton were both extreme fine girls, and agreed 
 so well together, that I kept them both in one house. I thought 
 myself superlatively happy in having such a brace of females, and 
 spared no cost in procuring them aU the finery and pleasures that 
 Paris and London could yield. I had a furnished house in both 
 these cities, and with an expensive equipage went backwards 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 myself in very middUng circumstances, 
 and had not six hundred pounds left in the fourth year from my 
 uncle's death. How to dispose of this and myself was now the 
 question. What I should do, was my dehberation, to secure bread 
 and quiet ? Many a thoughtful hour this gave me, and at length 
 I determined to purchase a httle annuity. But before this could 
 be effectedj 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 fortune. 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 resolved 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 lately 
 dead, and this little mountain farm she continued to occupy : 
 therefore nothing could be more to my purpose, if I could prevail 
 on her to make me her husband, and with some difficulty she did, 
 to my unspeakable felicity. She had no money worth mention- 
 ing : 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 Uttle before we were married, to be by her disposed of 
 and managed, according to her pleasure she soon made some good 
 improvements and additions, and by her fine understanding, sweet 
 temper, and every christian vjrtue, continues to render my hfe so 
 completely happy ; so joyous and deUghtful ; 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 
 
48 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 oi wedded mortals, and on this 
 small remote farm, Uve in a state of bliss to be envied. This proves 
 that happiness does not flow from riches only : but, that where 
 pure, and perfect love, strict virtue, and unceasing industry, are 
 united in the conjugal state, they can make the Stainmore moun- 
 tains a Paradise to mortals in peace and little. 
 
 " But it is not only happiness in this world that I have acquired 
 by this admirable woman, but hfe 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 sceler- 
 ate as ever offended Heaven by blasphemy and ilHberal gratifi- 
 cations. Even my losses and approaching poverty were not cap- 
 able 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. 
 
 " This from a plain country girl, surprised me not a little, and 
 my astonishment rose 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 nature, and that the authority 
 and word of God is the surest foundation of reUgion. 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 ourselves. They instruct 
 us in the nature of the Deity, discover to us his unity, hoUness, 
 and purity, and afford certain means of obtaining eternal hfe. 
 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 everything recommended by that 
 law of reason, which he sent the Messiah to revive and enforce : 
 that by repentaiice, and righteousness, and acts of devotion, we 
 may obtain the divine favour, and share in the glories of futurity ; 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 49 
 
 for, the Supreme Director, whose goodness gives counsel to his 
 powers, commanded us into existence to conduct us to everlasting 
 happiness, and therefore teaches us by his Son to pray, to praise, 
 and to repent, that we may be entitled to a nobler inheritance 
 than this world knows, and obtain hfe and immortality, and all 
 the joys and blessings of the heavenly Canaan. This was the 
 godlike design of our Creator. That superior agent, who acts 
 not by arbitrary will, but by the maxims of unclouded reason, 
 when he made us«ind 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 show Fehx the unalterable 
 obUgations 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 moraUty ; 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 govern- 
 ment of the rational world requires should be inflicted on the 
 wicked ; and might on the contrary by that mercy offered to the 
 world through Jesus Christ, secure those immense rewards, 
 which are promised to innocence and the testimony of an upright 
 heart. This faith 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 reveahng 
 the wrath of God against all immorality ; and as joining mth 
 reason and uncorrupted nature, enforcing the practice of every 
 moral and social duty. 
 
 " What effect this discourse had on Felix," continued Martha, 
 " in producing faith, that is, moraUty in an intelligent agent, 
 we are told by the apostle. He trembled : but iniquity 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 , 
 eternity 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 consider 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. 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 
 
50 THE LIFE OF 
 
 life and salvation, if they will but take notice of it ; and if they 
 will not walk in the Ught 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 reUgion in its native purity and simpUcity, and by 
 the power of the gospel, to 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, wjfcch 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 that I began a thorough 
 reform from that hour. My rational Ufa from that happy day 
 commenced, and I entered seriously into my own breast, to 
 think in earnest of that solemn judgment to come. What 
 Martha said was so clear and strpng, that I had not a thought 
 of replying, but truth at once en-^irely subdued my heart, and I 
 flew to the Son of God, to request/his intercession with the Father 
 of the Universe for the pardon of all my crimes. The dignity and 
 end of my being has since been the subject of my meditations, 
 and I live convinced, that everything is contemptible, that is 
 inconsistent with duty and morality. This renders even my 
 pleasures more agreeable. This gives eternal peace to my mind." 
 
 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 hved some- 
 where 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 impass- 
 able, 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 reason 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 repUed, that I was most heartily welcome 
 to him as long as I pleased to stay, and that though 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 company, 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 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 5^ 
 
 the hills ; but we would try, however, 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 beUeve, upon my recommendation, give 
 you his girl and a sum of money, to sit down on those hills." 
 " This is vastly kind. Jack," said I, " and what I shall gratefully 
 remember so long as I live. I may ride many a mile I am sure, 
 and be an adventurer many a long day, before I meet with such 
 offers again. Your sweetiy situated house and good things, 
 with a fine northern girl and money down, are benefits not to be 
 met with every day. But at present the object I must pursue 
 is my university friend, Charles Turner, and if you please to 
 do me the great favour of guiding me so far as you can over this 
 wild, uninhabited land, after I have stayed with you for the first 
 time, two or three days, and promise to abide many more hereafter 
 if it be in my power, we will set out in quest of what I want." 
 " As you will," my fnend Price replied, " and for the present let 
 us be gay. Here comes my beloved with a httle bowl of punch, 
 and as she sings extremely well, and you have not forgot I fancy 
 our old song, we will have it over our nectar. You shall represent 
 Janus and Momus, and I wiU 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. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 JANUS. 
 
 Chronos, Chronos, mend thy pace, 
 A hundred times the rolling sun. 
 Around the radiant belt has run. 
 
 In his revolving race. 
 Behold, behold, the goal in sight. 
 Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight. 
 
 CHRONOS. 
 
 Weary, weary of my weight. 
 Let me, let me drop my freight, 
 And leave the world behind. 
 
 I could not bear 
 
 Another year 
 The load of human kind. 
 
 MOMUS. 
 
 Ha I ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! well hast thou done. 
 
 To lay down thy pack. 
 
 And lighten thy back. 
 The world was a fool, e'er since it begun. 
 
52 THE LIFE OF 
 
 And since neither Janus, nor Chronos, nor I, 
 
 Can hinder the crimes. 
 
 Or mend the bad times, 
 'Tis better to laugh than to cry. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 'Tis better to laugh than to cry. 
 
 JANUS. 
 
 Since Momus comes to laugh below. 
 
 Old Time begin the show ! 
 That he may see, in every scene. 
 What changes in this age have been ; 
 
 CHRONOS. 
 
 Then goddess of the silver bow begin ! 
 
 With horns and with hounds I waken the day. 
 
 And hye to my woodland walks away ; 
 
 I tuck up my robe, and am buskiu'd soon. 
 
 And tye to my forehead a waxing moon ; 
 
 I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox. 
 
 And chase the wild goats o'er summits of rocks. 
 
 With shouting and hooting we pierce through the sky 
 
 And echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry. 
 
 With shouting and hooting we pierce through the sky. 
 And echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry. 
 
 JANUS. 
 
 Then our age was in its prime, 
 
 CHRONOS. 
 
 Free from rage, 
 
 DIANA. 
 
 And free from crime. 
 
 MOMUS. 
 
 A very merry, dancing, drinking. 
 Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Then our age was in its prime, 
 Free from rage, and free from crime. 
 A very merry, dancing, drinking. 
 Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time. 
 
 MARS. 
 
 Inspire the vocal brass, inspire ; 
 The world is past its infant age 
 
 Arms and honour. 
 
 Arms and honour. 
 Set the martial mind on fire. 
 And kindle manly rage. 
 Mars has look'd the sky to red ; 
 And peace, the lazy good, is fled. 
 Plenty, peace, and pleasure fly ; 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. S3 
 
 The sprightly green 
 In Woodland walks, no more is seen ; 
 The sprightly green has drank the Tyrian dye. 
 
 Plenty, peace, and pleasure fly ; 
 
 The sprightly green 
 In Woodland walks, no more is seen ; 
 The sprightly green has drank the Tsrrian dye. 
 
 MARS. 
 
 Sound the trumpet, beat the drum. 
 Through all the world around : 
 Sound a reveille, sound, sound. 
 The warrior God is come. 
 
 Sound the trumpet, beat the drum. 
 Through all the world around; 
 Sound a reveille, sound, sound. 
 The warrior God is come. 
 
 Thy sword within the scabbard keep. 
 
 And let mankind agree ; 
 Better the world were fast asleep. 
 
 Than kept awake by thee. 
 The fools are only thinner. 
 
 With all our cost and care ; 
 But neither side a winner. 
 
 For things are as they were. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The fools are only thinner. 
 With all our cost and care ; 
 
 But neither side a winner. 
 For things are as they were. 
 
 Calms appear, when storms are past. 
 Love will have its hour at last : 
 Nature is my kindly care ; 
 Mars destroys, and I repair ; 
 Take me, take me, while you may, 
 Venus comes not ev'ry day. 
 
 Take her, take her, while you may, 
 Venus comes not ev'ry day. 
 
 The world was then so light, 
 
 I scarcely felt the weight ; 
 
 Joy rul'd the day, and love the night. 
 
 But since the queen of pleasure left the ground, 
 
 I faint, I lag. 
 
 And feebly drag 
 The pond'rous orb around. 
 
54 THE LIFE OF 
 
 MOMUS, pointing to Diana. 
 
 All, all, of a piece throughout ; 
 The chace had a beast in view ; 
 
 DIANA, to Mars. 
 Thy wars brought nothing about j 
 
 MARS, to Venus. 
 Thy lovers were all untrue. 
 
 VENUS, to Janus. 
 
 'Tis well an old age is out. 
 And time to begin a new. 
 
 CHORXIS. 
 
 All, all, of a piece throughout ; 
 Thy chace had a beast in view ; 
 Thy wars brought nothing about ; 
 Thy lovers were all untrue : 
 'Tis well an old age is out. 
 And time to begin a new. 
 
 In this happy manner did we pass the night in this wild and 
 frightful part of the world, and for three succeeding evenings and 
 days, enjoyed as much true satisfaction as it was possible for 
 mortals to feel. Price was an ingenious, cheerful, entertaining 
 man, and his wife had not only sense more than ordinary, but 
 was one of the best of women. I was prodigiously pleased with 
 her conversation. Though she was no woman of letters, nor had 
 any books in her house except the Bible, Barrow's and Whichcot's 
 Sermons, Howell's History of the World, and the History of England 
 yet from these few, a great memory, and an extraordinary con- 
 ception of things, had collected a valuable knowledge, and she 
 talked with an ease and perspicuity that was wonderful. On 
 religious subjects she astonished me. 
 
 As Sunday was one of the dales I staid there, and Price was 
 obliged in the afternoon to be from home, I passed it in con- 
 versation with his wife. The day introduced religion, and 
 among other things I asked her, which she thought the best 
 evidences of Christianity ? The prophecies or the miracles ? 
 
 " Neither," Mrs. Price replied. " The prophecies of the 
 Messiah recorded in the Old Testament, are a good proof of the 
 Christian religion, as it is plain from many instances in the New 
 Testament, that the. Jewish converts of that generation under- 
 stood them to relate to our Lord ; which is a sufficient reason for 
 our believing them. Since they knew the true intent and mean- 
 ing of them, and on account of their knowing it, were converted ; 
 the prophecies for this reason should by us be regarded as divine 
 testimony in favour 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 Messiahj and rouse 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. SS 
 
 the mind to attend to the power by which these mighty works 
 were wrought. Thus miracle and prophecy shew the teacher came 
 from God. They contribute to the estabUshment of his kingdom, 
 and have a tendency to produce that faith which purifies 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 it with sincerity, and the inward discoveries 
 Christ makes to the understanding of the faithful by his Ught 
 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, 
 dispensed through Christ, assists and strengthens us to do good, 
 and to eschew evil, then Christianity appears a reUgion worthy 
 of God, and in itself the most reasonable. The complete salva- 
 tion 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 bias of our minds from the objects and 
 pleasures of sense, and fixes them upon the supreme good. Most 
 glorious surely is such a gospel." 
 
 " But does not this operation of the spirit," said I, " which 
 you make the principal evidence for Christianity, debase human 
 nature, and make man too weak, too helpless and depending 
 a being ? If voluntary good agency depends on supernatural 
 influence and enlivening aid, does not this make us mere patients, 
 and if we are not moral agents, that is, have not a power of 
 choosing or refusing, of doing or avoiding, either good or evil, can 
 there be any human virtue ? Can we in such case approve 
 or disapprove ourselves to God. To me it seems that man was 
 created to perform things natural, rational, and spiritual, and 
 has an abiUty to act within the reach of his agency, as his duty 
 requires. I think the moral fitness of things is a rule of action 
 to conduct our actions by, and that the great advantage of re- 
 velation consists in its heavenly moral lessons, and the certainty 
 of that future judgment and retribution, which has a powerful 
 influence upon a rational mind, and strongly inclines a reasonable 
 being to save his soul, by so acting in this world as to avoid 
 everlasting misery, and ensure the favor of God, and eternal 
 happiness in another world. This appears to me more con- 
 sistent with the nature and the truth of things. It is more to 
 the honour of human nature, if I mistake not, and gives more 
 glory to God," 
 
56 THE LIFE OF 
 
 To this Mrs. Price answered, that " sis she was sensible of the 
 shortness of her own understanding, and beheved the faculties 
 of the human mind in general were weak and deficient, she could 
 not see any thing unreasonable in supposing the thing formed 
 depended on, and was subject to the Creator that made it. It 
 cannot be absurd, ' surely, to say, that so weak and helpless a 
 being as man, depends entirely 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 matter, 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 condi- 
 tion of repentance, amendment of life, and perseverance in a 
 state of holiness ; and that we might be able to perform 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 through 
 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 experi- 
 mental. The first comprehends what is no more to be repeated, 
 though the effects are lasting and permanent, to wit, the life 
 and good works of Jesus, his miracles, death, and resurrection ; 
 which declare him spotless virtue, perfect obedience, and the Son 
 of God with power. And in the second part, we have that 
 standing experience of aMivine 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, 
 sanctification, 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 into 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 religion and godli- 
 ness. This is the gift of God. It is a continued miracle that 
 cleanses that polluted 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 replied, " is the perfection of all reli- 
 
JCmif BUNCLE, ESQ. 57 
 
 gions, is granted ; but that we have no ability to save our souls 
 without a supernatural operation on them, this is what I have 
 still some doubt of. A careful examination of the subject, 
 produces some hard objections, and therefore, madam, I will lay 
 my difficulties before you, that your fine natural 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 inability to live a religious 
 life, and practice the precepts of the gospel, it must be the efiect 
 of the human composition, or the efiect of the agency of the 
 serpent. If the former, it is chargeable upon the author of the 
 composition ; if the latter, upon the agent which acts upon it. 
 Man could not be culpable, I think, for a bad hfe, 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 reeison 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 though 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, 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 ex- 
 periences 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 
 depreciating our natural abihties, does not give so much glory 
 to God as you imagine." 
 
 To this Mrs. Price replied, " 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 destro5dng the faculty of reason, im- 
 proves it by convincing and enlightening 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 enlightened and afiected, 
 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 evils he is ordered to 
 avoid. By God through Christ, he practices the excellent virtues 
 recommended in the holy books, and for this reason, the righteous- 
 ness which Christians bring forth, is called in scripture the 
 righteousness of Christ, the righteousness of God, and the right- 
 
S8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 eousness of faith. Christ is the efficient. We, through him, are 
 made able to act. Notwithstanding the weakness and in- 
 capacity of our nature, yet through faith in the power of God, 
 which is given to all who beheve 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 reflection, 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 rehgion to rest on this particular thing. ' The Lord 
 died for our sins, and rose again for our justification, that we, 
 through 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 be- 
 Ueveth, to the Jew first, and also to the Greek, for therein is the 
 righteousness of God revealed from feuth 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 gospel ; 
 but also to that instruction which Christians of every age were 
 to receive from it continually, if they attended to it, is evident 
 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 com- 
 forter to his disciples and foUowers to the end of time, to en- 
 hghten and incUne their minds to piety and virtue, to enable 
 them to do all things appertaining to Ufe and to godhness, and to 
 have a faith in God's power and all-sufficiency. This is the 
 glorious specific difference of Christianity from all other reUgions. 
 We have an inward instructor and supporter alwa3rs 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 continually, and 
 by his holy spirit restore the teachable aud attentive to that 
 purity and uprightness in which he at first created man ? 
 Glorious dispensation I Here is a complete reparation of the 
 loss sustained by transgression. 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 rehgion. In short, 
 continued Mrs. Price, " it is to me a most amazing thing, to see 
 men of sense disclaim this help, argue for self-sufficiency and 
 independency, and receive only the outward appearance of the 
 son of God, in a Uteral, historical, and formal proiession of Chris- 
 tianity I This will never do the work. The outward appearance 
 of the Son of God only puts us in the capacity of salvation ; it is 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 59 
 
 the inward appearance by the power and virtue of the spirit 
 that must save us. The end of the gospel is repentance, for- 
 giveness of sins, and amendment of manners ; and the means 
 of obtaining that end, is Christianity in the hfe, spirit, and 
 power of it." 
 
 " You talk extremely well, madam," said I, " upon this sub- 
 ject, and have almost made me a convert to the notion of an 
 inward appearance of the Son of God ; but I must beg leave to 
 observe to you, that as to what you have added, by way of ex- 
 plication and vindication 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 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 man from drowning, though I pity him, and 
 do my best to preserve his hfe ; 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 divine 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 fitness 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 character of the 
 agent ? 
 
 " But you will say, perhaps, that the good disposition of the 
 agent in such cases, is supernatural operation, and without such 
 operation, he could not make a right use of his abiUty. To this 
 we reply, that if by disposition is meant a given power to dis- 
 tinguish 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. 
 
6o THE LIFE OF 
 
 " 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 answer is, that though God may kindly interpose, 
 and in many instances, by supernatural operation, present such 
 motives to the mind, yet such operation cannot be always neces- 
 sary, 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 prevented 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 com- 
 passion essential to our constitution, will make us fly to his 
 assistance, without a supernatural operation. We want no 
 divine impulse to make us interpose. Without being reminded, 
 we will do our best to recover 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 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 giving 
 glory to God, and of doing the contrary. He is constituted to 
 answer all the purposes of social felicity, and to act a part suitable 
 to, and becoming that reason and understanding, which God 
 hath given him to guide his steps ; and he may, on the contrary, 
 by abusing his Uberty 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 natural ability for 
 good or evil, and are at liberty for the choice of either of these. 
 ' If thou doest well, Cain, who has power, and is at liberty to do 
 evil, thou shalt be accepted ; and if thou doest not well, who 
 hast power, and is at Uberty to do good, sin Ueth 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 the creature can voluntarily choose 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 6i 
 
 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 supernatural powers to 
 the same purpose." 
 
 " What you say, sir," answered Mrs. Price, " has reason in it, 
 to be sure : but it seems inconsistent with the language of the 
 Bible, and takes away the grace of God entirely, and the principal 
 evidence of the Christian religion : As to the necessary guilt of 
 mankind, Moses says, ' and God saw, that the wickednesses of man 
 was great in the earth ; and that every imagination of the 
 thoughts of his heart, was only evil continually : and it re- 
 pented the Lord, that he had made man on the earth, &c.' 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 aU 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 through them 
 and behold, I will destroy them with the earth. But Noah 
 found grace in the eyes of the Lord.' The prophet Jeremiah 
 does Ukewise affirm, ' The heart is deceitful above all things 
 and desperately wicked." And St. Paul declared 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 aU gone out of the way, they are altogether become unprofit- 
 able ; 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 Ups : 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 
 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 receive the gift of the Holy 
 Ghost, for the promise is unto you and your children, and to 
 all that are afar ofi.' 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 
 
62 THE LIFE 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 Ufe, because of righteous- 
 ness ; 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 
 through the spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall 
 Uve. For 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 neces- 
 sity 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 Ukewise 
 observe, that it mortifies the deeds of the body, and quickens 
 the soul to a life of hohness ; the passage hkewise shews, that 
 the spirit bears witness with our spirits, and by an evidence 
 pecuUar to itself, gives us a certain sense, or understanding of it. 
 " In short, sir, a great number of texts might be produced 
 to show not only the work and effect of the divine spirit upon 
 our minds ; but that, it is an evidence, the principal evidence 
 and ground of certainty to believers, 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 given to us of God. Ye have an 
 unction from the Holy one, and ye know all things. These things 
 I have 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 anointing 
 teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even 
 as it hath taught you, ye shaU 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 declare in the plainest manner the 
 necessary iniquity of man ; that this is to be cured only, and liis 
 nature rectified by the operation of the divine spirit ; and that 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 63 
 
 the effusion of the spirit, both as to instruction and evidence, 
 was not peculiar 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&cacy of 
 the spiritual principle." 
 
 " What you have said, madam," I .replied, " seems strong 
 indeed in defence of the weakness 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 1 imagine the thing may be ex- 
 plained in a different manner. Let us review our reUgion, if you 
 please, and perhaps we may find, that another account may 
 be given of sancti&cation, and the renewing the mind into a state 
 of holiness. 
 
 " When God called this world into being, his purpose was 
 existence. This I think was the case. True reUgion was to 
 form and fix every good principle in the human mind, produce 
 all righteousness in the conversation, and thereby render man- 
 kind the blessed of the universal Father. They were to worship 
 the one true God ; the possessor of all being, and the fountain of 
 all good : to beUeve on him, and have their trust and depend- 
 ence always on him ; to be pure and peaceable, gentle and full 
 of mercy, without partiality, without hypocrisy, and so devoted 
 to hoUness 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 advantageous to mankind, in obeying the dictates of 
 reason, and thereby imitating the example of God ; they might 
 be translated to the regions of immortality, where the first and 
 great Original displays 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 prepared for those, who, in this first state, 
 have been to all the purposes of Ufe and rehgion, 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 feUcity. It was a GodUke design ! 
 
 " But it was not very long before this human race became 
 corrupt, and not only did evil in the sight of the Lord, but ceased 
 to apprehend the first cause as one most perfect mind. The 
 natural notions of moral perfection which reason and the hght 
 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 
 scene I The exalted notions of one glorious God, and of that 
 
64 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 perfect and holy being. Supersti- 
 tion 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 because 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 
 divine nature, or strove to imitate the excellencies of it, though 
 constituted to give glory to their Maker, and endued with a 
 reason and understanding sufi&cient to teach them the rule of 
 duty, and guide their steps in the ways of true reUgion ; but 
 against the Ught of their own minds, acted the most impious 
 and unsociable part : therefore God repented that he had made 
 them, that is, he did what is the product of repentance in men, 
 when they undo, 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 human nature on account of the 
 fall. They express only the wickedness of the tenth generation 
 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 arose from resisting the actings 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 oppression and sensuaUty 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 vengeance on the guilty 
 race, demonstrated to the survivors, and to all ages to come, the 
 great maUgnity of sin, and the uncontrollable supremacy of the 
 divine government. As the venerable patriarch and his family 
 sailed over the bosom of the boundless ocean of waters, and above 
 the wrecks and ruins of this terrestrial world, they adored with 
 grateful hearts, the Almighty Father of virtue 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 reason and nature ; that it has an insuperable 
 repugnancy and irreversible contrariety, to our 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 un- 
 changeable displeasure with them. This truth, which was learn'd 
 at first, by the expulsion from Paradise, and the sad inheritance 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 65 
 
 of mortality, they saw again republished in the most awful manner- 
 This gave undoubtedly a very religious turn to their minds, and 
 they determined to adhere to those excellent principles and prac- 
 tices, which had been, through God's goodness, their security in 
 the general desolation, and to flee the contrary maUgnant ones 
 which had procured that desolation on the rest. In a degree 
 suitable to their nature and abihty, they resolved to imitate the 
 perfections of God, and to employ the powers and faculties of 
 reason in endeavouring 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 extolled- his mercy 
 and power in the salvation they had received. So we are told 
 by an inspired 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 ground 
 for man's sake, though 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 ardour 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 hving 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 inchne 
 the spectators of the flood to piety and goodness ; and the fathers 
 of the post-diluvian 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 providence and government over all things, his love 
 of virtue and goodness and infinite detestation of all sin ; to which 
 we may add, that the imitation of God is not a new principle 
 introduced into rehgion by revelation, but has its foundation in 
 the reason and nature of things ; we may from hence conclude 
 that the rising generation were persons of conspicuous devotion, 
 and followed after the moral virtues, the hoUness, justice and 
 mercy which the light of nature discovers. 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 immutable mind. 
 
 " But this beautiful scene had an end, and man once more for- 
 got his Maker and himself. He prostituted the honour of both, 
 by robbing God of the obedience due to him, and by submitting 
 himself a slave to the elements of the world. When he looked up 
 to the heavens, and saw the glory of the sun and stars, instead of 
 
66 THE LIFE OF 
 
 praising the Lord of all, he foolishly said, these are thy gods, O 
 Man I An universal apostacy from the primitive religion pre- 
 vailed. They began with the heavenly bodies, or sydereal gods, 
 and proceeded to heroes, brutes, and images, till the world was 
 overflowed with an inundation of idolatory, and superstition ; 
 even such superstition, as nourished under the notion of religion, 
 and pleasing the gods, the most bestial impurities, the most in- 
 human and unnatural cruelties, and the most unmanly and con- 
 temptible folhes. Moral virtue and goodness were totally extin- 
 guished. When men had lost the sense of the supreme Being, 
 the Creator, Governor, and Judge of the world, they not only 
 ceased to be righteous and holy, but became necessarily vicious 
 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 men*s 
 natural inclinations, to intemperance, lust, fraud, violence, 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 authorized. The Phalli* and the MyUi,t 
 rites that modesty forbids to explain, were esteemed principal 
 parts of their ritual ; virgins before marriage were to sacrifice 
 their chastity to the honour of Venus ;{ men were offered upon 
 the altars for sacrifices ; and children were burned ahve to Moloch 
 and Adramalech. In a word, the most abominable immorahties 
 
 * " Ex ea re turn privatim turn publice lignea virilia thyrsis alligates per earn solennitatem 
 gestabant : fuit enim Phallus vocatum membnun virile." Schsedius de DUs Gertnanis, 
 edidit Keyslero, 1728, 8vo. p. 130. -- 
 
 t " Heraclides Syracusius libro de vetustis et sancitis moribus scribit apud SyracuSios 
 in perfectis tbermophoriis, ex sesamo et melle £mgi pudenda miUiebria, quae per ludos et 
 spectacula circumferebantur, et vocabantur MyUi." — Athensi Deipnos, 1. 14. p. 647. 
 
 J This is taken notice of by the prophet Jeremiah. " The women also with cords about 
 them, sitting in the ways, bum bran for perfume ; but if any of them, drawn by some that 
 passeth by, lie with her, she reproacheth her fellow, that she was not thought as worthy as 
 herself, nor her cord broken." — Baruch, di. 6. v. 43. 
 
 Herodotus, who lived almost two centm-ies after, in explanation of this passage of the 
 prophet Baruch, tells us, " Every woman at Babylon, was obliged, once in her life, to sit 
 down openly in the temple of Venus, in order to prostitute herself to some stranger : They 
 enter into the temple, and sit down crowded witl-i garlands, some continually going out, and 
 others coming in : The galleries where they sit are buUt in a straight line, and open on every 
 side, that all strangers may have a free passage to choose such woman as they like best. Those 
 women who excel in beauty and shape are soon dismissed : but the deformed are sometimes 
 necessitated to wait three or fom: years, before they can satisfy the law. The men declared 
 their choice by throwing money into the lap of the woman they most admired, which she was 
 by no means to refuse, but instantly retire with the man that accosted her, and fulfil the law. 
 Women of rank, for none were dispensed with, might sit in covered diariots for the purpose 
 whilst their servants waited at a distance till they had done." See Herodotus, translcUed 
 by Isaac LittUbury, 1709, 8vo. vol. i. p. 125* 
 
 Strabo also furnishes an account to ttie same purpose, lib, 16. p. 745 ; and Justn observes, 
 the reason for this custom, was ne sola impudria videretur, i.e. lest Venus alone should appear 
 lascivious, — Lib. 18. cap. 5. 
 
 As to the breaking of the woman's cord, Dr. Hyde says, their lower garments were tied 
 with small and weak cords made of rushes, " qui ad congrediendum erant frangendi." 
 Purchas confirms this notion ; having seen the ttiiug practised in his travels in the east, 
 Pilgr. book I. oh. 12. p. 65. But Grotius on Baruch says, the meaning was, the women 
 had cords given them, as a token that they were under the vow of prostitution, which when 
 they had performed, the cord was properly said to be broken ; for every vow may be called 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 67 
 
 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 
 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 idolater, 
 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 428th year from the flood, 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 
 prevaiUng idolatry, and the gross immoralities that were the 
 effects of idolatrous principles 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,* to l?e 
 
 vmculwn, or a cord. As I take it, the case was both as Hyde aod Grotius relate it. I was 
 in company with a physician, who had spent many years of his life in the East, and he assured 
 me, he had seen both circumstances practised in &e kingdom of Cranganor. 
 
 As to the woman's burning incense or bran for a perfume, it was the custom before coition 
 by way of charm and incentive. When a Babylonian and his wife had a mind to correspond, 
 they always first lit up the fuming pan, imagining it improved the passion. So in the Phar- 
 mttceuiria of Theocritus, p. 33. we see Simsetha is using her incantation, ' nunc turfures 
 sacriflcabo," niTupov, thewordmade use of in Jeremiah's E^tsfe. And as if all this had not 
 been lust enough m their religion, it was farther declared in their ritual, that those were best 
 qualified for the sacerdotal function, who were born of mothers who conceived them of their 
 
 In respect of human sacrifices, if yoii would have a full account of them, consult the fol- 
 lowing authors, and you will find that the Canaanites were far from being the only Pagans 
 who were guilty of this unnatural barbarity. Selden ie D{is Syris. Segort. i. c. 6. and all 
 the authors he quotes. Grotius on Deut. 18. Isaac Vossius de Orig. Idol. 1.2. c. 5- don 
 Vossius on Maimon. de Idol. c. 6- Lud. Vives Notes on St. Aug. de Civil. Dei. 1. 7- 0. rg. 
 OuzeUus et Ehnenhorstius Notes on Min. FceUx, Spenoeri de Legibus Hebrtsorum. 1. 2. c. 13 . 
 And Fabricius Bibliogmphia. 0. 9. . . . ^ t . 
 
 * Bishop Sherlock well observes, that " two covenants were given to Abraham, one a tem- 
 poral covenant, to take place in the land of Canaan— the other, a covenant of better hope , 
 to be performed in a better country." — Discourse on Prophecy, p. 134- 
 
68 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 Abraham and his chosen seed, was to grow in the fulness 
 of time into a blessing upon all the nations of the earth. Abra- 
 ham was at this time seventy-five years old, and God added to 
 the patriarchal worship the visible mark of circumcision, as a 
 seal of a covenant between himself and Abraham. 
 
 " Yet how fit soever such a visible mark might be, to keep in 
 remembrance the covenant 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 idolators 
 and unrighteous ones, it was foreseen they would soon fall from 
 the essentials of rehgion ; and instead of preserving a right know- 
 ledge of God, of his being, perfections and government, a just 
 sense of the reverence all men owe to him, from a firm belief of 
 his being, power, dominion, justice, and goodness, 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 danger- 
 ous immoraUties ; and therefore, as it was highly fit in itself, and 
 well becoming the wisdom of God, he gave Moses a Christianity 
 in hieroglyphics, that is, a tabernacle, a shechinah, a priesthood, 
 an altar, sacrifices, laws moral, and ceremonial, with every con- 
 stituent part of the Hebrew ritual ; being figures of a better she- 
 chinah, temple, priest, altar, sacrifice, revelation, and blessings — 
 figurative representations of the more perfect constitutions in 
 the days of Messiah the King. This was in the year 875 after 
 the flood, and in 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 future 
 heavenly religion, the Hebrew nation were guarded against the 
 surrounding corruptions of the world, and raised up the defenders 
 of true rehgion, to preserve the knowledge and worship of the 
 one true God. 
 
 " But as mankind would not follow the Ught of nature, which 
 is sufficient, when attended to for a constant universal practice 
 of piety and morahty ; so neither would they be engaged b}?" 
 various revealed laws, from time to time given, and by the calls 
 and lessons of many prophets, to the practice of true rehgion and 
 righteousness ; but as the heart is the seat and source of wicked- 
 ness in man, according to the prophet Jeremiah, so even the hearts 
 of the Jews became deceitful above all things, and desperately 
 
JOHN BVNCLE, ESQ. 69 
 
 wicked. And the prophet goes on to shew, not the necessary 
 inability of man without experiences, or an operating spirit with- 
 in, as you suppose, madam ; but that, though men thus wickedly 
 deceive one another, yet they cannot 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, conse- 
 quently, 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 expectation will be disappointed, 
 even as a partridge is disappointed that sitteth on eggs, and 
 hatcheth them not. 
 
 " And as St. Paul says from the fourteenth and fifty- third 
 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 justifi- 
 cation. They were all very great transgressors. The throat of 
 Jew and Gentile an open sepulchre : their tongues, deceit : the 
 poison of asps under their Ups : 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 : There- 
 fore the justification 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. Though Jew and Gen- 
 tile were quahfied 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, ren- 
 dered themselves objects of 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 revealed testimony and 
 authority, attempts to aboUsh the superstition of men, reclaim 
 their wickedness, and bring them back to the true sp ritual wor- 
 ship 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 ignorance 
 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 declares those terms of 
 sinful man's reconcilement to him which he was pleased to accept, 
 
70 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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, zealous 
 of good works : — That denying all ungodUness and worldly lusts, 
 we should hve 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 destroy sin, 
 and the kingdom of Satan j and to bring mankind into a perfect 
 obedience to the will of the supreme Being. This renders Chris- 
 tianity a heavenly thing. Revelation thus explained is beautiful 
 and useful to an extreme degree. It does not contradict but 
 strengthens the obUgations of natural religion." 
 
 " Your account. Sir," said Mrs. Price, " of man and religion 
 is different indeed from mine, and I must allow your explications 
 have reason in them : but stUl 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 Christian revelation, if natural reUgion, duly 
 attended to, was perfect, and sufficient for virtue and hoUness, 
 and thereby to gain the favour 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 knowledge of God, 
 the maker of heaven and earth, and the worship due to him on 
 that account, and the practice of virtue and morality. 
 
 " 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 thought 
 and works, our own reason, in your notion of reUgion, 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 moraUty, 
 and so save our souls, if we please. This is what I cannot beheve. 
 The grace of God in the gospel is the glory and comfort of the 
 Christian reUgion. A divine operation that renews and sanctifies 
 the mind is an invaluable blessing, and in a manner inexpressibly 
 charming, satisfies me beyond hesitation, that the Christian reU- 
 gion 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 Ufe, sets my 
 folUes, my neglects, and my faiUngs, in order before me, which is 
 the first right step in order to the overcoming them ; and then 
 observing the discoveries I was not able to make myself, and 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 71 
 
 I aving a strong fciith in the divine power and sufficiency, I am 
 enabled to gain victories my insufficient reason could never obtain. 
 May this divine monitor then abide in my breast. It is by the 
 heavenly assistance of the holy spirit only, as vouchsafed in the 
 Christian dispensation, 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 beyond my power 
 to answer ; but for my part, I must consider it as the principle 
 of my salvation, and I think I cannot be thankful enough for the 
 inestimable blessings. It is to me a glorious instance of the great 
 wisdom and goodness of God." 
 
 " Madam," I replied, "in relation to your first objection, that 
 I make no difference between revealed and natural religion, for 
 nature is as sufficient as grace, in my account, I assure you that I 
 think the revelation of the gospel excels the best scheme of natural 
 religion that could be proposed ; in declaring the terms of recon- 
 cilement, 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 hfe. This manner gives unspeakable comfort to 
 repenting sinners. It gives the greatest encouragement to engage 
 them to the love of God, and the practice of all his commandments 
 an encouragement that reason could not discover. To Christi- 
 anity, therefore, the true preference is due. Though philosophy 
 or the doctrine of reason may reform men, yet the Christian reli- 
 gion is a clearer and more powerful guide. It improves the hght 
 of reason by the supernatural 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 uncorrupt, 
 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 human 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 superior excellence of our holy rehgion., 
 
 " A Mediator and crucified Redeemer brought into the Chris- 
 tian 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 men's Uves to be forfeited by their 
 breach of the divine laws ; and when a divine person, made man, 
 
72 THE LIFE OF 
 
 like unto us, appears instead of all other mediators, by whom, as 
 the instrument of the means of salvaton, we are to offer up our 
 prayers to the only true God ; and his voluntary djdng in testi- 
 mony of the truth of his mission and doctrine, is apponted to be 
 instead of all other sacrifices, and to remain a memorial that God 
 requires no atonement of us, but repentance and newness of Ufe ; 
 and the spotless virtues and obedience of this divine Redeemer, 
 are to be a most perfect and moving example for us to imitate ; 
 this renders Christianity worthy of God, and makes it the perfec- 
 tion of reUgion. Great then are the advantages which the revela- 
 tion of Christ Jesus has above mere reason, darkened by the clouds 
 of error and a general corruption It is the most perfect rule of 
 hfe. It is the most powerful means to promote a constant uni- 
 form practice of virtue and piety It advances human nature 
 to its highest perfection, fills it with all the fruits of righteousness, 
 and grants us privileges 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 preserve the dignity of human nature, this is far 
 from my intention. I do indeed think, that as the gospel was 
 given for the noblest purpose ; to wit, to call in an extraordinary 
 manner upon mankind, to forsake 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-suf- 
 ficent, to whom all the intelligent world are to make their devout 
 apphcations ; because he is an infinite, independent, 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 difficulties 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 
 labour of their whole Uves to excel in holiness and righteousness, 
 and by virtue 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 purpose, without immediate impulses. As we 
 have a reasonable,intellectual nature, there is no want of mechani- 
 cal powers. The words of Christ, which are the words of God, 
 are, our life, and will, if attended to, 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 73 
 
 is, through the written directions of Christ, and through the 
 arguments and naotives of the Christian doctrine To say other- 
 wise 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 dormant idea, which lay neglected in 
 the memory, with unusual energy ; may secretly attract the more 
 attentive regard of the mind, and give it an inclination and an 
 abihty of tracing its various relations, with an unusual attention, 
 so that a lustre before quite unknown 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 beUeve he often does 
 by interposition, if in the spirit of Christ's doctrine we ask it of 
 the great Father of Lights, the author of all the understanding 
 divided among the various ranks of created beings ; who, as he 
 first formed the minds of angels and men, continues the exercise 
 of their intellectual faculties, and one way or another communi- 
 cates to them all the knowledge of every kind which they possess ; 
 in which view aU our knowledge of every kind may be called a 
 revelation from God, and be ascribed, as it is by Elihu in Job, to 
 the inspiration of the Almighty. This the holy Spirit may do, 
 and dissipate a prejudice that opposes 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 men's souls, than of himself, or spirit, personally 
 considered. Abiding in him, and he in them, as necessary to 
 their bearing fruit, signifies 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, unless 
 he have first gained some just apprehensions concerning the 
 general principles of reUgion ; but if he has a good notion of God 
 and his perfections, and desires to advance 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 virtue, 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 commandments, and by repentance and amend- 
 ment of life ; there being no other name, or way given among men. 
 
74 THE LIFE OF 
 
 but this way given or declared by Jesus Christ, by which they 
 may be saved. In all this, there is not a word of supernatural 
 Ught or operation ; though such operation, as before observed, 
 there may be. There is not a hint of man's natural inabiUty. 
 
 " To the glorious gospel then, the gospel of our salvation, the 
 word of truth, the word of hfe, let us come, and with dihgence 
 and impartiaUty study it. Let us follow the truth we there find 
 in every page, and it wiU enable us to triumph over the temptation 
 of allurement and of terror. We shall become the children of 
 God by the spirit of adoption. We shall be easy and happy in 
 this hfe, 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, 
 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 Uve up to the word of truth, 
 he will conduct us safely through hfe and death, into the abode 
 of holy and happy spirits, and at length raise our bodies from the 
 dust, and fix our complete persons in a state of immortal glory 
 and felicity. This is my sense of religion. Where I am wrong 
 I shaU ever be glad to be set right." 
 
 Mrs. Price made no reply, and so ended this remarkable con- 
 versation. On whose side the truth is, the reader is to judge. 
 What she advances for supernatural operation is strong and pious ; 
 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 
 a.s sensibly and correctly as she talked on several articles of reli- 
 gion, she would have made a good author. So much goodness 
 and good sense I have not very often foiind in her kind. They 
 merit a memorial in a journal of the curious things that have 
 occurred to me in my Ufe-time. 
 
 The thirteenth of June, 1725, I took my leave of my friend, 
 John Price, and his admirable wife, promising to visit them 
 again as 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 befal 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 repeated 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. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 75 
 
 With the rising sun then I set out, and was charmed for several 
 hours with the air and views. The mountains, the rocky preci- 
 pices the woods and the waters, appeared in various striking 
 situations every mile I travelled on, and formed the most astonish- 
 ing points of view. Sometimes I was above the clouds, and then 
 crept to enchanting vallies below. Here glens were seen that 
 looked as if the mountains had been rent asunder to form the 
 amazing scenes, and there, forests and falUng streams covered 
 the sides of the hlls. Rivers in many places, in the most beau- 
 tiful cascades, were tumbling along ; and cataracts from the tops 
 of mountains came roaring down. The whole was grand, wonder- 
 ful, 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, Uke 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 prodigiously fine. Sub pedibus 
 ventos et rauca tonitrua calcat. 
 
 Till the evening, I rid and walked it, and in numberless wind- 
 ings round impassable 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 delighted with the striking beauties and still- 
 ness of the place, that I determined to pass the night in this sweet 
 retreat. Nor was it one 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 removed to the established seat of happiness 
 above. 
 
 Had this been possible, I should have avoided many an afflic- 
 tion, and had known but few of those expectations and disappoint- 
 ments, which render hfe a scene of emptiness, and bitterness 
 itself. My years would have rolled on in peace and wisdom, in 
 this sequestered, delightful scene, and my silent meditations had 
 been productive of that good temper and good action, which the 
 resurrection of the dead, the dissolution of the world, the judge- 
 ment day, and the eternal state of men, requires us to have. Free 
 from the various perplexities, and troubles I have experienced 
 by land and sea, in different parts of the world, I should have lived, 
 in this paradise of a place, in the enjoyment of that fine happiness. 
 
76 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 management of a little comfortable 
 farm, and devote the greater portion of their time to sacred know- 
 ledge, heavenly piety, and angelic goodness ; 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 enjoy 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 Uve 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 
 misapphed, in dreadful 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 
 virtuous quahties which the gospel recommends. These are the 
 treasure and possession worth a Christian's acquiring. These 
 only are portable into the eternal world ; when the body that was 
 clothed in purple and fine hnen, 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 may meet in the regions of purity and right- 
 teousness, serenity and joy. 
 
 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 impe- 
 tuosity from the inside of a rocky mountain, that is very wonder- 
 ful 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 something pleasing in it. This 
 amazing chff 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 and flat. 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 77 
 
 increase of noise so very terrible, that my heart failed me, and a 
 trembling 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 fiUed 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 fortunate escape. 
 
 As the rocky mountain I have mentioned, is higher than either 
 Snowden in North-Wales, or Kedar-Idris in Merionethshire, 
 which have been thought the highest mountains in this island ; 
 that is, it is full a mile and a 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 encrease of it, and the fearful noise, and the motion of 
 the rock, be owing to some violent commotion in the abyss, occa- 
 sioned by some natural or supernatural cause ? 
 
 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 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 certain times. To this motion of the 
 abyss, by the divine power exerted on it, I ascribe the earth-, 
 quakes ; and not to vapour, or electricity. As to electricity, 
 which Dr. Stukely makes the cause of the deplorable downfall of 
 Lisbon, in his book on 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 
 electrical shocks are ever momentary, by every experiment, but 
 earthquakes are felt for several minutes. Another is, that many 
 towns have been swallowed up in earthquakes, though Lisbon 
 was only overthrown. Such was the case of the city of Callao, 
 within two leagues of Lima. Though 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 entirely swallowed up ; but that, at many of the gapings or 
 openings of the earth, tbrrents of water that formed great rivers, 
 issued forth. This 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 
 
78 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 
 buildings of a great city ; but as to spUtting the earth to great 
 depths, and forcing up torrents of water, "^^here there was no 
 sign of the fluid elenient 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 moun- 
 tain stood. In an earthquake in China, in the province of Sanci, 
 deluges of water burst out of the earth, Feb. 7, 1556, and inun- 
 dated 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 city was destroyed by fire 
 from above ; that the land which had been defiled with the unna- 
 tural lusts of the inhabitants might be no more inhabited, but 
 remain a lasting monument 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 show 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. Locheme, in the county of Ferma- 
 nagh, in the province of Ulster in Ireland, is thirty three miles 
 long, and fourteen broad, and as the old Irish Chronicle in- 
 forms 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 destroyed in an earthquake, 
 and mighty waters from the earth covered the place, and forjned 
 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 earth- 
 quake 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 beUeve the earthquakes are caused by the imme- 
 diate finger of God ; either operating on the abyss, though not so 
 as to make the water break out on the earth or by directing the 
 electrical violence or stroke ; or otherwise acting on the ruined 
 cities and shattered places. 
 
 For my part, I think it is a grievous mistake in our philosophical 
 enquiries, to assign so much to second causes as the learned do. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 79 
 
 The government of the universe is given to matter and motion, 
 and under pretence of extolUng original contrivance, the execu- 
 tion of all is left to dead substance. It is just and reasonable, 
 in which even Newton and M'Laurin agree, to suppose that the 
 whole chain of causes, or the several series of them, should centre 
 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 phaenomena of nature ought to be ascribed to the immediate 
 operation of the Deity. Without looking for a subtile elastic 
 medium, to produce gravity ; which medium Sir Isaac confesses 
 he had no proof of ; nor is there in reality such a thing in the uni- 
 verse ; I imagine the divine Newton would have done better, if, 
 after estabUshing the true system by nature, by demonstrating 
 the law of gravity, he had said this gravity was the constant and 
 undeniable evidence of the immediate influence 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 moral 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 interposes. The divine 
 power is perpetually put forth throughout all nature. Every 
 particle of matter, must necessarily, by its nature, for ever go 
 wrong, without the continued act of Deity. His everlasting 
 interposition only can cause a body moving in a circle 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 centre, with quadruple 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 immediate 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 phaenomena that might be named. Books I 
 know have been written, and ingenious books they are, to show 
 the causes of these things, and trace the ways they are perforined 
 by the materials themselves ; but these explications never satis- 
 fied 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. 
 
 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 much fine mathematical 
 reasoning to prove it, which the reader may find in Dr. Halley's 
 
8o THE LIFE OF 
 
 abstract of Sir Isaac Newton's Theory of the Tides ; and in Dr. 
 Rutherforth's System of Natural Philosophy ; but nevertheless, 
 the concomitance of water and luminary, or the revolutions of 
 ocean and moon answering one another so exactly that the flow 
 always happens 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 
 horizon, in the opposite hemisphere, the moon crosses the meri- 
 dian again, is it credible, tha,t from the eastern and southern 
 ocean, round Good Hope and Cape Horn, it should as soon over- 
 flow our' coasts, as when it is vertical to the shores of Guinea ? 
 If the moon, in conjunction with the sun, by pression and attrac- 
 tion, was the princpal 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 irregular 
 and unaccountable swellings and falls in a few places of this sea, 
 to wit, at Tunis, Messina, Venice, and Negropont ; and these 
 sweUings, as I have seen, flowing sometimes four, five, six or 
 seven, and eight times in twenty-four hours ; in the most irre- 
 gular 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 immense 
 ocean twice a day from its natural quietus, and rolls it in tides, 
 why has the Caspian sea no tide ; no swelling or flow, regular or 
 irregular, excepting that sometimes, in the space of sixteen years, 
 and never sooner, it rises many fathoms, and drowns the adjacent 
 country; to the almost ruin, sometimes of Astracan in Asiatic 
 Russia ; as happened when I was there to embark for Persia ? 
 If it be said, that this is properly a lake, having no communica- 
 tion with the ocean ; yet, I answer, that it is in every quahty of 
 saltness, &c. as much a sea as any other sea ; and large enough 
 for the luminaries attraction and pression ; being five hundred 
 miles from north to south, and near four hundred miles in bredth 
 from east to west : I say, large enough to avoid continuing 
 necessarily in equilibrium, as Dr. Rutherforth says must be the 
 case, on account of the small extent of this sea. Five hundred 
 by four hundred 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 gravity, and the force. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 8i 
 
 with wkich the moon diminishes the waters gravity. If the 
 moon in zenith or nadir did the work, the equihbrium of the 
 Caspian might be destroyed, as well as any other equihbrium 
 of water, by force, addititious or ablatitious, or by the sum of 
 these forces ; therefore, there might, by this theory, be tides in 
 the Caspian sea, though not great ones. There are small as well 
 as great tides. The tides of the Atlantic 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 extent of ocean from east to 
 west 90°, is only required, that the tides may have their full mo- 
 tion. 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 pecuUarity of the flux and reflux of the Atlantic, different 
 from all other tides ; while at Bathsha in the kingdom of Tun- 
 quin there never is more than one tide in twenty -four hours ; 
 and some day no tide ? For my part, I resolve the whole in 
 the immediate power of the Deity. This power is gravity, 
 attraction, repulse. The inactivity of matter requires the con- 
 stancy 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. 
 
 Men of fine imagination may make a wonderful display of 
 mathematical learning in accounts of gravity, &c. combined with 
 principles of mechanism ; and electricity, which is called the 
 immediate ofiicer of God Almighty ; but the truth is a con- 
 stant repetition of divine acts in regular and irregular motions 
 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 of the earth, in a quake, are often 
 three and four minutes, and have held to seven minutes, and that 
 besides the sweUing and trembhng 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 rivers and vast waters. 
 And, as subterranean fire and vapour, 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 
 
82 THE LIFE OF 
 
 city has stood. The electric 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 accident 
 in ruin this way : but we see as it were the almighty arm, exerting 
 an irresistible force, that could in the same few moments 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 fear- 
 fully striking, as the Creator's appearing, on the spot, to shake 
 terribly the earth : and if we consider, that it is on account of 
 sin, that God resigns his omnipotence to his wrath, and com- 
 mands his whole displeasure to arise, must not this account of an 
 earthquake have the greatest tendency to reform the manners 
 of surviving people } 
 
 As to the muscular motion, if it be rightly considered, it ap- 
 pears very plainly to proceed from a hving 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 leaxned men have given of 
 muscular motion, and ingenious are their reasonings on the sub- 
 ject : 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 returning veins, laid one upon another in their 
 parallel plates, running through the whole length of the muscle ; 
 and at small intervals, these 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 indisputable ; and it is 
 likewise certain, that the muscles are to be distinguished into 
 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 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 restora- 
 tion, which their nervous coats and fibres have, to recover them 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 83 
 
 selves against a given weight or force that stretches them ? The 
 reply is, that many unanswerable reasons can be given to prove, 
 that this contractive restitutive force does not depend on the 
 mixture effervescence, or rarefaction of any fluids, humours, or 
 Uquors 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 
 through 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 becomes pale and livid, compact and soUd, and 
 evinces that, during this state of it, the muscle contracts inwardly 
 into its own dense substance, and takes up less space than before, 
 till it returns to its diastole ; then the blood which flowed from 
 it with velocity, during systole through the coronary veins into 
 the auricles, rushes back into it through the coronary arteries, 
 restores the glowing florid colour, and inflates the muscle, 
 in order to strain the nerve for the next contraction. It is plain 
 from hence, that the heart has less blood and fluid in time of 
 contraction, and that the contraction is not caused by the addi- 
 tion of another fluid from the nerves, as the learned have 
 asserted. 
 
 And as to what they say of the longitudinal fibres being 
 divided into innumerable little cells or bladders, which have 
 communications 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 shortened ; this is so perplexed and unreason- 
 able 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, &c, ; and if 
 there was, expansive force must lengthen as well as thicken, and 
 the muscle could not be shortened in length, and swelled in thick- 
 ness. The natural action of the fluids upon the solids is, to in- 
 crease dimensions proportionably every way, that is, in the 
 direction of the axis and conjugate diameter equally. Beside, if 
 there was expansion, circulation must stop. The distention of 
 the vesicles, and the rapid exit of the rarefying fluid could not be 
 at once. 
 
 The plain account of the matter is then, that muscular motion 
 is performed by the elasticity of the nervous fibrillae, contracting 
 and restoring themselves against the stretching force of the 
 
84 THE LIFE OF 
 
 circulating blood. The contraction of the muscles straitens and 
 compresses the blood-vessels, and forces the blood with impet- 
 uosity through the heart ; and this squeezing or propelUng force 
 gives the fluid an impetus, that makes it return with violence 
 upon the muscles, 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 consequences 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 
 muscle, and stretches it again, as before described. Such are 
 the two wonderful counter-forces that produce the natural in- 
 voluntary 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 action, in which our will or free 
 agency has no concern. And to what shall we ascribe this aston- 
 ishing operation, this amazing contractive power, so exactly as to 
 time, and so constantly continued on the muscles of natural or 
 necessary motion ; till the aequilibrium by some means or other 
 be broken and the motion is pretematurally interrupted and 
 suspended ? 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 ex- 
 traordinary 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 muscles of mere natural 
 involuntary motion, whuch 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 antag- 
 onistical muscles, one of which is contracted, while the other is 
 extended ; but for stimulating, contracting, and compressing the 
 nervous elastic cords and blood-vessels, as our minds command 
 or determine ! there is no possibiUty of accounting for the direc- 
 tions 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 motion both to voluntary and necessary muscles. This, I 
 think, is the truth of philosophy. To suppose every thing to be 
 effect without cause, is to reduce reUgion and philosophy to the 
 
JOHN BUNGLE, ESQ. 85 
 
 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 
 spontaneous,* that is caused by the action of the Deity ; but the 
 constant motions in the stomach, lungs, intestines, and other 
 parts of the body, are caused by an acting Divine 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 settles, after 
 motion imprest, by the bare attrition of its parts on one another ; 
 although it has no obstacles to encounter, or narrow passages to 
 move through. What then can we think of motion in such nar- 
 row twining meanders, as veins, arteries, intestines, and lacteal 
 vessels, through which the fluids of animal bodies are conveyed 
 to parts innumerable ? while the blood, lymph, and chyle creep 
 through such narrow winding vessels, the whole motion of those 
 fluids must be consumed every instant by the attrition of their 
 parts, and the force of consequence be renewed every instant. 
 Here is a perpetual miracle. The Divine Power urges on these 
 fluids ten thousand ways at once. Reason must confess a mir- 
 aculous power indesinently and variously put forth in our 
 bodies ; while ignorance and vanity in vain attempts to account 
 mechanically for the circulation of those fluids. We are not only 
 fearfully and wonderfully formed in the womb, but fearfully and 
 wonderfully preserved every minute ! creating power never 
 ceases, t 
 
 The conclusion of the matter is, that the plain argument for the 
 
 • That even spontaneous motion is performed by tlie divine power, is proved in tlie first 
 part of a most excellent book, entitled, An Enquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul, [by 
 John Baxter, the third and best edition was printed in two volumes, 8vo, in 1745 ; a third 
 followed in 1750]. 1 shall only observe here that motion is spontaneous, as it is begun and 
 ended by the Uving being itself, without physical necessity : but it is above the power and 
 knowledge of the spontaneous being, as it is performed mechanically : the motive power is 
 immediately impressed by the Creator, who is the only mover, as well as the first mover. 
 How adorable is this condescension ! the Creator exerts his power in consequence of the 
 spontaneity of his living creatures ! But is not this low work for the supreme Lord of heaven 
 and earth, says the mechanical reasoner ? No. Lowness of work is not applicable to the 
 Creator of all things. He is as much the Creator of the meanest insect, as of the highest 
 intelligence. It is his perpetual power, exerted in cohesion, that keeps all the parts of matter 
 in the bodies of living creatures together. Philosophy cannot be hurt by admitting his power 
 His omnipotence is displayed to our senses in the most despicable weed of the field as well 
 as in the bright rolling orbs of heaven. In calling such things low work, we forget what 
 infinite power implies, and what infinite goodness prompts. 
 
 t Should it be asked, why was such an intricate structure of such materials employed, or 
 such a laborious method contrived, by the organization of dead matter, if it no way serves 
 to produce motion, but rather consumes the force impressed ? the answer is, that this consuming 
 mechanism is no inconvenience in nature, if we consider who renews the motive power. We 
 are forced to be frugal of our little power ; but this is not applicable to the Deity. The govern- 
 ing power of the Deity is creating power. Beings made up of matter and spirit require such 
 a supplying power, and in the various work God instructs his rational beings, and displays 
 his omnipotence in wisdom and action. 
 
86 THE LIFE OF 
 
 existence of a Deity, obvious to all, and carrying irresistible con- 
 viction with it, is from the evident contrivance 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 Uke a sensation and artful reasonings 
 against it may puzzle us, but it is without shaking our beUef . No 
 person, for example, who knows the principles of optics, and the 
 structure of the eye, can beUeve 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 great M'Laurin should not have stop'd here. The plain 
 argument for the existence of a Deity grows stronger, when we 
 add to it what is evident as divine contrivance, to wit, the constant 
 interposition of God, to support and move his creatures. Original 
 contrivance in the works of the creation is adorable. We are 
 certain, demonstratively certain, that the heavens, the land, and 
 the waters, and all the creatures in them contained, are the works 
 of the living God ; but it is the present performance that strikes 
 us like a sensation. With inexpressible pleasure 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 knowledge. 
 
 Since things are so, and all the works of nature, in the common 
 voice of reason, declare the power and wisdom of the Creator, and 
 speak his goodness in the innumerable mighty things he con- 
 tinually performs for our preservation and happiness, the con- 
 templation 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 
 inhabitants, that hang in infinite space. These mighty things 
 displayed, ought surely to produce the most devout prayers, and 
 songs of praises in no common strain ; and especially, if we add 
 to those works of nature, that second creation, the still greater 
 work of grace. Such omnipotence in wisdom and action, and such 
 amazing goodness as we see in the christian 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 informs 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 extolling the king of the universe for the greatness 
 of his power and mercy, and am necessarily engaged in a scene 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 87 
 
 of praise and devotion. Indeed the heart must be as hard and 
 cold as marble, that does not glow, nor is inflamed with adoration 
 to the great author of all things ; after viewing with attention 
 even one particular only in the works of nature, that material 
 sun, which now shines out with hght and beauty to animate and 
 refresh the world ; and in the creation of grace, that sun of 
 righteousness, who sheds forth the choicest blessings of Heaven 
 upon the inhabitants of the earth. Can we be silent, who behold 
 and enjoy those things ! alas ! too many can. Neither the 
 heavens, which declare 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 those good and perfect 
 gifts ; for all his blessings vouchsafed us ; and especially, for the 
 charter of his pardon granted by his blessed Son, and the promises 
 of everlasting happiness and glory in a life to come, reason must 
 declare it just to offer up religious praise, and nlake the greatest 
 mental and moral improvement we can in this first state. 
 
 Another extraordinary thing I saw in the place I have men- 
 tioned, 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 water poured into the lake. This loch measured 
 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 mountain to a deep bottom, 
 where a river is formed^ that is seen for a considerable way, as it 
 wanders along. The whole is a striking scene. The swarthy loch, 
 the noisy descending streams, clumps of aged trees on the moun- 
 tain's side, and the various shores and vaUies 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 precipice, a tor- 
 rent of streams ; and see from the reverse of an opposite liill, an 
 impetuous flood descending from the top to the finest points of 
 view in the wildest glens below. 
 
 What Une I had with me, for experiments on waters and holes, 
 I applied to this loch, to discover the depth, but with three hun- 
 dred yards of whipcord my lead could reach no ground, and from 
 thence, and the blackness of the water, and the great issuing 
 stream, I concluded, justly I think, that it went down to the great 
 abyss, the vast treasury of waters within the earth. Many such 
 unfathomable lochs as this have I seen on the summits of moun- 
 tains 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. 
 
88 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Many books have been written in relation 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 authority 
 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 agitation 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 speaking of on 
 the mountain's top, and from various swallows in many places. 
 This removes every objection from the case of the deluge, and 
 gives water enough in the space of one hundred and fifty days, 
 or five months of thirty days each, to over-top the highest moun- 
 tains by fifteen 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 divine force on part of the abyss, as it might 
 very easily, by such means do, the inundation would cover a great 
 part of this land ; and if from every loch of the kind on the sum - 
 mits of mountains, the waters in like manner, with the greatest 
 violence, flowed from every side out of the abyss, and that ex- 
 clusive 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. Regularly 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 ; though we call one natural, and 
 the other supernatural. The one is the effect of no greater power 
 than the other. With respect to God, one is not more or less 
 natural or supernatural than the other. 
 
 But how the waters of the deluge were drawn off at the end of 
 the five months, is another question among the learned. The 
 ingenious Keill, who wrote against the two ingenious theorists 
 says the thing is not at all accountable in any natural way ; 
 the draining off, and drying of the earth, of such a huge column 
 of waters could only be effected by the power of God : natural 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 
 
 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 decrease to natural causes. 
 God was the performer 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 beginning 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 fifteen cubits 
 above the highest hills. 
 
 A swallow is such another opening in the ground as Eldine Hole 
 in Derbyshire,* and 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 swallows, a vast quantity 
 of the waters to be sure went down to the great receptacle ; all 
 that was not exhaled, or hcked up by the winds ; or, except what 
 might be left to increase the former seas of the antediluvian world 
 into those vast oceans which now encompass 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 disappears 
 before evaporation, the drying winds, the swallows, and perhaps 
 the turning seas into oceans ; but the three first things now named 
 were sufficient, and the gentlemen who have reasoned so ingeni- 
 ously 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 Uke- 
 wise 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 
 
 * Eldine-Hole in Derbyshire is a mile soutli of Mamibrr, and four miles east of Buxton. It 
 Is a ;perpendicular gulph or chasm, which I tried to fathom more than once, and sound it by 
 my line, and by the measure of sound at the rate of sixteen feet one twelfth in one second, 
 the measure Dr. Halley allows near the earth for the descent of heavy bodies ; to be one 
 thousand two hundred' and sixty-six feet, or four hundred and twenty-two yards down to 
 the water ; but how deep the water is cannot be known. I suppose it reaches to the abyss. 
 This chasm is forty yards long above ground, and ten over at its broadest part : but from 
 the day there is a sloping descent of forty yards to the mouth of the horrible pit, and this 
 is only four yards long and one and a half broad. Two villains who were executed at Derby 
 not long ago, confessed at the gallows, that they threw a poor traveller into this dreadfiil 
 gulph, after they had robbed him. 
 
90 THE LIFE OF 
 
 by evaporation, with the wind, might take away what was raised. 
 There is nothing hard then in conceiving how the waters of the 
 deluge 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 enquire. To be sure, as it did not run_^ofi 
 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 mountain I have described had no feeders, yet emitted 
 streams, and therefore must be supported by the abyss ; so this 
 lake, with so powerful a feeder, not running over, or emitting 
 water any way, must discharge itself in the abyss below. The 
 case of it must be the same as that of the Caspian Sea. In to this 
 sea many rivers pour, and one in particular, the Volga I mean, 
 that is xnore 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 sixteen years. It must by 
 passages communicate with the great deep. It refunds the rivers 
 into the great abyss. The case of the Mediterranean sea is the 
 same ; for, though a strong current from the Atlantic continually 
 sets 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 passages, to the abyss. 
 
 From the lake I proceeded the next morning, June 14, 1725, 
 toward the north-east end of Westmoreland, having pa.ssed the 
 night in a sound sleep under the trees by the water-side, but was 
 forced by the precipices 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 glen, where a river made a 
 rumbling noise over rocks and inequahties of many kinds, and 
 formed a very wild, wonderful scene. The river was broad and 
 deep, and on an easy descent to it, was an assemblage of stones, 
 that ran in length about a hundred feet, in breadth thirty 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 Giant's Causeway, reader, 
 is a prodigious pile of rocks, eighty feet broad, twenty feet above 
 the rest of the strand, and that run from the bottom of a high hill 
 above two hundred yards into the ocean. 
 
 The assemblage of stones I am speaking of are columns with 
 several corners, that rise tliree yards above the ground and are 
 joined as if done by art ; the points being convex 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 91 
 
 two in diameter. They are so nicely joined, that although they 
 have five and six sides, as I before said, yet their contexture is so 
 adapted, as to leave no vacuity between them ; the prominent 
 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 
 workmen. All the pillars stood exactly perpendicular to the plane 
 of the horizon. 
 
 Doctor Foley, in No. 212, of the Philosophical Transactions, 
 speaking of the Giant's 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 besaltes ; 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, hke high pohshed steel, and is always found erect 
 in the form of regular angular columns, composed of a number of 
 joints, fitted together, and making pillars ; so that where such 
 pillars are seen, they are undoubtedly the columnar marble, or 
 touch-stone of the antients. Dr. John Hill, in his History of 
 Fossils, gives a good account of the nature of this body, and men- 
 tions 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 productions 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 su- 
 preme mind, must have caused such effects as these astonishing 
 marble piUars ; which he in vast compound perpendicular 
 columns at great depths in the earth, none being in beds of strata, 
 like the other marbles ; and rise in such beautiful joints and angles, 
 well fitted together, more than six and thirty feet above ground 
 in some places. No other way could those wonderful productions 
 have come into being, but by that intelUgent, 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 intel- 
 ligent and designing activity, or chance — which is an utter 
 absurdity — or the sea, according to TeUiamed, generated and 
 formed ttiis genus of marble, and so wonderfully distinguished it 
 from all the other marmora ; by making it into pentagon, hexagon 
 and septagon columns, and rendering the points of the columns con- 
 vex and concave, and so amazingly joining them together, that the 
 prominent angles of one pillar fall exactly into the hollow left be- 
 tween two others, and the plain sides exactiy answer to one another, 
 as before observed, while all of them stand up perpendicular. 
 
92 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 wonderful a kind is to produce schemes 
 founded in ignorance, and eversive of true knowledge, instead of 
 giving a rational, inteUigible account of the formation of the world, 
 its order and appearances. In this wonderful production, a due 
 attention perceives infinite art and power. Did we want that 
 variety of things which employ the consideration 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 infinite wisdom. 
 
 Another extraordinary thing I saw in a valley not far from that 
 where the basaltes stands, is a boisterous burning spring. It rises 
 with great noise and vibration, and gushes out with a force suf- 
 ficient to turn many mills. The water is clear and cold, but to 
 the taste unpleasant, being something Uke a bad egg. I judged 
 from the nature of its motion that the water would take fire, 
 and having ht 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 burned 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 expect, but cold 
 as the coldest spring could be. There are a great number of such 
 springs in 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 the cover is taken 
 up, and then it burns as long as they will ; making 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 hke a spirit of wine, it is probable it might 
 be as effectual in communicating sanity in various cases, as the 
 famous burning spring is in the palatinate of Cracow of the lesser 
 Poland mentioned in the Leipsic Acts, for 1684, p. 326. And as 
 to the extinguishing this fire by beating it with twigs, it must be 
 for the reason given by Mr. Denis, that as the inflammabiUty 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 involving these spirits in 
 the aqueous particles, by brushing the surface with brooms. 
 
 Conradus tells us, concerning the PoUsh spring, that at one 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 93 
 
 time,, when it was kindled by lightning, the people neglected to 
 put it out and the stream proceeded on fire for almost three 
 years, and reduced all the neighbouring wood to ashes. It is 
 really a wonderful 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 exist- 
 ence 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 impression ; 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 infinity, wise and powerful. The Deity is every where present, 
 and every where active. His power is indesinently working, 
 gives existence to the various creatures and produces the most 
 noble phaenomena in nature. All we see, aU. we feel, fire and 
 water, the universal variety of inanimate and animate creatures, 
 are only the efiects of his creating power constantly repeated. 
 The existence of the whole world is a continual new creation ; and 
 therefore it becomes the bounden duty of all rational creatures, 
 to worship this Almighty Power, as well for his works of 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 art holy. 
 
 From the burning fountain we proceeded 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 mountain, we must ascend, or go no farther. 
 It was hard to get the horses over this, and no less dif&cult 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, though 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 bot- 
 tom we descend 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 though the bottom 
 was hard, the horrors of the places hindered me from going far. 
 I went to the end of the first, which was sixty seven yards, and 
 having looked into the second, to which a narrow short pass leads 
 enquirer, I made what haste I could back ; for the opening 
 discovers a space so vast, dismal, and frightful, that it strike one 
 
94 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to the heart. The bottom, as far as my light could enable me to 
 distinguish, was a continuance of stone ; but neither top nor 
 sides were to be seen. It is a horrible place. 
 
 Leaving this bottom, we mounted another very high and dan- 
 gerous 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 centre 
 of it, a Uttle grove of beautiful trees ; among which were fruits 
 of several kinds. A flowing spring of the purest water was in the 
 middle of this sweet httle wood, and ran in pretty windings over 
 the ground. It refreshed and adorned the field, and it was beau- 
 tiful to see the deer from the hills, and the goats come down from 
 the chffs, 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 stupen- 
 dous appearance. 
 
 It was a vast amazing arch, that had some resemblance of the 
 Gothic aisle of a large cathedral church, and terminated in a view 
 of rocks hanging over rocks in a manner frightful to behold. It 
 measured an hundred yards in length, forty 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 harrowed the soul with 
 horror. 
 
 By the spring in the httle grove I have mentioned, I sat down 
 at eight 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 onwards, between those vast precipices that 
 surrounded 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 impassable moun- 
 tains. Here then I thought was my ne plus ultra. As the man 
 affirmed there was no getting beyond the vast inclosing chffs that 
 walled in this charming spot of earth, I imagined for some time, 
 thatljmust of necessity return, and give over all thoughts of getting 
 to the borders of Cumberland or Bishopric that way. It seemed 
 impossible to 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 myiriend lived on ; 
 for I had lost his directions, and had only a small remembrance 
 of his dwelUng somewhere on the north edge of Westmoreland or 
 Yorkshire, or on the adjoining borders of Cumberland, or the 
 county of Durham. What to do I could not for some time teU : 
 going back I did not at all like, and therefore, to avoid it if pos- 
 
JOHN BUNGLE. ESQ. 95 
 
 sible, resolved to pass the day in trying if I could find my way out, 
 without chmbing 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 liiU, 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 hke 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 intirely surrounded with 
 Mils. This I discovered in walking the pass by myself, 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 very 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, though even small ones, 
 they would without all peradventure be immediate death. 
 . The plain we came into from the defile, was above a mile over 
 to the opposite hills, and across 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 there are such things, as Dr. Fowler, bishop 
 of Gloucester, hath in one of his books affirmed, then here, I said, 
 in this fine romantic region, where aU the charms of the field, the 
 forest, the water, and the mountains, are united, may be their 
 favourite mansion, . 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 com- 
 pletion of every desire is granted the moment it is formed. Would 
 not this be complete happiness ? what do you say. Reflection ? ..^ 
 " No I " answered Reflection, as we rode up this avenue 
 " Imagination may form fine pictures of feUcity from an indul- 
 gence in every wish ; but, so blind are mankind to their own real 
 happiness, that it is oftener to the gratification than to the dis- 
 pppointment 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 these incidents which are fated in the order 
 of incontrollable events for our good. Frequently do we labour 
 to secure the things that debase us into slaves, and overwhelm 
 us with calamity ; but seldom do we desire, rarely do we strive 
 to obtain those objects, and acquire that station, which are most 
 Ukely to render humanity as perfect as it can be in this world, 
 raticfnal and godUke, and thereby crown our lives with true hap- 
 piness. Many a man has pursued a Venus, an estate, an honour 
 with much toil and wonderful activity, and when possessed of the 
 
96 THE LIFE OF 
 
 fancied 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 enjo3ring all that fancy may 
 desire, if that was possible ; but, to act weU and wisely, in the 
 most reasonable, lovely, and fair manner, and propose nothing 
 of ourselves, but with a reserve that supreme wisdom permits 
 it ; welcoming every event with cheerfulness and magnanimity, 
 as best upon the whole, because ordained of infinite reason ; and 
 acquiescing in every obstruction, as ultimately reservable to 
 divine providence. This," continued Reflection, " in respect of 
 this Ufe, were there no other, is preferable to the castle of wishes, 
 if we could find it at the end of this avenue*." 
 
 But if another life is taken into the question, 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, religion undoubtedly ought to be the main business 
 of mortals ; that reUgion which is a hving principle, spring or 
 root of actions 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 
 aU the means, and in all the ways which reason and revelation 
 appoint for such exercise and expression ; that we may gain the 
 love of the Almighty, and obtain the estabUshed 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 
 of what the vanity of man, and his senses would call for. It 
 would be so far from being an advantage to mankind, if they 
 could wish and have vast fortunes, all the pleasures and pomps 
 and honours of the world, that they would thereby be deprived 
 of the rational joys of hfe, and be influenced to think no more of 
 the excellency and beauty of rehgion, 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 
 
 * In the second volume of Familiar Letters between the Characters in David Simpk,the reader 
 will find an excellent story in relation to wishing, which the ingenious female writer calls 
 ' a Fragment of a Fairy Tale/ in the conclusion of which there is the following sensible 
 observation : " The good Fairy came often to visit me, and confirmed me in my resolution, 
 never again to be so unreasonable, as to desire to have all my wishes completed ; for she 
 convinced me, that the short-sighted eyes of mortals were not formed to see. whether the 
 event of any of their own wishes would produce most happiness or misery : "and that our 
 greatest felicity, often arises from the very disappointment of those desires, the gratification 
 of which, at the first view, seems to be necessary to our welfare." — Familiar Letters, ut supra 
 1747, 8vo. vol. ii. p. 225. 272. 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 97 
 
 bread and of the kingdom of God may come, his will be done in our 
 souls. In these are comprised the greatest and most valuable 
 blessing, and we are sure we can obtain them, if we will add to 
 asking an industry and prudence in acquiring, and take care by 
 culture, to bring up the seeds of virtue 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 tranquilUty of mind here, and hopes full 
 of comfort with respect to hereafter, are the ingredients of our 
 happiness ; a happiness the greatest I and we are certain that he 
 upon whose mercy and goodness we confess we exist, 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 virtue 
 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 
 splendour, which lives in contempt of the prophets, and riots in 
 the heinous plea.sures 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 honour, as our own honour ; and having food and raiment, 
 be content, as we are hastening away with a never ceasing pace, 
 to the realms of eternity and unmixed bhss. This is reason and 
 hght. This only deserves our care. There is nothing worth 
 wishing for, but the happiness of God's presence in our hearts ; 
 and the more immediate communications of his love and favour 
 in the regions of day. 
 
 Thus <£d Reflection entertain me, as I rode up this grand shady 
 walk, which looked Uke the avenue I had read of in the Tales of 
 the Fairies, and brought me to a natural grotto, more beautiful 
 than jEUan's description of Atalanta's, or that in Homer, where 
 Calypso lived. It was a large cavern at the bottom of a marble 
 mountain, and without, was covered round with ivy, that clung 
 about some aged oaks, on either side of the entrance, that seemed 
 coeval with the earth on which they grew. Abundance of large 
 laurel trees, in clumps, adorned an extensive area before the door ; 
 and saffron, and hyacinths, and flowers of many colours, covered 
 in confused spots the green carpet. The beautiful ground re- 
 freshed 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 sweet rural scene. For charms and 
 solitude the place was equally to be admired. 
 
98 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The inside of this grotto was a beautiful green marble, extremely 
 bright, and even approaching 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 show 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 apartments, and had doors and chimneys 
 most ingeniously contrived, both the mansion and its situation 
 charmed me in a high degree. On either 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 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 Bishopric ? Sir, replied the good old woman, 
 you are welcome to Burcot Lodge. Women only are the inhabi- 
 tants of this spot : and over the hills before you, you must go, 
 to get to the countries you mention. We are a hundred souls in 
 all that hve here, and our mistress, superior and head, is a young 
 woman. Her name is Azora. Yonder she comes, goodness 
 itself, and as it is now seven in the evening, 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 surprise at what 
 I heard. A little female republic among those hills was news indeed 
 and when I came near Azora, my astonishment increased. 
 
 She was attended by ten young women, straight, clean, hand- 
 some girls, and surpassed them in tallness. Her countenance 
 was masculine, but not austere : her fine blue eyes discovered an 
 excellence of temper, while they showed the penetration of her 
 mind. Her hair was brown, bright and charming ; and nature 
 had stamped upon her cheek a colour, that exceeded the most 
 beautiful red of the finest flower. It was continually as the 
 maiden blush of a modest innocence. She was dressed in a fine 
 woollen stuff, made in the manner shepherdesses are painted, 
 and on her head had a band or fillet like what the ladies now 
 wear, with a bunch of artificial flowers in her hair. She had a 
 very small straw hat on. In her hand, she held a long and pretty 
 crook ; and as her coats were short, her feet were seen, in black 
 silk shoes, and the finest white stockings, and appeared vastly 
 pretty. She struck me greatly. She was a chjirming, and 
 uncommon figure. When I came up to Azora, I could hardly 
 forbear addressing her, as the son of Ulysses did the supernal ; 
 " O vous qui que vous soiez, mortelle ou deesse, quoiqu'a vous 
 voir on ne puisse vous prendre que pour une divinite, seriez-vous 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 99 
 
 insensible au malheur d'un fils, etc." Whoever you are, a mortal 
 or a goddess, though sure your aspect speaks you all divine, can 
 you, unmoved, behold a hapless son, by fate expelled, and urged 
 by unrelenting rage, to wander through the world, exposed to 
 winds and seas, and all the strokes of adverse fortune, till he 
 arrived in this land of felicity and peace ? But on better thoughts 
 I only said, I am your most humble servant, madam, and told 
 her I believed I had lost my way, and knew not where to go. 
 To which she replied, " you are welcome, sir, to our hamlet, and 
 to the best entertainment it afEords, only tell me," she added with 
 a smile, " what could induce you to travel this unbeaten road, 
 and how did you pass the precipices and rivers you must have 
 met with in the way .' " " Curiosity, madam," I answered, 
 " was one cause ; that I might see a country no traveller had been 
 in ; and my next inducement, to find a valuable friend ; who lives 
 somewhere upon the northern border of this county, or Yorkshire, 
 or on the adjoining limits of Cumberland or Durham ; but on 
 which I do not know ; and as I come from Brugh under Stane- 
 more, I judged it the shortest way by a great many miles, and 
 the UkeUest to succeed in my inquiry after my friend, then as to 
 hills and waters, many dangerous ones I have gone over, and with 
 great toil and fatigue have got thus far." " This," Azora said, 
 " is a rational account of your journey, and as there are many 
 difficulties still before you, you are welcome to rest with us till 
 you are refreshed, and able to proceed. 
 
 By this time we reached the grotto door, and upon entering 
 the first apartment, I saw another lady, dressed in the same 
 manner, and seemed to be of the same age, that is, about six and 
 twenty, as I was told. This was Azora's companion and 
 friend. She was a very pretty woman, though inferior to Azora 
 in charms ; but her mind was equally luminous and good. Neither 
 she nor Azora were learned women, this is, they understood no 
 other language tlian the English tongue, and in that they had 
 but a small collection of the best books ; but those few they had 
 read well, and they had capacities to think. In reason, philo- 
 sophy, and mathematics, they were excellent, and in the most 
 agreeable manner, discovered in conversation the finest con- 
 ceptions of the most excellent things. Azora, of the two, was 
 by much the best speaker. Her voice was delightful, and her 
 pronunciation just, strong, clear, and various. With unspeakable 
 pleasure did I listen to her, during three days that I happily 
 passed with her and her companion, and received from both 
 many valuable informations. I thought I understood algebra 
 very well, but I was their inferior, and they instructed me ; and 
 on the fundamental points of reUgion, they not only out-talked 
 me, but out-reasoned me. It is very strange, I confess. It is 
 very true, however. 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 AzoRA, in particulax, had an amazing collection of the most 
 rational philosophical ideas, and she delivered them in the most 
 pleasing dress, with as much esise as she breathed. She asked 
 me, after I had feasted on an excellent supper, how religion went 
 on in the world ; and what was the condition of that which came 
 from supernatural communication, as she phrased it ? and when 
 I told her, that our excellent divines did all that was possible 
 for men to do, to turn the world from superstition of every kind, 
 to that express revelation which restores the dictates of uncor- 
 rupted reason to their force and authority ; which teaches the 
 knowledge of one supreme Spirit or God, and the nature of that 
 worship which is due to a Being not confined to, or dependent 
 upon particular places, or circumstances ; but always and every- 
 where present with us : she answered, that such clergymen are 
 glorious, and cannot be enough admired ; and great is the un- 
 reasonableness of the men who opposed them, and forced them 
 into the field of disputation, from their holy labour of instructing 
 the people in penetenti^l piety and sanctification ; I mean the 
 infidels and the bigots. 
 
 " What can be more unjust and impious," Azora continued, 
 " than for men to declaim against a revelation which displays 
 the paternal regard of God for his creatures, by doing more than 
 was strictly necessary for their happiness, as they had his original 
 law of reason before he gave them the gospel ; and which enables 
 us to extend our knowledge even as to those things which we are 
 by nature capable of knowing ; which awakens us to duty, and 
 advises us how to walk in the ways of prudence and safety. To 
 reject such an extraordinary method of saving us, is senseless and 
 culpable indeed. Surely, when superstition and enthusiasm 
 has led mankind into errors, we ought to adore the divine goodness 
 for re-communicating a knowledge of true religion ; of duty in 
 this life, and of what we are to expect in that which is to come. 
 We can never be thankful enough for a revelation, that has a 
 tendency to promote the happiness of mankind both here and 
 hereafter. The opposition, in my opinion, is without excuse ; 
 as the external evidence of history, miracles, and prophecy 
 for the gospel, is incontestably strong, when fairly examined ; 
 must appear with force to a modest, candid, impartial inquirer ; 
 and as the internal evidence for the sacred letters, their usefulness 
 and excellence, must be obvious to every attentive capacity, 
 that delights in the pursuit of religion and virtue. Truth and 
 candour, then, those infidels are strangers to. They are not fair 
 reasoners. They are haughty, over-bearing declaimers. 
 
 " Nor can I thirik much better," said Azora, " of those great 
 and reverend men, who preach and write to prove the weakness 
 of human reason, and that the prime law of our creation, the 
 law of nature, is imperfect, insufficient, and obscure ; and there- 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. toi 
 
 fore, supernatural communication was absolutely necessary ; 
 who add to this, things inconceivable and contradictory, and 
 insist upon our believing articles too hard for rational beings. 
 This is misrepresenting rationals, if we beheve the Scriptures, and 
 is so far from being of service to the cause of Christianity, as in 
 Charity we must suppose those great men by such writing and 
 preaching do intend ; that it does, on the contrary, very greatly 
 hiurt revealed rehgion. It is to such wrong defences of revelation 
 that antichristian deism owes its chief strength. Our holy 
 religion wants not any real evidence that can be desired by the 
 modest, candid, and impartial ; but if great and learned men 
 will deny the perfection of the primary law of God and substitute 
 in the place of recommunicated nature, an invented gospel, that 
 swells with useless mysteries, and hard doctrines ; great damage 
 must faU upon the true gospel. An unintelUgible religion is no 
 religion. It can be of no concern, with regard to rational crea- 
 tures ; and strong minds will laugh at its pieties." 
 
 " But exclusive of invented mysteries," I said, " which are 
 to be sure sad stuff in the works of those great men, and deplorably 
 corrupt the simplicity of the gospel, to me it is not so plain, that 
 mankind could by reason acquire just and adequate ideas of the 
 existence and nature of the supreme Being, or know that they 
 had immortal souls, and would expose themselves to eternal 
 unavoidable misery in a future state, in proportion to the demerit 
 of their thoughts and actions in this world ; but might secure 
 everlasting felicity by worshipping one supreme, universal, 
 omnipotent, eternal, omnipresent, and intelligent spirit, and 
 doing all the good we have an opportunity and power to do in 
 this Ufe. I question if reason can make us clear and certain on 
 these articles. The reason of the bulk of mankind cannot do it, 
 I think. Therefore, the gospel was absolutely necessary for the 
 salvation of men." 
 
 AzoRA to this repUed, that " faith in Christ, and all his own 
 institutions, were of high value indeed ; and beautiful his rehgion 
 appears, when it is fairly represented, as an institution that has 
 no other end than morality, the most noble end, and the most 
 worthy of God ; and that declares the practice of all the moral 
 ofl&ces to be superior to any inward accomphshment, or outward 
 Christian institution : but she could not allow, that Christianity 
 was absolutely necessary : for the common reason of men, without 
 launching out into the unfathomable ocean of metaphysical 
 subtilties, appears upon trial to be able to discover the funda- 
 mental points of religion ; and from the things that are made, 
 from our moral capacities and powers, and from our relations to 
 one another, to know the Supreme Being, his attributes and 
 perfections, and that we are accountable to our great Creator." 
 
 " If men will think, they must perceive without the reason of 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 a Newton or Clarke, the existence of a spiritual influence in all 
 the parts of inanimated matter, and the existence of their own 
 spirits or souls. To which ever part of matter we look, we see 
 a spirit employed. An influencing being, endued with the 
 faculties of perception, activity, and volition, is plain. The 
 accidental qualities of matter, called attraction, repulsion, and 
 communication of motion, evince that material and vegetable 
 nature, and aU the parts of inanimated matter, are actuated by 
 one supreme and universal Spirit : I say One Spirit, because it is 
 evident from a sameness of volition, that is, from one and the 
 same faculty of voUtion, manifest throughout all nature, that 
 there are not several distinct, independent spirits. In attraction, 
 repulsion and communication of motion ; there appears no 
 different faculty of voUtion, but a different exercise of the same 
 faculty of volition, which, for wise reasons, makes some parts 
 of matter cohere strongly, as stone and metal, — some weakly, 
 as earth, etc. ; some repel, while others attract ; some elastic, 
 and others non-elastic. In all these cases, one spirit only is the 
 actor : that Being who holds aU perfection in himself, and by an 
 absolute command over all parts of matter, forms and manages 
 it as his wisdom sees best ; just as his adorable providence governs 
 us, and disposes of us, by such laws as reason, consulting the good 
 of the whole society, declares it to be best for us to obey : best, 
 most surely, as it is the glory of the Almighty to be constantly 
 and without any deviation governed by the eternal and immutable 
 laws of good and right, just and equal. All is the operation 
 of one and the same universal spirit. Identity is visible. The 
 various kinds of attraction, repulsion, etc., only show the un- 
 hmited power of the Deity, in actuating matter as his established 
 rules require. Were several arbitrary supreme spirits to act 
 over matter, the consequence would be a breach of regularity, 
 uniformity, and constancy, in the laws of nature, and that con- 
 fusion would appear instead of beauty and order. 
 
 " Thus common reason confesses that there is one infinite 
 universal, supreme spirit, who actuates and governs the universe ; 
 and from the heavens, the earth, and ourselves, we are as certain 
 that there is a Creator and Lord of all the Worlds, who directs 
 every atom of it, and animates every material form, as we are 
 of anything demonstrated to us. And as he is not only the 
 Creator but the Manager and Preserver of every being, there can 
 be no power equal to him. He must be omnipotent. He must 
 likewise be eternal and omnipresent ; for there was no superior 
 power to receive existence from, nor is there a superior power to 
 confine it. As to his infinite intelligence, his being the Author 
 and Preserver of all things demonstrates it. 
 
 " In respect of the human soul," Azora continued, " it is 
 impossible for perception to proceed from the body, or from any 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 103 
 
 motion or modification of parts of the body ; and therefore, there 
 must be a mind in which our ideas must be produced and exist. 
 If the ideas of sensation may be supposed to be occasioned by 
 the different motions of the constituent parts of the brain, yet 
 they cannot be those motions. The motions can only enable a 
 spiritual percipient to note them and remember them, and as 
 to reflection, tie other part of the perceptive faculty, attention, 
 and contemplation, it is not possible they can proceed from the 
 different motions into which the parts of the brain are put ; 
 because they are employed solely about perceptions which were 
 only in the mind. The case is the same as to many other quahties 
 or faculties ; in the designing quahty, the inventing quaUty, the 
 judging quaUty, the reasoning quality, the compounding quality, 
 the abstracting quaUty, the discerning quality, the recollective 
 quahty, the retentive quahty, the freedom of will, the faculty 
 of volition, and especially the foreseeing faculty : these cannot be 
 the faculties of matter. Such quahties must exist ultimately 
 and solely in mind. Can foresight, for example, be the work of 
 matter, when it is employed about things and actions which have 
 not yet happened, and for that reason cannot be the objects of 
 the senses ? No surely. It must be the spiritual part of the 
 compound that acts upon the occasion : in all the intelhgent 
 faculties which we comprehend under the complex idea of under- 
 standing, spirit only can be the performer. 
 
 " There is a soul or mind then in man, and that it is immortal 
 and accountable, is as evident as that the retentive faculty, 
 that is, retaining ideas received by reflection, does not pertain 
 to body, but it is a natural quality of the soul only, and does not 
 proceed from its union with the body : for, as perception and 
 retention prove the human mind to be a distinct being, and that 
 it has quahties which cannot proceed from the body, therefore 
 it must still continue a spirit unless annihilated by its Creator, 
 and must, after its separation, be endued with the quahties which 
 are the faculties of soul only. The reason is plain. These 
 quahties cannot be destroyed without a cause, but separation is 
 no cause, as the quality or quahties did not proceed from, 
 or depend on union, therefore the soul is immortal, unless we 
 suppose what cannot be supposed, that its Creator puts an end 
 to its being. We must know, after death, that we exist. We 
 must remember a past existence, and call to mind every idea 
 we had formed in this life by reflection. 
 
 "As to our being accountable hereafter for the deeds we 
 have done in this first state of existence, this can admit of no 
 speculation ; for as we have received from our Creator the eternal 
 law of reason, which enables us to distinguish right and wrong, 
 and to govern the inferior powers and passions, appetites and 
 senses, if we please ; as we are endued with an understanding 
 
104 THE LIFE OF 
 
 which can acquire large moral dominion, and may, if we oppose 
 pot, sit as queen upon the throne over the whole corporeal system ; 
 since the noble faculty of reason was given to rectify the soul 
 and purify it from earthly affections ; to elevate it above the 
 objects of sense,to purge it from pride and vanity, selfishness and 
 hypocrisy, and render it just, pious, and good ; of consequence, 
 God has a right to call us to account for our conduct in this first 
 state, and will reward or punish, in a most extraordinary manner ; 
 as the principles and actions of man have been righteous ; or, 
 his life and character stained by unjust dispositions and filthy 
 deeds. This is plain to common reason. Every understanding 
 must see this, how wrong soever they wilfully act. As God by 
 his nature must abhor iniquity, and love what is honest, pure, 
 and good ; he must reward the piety and worthy behaviour of 
 those, who act according to reason in this life, and with views 
 beyond the bounds of time, endeavour to proceed each day to 
 more exalted ideas of virtue : but, the mortals who deviate from 
 rectitude and goodness, and wilfully hve workers of iniquity, 
 must expect that God, the Father of Spirits, the Lover of truth, 
 and the patron of righteousness and virtue, will proportion future 
 punishments to present vices, and banish them to the regions of 
 eternal darkness. From the natural Ughts of our understanding 
 we have the highest reason to conclude this will be the case. 
 The truths are as evident to a reflection, as that this world, and 
 we who inhabit it, could not have had eternal existence, nor be 
 first formed by any natural cause ; but must have been originally 
 produced, as we are now constantly preserved, by the supreme 
 and universal spirit. This is the excellent law of reason or 
 nature. There is a light sufiicient in every human breast, to 
 conduct the soul to perfect day, if men will follow it right onwards, 
 and not turn into the paths that lead to the dark night of hell." 
 Azora's reUgions notions amazed me, and the more, as they 
 were uttered with a fluency and ease beyond anything I had ever 
 heard before. In the softest, sweetest voice, she expressed 
 herself, and without the least appearance of labour, her ideas 
 seemed to flow from a vast fountain. She was a master indeed 
 in the doctrine of ideas. Her notion of them and their formation 
 was just as possible ; and in a few minutes she settled everything 
 relating to them. Her ideas of activity and passivity afforded 
 me much instruction, as did her notions of space, matter, and 
 spirit : and what is still more extraordinary, she had a fine con- 
 ception of an electrical fluid, which is thought to be a discovery 
 made very lately, and made use of it to prove, not that it is the 
 ultimate cause of effects, but that everything is caused and 
 directed by an immaterial spirit. An immaterial spirit was her 
 favourite article, and it was to me a fine entertainment to hear 
 her on that subject ; from the one supreme spirit down to the 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 105 
 
 spirit of brute animals. But to conclude our conversation on 
 religion ; I observed to Azora, that " if things were so, and the 
 law or reason was so perfect and sufficient, then I could not see 
 that there was any want at all of the religion of favour, since that 
 of nature was enough to confirm us in rectitude and holiness, if 
 we would obey its directions ; and to show us the way to the 
 mansions of angels. Why the law of grace at so great an expense, 
 if the rule of reason can make us good here, and for ever happy 
 hereafter ? " 
 
 AzoRA replied, that she had before answered this question by 
 observing, that " excellent as the primary law of the creation 
 was, yet revelation was of the greatest use, as it enables us to 
 extend our knowledge even as to the things which we are by 
 nature capable of knowing ; and as it restored to the world the 
 law of reason, that is, true religion, when superstition and enthu- 
 siasm had established false religion. This renders Christianity 
 glorious were there nothing more to be said for it. But this is 
 not all we can say. 
 
 " The best of mortals are weak, and the most of them are so 
 fully employed about things temporal, that it is impossible so 
 much good- should proceed from mere human reason as from a 
 plain easy gospel, that delineates duty in the most intelUgible 
 manner, and contains the absolute command of the great God, 
 to renounce vicious habits, impure desires, worldly tempers, and 
 frame ourselves to purity, sincerity, and devotion ; as the 
 only means that can secure his felicitating presence and gain us 
 admission to the delightful seats of separate souls made perfect. 
 In this the gospel is far preferable to reason. 
 
 " Beside, as wilful disobedience strikes at the being and govern- 
 ment of God, and devotedness to the Lord of all the worlds, in 
 trust and resignation, is the perfection of religion, the example 
 of the Son of God in his humiliation, his cross, his death, make 
 an instance of resignation so consummate and instructive, that 
 we not only learn from it what reason cannot half so well instruct 
 us in ; I mean the amiableness of virtue, the excellency of hoUness, 
 and the merit of absolute and unreserved obedience ; but, we are 
 roused to an imitation of this grand character ; both on account 
 of its beauty, and the promise of our sitting down with Christ in 
 his throne, if, according to our measure, we work all righteousnes, 
 and overcome our present temptations and trials, even as he also 
 overcame, and is set down with his Father in his throne. Reason 
 is nothing compared to this. The gospel dispensation by this 
 means is fitted to render us virtuous, holy, and thoroughly good, 
 in a method the law of nature could never do." 
 • " And more?than this, when the God of heaven saw his creatures 
 and children every where going wrong, without any help amongst 
 themselves, and therefore sent his son to set them right ; to set 
 
io6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 before them the unchangeable rule of everlasting righteousness 
 in its original purity and perfection, and not only explain and 
 enforce it by the most powerful considerations, but apply the 
 commands of supreme reason to the government of the thoughts 
 and passions of the heart ; that duty and virtue in the principle, 
 and habit of universal rectitude towards both God and man, 
 might be the practice of all the earth, and mankind become a 
 people holy to the Lord ; He, the Universal Father, the better to 
 effect this blessed purpose, added two things to religion, which 
 have a power that reason wants to make us conform to God, and 
 the eternal laws of righteousness, in principle, temper, and life. 
 One is, Christ's appearing- to put away sin by the sacrifice of 
 himself, by his becoming a sin-offering. The other is the assist- 
 ance of the Spirit of God. The oblation of the son, and the grace 
 of the Father, have effects in reUgion, in changing and sanctifying, 
 that reason is an utter stranger to. 
 
 " The sum of the whole is, the gospel, that word of truth and 
 power, enters the hearts, and breaks the power of sin in the soul. 
 The holy Ufe of Christ sets us an example, that we should walk 
 in his steps, and obey the will of the infinitely wise Creator ; that, 
 like him, we should accord by obedience with the harmony of 
 God's moral government, and rather die than break or obstruct 
 it by any wilful sin. And by his being a sin-offering, he not only 
 put an end to all sin-offerings, which both Jews and Gentiles 
 were wont to offer ; * but, by his being the most precious one in 
 the universe, showed God's great displeasure against sin, and 
 in his obedience to the Father, even unto death, that we ought to 
 cease from evil, and by a righteous obedience render ourselves 
 worthy of God the Father's love. That we may do so we have 
 the promise of the Spirit to enable us to turn from sin and Satan 
 to the hving God, that by the acting principle of sanctification, 
 wrought within us by the hand of him that made us, without the 
 least force on our will, we may perfect our souls in purity and 
 hoUness, exercise acts of love and benevolence, and worship the 
 one true God in and through the one true Mediator. Reason alone, 
 excellent as it is, cannot produce anything like this. 
 
 " The religion of favour in these respects surpasses the law of 
 nature. By the first law of the creation, reason, we may acquire 
 that righteousness, which is an habitual rectitude of soul, and 
 right actions flowing from it : but sanctification, that influencing 
 principle, which adds holiness to righteousness, belongs, as I 
 
 * When a plague afflicted the Massilienses, they fed a poor man deliciously, and adorned 
 him with sacred vestments ; then led him through the city, and sacrificed him, by throwing 
 him headlong down from a steep rock,- after the people had poured their execrations upon 
 him. and prayed that all the calamities of the city might fall upon him. Such practice shews 
 that Christ being offered for the sins of the whole world, was in conformity to the ideas of 
 mankind. The Jews had their devoted animal, and the Gentile had their sacrificed poor 
 man, and other ways. 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 107 
 
 take it, to the law of grace. It is given to those who ask it, not fo'' 
 the sake of but through Christ." 
 
 " All this," I answered, " is just and fine, and I have only to 
 request, for my farther instruction, that you will be pleased^ 
 madam, to explain yourself a little more on the articles of a sin- 
 offering, and grace ; for I have always thought there was a dark- 
 ness sat upon these parts of revealed rehgion, and have often 
 wished for what I have not yet found, a head capable of giving me 
 entire satisfaction on these points : but from what I have heard 
 you say, I must now suppose that all my doubts, relative to the 
 two subjects, you have the power to remove." "My power," 
 replied Azora, " is no more than a plain understanding, that in 
 this still and peaceful region, has been at Uberty, to think without 
 being corrupted by sophistry, school-nonsense, or authority ; and, 
 as to giving satisfaction on the heads you mention, or any other, 
 it is not what I pretend to : but my opinion you shall have since 
 you ask ; " and in the following manner Azora proceeded. 
 
 "As to our Lord's becoming a sin-offering, I conceive, in the 
 first place, that God ordained it, because he saw it needful, and 
 necessary to answer many and great ends. It must be right, and 
 what in the reason and nature of things ought to be, though we 
 were not able to comprehend the reasons that made it needful. 
 It must have been the properest way to make up the breach be- 
 tween heaven and earth, since infinite wisdom appointed it. 
 
 "In the next place, as the death of this great person not only 
 gave the highest attestation to the truth of his doctrine, and con- 
 firmed every word he had preached ; to the encouragement of 
 sinners to repent, and the great consolation of saints ; but has 
 afforded us such a noble pattern of obedience, as must have an in- 
 fluence on intelligent beings, and excite them to practice obedience 
 to all the commands of God, and perfect resignation to his will 
 in every cjise ; which are some excellent reasons for Christ's dy- 
 ing ; so did Almighty God make this farther use of it, that he 
 appointed the blood of Christ, which was shed to produce the 
 essence of sanctification in the soul, to wit, devotedness, trust, 
 and resignation to the Almighty Father of the universe, to be the 
 blood of a new covenant, shed for many for the remission of sins. 
 This seems to me to take in the whole case. Christ by obedience 
 to the death, which happened in the natural course of things, is 
 held out to the world a pattern of self-sacrifice in the cause of truth 
 and virtue, a sample of that perfect reUgion, not my will, but thine 
 be done ; the glorious gospel is thereby confirmed ; and our re- 
 demption is effected by the blood of the Son of God. As Moses, 
 the mediator between God and Israel, repeated to the people the 
 laws and judgments of God, and received their consent to the di- 
 vine commands ; entered this covenant in his book, offered 
 sacrifices of praise and friendship, and then confirmed the covenant 
 
io8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in the most solemn manner, by dividing the blood of the sacrifices 
 into parts ; one part of which he sprinkled on the altar, to ratify 
 God's part of the covenant ; and with the other part sprinkled 
 the people, that is, the twelve princes, the heads, or the twelve pil- 
 lars, which represented the twelve tribes, and then awfully cried 
 out with a strong voice, ' Behold the blood of the covenant Je- 
 hovah has made with you : ' so did the Lord Jesus Christ, the 
 mediator between God and all mankind, teach the people by his 
 gospel to rectify their notions, to regulate their affections, to direct 
 their worship ; with the ] udgments that were to be the consequence 
 of disobedience, the rewards prepared for those who obey ; and 
 then declared, in relation to his death, ' This is my blood of the 
 new covenant. The blood I must shed on the cross wUl seal, 
 ratify, and confirm a pardoning covenant, and by virtue thereof, 
 upon repentance and conversion, the world is washed clean through 
 the blood of the Lamb.' This, I think for myself, renders the 
 thing very plain and easy. The death of the Son of God was taken 
 into the plan of redemption, not to pacify God's anger ; for God 
 could be no otherwise pleased or deUghted with the blood of his 
 Son, than as his shedding it was an act of the highest obedience 
 and a noble pattern to all the rational creation ; but his blood 
 was made the seal of a pardoning and justifying covenant ; and 
 by the death of Christ, the most powerful means to prevent sin, 
 and to draw sinners to obey the commands of heaven, God de- 
 monstrated his love and mercy to mankind. I fancy I am clear. 
 In this view of the matter, I can see no difficulty in being justified 
 freely by the grace of God, through the redemption which is in 
 Christ Jesus. God is the sole original and fountain of redemption 
 The Son, and his gospel are the great instruments. Lo I I come 
 to do thy will, O my God, the Son declares : and the blood be shed, 
 the better to bring the human race to wisdom, rectitude and hap- 
 piness, is appointed by our merciful, good, and gracious Father, 
 to be the seal and ratification of a new covenant. Moloch might 
 want cruel and bloody sacrifice to pacify him ; but the Father 
 of the universe sent his Christ to deliver his commands, and made 
 the death which he foresaw would happen by his Son's delivering 
 such commands to impious men, to be a covenant between Je- 
 hovah and the people, that Jesus should be considered as a propi- 
 tiation for our sins, and his death be an eternal memorial of the 
 Almighty's love, and abhorrence of iniquity. There can no ob- 
 jection he against this. To me this appears the most rational and 
 beautiful scheme that infinite wisdom, could contrive. Most 
 glorious and good is our God. Most happy may mortals be, if 
 they please. The virtuous obedience of our Lord hath obtained 
 from God a right and power to abolish death. His blood hath 
 confirmed the covenant of grace, and his gospel hath brought life 
 immortal into hght. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 109 
 
 " As to the influence of the spirit," Azora continued, " that 
 there is such a living principle in the human soul, cannot, I think, 
 be denied, if revelation is to be believed ; but the mode of influenc- 
 ing is not perhaps to be explained otherwise than by saying, that 
 our gracious and good Father makes now and then some friendly 
 impressions upon our minds, and by representing in several lights 
 the terrors and promises of the gospel, excites our hopes and fears, 
 As I apprehend, we can go very little further. It is easy, I think, 
 to prove from the scriptures, that as the extraordinary assistance 
 of the Holy Ghost was necessary for planting Christianity at first ; 
 so is a supernatural assistance of the Holy Ghost, though not in so 
 illustrious a manner, still necessary to enable us to perform the 
 conditions of the gospel. Though God has recalled the more 
 visible signs of his presence, yet to be sure he continues to influence 
 some way or other. I cannot suppose the Holy Ghost has wholly 
 withdrawn himself from the church. ' The renewing of the Holy 
 Ghost,' St. Peter says, ' was a promise made to them and to their 
 children, and to those that were afar off, even as many as God 
 should call ; ' and as human nature has the same weakness and 
 passions, and extravagancies of former ages, there is as much need 
 of a divine assistance now as in the time of the apostles : nay, 
 more need, I think, at present, as miracles are ceased. There 
 must be a weight of supernatural power to press within, as there 
 are now no flashings from the sky, or extraordinary appearances 
 without, to prove the certainty of our religion, and make us con- 
 sider its promises, threatenings, and rules : but the way this super- 
 natural principle acts, as before observed, is hard to determine, 
 any more than what I have said, and instead of wasting our time 
 in enquiries how the thing is done, our business is to render our- 
 selves capable of so great a blessing, by not grieving this holy 
 spirit, lest he depart from us ; and resolving with the psalmist, to 
 walk with a perfect heart, and to set no wicked thing before our 
 eyes. We must strive to improve religious thoughts : we must 
 labour hard to obey the written rules ; God will then give us the 
 grace sufficient for us. To our considerable talent of natural 
 power to do good, our Father will add the advantages of his spirit. 
 If we desire to be good, he will make us good in conjunction with 
 our own application and pains ; by a gradual process, and human 
 methods. If nature gives her utmost actings, the author of 
 nature will move, and direct and assist her where she is weak. 
 Both the grace and the providence of God may be likened to a 
 little spring concealed within a great machine : to the known 
 given powers of the machine, the operations of it are ascribed, and 
 all its events imputed ; yet it is the small secreted spring that 
 directs, draws, checks, and gives movement to every weight and 
 wheel. The case cannot be exactly alike, as a compound of matter 
 and spirit is different from a machine : but it may suggest I 
 
/ 
 
 THE LIFE OF I 
 
 imagine some imperfect idea of the affair : a very imperfect one. 
 I confess, for if we were thinking ever so long of the matter, grace/ 
 after all would be what the apostle calls it, an unspeakable gif'B 
 A gift surmounting our apprehensions as well as it does our meri^ 
 The theory of it may be perhaps too excellent for us, and our pa^t 
 is, not to determine how, but with honest hearts to pray, that a 
 ray from heaven may open, and shine upon our understanding, 
 clear it from prejudices and impostures, and render it teachable, 
 considerative and firm ; may inspire good thoughts, excite good 
 purposes, and suggest wholesome counsels and expedients. This 
 the divine power may easily do, without depriving us of free will, 
 or lessening our own moral agency. That power may extinguish 
 an imagination we strive to get rid of : may remove an impedi- 
 ment we labour to be freed from : may foil a temptation we do our 
 best to resist. If we do all we can, and implore the divine aid, 
 there is no doubt but the Almighty may give his free creatures 
 such power and dispositions, as will carry them innocently and 
 safely through the trials of this first state. On such conditions, 
 God, the Father of spirits, the friend of men, the patron of right- 
 eousness and all virtue, wiU, without all peradvep,ture, distribute 
 his grace to every mortal in proportion to the measures of neces- 
 sary duty." 
 
 Here Azora ended, and I sat for some minutes after in great 
 admiration. Her fancy furnished ideas so very fast, and speaking 
 was so very easy to her, without one pang in the dehverj', or the 
 least hesitation for hours, as she could, if she pleased, so long dis- 
 course ; her judgment was so strong, and her words so proper and 
 well placed, that she appeared to me a prodigy in speaking, and I 
 could have listened to her with delight and amazement the whole 
 night. But exactly at ten o'clock, the old woman I mentioned 
 before, who first bid me welcome to Burcot- Lodge, came into the 
 chamber with candles, and Azora told me, that if I would follow 
 Gladuse, she would Ught me to bed ; this I did immediately, after 
 wishing the ladies good night, and my guide brought me to her 
 own cottage, which was next door to the grotto. She showed me 
 into a small clean room, neatly and prettily furnished, and there I 
 found a good bed. Down I lay as soon as I could, being much 
 fatigued, and as the sun was rising, got up again, to write what I 
 could remember to have heard Azora say. My memory from my 
 childhood has been very extraordinary. I beUeve there are few 
 hving exceed me in this respect. The greatest part of what I read 
 and hear, remains with me, as if the book was still before me, or 
 the speaker going on. This enables me to write down, with much 
 exactness, what I care to note, and I can do it for the most part 
 in the relater's or talker's own words, if I minute it in my short 
 hand within twenty-four hours after reading or discoursing. Upon 
 this account, I can say,- that I lost very little of all that Azora was 
 
JOHN S UNCLE. ESQ. in 
 
 pleased to let me hear ; or, of the discourses I had with her in- 
 genious companion, Antonia Fletcher. 
 
 June 15th. — When I had done writing, I went out to wait upon 
 ■ihe ladies, and found them in their fine gardens, busily employed 
 ix the useful and innocent diversion which the cultivation of some 
 olthe greatest beauties of the creation affords. They had every 
 kiid of fruit-tree in their ground, every plant and flower that 
 grovs, and such a variety of exotic rarities from the hotter climate 
 as engaged my admiration, and finely entertained me for many an 
 hour, during my stay in this place. They both understood gar- 
 dening to perfection, and continually lent their helping hands to 
 the propagation of every thing. The digging and laborious work 
 was performed by many young women, who did it with great 
 activity and understanding, and the nicer parts these ladies exe- 
 cuted. I was astonished and deUghted with their operations of 
 various kinds. It was beautiful to see with what exquisite skill 
 they used the knife, managed graffs, and cyons, directed the 
 branches and twigs in posture on espaliers, and raised flowers. 
 They had everything in perfection in their kitchen garden and 
 physic garden. Their fruits, roots, and herbs for the table, were 
 most excellent ; their collection of herbs for medicine the most 
 valuable : and as the whole contrivance of the gardens approached 
 nature, and beautiful in grass, gravel, and variety of evergreens, 
 I was led with delight through the whole, till I came into the green- 
 house. There I saw Azora and Antonia at work, and paid them 
 the compliments they deserved. 
 
 Immediately after my arrival, breakfast was brought in, choco- 
 late and toast, and the ladies were extremely pleasant over it. 
 They Eisked me a great many questions about the world, and were 
 so facetious in their remarks, and pleased with my odd account of 
 things, that they laughed as heartily as I did, and that was at no 
 small rate. This being done, we walked over every part of the 
 gardens, and Azora did me the honour not only to shew me all the 
 curiosities, and improvements she had made, in the management 
 of seeds, flowers, plants, and trees ; but, lectured on various fine 
 objects that appeared in our way, with a volubility of tongue, and 
 a knowledge of the subjects, that was amazing indeed. Were I to 
 set down what she said even on sallads, cucumbers, cauhflowers, 
 melons, asparagus, early cabbages, strawberries, rasberries, cur- 
 rants, goosberries, apples, pears, plums, cherries, apricots, &c,. and 
 especially her propagation of mushrooms, champignons, and but- 
 tons ; this, exclusive of exotics, and flowers, would make I beUeve 
 an octavo ; and in relation to exotics and flowers, I am sure she 
 talked twice as much, and of every thing extremely well. I never 
 did hear any thing like her. The discourse cost her no more than 
 the breath of her nostrils. 
 
 But at last we came to a fish-pond, that was an acre of water. 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 and I assure you, reader, in half an hour's time the illustrious Azora 
 not only talked more of fish and ponds than the ingenious and / 
 honourable Roger North, of Rougham in Norfolk, hath written or/ 
 these subjects in his excellent Discourse, printed in 1713, in 8vo. / 
 but, mentioned many useful things relative to them, which M^ 
 North was a stranger to. She told me, among other matters, thit 
 there was only pike and perch in her pond, and the reason of it yas 
 because she loved pike above all fish, and as the jacks were fisA of 
 prey, no fish but the perch could live with them : the perch on 
 account of the thorny fins on its back, escapes the pike's voracious 
 appetite. She farther informed me, that the jacks in her pond 
 were the finest in the world, as I would see at dinner, and the 
 reason of it was owing to the high feeding she took care they had 
 every day ; beside the entrails of what fowl and sheep her people 
 killed for her table and themselves, the pike had blood and bran 
 mixed in plenty, and all the frogs she could get from a neighbour- 
 ing fen ; for of them the jacks are most fond. This made the fish 
 extraordinary ; and as the water was current through the pond, 
 and the bottom of various depths from one to six feet, that the 
 spawn may have shallow water to lie in, and the fry shallow water 
 to swim in, as they both required, this was the reason, that one 
 acre of water in such a manner, produced double the quantity of 
 fish to what a pond of still water and a bottom all of one depth, 
 could have. See, continued Azora, what multitudes there are. 
 They know me, as I feed them myself every day, and tamely come 
 up, cruel tyrants as they are, to get their meat. Here she called 
 ' jack, jack,' and throwing in a basket of unfortunate frogs, it was 
 wonderful to see how those devouring monsters appeared, and 
 voraciously swallowed the poor things. 
 
 Azora was going to proceed to another pond of carp and tench, 
 which she had at the other end of her gardens, and let me know 
 how that was ordered, so as to produce the largest and finest fish : 
 but a bell rung for morning prayers, at ten o'clock, and she im- 
 mediately turned towards a chapel. She asked me if I would 
 attend divine service, and upon my answering, with pleasure, 
 desired me to come on. In the church I saw every soul of the 
 community assembled, and while I chose to sit on one of the 
 benches among the people, at some distance, that I might the 
 better observe every thing done, the ladies ascended by a few steps 
 into a reading desk, and Azora began with great devotion, to pray 
 in the following manner : 
 
 " O Christ, our blessed mediator, pray for us that our faith fail 
 not, and through thy merits and intercession. Lord Jesus, let our 
 prayer be set forth in the sight of Almighty God as incense, and 
 the Ufting up of our hands as a morning sacrifice. 
 
 " Almighty and everlasting God, thou pure and infinite Spirit, 
 who art the great cause and author of nature, and hast established 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. H3 
 
 the world by thy wisdom, and stretched out the heavens by thy 
 discretion ; upon whom depends the existence of all things, and 
 by whose providence we have been preserved to this moment, and 
 enjoyed many blessings and undeserved advantages ; graciously 
 accept, we beseech thee, our grateful sense and acknowledgements 
 of all thy beneficence towards us ; accept, O Lord, our most hearty 
 and unfeigned thanks for all the instances of thy favour which we 
 have experienced ; that we have the use of our reason and under- 
 standing, in which many fail, and have had refreshing sleep and 
 quiet the past night ; for delivering us from evil, and giving us our 
 daily bread ; for aU the necessaries, conveniencies, and comforts, 
 which thy liberal hand hast provided for us, to sweeten human Uf e, 
 and render it more agreeable than otherwise it could be in this day 
 of our exercise, probation and trial. While we live, we will praise 
 and magnify thy awful name, and join in ascribing, with the glori- 
 ous and innumerable heavenly host, honour, power, and thanks- 
 giving to the eternal God, who sits on the throne of supremacy 
 unrivalled in majesty and power. 
 
 " But especially, O great and blessed God, adored be thy good- 
 ness for so loving the world, as to give thy only begotten Son, to 
 the end, that all who beUeve in him, should not perish, but have 
 everlasting life ; for his humbhng himself even to the death upon 
 the cross, and shedding his blood for the remission of our sins. 
 Great and marvellous are thy works of mercy, O Lord God, Al- 
 mighty ! who can utter all thy praise ? Praise our God, all ye his 
 servants, and ye that fear him, small and great. Amen ; 
 allelujah. Blessing and honour, and glory, and power be unto 
 him that sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb for ever and 
 ever. 
 
 " O God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us 
 dust and sin, weakness and imperfection, and enter not into strict 
 judgment with us, thine unrighteous and unworthy servants. We 
 confess, with shame and grief, that we have violated thine holy 
 laws, and abused thy tender mercies : that we have followed too 
 much the devices and desires of our own hearts, and in numberless 
 instances have offended against a most righteous governor, a most 
 tender and compassionate Father, and a most kind and bounteous 
 benefactor. In thought, word, and deed, many have been our 
 offences ; and many are still our imperfections. We have sinned 
 against Heaven, and before thee, and have thereby deserved thy 
 just displeasure. But our hope and confidence is in thine infinite 
 mercy, O God, and that according to thy promises declared unto 
 mankind in Christ Jesus, our Lord, thou wilt spare them who con- 
 fess their faults, and restore them that are penitent. We do 
 earnestly repent, and are heartily sorry for all our misdoings. 
 Through faith we offer up the Lamb that was slain to the eternal 
 God for the redemption of our souls ; believing the worthiness of 
 
114 THE LIFE OF 
 
 our Lord Jesus Christ to be a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice> 
 oblation and atonement for the sins of a repenting world, and 
 therefore resolving, with all our strength, to imitate his spotless 
 virtue, and perfect obedience. Pardon us, then, we beseech thee, 
 and blot out our iniquities. Deliver us, we pray, in the name of 
 the Lord Jesus, from the evil consequences of all our transgressions 
 and follies, and give us such powers and dispositions as will carry 
 us innocently and safely through all future trials. 
 
 " Create in us, O God, pure hearts, and renew right spirits 
 within us. Cast thy bright beams of light upon our souls, and 
 irradiate our understandings with the rays of that wisdom which 
 sitteth on the right hand of thy throne. Let thy holy spirit 
 enable us to act up to the dignity of our reasonable nature, and 
 suitably to the high character, and glorious hopes of Christians ; 
 that we may subordinate the affairs and transactions of time to 
 serve the interests of our souls in eternity ; that we may shake 
 off this vain world, and breathe after immortaUty and glory ; 
 that we may hve in perfect reconciUation with the law of ever- 
 lasting righteousness, truth, and goodness ; and so comply with 
 thy nature, mind, and will, O eternal and sovereign spirit, thou 
 God most wonderful in all perfections, that we may fully answer 
 the relation we stand in to thee. ReUeve and ease our consciences 
 O blessed Lord, by the blood of sprinkling, according to our several 
 conditions of body and mind ; and supply us with suitable grace 
 and strength. 
 
 " We beseech thee, in the next place. Almighty Lord, to take 
 us into thy protection this day, and suffer no being to injure us, 
 no misfortune to befal us, nor us to hurt ourselves by any error 
 or misconduct of our own. Give us, O God, a clear conception 
 of things, and in all dangers and distresses, stretch forth the right 
 hand of thy majesty to help and defend us. From sickness and 
 pain, and from all evil and mischief, good Lord deliver us this 
 day, and be propitious unto us, we beseech thee. 
 
 " And while we remain in this world, O Father, Lord of heaven 
 and earth, secure^'us from everjrthing that is terrible and hurtful, 
 and keep us in peace and safety. From all sad accidents and 
 calamitous events, from all tormenting pains and grievous 
 diseases, good Lord deliver us ; and bless us with so much health 
 and prosperity, as will enable us to pass our time here in con- 
 tentment and tranquility. 
 
 " And when the time of our dissolution shall come, by the 
 appointment of thy adorable wisdom, O Father of mercies and 
 the God of all comforts, grant us a decent and happy exit ; 
 without distraction of mind or torments of body : let thy servants 
 depart in peace, and suddenly die in the Lord. 
 
 " We pray, likewise, for the happiness of all mankind : that 
 they may all know, and obey, and worship thee, O Father, in 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. iiS 
 
 spirit and in truth, and that all who name the name of Christ , 
 may depart from iniquity, and live as becomes his holy gospel. 
 We beseech thee to help and comfort all who are in danger, 
 necessity, sickness, and tribulation : that it may please thee to 
 sanctify their afflictions, and in thy good time to deliver them out 
 of all their distresses. If we have any enemies, O Lord forgive 
 them, and turn their hearts. 
 
 " Our father, etc." 
 
 When this extraordinary prayer was done, which was prayed 
 with a very uncommon devotion, such as I never had seen before ; 
 they all stood up, and Azora said, " Let us sing the nineteenth 
 psalm to the praise and glory of the most high God," and immedi- 
 ately raised it. Then all the people joined, and a psalm was 
 sung to perfection indeed. Azora and Antonia had delightful 
 voices, and as they understood music very well, they had taught 
 this congregation so much church harmony, as enabled them to 
 perform beyond anything I have ever heard in any assembly of 
 people. The whole scene was a strange and pleasing thing. 
 They met again at four in the afternoon ; and this is the work of 
 their every day. At ten and four they go to prayers, and after 
 it sing a psalm ; concluding always in the following way. " May 
 the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ procure us the love of God, 
 that the Almighty Father of the universe may bless us with the 
 heavenly assistance of the Holy Ghost." 
 
 As to the evening-office of devotion at this place, it weis, 
 exclusive of the first address, and the concluding Lord's Prayer, 
 quite different from that of the morning ; and because some 
 readers may be pleased with a sight of another of Azora's religious 
 compositions, I here set it down. 
 
 " O Christ, our blessed mediator, pray for us, that our faith 
 fail not, and through thy merits and intercession. Lord Jesus, 
 let our prayer be set forth in the sight of Almighty God as incense, 
 and the lifting up of our hands as an evening-sacrifice. 
 
 " O God, who art the Father and Lord of all beings, and the 
 eternal and inexhaustible fountain of mercy, we beseech thee 
 to be merciful unto us, and to blot out all our transgressions 
 for we truly repent of our wilful imperfections, our failings and 
 neglects, in every instance of thy law, and our duty : and through 
 faith we offer up to thee the lamb that was slain for the redemp- 
 tion of our souls : beheving the worthiness of our Lord Jesus to 
 be a fuU, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation and atonement 
 for the sins of a repenting world, and therefore resolving, with 
 all our strength, to imitate his spotless virtue and perfect 
 obedience. 
 
 " Remember not, then, O Lord, our iniquities, neither take 
 thou vengeance for our sins ; but as we sincerely believe thy 
 holy gospel, and are truly penitent, as we entirely and willingly 
 
ii6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 forgive all, who have, in any instance or in any degree, offended, 
 or injured us, and are truly disposed and ready to make all pos- 
 sible reparation, if we have injured any one, have mercy upon 
 us miserable sinners, and as thou hast promised by thy Son, 
 pardon and forgive us all our sins, and restore us again to thy 
 favour. Hear in heaven, thy dweUing place, and when thou 
 hearest, accept us to thy mercy. O spare us whom thou hast 
 redeemed by thy Son's most precious blood, and make' us par- 
 takers of that salvation which thou hast appointed in Clurist 
 Jesus our Lord, and our souls shall bless thee to eternity. 
 
 " And that we may no more offend thee, or transgress the rule 
 of virtue or true religion, b^t may hereafter truly please thee 
 both in will and deed, and faithfully observe the right statutes, 
 and all thy precepts, endue us, O Lord with the grace of thy holy 
 spirit, that we may amend our lives according to thy holy word. 
 Vouchsafe we beseech thee, to direct, sanctify and govern both 
 our hearts and bodies in the ways of thy laws, and in the works 
 of thy commandments ; and so teach us to number our days 
 that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom, and mind those 
 things which are in conjunction with our everlasting welfare. 
 O let us be always under thy communication and influence, and 
 give that light to our minds, that life to our souls that will raise 
 us to a nearer resemblance of thee, and enable us to ascend still 
 higher, towards the perfection of our nature. Let us be trans- 
 formed by the working of thy grace and spirit into the image of 
 thy Son. Conform us to his hkeness, O blessed God, and make 
 us, body and soul, an habitation for thyself ; that in our hearts 
 we may continually offer up to thee, holy, sublime, and spiritual 
 sacrifices. 
 
 " From all evil and mischief, good God deliver us, and defend 
 us we beseech thee, from everything terrible and hurtful. Take 
 us under thy protection the remaining part of this day, and grant 
 us a night of peace, through Jesus Christ our Lord. 
 
 " And forasmuch as our earthly house of this tabernacle shall 
 be dissolved, and that in a few years at farthest, it may be in a 
 few minutes, we must descend to the bed of darkness, and acknow- 
 ledge corruption to be our father, and the worms our sister and 
 mother, grant, O everlasting God, that we may depart in peace, 
 and by an improved principle of divine Ufe, under the influence 
 of the gospel be translated to that eternal world, where God 
 dwells, where Christ Uves, and sanctified souls enjoy endless life 
 and the purest pleasures, for evermore. 
 
 " That it may please thee, most gracious and good God, to 
 have mercy on the whole race of mankind, and to bless them with 
 all things pertaining to life and godliness : let the light of thy 
 glorious gospel shine upon the nations darkened by superstition, 
 that they may worship thee who art God from everlasting to 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 117 
 
 everlasting, and cultivate and establish in their minds the most 
 pure, benevolent, and godlike dispositions. We beseech thee 
 for all Christian churches ; that their behaviour may, by the 
 influence of thy blessed spirit, be suitable to their holy profession, 
 and their conversation upright and unblamable. Where any 
 have departed from the purity and simplicity of the gospel, lead 
 them, O God, to the right practice and knowledge of their holy 
 religion ; and grant that they may feel the comfortable and 
 sanctifying effects of it ; and in their Uvea show forth its praise 
 to others. We farther pray, most merciful Father, for all that 
 are destitute or afflicted, either in body, mind, or estate ; that 
 from Heaven, the habitation of thy glory and goodness, thou 
 would send them relief, and, if it be possible, put an end to their 
 present calamities and troubles. O thou Father of mercies, and 
 God of all consolation, bind up the broken in heart, and comfort 
 those that mourn. We have a real sense of the miseries of the 
 distressed part of mankind, and offer up for them our prayers 
 to thee, through Jesus Christ our Lord." 
 
 A THANKSGIVING. 
 
 " O God, the author of all good, and the fountain of all happi- 
 ness, we offer up our thanksgivings and praises unto thee, for 
 thy great goodness to us, and to all mankind. We praise and 
 magnify thy holy name for all thy mercies ; for our existence, 
 and the use of our reasoning powers and faculties ; for the health 
 and strength we enjoy, and for all the comforts and conveniences 
 of life : for these thy gifts we adore thee, O munificent parent of 
 good, and pray that a deep and efficacious sense of thy goodness 
 may remain upon our hearts, and be a principle of constant and 
 cheerful obedience to thy holy laws. 
 
 " But especially we offer up the ackno\^edgments of our hearts 
 and mouths for all that thy Son Jesus Christ did, and taught, 
 and suffered, in this world, to save us from our sins, and to con- 
 duct us to true and everlasting happiness. We bless thee for the 
 glorious gospel, and for bringing us more effectually, by revelation , 
 to the knowledge of thee, and the practice of our duty. For this 
 merciful appointment, and for all thy mercies, which respect 
 another and a better life than the present ; for every instance of 
 thy tender regard to us, and for the manifold experiences which 
 we have had of thy loving kindness ; we offer up the tribute of 
 unfeigned thanks. Our souls do magnify thee, O Lord God most 
 excellent and good, and all the powers within us praise thy holy 
 name. To thee be glory in the church by Christ Jesus, throughout 
 all ages, world without end. To thee, O thou God of love, be 
 rendered by all beings endued with reason, all honour and obedi- 
 ence, both now, and for ever. 
 
 " Almighty and everlasting God, who has promised to hear 
 
II 8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the petitions of them that pray unto thee in thy Son's name, we 
 beseech thee of thy great mercy, to accept the sacrifice of prayer 
 and praise, which we have this evening offered up to thy divine 
 Majesty ; and for the rehef of our wants, and the manifestation 
 of thy power and glory, grant us those things which we have 
 requested, if thou seest it consistent with our chief and eternal 
 good. In the name of thy Son Jesus Christ, and his disciples, 
 we pray, and in his words conclude the services of this day. 
 " Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, etc." 
 After this, they all stood up, and as in the morning, Azora 
 said, " let us sing to the praise and glory of God the 148th psalm. " 
 She sung the first verse alone, and at the second, they aU joined, 
 and went through the whole in a fine and heavenly manner. 
 Then the service concluded with this benediction. 
 
 THE BENEDICTION. 
 
 " May the God of grace and peace be with us and bless us. 
 May his holy spirit keep us from falling, and preserve us blameless, 
 unto the coming of our I-ord Jesus Christ." 
 
 Thus ended the evening and morning offices of worship at 
 Burcot Lodge, and as I cannot sufficiently praise, so I could not 
 enough admire the religion and piety of this congregation. The 
 purity of their worship was charming : and in the ladies and their 
 people a devotion was manifest, that looked more Uke that of 
 heavenly spirits, than of beings in an animal frame ; who are 
 warped with the customs of the world, and perplexed with 
 difficulties which arise from sensible objects. They appeared 
 in high admiration of God, endeared to his righteous government, 
 devoted to his holy laws, and powerfully drawn to imitate him 
 in all his imitable perfections. Not one idle word, or careless 
 look, did I hear or see»during the whole time of divine service ; 
 but, hke creatures fixed unchangeably in the interest of religion 
 and virtue, and delighted with the joys of piety, their hearts 
 melted in every part of their devotions, and their breasts were 
 filled with the most grateful transporting adorations and affec- 
 tions. So much beautiful rehgion I had not often seen in any 
 assembly. They had a true sense indeed of the love and goodness 
 of God, and of the Grace and charity of Jesus Christ. They had 
 all been carefully instructed by a wise and excellent man, who 
 was not long since removed from them by death ; and his daughter 
 the admirable Azora, in conjunction with his niece, the amiable 
 Antonia, took all possible pains, since the decease of Mr. Burcot, 
 to maintain the power of religion in their community, and keep 
 the people hearty and steady in the principles and practice of 
 it. This brings me again to the history of Azora. 
 
 Azora Burcot was the daughter of a gentleman who was once 
 possessed of a very great fortune, and by a fatal passion for the 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 119 
 
 grand operation, and an opinion of the possibility of finding the 
 philosopher's stone, he wasted immense sums in operations to 
 discover that preparation, which forces the faeces of infused 
 metals to retire immediately on its approach, and so turns the 
 rest of the mass into pure gold ; communicating the malleability 
 and great ductihty of that metal, and giving it true specific 
 gravity, that is, to water, as eighteen and one half is to one. 
 His love of that fine, ancient art, called chymistry, brought him 
 into this misfortune. For improvement and pleasure, he had been 
 long engaged in various experiments, and at last, an adept came 
 to his house, who was a man of great skill in the labours and 
 operations of spagjnrists, and persuaded him it was possible to 
 find the stone ; for he, the adept, had seen it with a brother, 
 who had been so fortunate as to discover it, after much labour 
 and operation. The colour of it was a pale brimstone and trans- 
 parent, and the size of that of a small walnut. He affirmed that 
 he had seen a httle of this scraped into powder, cast into some 
 melted lead, and turn it into the best and finest gold. This had 
 the effect the adept desired, and from chymistry brought Mr. 
 Burcot to alchymy. Heaps of money he wasted in operations 
 of the most noble ehxir by mineral and salt ; but the stone after 
 all he could not find : and then, by the adept's advice, he pro- 
 ceeded in a second method, by maturation, to subtilize, purify, 
 and digest quicksilver, and thereby convert it into gold.* This 
 Ukewise came to nothing, and instead of the gold he expected, 
 he had only heaps of mercury fixed with verdegrease, which gives 
 
 • There is a third way to make gold, to wit, by separation, for every metal contains some 
 quantity of gold ; but the quantity is so small that it bears no porportion to the expense 
 of getting it out : this last way the Spagyrists never attempt ; and as for the two other 
 methods, maturation, and transmuting by the grand elixir, the happy hour will never come, 
 though so many ingenious men have often thought it drawing nigh. To console them for 
 the loss of their fortunes they have had some comfortable moments of reflection, that they 
 have been within some minutes of success, when crack ! all is gone and vanished on a sudden, 
 and they have nothing before theni but cinders and broken crucibles. It is very strange then 
 that a man of Dr. Dickenson's great veracity and skill in chymistry, should affirm the thing 
 was actually done in his presence by an adept ; and the more so, as his friend, the Honourable 
 Robert Boyle, told him the thing was an impossibility. Dickenson's words are, " Nee potui 
 sane quantacunque mihi fuerit opinio de ista re, quin aliquoties animi penderem donee illustris 
 ea demonstratio quam vestra excellentia, bicnnio jam elapso, coram exhibuit, omnem ansam 
 dubitandi mihi prsecidisset." And again " Plaucit dominationi vestrae claro experimento 
 ante oculos facto animum meum ad opus accendere atque ; etiam quaestionum mearum 
 solutiones, quantum licerat, promittere." Vide Epistola ad Theod. Mundanum Phihsophum 
 Adeptutn, de Qumtessentia Philosophorum, de Vera Physiologia, &c. Oxon, 1686. This is very 
 surprising ; and the more so, as the greatest watchings and closest application, in searching 
 after the stone, are all in vain, unless the stars shed a propitious influence on the labours of 
 the Spagyrist : the work must be begun and advance in proper planetary hours, and depends 
 as much on judicial astrology, as on Are, camphire, salt, labour and patience : but judicial 
 astrology is no science. It is a mere farce. I must conclude then, that the hands of Mun- 
 danus the adept, were too quick for the doctor's eyes, and he deceived him by legerdemain: 
 that all the books on the subject are fraudulent descriptions to deceive the crediuous ; and 
 what Mundanus told Dickenson of Sir George Ripley, canon of Bridlington, in Yorkshire 
 in the reign of Edward the Fourth, and of Raymund Lully, was mere invention. He'affirmed 
 that Ripley sent the knights of Rhodes an hundred thousand pounds to support them in their 
 wars against the Turks : and that Lully assisted Edward I. king of England, with six millions 
 of gold, towards carrying on the Crusade. This piece of secret history he assures us he found 
 in an ancient manuscript of indisputable authority, quod inculpates fidd registris innotescit ; 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 it a yellow tinge, and more deeply coloured with turmeric. Gold 
 it seemed, but, on trial in the coppel, it flew away in fumes and 
 the adept made off. Too late this good and learned man saw 
 he had been imposed on, and that the Spagyrists are in reality 
 what Dr. Dicjcenson calls them, Enigmatistinubivagi.* 
 
 Chymistry, reader, is a fine and ancient art. The analysing 
 of sensible bodies by fire, to discover their real powers and virtues, 
 is highly praiseworthy, and the surprising experiments we make, 
 fill the mind of an inquirer after truth with the greatest veneration 
 for the wonderful author of nature ; but more than this, is a sad 
 romance that ends in empty pockets. Never think then of The 
 Hetmetical Banquet^ Glauber's Golden Ass, or the Philosopher's 
 Magical Gold.'f By the law of honest industry, endeavour to be 
 rich if you can, for this sole reason, that it is more blessed to give 
 than to receive ; and if that Ues not within your capacity, or 
 means, be content with peace and little. There is more true 
 happiness in daily bread, and the possession of the divine and 
 social virtues, than in tons of gold without holiness and a strong 
 attachment to virtue. 
 
 When Mr. Burcot found he had almost ruined himself, and 
 that he was no longer able to Uve as he had done, he laid his 
 melancholy case before his daughter Azora, and asked her advice, 
 what he should do ? Her counsel was, to retire immediately to 
 this part of Stanemore, which was an unvalued part of his estate, 
 and bring as many of his tenants as he could persuade to inhabit 
 
 a manuscript that no one ever saw except Mundanus himself ; penes me indeed, it was to he 
 found only in his own head. 
 
 Ripley is in great repute among the adepts to this day, and his famous unintelligible and 
 mysterious book is called A Cofnpound of Alchymie conteyning Twelve Gates. He inscribed 
 the manuscript to Edward IV. but the editor dedicated it to Queen Elizabeth, affirming 
 that it contained the right method of making the philosopher's stone and aurum potahile . 
 Lully was a very learned man for the latter end of the thirteenth century, and wrote several 
 books in Latin ; GeneraXa ArHum Libri. Libri Logicales, Philosophici et Metaphisici : 
 Variarum Artium Libri : Libri Spirituales Pradicabiles, and the Vade Mecum Lullii : which 
 treats more particularly on the Philosopher's Stone. 
 
 • Life of Edmund Dickenson, M.D. Physician in Ordinary io Charles II., and James II. by 
 William Nicolas Blomherg, 1739, 8vo. p. 135. From this work, the whole that has here 
 been advanced respecting Alchym>[, is extracted, pp. 87-139. 
 
 t As to the aurum potabile mentioned by Ripley, which was then and long after esteemed 
 a panacea, or universal medicine, it is now a question if there can be a tincture of gold ; for 
 if it be only a division of the lests, or minims of gold, hy the spicula of aqua regia, and these 
 minims thrown into oil of rosemary where the^ swim, it is no radical tincture of gold, and 
 the sole virtue lies in the oil of rosemary. The oil may be evaporated ; the gold dust remains ; 
 and that by melting is reduced to a lump of gold again. This I have experimented. But 
 the alchymists say, gold may be reduced into a gum of substance like honey, without any 
 corrosive, and that gum steeped in spirit of wine acquires a ruby colour. An ounce of this 
 is to be mixed with sixteen ounces of another liquor, and we have aurum polabile ; sovereign 
 in all distempers. This seems to me to be a second part of the romance. The making of 
 this golden gum is a secret we can no more come at than the philosopher's stone. The adepts 
 however assert it, and assure us, that Ajoses could make aurum potabile, as is evident from 
 his pulverising the golden calf, and giving it to the children of Israel to drink. This great 
 man, who wrote 540 yesurs before Homer : 200 before Sanchoniatho ; and 330 before the 
 Trojan war, was, as they inform us, an adept. 
 
 [The story of " pulverising the golden calf," a rabbinical impertinence, which Calmet in 
 his Commentate Literal sur I'Exode, ch. xxxii. ver. 20. owns himself ashamed to mention, 
 as well as the probability, that Moses was an adept, has met with a full investigation in the 
 Life of Edmund Dickensont noticed ut supra, pp. 162-171. Ed.] 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 
 
 this fine tract of land ; to sell what remained of his fortune, and 
 with the money procure as many of the necessaries or comforts 
 of living as could be had, to get in particular some young trades- 
 men and their wives by offered rewards in this place ; to build 
 cottages for the people ; and render the fine caverns in the rock 
 as habitable and pleasing for themselves as art could render 
 them. " Here," said Azora, " we shall hve more happy than 
 we could do, if still possessed of a fortune to make an appearance 
 in the world. We shall enjoy by industry and prudence every 
 good thing that rational Ufe can require, and live secured from 
 the strokes of fortune, and the world's contempt. Strangers to 
 vanity and the pleasures of high Ufe, in this delightful retreat, 
 we shall pass our happy days as in a region of goodness, know- 
 ledge, and joy ; ahd the predominant bent of our hearts will be 
 to wisdom, and virtue, and to ascend into the realms of perfect 
 day." " Happy advice," the father of Azora said, and the thing 
 was immediately done. A colony was quickly estabhshed here, 
 and everything was settled and ordered in the most advantageous 
 manner. Cattle, instruments, and grain to sow the land were 
 sent in ; clothes and every material the Uttle republic could want 
 were provided, and every hand was as useful as we could wish. 
 " For four years," Azora continued to inform me, " we lived 
 in peace and tranquilUty, and never once regretted the loss of 
 our fortunes. We were happier far than when we had thousands. 
 Industry, knowledge, and religion, were our employment. The 
 night to come of pain and death gave us no uneasiness. We 
 lived as the Christians of the first two centuries, and rather longed 
 for than feared that event, which is to remove us to growing 
 brightness for ever and ever. But a fever came in among us and 
 swept away my father, and every man of our httle repubhc, 
 several women likewise, perished ; but a hundred souls remained. 
 Ninety-eight women, besides Antonia and Azora. These loved 
 me too well," she continued, " to abandon me ; and as they were 
 happily situated, and many of them had learned their husbands 
 trades, they agreed and swore to spend their hves with me here 
 and be as serviceable as possible, without admitting any men to 
 live among us. They are so in the highest degree : they are all 
 useful and pious as I could wish them, and under the heavens 
 there is not a happier society of mortals. We have the best of 
 everything : all we want, and in reason could wish for." 
 
 Here Azora ended her relation, and I wondered greatly at 
 what I heard ; nor did my admiration lessen when I saw how she 
 governed this community, and they employed their time. Her 
 great understanding enlightened and directed them, in the 
 execution of everything serviceable and ingenious ; and she hved 
 before their eyes an example of the greatest industry, and the 
 most exalted piety. They, on the other hand, were as useful 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 and religious as possible, and so heartily and faithfully discharged 
 social duties, in every instance, that they seemed as one great 
 capacity and power at work, to promote every convenience and 
 good. Some of them, as I have said, were at work in the gardens : 
 others in the fields : various trades and occupations were going 
 on within doors and without, and all were employed in ways that 
 best subserved the general welfare. In their behaviour, there 
 was nothing wild, insolent, or arch, to be seen : no swellings of 
 vanity and pride : no passion to disobhge : no intention to offend : 
 but, every one, discreet and calm ; good-humoured, and very 
 civil ; worthily sustaining their various relations, and each atten- 
 tive to her own incumbent duty. Their labours were but a 
 diversion to them, and they lived in tranquillity and plenty. 
 Their clothing was coarse, but very good, clean, and handsome. 
 There was not one ragged or dirty person among them ; nor any 
 with bad shoes and stockings. In all respects they seemed a 
 most happy community. Azora studied, to the utmost degree, 
 the advantage and happiness of these people : and they, in return, 
 made their duty a vigorous and cheerful service. Most of the 
 conveniences and comforts of hfe they had within their own bttle 
 territory ; flesh and fish, mutton, kid, and venison ; corn for 
 bread, every vegetable ; malt-drink, meath, and cyder ; all in 
 great plenty, and most excellent ; wool and flax for clothing ; 
 good candles ; and wood enough for firing. What things they 
 wanted two of them rode for to the nearest town, and not only 
 purchased such goods with the money they got by sale of several 
 commodities, especially knit thread stockings and gloves ; but 
 always at such times brought in some cash to their mistress, 
 and she gave part of it among the people, to buy them Uttle 
 things they fancied. 
 
 As to the ten young women I mentioned, who walked after 
 Azora when first I saw her, they were the daughters of some 
 widows in this little repubhc, and by her chosen, not only to be 
 her attendants and upper servants, and to look after her dairy, 
 her bees, her poultry, and her aviary ; which was the finest I have 
 ever seen, for the variety of birds, and as it was turfed, to avoid 
 the appearance of foulness on the floor, and so large as to give the 
 birds some freedom of flight ; but, on account of their good 
 understanding, in which they far excelled their fellows. These 
 girls were carefully instructed by Azora and Antonia, and beside 
 being taught the fine works of the needle, learned music, and the 
 elements of the mathematics from the ladies. The eldest of 
 these girls was but twenty, and the youngest eighteen, and they 
 all surprised me very greatly with their quickness in answering 
 very hard arithmetical questions. They could not only add, 
 subtract, multiply, divide, find a fourth proportional, and extract 
 roots of every kind with exactness and readiness, and apply 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 123 
 
 them upon all common occasions ; but were perfect in fractions 
 vulgar and decimal. They had even gone as far in algebra as 
 the resolution of simple equations. 
 
 Finding them one morning at figures, I asked the youngest of 
 them, what was the number, that f of it with 4 over, amounted 
 
 to the same as -?- of it with 9 over ? She immediately translated 
 
 the question from common language into algebra — + 4 = - — 
 
 3 12 
 
 +9 : and quickly discovered the unknown quantity ;v to be ;ir =60 : 
 
 Then she took it in synthetically, | of 60 = 40 + 4 = 44 : — of 
 
 60 =35 +9 =44. — (Synthetically is tracing property from number : 
 — Analytically is tracing number from property). This made 
 me wonder very greatly. I asked another of them, if she bought 
 20 loaves for 16 pence, aU of them twopenny, penny, and farthing 
 ones — how many would she have of each ? She answered 5 
 twopenny loaves, 3 penny ones, and 12 farthing loaves ; for the 
 equations were ;i;+j'+^=20 and Sx +4y=z=64. From whence 
 
 by subtraction, 7.* +33/ =44, and of consequence, y =11 — I — 
 = 14 - 2;ir + 
 
 3 
 
 I asked a third, how many ways she could pay 20I. in pistoles, 
 guineas, and moidores, at 17s., 21s. and 275. the pistole, the 
 guinea, and the moidore ?. She repUed in a very httle time, 
 9 ways, to wit, 1 1 pistoles, 5 guineas, and 4 moidores — 8 pistoles, 
 I guinea, 9 moidores — 8 pistoles, 10 guineas, 2 moidores — 17 
 pistoles, 4 guineas, i moidore — 2 pistoles, 2 guineas, 12 moidores 
 — 2 pistoles, II guineas, 5 moidores — 5 pistoles, 6 guineas, 7 
 moidores — 5, 15, o — and 14 pistoles, o guineas, 6 moidores. 
 This was a hard operation. 
 
 I asked another of these young women, if her lady gave her 
 
 297 guineas and 339 pistoles, to pay 6 men a hundred pounds 
 
 apiece in guineas and pistoles only, as was agreed, how could she 
 
 contrive to pay them, and dispatch the thing ? I will tell you, 
 
 sir, she answered, very soon, x represents my guineas, and y 
 
 _ ■ i 1 J i: 2000 -i7y 
 my pistoles, and 21;); + i7y = 2,000, of consequence, x = '-^ 
 
 = 95 +iJliZZ , etc. and quickly discovered, that the first man 
 
 21 
 should have 92 guineas and 4 pistoles: — the second man, 75 guineas 
 and 25 pistoles : — the third, 58 guineas, 45 pistoles : — the fourth, 
 41 guineas and 67 pistoles : — the fifth, 24 guineas and 88 pistoles : 
 — and the sixth man, 7 guineas and 109 pistoles. This was 
 admirable. But is there no other way, I said, of paying 100/ in 
 
124 THE LIFE OF 
 
 guineas and pistoles, besides the six ways you have mentioned ? 
 There is no other way, the fine girl answered. If a seventh man 
 was to be paid lool. in these two kinds of money, he must be 
 paid in one of these six methods. This was true. I was charmed 
 with what I heard. 
 
 While I was thus engaged with the maids, Azora and Antonia 
 came into the room, and finding how I had been employed, they 
 began to talk of problems, theorems, and equations, and soon 
 convinced me, that I was not superior to them in this kind of 
 knowledge ; though I had studied it for a much longer time, and 
 had taken more pains than ever they did. Their fine under- 
 standings saw at once the things that made me sweat many an 
 hour, and in less time than I required for an operation, they could 
 answer the most difficult questions; and do anything in simple 
 quadratic equations, and in the composition and resolution of 
 ratios. This I thought very wonderful ; especially as they had 
 been taught no longer than one year by Mr. Burcot ; and that 
 they had acquired the most abtruse part of their knowledge by 
 their own application. I note the thing down as one of the 
 strangest and most extraordinary cases that ever came in my 
 way : perhaps, that ever was heard. It is such a specimen of 
 female understanding, as must for ever knock up the positive 
 assertions of some learned men, who will not allow that women 
 have as strong reasoning heads as the men. 
 
 By the way, I observe, exclusive of these two ladies that I have 
 seen many of the sex who were distinguished for accuracy and 
 comprehensiveness, not only in the science, where known and 
 required quantities are denoted by letters, but in other fine parts 
 of learning. I have little right to pretend to anything extra- 
 ordinary in understanding, as my geiiius is slow, and such is 
 common in the lower classes of men of letters ; yet, my appUcation 
 has been very great : my whole life has been spent in reading 
 and thinking : and, nevertheless, I have met with many women, 
 in my time, who, with very little reading have been too hard for 
 me on several subjects. In justice, I declare this ; and am very 
 certain from what I have heard numbers of them say, and seen 
 some of them write, that if they had the laboured education the 
 men have, and applied to books with all possible attention for 
 as many years as we do ; there would be found among them as 
 great divines as Episcopius, Limborch, Whichcote, Barrow, 
 Tillotson, and Clarke ; and as great mathematicians, as M'Laurin, 
 §aunderson, and Simpson. The critics may laugh at this asser- 
 tion, I know they will : and, if they please, they may doubt my 
 veracity as to what I relate of the two ladies, and the ten young 
 women, in Burcot-Hamlet ; but what I say is true notwith- 
 standing. Facts are things too stubborn to be destroyed by 
 laughing and doubting. 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 125 
 
 As to the ladies I have mentioned, they both did wonders in 
 specious arithmetic ; but Azora was the brightest of the two, and 
 in pure algebra, had gone much farther than Antonia. With 
 wonder I beheld her, while she answered the most difficult ques- 
 tions as fast as fingers could move ; and in the solution of cubics, 
 and the resolution of equations, both according to Des Cartes, 
 laborious method, and the better universal way, by converging 
 series, work with a celerity and truth beyond what I have ever 
 seen any man do. Nor was it only algebra independent of 
 geometry that she understood. She could apply its reasoning 
 to geometrical figures, and describe the loci of any equations by 
 the mechanical motion of angles and hnes. She was in this 
 respect the greatest prodigy I ever saw. 
 
 But it was not on account of this excellence that I so much 
 admired Azora, and honour her memory so greatly as I do ; nor 
 because she talked so excellently on various subjects, as I have 
 related ; but, for her knowledge of the truths of Christianity, and 
 the habits of goodness she had wrought into her soul ; for the 
 care she took of the people under her government, by communi- 
 cating every fehcity in her power, to their bodies and minds ; 
 and the pure religion of Christ Jesus, which she pubhcly main- 
 tained, in all the beauty of hoUness and, in a just fervour of 
 practice. She was herself, in her manners and piety, a fine copy 
 of those blessed women who conversed with our Lord and his 
 apostles : and her society, in innocence and goodness, in useful- 
 ness and devotion, seemed an epitome of the first Christian 
 church at Jerusalem. Under a just impression of the most 
 heavenly principles they all Uved, and strictly regarded their 
 several offices. As the gospel directs, they worshipped a first 
 cause, the Deity, as the disciples of the Christ of God, our holy 
 mediator ; and the authority of a being of infinite wisdom, and 
 unchangeable rectitude of nature, had made such an impression 
 upon their minds, that they laboured continually to acquire 
 that consecration and sanctity of heart and manners, which our 
 divine religion requires. Excellent community ! happy would 
 Europe be, if all her states were like this people. A false reUgion 
 would not then prevail ; nor would superstition be the idol to 
 which the world bows down. The evils, which now dishonour 
 human nature, and infest society, would not be seen among us ; 
 nor those excesses of passion be known, which are the parent of 
 discord and calamity, and render this lower world one scene of 
 sin and sorrow : but, as revelation inculcates, as reason suggests, 
 mankind would worship the Almighty Principle, the One God, 
 the Only True God, with a worship suitable to the nature of a 
 Being, who is not confined to, or dependent upon, particular 
 places and circumstances, who is always, and everywhere present 
 with us ; and hke the ministers attending on the glorious throne 
 
126 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of the Monarch of the world, they would, according to our measure, 
 be pure, benevolent mortals, and as perfect in goodness, as men 
 can be within the degree and limit of their nature. In a word, 
 the supreme Father of all things would then be the God of all 
 Christians ; and in doing his will, in imitating his perfections, 
 and in practising everything recommended by the great and 
 universal law of reason, that law which God sent our I^ord to 
 revive and enforce ; they would find the greatest pleasure. Such 
 were the people of Burcot-Hamlet. Azora and Antonia were 
 indeed most glorious women.* 
 
 • Azora Burcot died in 1732, six years after I left them, but Antonia Fletcher was 
 [1756] living in the same happy situation ; and by advising the young women to marry 
 some young men of those mountains, has made an alteration in the community for the better, 
 and encreased the number of her people. The settlement is now like to continue, and they 
 find many advantages from havmg men among them. The rising generation thereby 
 acquired, now proves a blessing to the first colony, whom years have rendered much weaker 
 and dependent than when I first saw them. Azora, a little before she died, did mtend to 
 get in a recruit of female children for the support of the society : but Antonia judged it 
 was much better to let the young girls of the community get honest youUis for their spouses ; 
 for, by this means, they can never want young people to assist and comfort them, and to 
 encrease and perpetuate their happy republic. For these reasons, she sent for some young 
 men to several neighbouring villages in Richmondshire, to make several things wanting 
 and to dig, and work in the gardens, for so much by the year certain ; and as they were 
 smitten with the clean, civil girls of Burcot-Hamlet, several marriages soon ensued, and 
 infants were produced before the twelve months had expired. More than half of the twenty 
 women that married, had twins the first year, and all of them had strong healthy children. 
 The ten extraordinary girls I mentioned, got very good husbands, and as Antonia was 
 particularly kind to them on their marrying, and gave to all the wedded folks great encourage- 
 ment in profitable gardens and houses, grUm and cattle, they and their spouses became rather 
 more dutiful and useful to their mistress and ruler than otherwise, and in gratitude, and for 
 the sake of their children, did their best to please Mrs. Fletcher, and encrease the common 
 fehcity. In this condition I found them on my second arrival at Burcot-Hamlet. liiey 
 were a fiourishing village, and a most happy people. My second visit was in i739» fourteen 
 years after the first ; and 1 saw them a Uiird time in 1752. They were then all well, and 
 enjoyed every comfort of life that can proceed from good and useful manners. Mrs. Fletcher, 
 though now in years, has no sign of age in her constitution, and still leads a most active and 
 pious life. She is a subaltern providence to them, and witli the tenderest care, makes it the 
 labour of her every day to secure and advance the temporal and eternal interest of the people : 
 but their souls are her main care. She performs to them divine service twice every day, as 
 good Azora was wont to do. She reads the best sermons to the aged, and constantly catechises 
 the young ones. She is a blessed woman. 
 
 By the way, reader, I must observe to you, that in travelling over that part of Richmond- 
 shire, which is called Stanemore, I found several small villages, that are not mentioned in 
 Camden, or the Britannia Antiqua et Nova, or in England's Gazetteer : and though not so pretty 
 and happy as Burcot in the northern end of the fells of Westmoreland ; yet in tolerabfe 
 condition, and remarkable on account of several things and people ; though tney live entirely 
 on what their spot affords, and have little communication with their countrymen beyond 
 the mountains that separate the inhabitants of Stanemore from the rest 01 England. I 
 took notice, in particular, that although those poor remote people had not faculties adapted 
 to large measures of knowledge, nor have ministers to teach them, or churches to pray in ; 
 yet they were not alienated from the taste and feelings of humanity, nor strangers to the 
 momentous principles of true Christianity. They had the Bible, and could read it. They 
 instructed their children in virtue and religion, and lived themselves as the intelligent subjects 
 of an Almighty Governor ; in a firm belief that God will distinguish the virtue and the 
 offence of mankind hereafter, by suitable tokens of his favour, or displeasure. All this I 
 saw in several villages of Stanemore-mountains. I lived for some time among the poor 
 people : and I mention their case here, that you may have the less reason to imagine there 
 is anything incredible in my account of the extraordmary state of Burcot-Hamlet. 
 
 As to the Stanemore-part of Richmondshire, Camden, and the authors of the other 
 BritantUa, and the tourmen, &c. never so much as saw this country at a distance, X am 
 very sure. The very little they say of it is false and ridiculous, Camden places Bows before 
 Gretabridge. He says, in this desolate and soUtary, this mountainous and vast tract called 
 Stanemore, there is but one inn in the middle of it for the entertainment of travellers, whereas, 
 in truth, there is no inn at all in what is properly called Stanemore : the inn Camden speaks 01 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ, 127 
 
 The 1 8th of June, 1725, I took my leave of Mrs. Burcot and 
 Mrs. Fletcher, for so they would be called, as they informed 
 me, after I had once used the word Miss ; and from this fine place, 
 proceeded on my journey, by a paper of written directions I had 
 received from them : as there was a pretty good, though a long 
 and tedious way out of the mountains, if a traveller knew the 
 passes and turnings ; but otherwise, it was either impossible to 
 go on ; or a man must journey at the hazard of his life a thousand 
 times a day, in crossing waters and precipices. 
 
 Our first labour was to ascend a very narrow steep way in the 
 side of a mountain, which went up due north for a full mile, and 
 brought us to another large, standing, black and unfathomable 
 
 is the Bell I mentioned before, where I breakfasted with Miss Melmoth ; aad lies on the left 
 side of a fine turnpike road from Bows to Brugh, in Westmorland, the high-way to Carlisle ; 
 but though this road is a part of Stanemore, running in a direct line from Gretabridge through 
 Bows to Brugh, eighteen miles of delightful ground, both on account of the excellence of the 
 way, and the fine views of mountains and vales on either hand, for twelve miles, from a beau- 
 tiful ruin of a Roman castle at the end of the town,* yet this is but the southern beginning 
 of Stanemore. That vast tract of mountains, glens, and valleys, forest, rock, and water, 
 the most wonderful land in the world, for forty miles to the end of the country^ if it was 
 possible tQ go sti'aight on, hes on the right hand of this road, as you ride to Brugh under 
 Stanemore ; or, on your left, as you come from Westmoreland to Catarracton or Catarrick. 
 Here, by the way, let me tell you. Reader, lives Ralph Hawkwell, who keeps an excellent 
 house, where you may get choice things, after a ride of twenty two miles, if you come from 
 Boroughbridge to go to the north ; or of fifteen miles, if from Greta-bridge, for the south ; 
 provided you have the rem ; and if you have not, though you were an apostle of a man 
 Ralph would have very little regard for you. Indeed, every where in the north, where the 
 best of things are to be had, I have always found travelling there as acpensive as near London. 
 Many I know give a different account, but the reason is, either they never were there ; or 
 they travel in a pilgrim-like manner. You must take care, then, to have money enough, 
 if ever you undertake the northern expedition I have frequently gone upon : and as it is not 
 safe carrying much cash with you, for there are rogues in that part of the world, as well as 
 in this ; they rob even on Stanemore road ; and in riding over the great moor that lies 
 between Brugh and Appleby, there is a little ale-house to be seen at a good distance, on the 
 right hand, at the entrance of a wood, at the bottom of a range of vast fells, where highwaymen 
 sometimes resort ; I was pursued by two of them, not long ago, and to the excellence of my 
 horse, owed the saving of my purse, and perhaps my life • they were well mounted, but I 
 kept an hundred yards ahead of them for several miles, while, as fast as they coidd stretch 
 away, they chased me till near the town of Brugh. I was all alone, my feUow having received 
 a mischief, and being obliged to stay a day behmd ; and the rogues md swear and hoot most 
 horribly, and fired three shots at me ; but my horse was as good as ever spaSked it along, 
 and I cut him up, and pricked him over the turf, like the wind away. I say, then, as it is 
 not safe travelling with all the money necessary for such a long journey, the best way is, 
 when cash runs low, to lie by to rest for a week, and put your notes in order, in some town 
 and by one of the dealers, or manufacturers of the place, draw on your friend, or goldsmith 
 In London, for what you want, and by the return of the post, you will be paid the money 
 where ^ou are. In this manner I did, when I was last at Richmond, in the north-riding of 
 Yorkshire. Being in want of money, I asked a gentleman with whom I chanced to dine 
 
 • By the way, I suspect from Bishop Horsley's account of the Roman castle or station 
 that he never was on the spot, but had his relation from the surveyor he sent out to find the 
 length of this Roman wall, and take other dimensions and notes for his Britannia Rornana 
 I mean Mr. Cay, who published the late map of Northumberland, which Bishop Horsley 
 employed him to make. He does not describe the fort and situation, and the adjacent 
 cotmtry, as if he had been there himself : nor can I think he ever rode from this castle to 
 Brugh or Burgh under Stanemore, or from Brugh, the Roman Veterae, to Brovocum, now 
 Brougham-Castle, a great and curious Roman ruin. The finest things relating to them, he 
 has omitted, and many antiquities that are to be found in off-sets by the way. 7 question 
 likewise, if ever he saw with his own eyes, the eastern and western terminations of the Roman 
 wall. If he was at Newcastle, and really did ride over Lonsd^e marsh to Tunnocelum, a 
 marsh where I had like to have lost my Ufe ; it is surprising that a man of his understandJ^g 
 and taste for antiquities, should give no better account of these places. For my part, I could 
 not see what he saw : nor did he see what I saw at the end of the town of Boulness. 
 
128 THE LIFE OF 
 
 water, on the top of this high hill. There was no appearance of 
 any 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 rode 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, smoke, 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 Apennines, 
 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 valleys, causes it 
 to burn. This crop of bitumen, and accension by the agitation 
 
 how I could supply mysell with £20 by drait on one in the capital ; and he directed me to 
 hisneiehbour who let me have what I had occasion for at moderate exchange, as soon as he 
 heard from his friend in London. I might have had any money I named m this way ; and 
 
 *°i'ho°D?"e?deTy°ou will 'excuse this Uttle digression, because it is meant well; and for 
 the same'reason, I imagine you will pardon me for advising you, m the next place should 
 the fates ever bnng you to Catarractonium, in order to proceed to the northern extremity 
 of our "uTt?^ rto go four miles out of you^ way to see Richmond town, bef^ you set out 
 lorGretabridge,toJ05EPHMARSHALL's; the besthouse of the two mns there. The dehghtful 
 romant£ siuatiOTi of Richmond, and the fine curiosities about the town, wiU afford you an 
 X^ble entertainment for a ciuple of days; and if you like going at night to a club of 
 vSt ™rthv sensMe men of this town, who are very civU to strangers you may pass the 
 evSiS^to a ve^ pleasing way ; or if you have a taste /or dancing, and prefer the oonv«sat.on 
 of a Sfe Kirl todpipe and more serious discourse, there is a smaB polite assembly of as pretty 
 womeS al eve? gladdened the heart of man. My method, while there, was to smoke one night 
 w°S the cfub ; and tSe next I devoted to the fadies. We made up ten couple and had he 
 r.;?^ Srp«ers one night which is, you know, it you are a dancmg reader, the most difBcult, 
 ^d fatorioS?of^"he co™try dances ; and no where have I seen the ground more acUvdy 
 SSffor^niuster measure. Life and truth and charms were m perfection in those Richmond 
 ^^ i waithae^ i7"9 1737. and again in 1752, and the sensible club, and bright assembly, 
 ^.■..nr^heSe^but no mire thiSi three id I see, of men or women, m 37, that were 
 T!.?r. li^o and in 5rthey w^e all strangers to me. Some were married away ; some had 
 ?S^vM ■' 'and others were teanslated to the shades of eternity. ThU was to me a moral 
 removed^nd others w«eK . ^^^ ^^ ^^^ i ^^^ there, and found every 
 
 lesson. When! looked rouna^M!fi|emy ^_^^ rendered me ahnost unfit 
 
 glonous prl °' "y^?^«?^™^ent7il™ e dancings of the night, a philosophical sadness 
 ^aiirpowSiSy ip" SiSd^d I could not'O? sighing in the mtkst of harmony, and 
 S^L?'S=s.' Wlife |t=- ---cot'^'^TshoiSd ever come into your head, ,0 
 
 waX-fer^Wr^l^^aSni^e^^i^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 nsmg vaUey you wdl see ''"^^fJ^.^S^^e described, and wherever it is m your power, 
 then proceed, "J J™ "^P- "S,^ ;, 7^ „,„ o„t This is one way into the heart of Stanemore 
 l^Vl^l^^^::ilit^^ty^T'A?^. among tL dreadful northern feUs of 
 
 Another way '9, '''« "¥^™"?„rt h£ ' an wiU brine you as he did me once through a very 
 Bows. Hire a g?'de from to^d his m^wmbr^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^-^^.^onl- 
 
 surprising wayof deep bottom^ to a ^ next momig, proceed due north, when 
 
 Stanemore. Tliere rest that ^^, ^ ^ mountains upon mountains, rapd nvers 
 
 y"? ^"'ii™ ]^tn?i?nte ffiorm amazing and tremendous scenes. Or, as this way is neither 
 and headlong torrents, that lorm amazmg n ^^^^^ ^ begimuM! of Stanemore 
 
 comfortable, ?f ™^Z^*!' '^'Ifard'^tle, and from Bernard Castle to Eggleston, about 
 to ride from Gretabr dge t° B?"Jf ^^J-^^l^^ed, and then set out for the mountains from 
 sixteen "ailes,^ I judge for it ^^ "« m^as ^ ^^^^^ ^^ Stanemore through 
 
 Eggleston, as before ?'!!^*f ' ' "|™jo it, i can only say what I have heard, that it is worse 
 Bishoprick ; ^"t a= I am a stranger to '^^ ' ^ ./^o^^. This is enough, reader, to shew 
 ^otfhow ?oief LL SteneSfi/ yo" bay? the curiosity and heart to visit that very wild 
 and wonderfiil land. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 129 
 
 of hot air, is well fancied, I own : but it does not give me full 
 satisfaction. I think of this, and many other natural things, as 
 Moyle does of the aurora boreaUs : that these uncommon appear.- 
 ances should be looked on with wonder and admiration, and raise 
 in us a due reverence of their great Author, who has shown his 
 Almighty power and wisdom in forming such an infinite variety 
 of productions in all parts of the universe. Philosophy under- 
 takes to account for everything. I am sure it is in many cases 
 mistaken. 
 
 Having passed the burning valley, we rode through 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 
 aromatic shrubs, and adorned with several clumps of oak, chest- 
 nut, 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 river comes headlong down in a fall of an hundred 
 and forty feet, which is three feet more than the descent of 
 Niagara. 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 perpendicularly in as 
 surprising 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 mountain 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. 
 
 18 June. — It was twelve o'clock by the time we arrived 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 provisions, 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 
 waterfall, and was going to land from a tree that grew out of. the 
 rocky mountain near the summit of the hill, when his foot slipped, 
 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 the descent, he stuck in another projecting 
 thick tree, and from it came safely down. This was a deliverance , 
 
I30 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 
 instance many a time, and will here mention one extraordinary 
 case. 
 
 As I travelled once in the county of Kerry in Ireland, with the 
 White Knight, and the Knight of the Glen,* we called at 
 Terelah O Crohane's, an old Irish gentleman, our common friend, 
 who kept up the hospitahty of his ancestors, and showed how 
 they hved, when Cormac MacCuillenan, the Generous, from 
 whose house he descended \ was king of Munster and archbishop 
 of Cashel in the year 913.1 There was no end of eating and 
 
 • Such knights were honourable creations made by the Irish kings. We have an account 
 of them in the PsaXter of Tarah, before the reigns of Conaire the Great, A.M. 3970, ante 
 Christum 34 ; Cormac XJlfadda, A.D. 230 ; and the glorious Brien Boiroimhe, A.D. 1027 : 
 the three greatest monarchs that ever Ireland had. Fitzgerald, the first knight of Glen, 
 was so made by the immortal Brien Boiroimhe, who fell in the bloody fight between 
 him and Maolmorda king of Leinster, who had joined with the Danes, A.D. 1239. The 
 king of Ireland and the king of Leinster slew each other ; and with Brien Boiroimhe 
 set the glory of Ireland. The states from this time began to decay ; and Roderic O'Connor, 
 who came to the crown, A.D. 1168, was the last king of Ireland. Our Henry II., got the king- 
 dom A.D. 1172, by two means ; one of which was a grant the Pope made of it to him ; who 
 was allowed by the natives to be supreme Lord of the island in temporals, and the uobihty 
 had by commission resigned it to him, f^ter the death of Brien Boiroimhe. The other mean, 
 and what effectually did the work, was the king of Leinster's joining with Strangwell, who was 
 at the head of the English forces, and had married that king's daughter. An old chronicle 
 says she was the most beautiful woman upon earth of-her time, and very learned ; but inferior 
 nevertheless in beauty and learning to the six princesses we read of in the PstUter of Tarah^ 
 who were fair beyond all mortals that ever lived, and wonderful in the extent of their know- 
 ledge; to wit — 
 
 The princess Mac Diarmuld. 
 
 The princess Mac Reagien. 
 
 The princess Mac FaoUan. 
 
 The princess Mac Kennedy. 
 
 The princess O'Heyn. 
 
 The princess O'Fl^erty. 
 
 These six were Druidesses, says the Psalter 0/ Tarah. 
 
 By the way, reader, let me tell you, that from this same Psalier of Tarah, I wrote out one 
 of the finest and most improving love stories that ever I read. It is called * the Adventure 
 of Terlagh Mac Shain and the beautiful Gara O'Mulduin ; which happened in the reign of 
 Cormac Ulfada, king of Ireland, in the year of salvation 2x3, that Faon Maccumhail, com- 
 monly called Fian Maccul, the mighty champion, beat the Picts, and brought off among 
 other prisoners, the beautiful Ciamuit, daughter to the king of the Picts, whom Cormac 
 Ulfada took for his concubine." This story is likewise more shortly told in Th9 Red Booh 
 of Mac Eogane, a very valuable old Irish manuscript : and from both those books I will give 
 my reader the best part of this adventure as soon as I can see a proper place to bring it in. 
 
 t This Cormac Cuillenan wrote the famous Psalter of Cashel, a very extraordinary and valu- 
 able book, which he composed from antient poems of the bards, who thus wrote their history, 
 and from venerable records, as this king and prelate declares in his will. The clause is this 
 *' My psalter, which preserves the ancient records and monuments of my native country, 
 which are transcribed with great fidelity, I leave to Ronal Cashel, to be preserved to after- 
 times and ages yet to come." There is another remarkable clause in this great man's will, 
 to wit, " My soul for mercy I commit to heaven ; my body leave to dust and rottenness." 
 There is not a word of any saint in it ; and of consequence, there was no saint-worship then 
 in Ireland. 
 
 Cormac wrote his will the day before he fought the bloody battle of Maghailbe with the 
 king of Leinster, and therein feU. It begins in this manner : 
 
 " Summon'd away by death, which I perceive 
 Approaches ; for by prophetic skill, 
 I find that short will be my life and reign : 
 I solemnly appoint that my affairs 
 Shall thus be settled after I am dead ; 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 131 
 
 drinking and the famous Downe Falvey played on the harp. 
 For a day and a night we sat to it by candle-light, without shirts 
 or clothes on ; naked excepting that we had our breeches and 
 shoes and stockings on ; 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 httle 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 Ufe. 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. 
 
 Having dined, and shot a bustard that weighed forty pounds, 
 I went on again, the course northwest 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 
 very difficult to pass. We were obliged to aUght at many of 
 them, and walk up and down them, which was a delay of many 
 
 And thus I constitute my latest will : 
 My royal robe embroider*d o'er with gold. 
 And sparkling with the rays of costly jewels ; 
 Well suited to a state of majesty, 
 
 I do bequeath &c. 
 
 My coat of mail of bright and polish'd steel 
 Will well become the martial king of Ulster, 
 To whom I give it; and my golden chain 
 Shall the most pious Muchuda enjoy 
 
 As a reward, &c. 
 
 My golden vestment for most sacred use. 
 And my royal wardrobe I hereby give 
 To &c. " 
 
 Now from this antique piece verbally translated, I think it is evident, that the kings of 
 the four provinces of Ireland were not such poor and ignorant chiefs as they are generally 
 imagined to be ; and of consequence, that one of the four to whom the other three did homage, 
 and who v/as therefore called the king of Ireland, was always a potent prince, and could do great 
 matters, when they were all imited. This consideration, I fancy, and the address let me add 
 of Anselm, archbishop of CanterbuCT, and of Lan&anc, archbishop of the same see, " to 
 Mortogh O'Brien king of Ireland, ana Terlagh O'Brien king of Ireland, Moriardacbo Crlorioso 
 and T^deluacho Magnifico. To the most magnificent Terlagh O'Brien, king of Ireland, 
 our benediction," &c. as you may read them at large in Usher's Primorc^ia * ought to give 
 some credit to O'Flaherty's Ogygta, Heating's History, and Mac Curtins' Amuds ; which those 
 writers really took from very ancient records, and principally from the very valuable 
 manuscripts, called the Psalters of Cashd and Tarak. 
 
 Whsit ttie Psalter of Cashel was I have told you, reader ; and as to the Psalter of Tarah 
 the history of it is mis. — On a tract of land caUed Tarah, that was taken from the province 
 of Leinster, and added to the county of Meath, stood the largest of the four vast palaces 
 of the k^s of Ireland, and at that grand fabric there was a triennial meeting of the states 
 of the kingdom, called the royal assembly of Tarah. There they enacted laws, examined 
 the ancient chronicles and records, and purged them from all false and spurious relations, 
 settled genealogies, and considered noble exploits. All the things that received the assembly's 
 approbation were registered, and transcribed into the royal records, and they called this 
 journal the Psalter of Tarah. 
 
 • These letters were written by the English archbishops to the Irish kings, Turlogh and 
 Murtogb, in ttie years logS and iiio. 
 
132 THE LIFE OF 
 
 hours : but we did it at last, and came into a large sandy opening, 
 that had a number of rapid streams breaking over it, that fell 
 from the mountains, and with the forest on the surrounding hills, 
 formed a wild and pleasing scene. Over this we went for half 
 a mile, and then came to a long glen, so very deep and narrow 
 that it was quite night when we got to the bottom of it, though 
 the sun was not yet down ; and it brought to my remembrance 
 Anchises' son, the wandering prince of Troy, when he descended 
 to the shades below. It had the appearance indeed of some 
 such place, and was a frightful way, as hiUs, like Caucasus and 
 Atlas, were close on either hand of us, and a river roared through 
 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 
 formed. 
 
 Up then I came again to the day, and resolved to pass the 
 night at the foot of one of the woody hills, on the margin of the 
 streams that sounded sweetly over the shores : 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 Uttle 
 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 moun- 
 tains, 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 hke a ring, and going up to it, found 
 the skeleton of a man. He lay on a couch in an inward room 
 without any covering, and the bones were as clean and white as 
 if they had come from the surgeon's 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. 
 
 "I was twenty years old when Charles II. was restored, in 1660 ; 
 and being master of large fortunes, and educated in an aversion 
 to puritans and repubUcan principles, went into all the hcentious- 
 ness and impieties, which overspread and corrupted this nation, 
 when that profligate prince ascended the throne. I drank up 
 to the excess of the times : I debauched every woman I could get 
 within my power, by gold, treachery, or force ; maid, wife,' and 
 widow : I murdered several men in duels ; and blasphemed the 
 God of heaven continually." The devil was my first and last toast ; 
 and, in a club I belonged to, I proceeded to such scarce credible 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 133 
 
 wickedness, as to perform the part of the priest in our infernal 
 sodaUty, and after using the words of consecration over the 
 elementSj gave the prophane bread and wine in the most horrible 
 manner. I was the most abominable of mortals; Contrary 
 to all the dictates and principles of wisdom, virtue, and honour 
 I acted ; bound myself in bondage to Satan ; and Uved the most 
 execrable slave to the vilest inchnations, and most heinous habits. 
 Scratch was the name I had for the evil one, and upon all occasions 
 I invoked him. The last words I said every night, after lying 
 down, were ' Scratch, tuck me in.' 
 
 "In this diaboUcal manner did I pass my life away till I was forty, 
 and in twenty years time committed every evil that can dishonour 
 human manners, and infest society. I was a disgrace to my 
 species, and unworthy of the name of man. 
 
 "But as I went on in this manner, and gloried only in outdoing 
 the greatest scelerates in impiety and debauchery, in being the 
 chief instrument of Satan, and striving to bring every soul I 
 got acquainted with, in subjection to the flesh and the devil ; 
 mahciously committing all manner of sin ; and with greediness 
 executing the suggestions of a defiled imagination, and the 
 purposes of the most corrupt heart ; I was struck one night 
 with the most excruciating torment of body ; and had, at the 
 same time, such unspeakable horrors upon my mind, that I 
 believe my condition resembled the state of the damned. The 
 tortures all over my frame, were beyond the pains any rack 
 could cause ; but were less afflicting than the panic fear that har- 
 rowed my soul under a lively sense of eternal vengeance, for 
 the crying enormities and impurities of my hfe. All my crimson 
 , crimes were held as in a mirror before me ; the most diaboUcal 
 impieties against heaven, and the most shocking cruelties to 
 men ; the numbers I had drank to death, and secured in the 
 service of hell ; the men I had sent to the other world by combat 
 at pistol and sword j and the women I had ruined, not only in 
 this hfe, but perhaps, for evermore ; the miseries I had brought 
 upon families, and the manifold afiiictions I had been the author 
 of for years after years, by night and by day ; all these offences 
 I saw Uke the hand-writing on the wall, and in a horror and con- 
 sternation of miiid, that words cannot describe, lay a miserable 
 spectacle for two nights and two days. Tormented, perplexed, 
 and confounded, I rolled from side to side, and condemned 
 myself and my folly in the most doleful complaints ; but dared 
 not look up to a just judge and offended God. No slumber 
 for this time did approach my eyes ;] but in agonies I shook 
 with a frightful violence, and thought every moment, that the 
 demons my fancy had in view, were going to force my miserable 
 soul away to everlasting inflictions, in the most dismal cavern 
 of hell. Spent, however, at last, I fell into a short sleep. I had 
 
134 THE LIFE OF 
 
 half an hour's rest, and in that slumber imagined, I heard a 
 small voice say, ' As I Uve, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure 
 in the death of the wicked ; but that the wicked turn from his 
 way, and live : Turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways ; for why 
 will ye die, O house of Israel. Rend your heart, and not your 
 garments, and turn unto the Lord your God : for he is gracious 
 and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth 
 him of the evil.' 
 
 " Upon this I awaked, and found my pains were gone. To 
 heaven I lifted my eyes, and as the tears poured down my face, 
 cried out to God for mercy. " O God be merciful to me a sinner. 
 Have mercy on me dust and sin, the vilest of all sinful creatures. 
 To me belongs nothing but shame and confusion of face eternally. 
 My portion should in justice be the lake of everlasting fire and 
 brimstone. But O Lord God most mighty, O holy and most 
 merciful Father, to thee belongeth infinite goodness and forgiveness. 
 O remember not my sins and transgressions, my great and 
 numberless provocations, and my trespasses that are grown up 
 even unto heaven. Have mercy upon me, O God, after thy 
 great goodness, and according to the multitude of thy mercies, 
 do away mine offences. I have a hearty sense and detestation 
 of aU my abominations, and with a true contrition of heart, I 
 repent of all my iniquities. Wash me, then, I beseech thee, 
 O Father of mercies ; wash my polluted soul in the blood of the 
 holy Jesus, and forgive me all my sins, as I ofier up a troubled 
 spirit, and a broken and contrite heart, which thou hast promised 
 not to despise. And grant, O Lord God, my Father, that I may 
 from this hour, by the guidance and direction of thy sanctif3dng 
 spirit, bid a final adieu to all ungodliness and iniquity ; and 
 consecrate myself entirely to thee, to serve thee with humility, 
 love and devotion, and fpr the remainder of my Ufe, give thee 
 the sacrifices of righteousness, through Jesus Christ our Lord." 
 
 " When I had thus implored the mercy of the Almighty, in 
 a torrent of tears, with strong cr3dngs, I found my heart quite 
 easy, and my mind so filled with delights and comforts, that I 
 cannot describe the strange happiness of my condition : but how 
 to secure this felicity was the question. I was afraid of the world, 
 and trembled when I thought of its temptations : beside, the great 
 wickedness of my past lift made it necessary that I should hve 
 in an extraordinary state of penitence, and by great mortification 
 and piety, make what amends I could for sinning against heaven 
 in the most atrocious manner ; and wilfully for a long series of 
 years, breaking every law of the just and holy governor of the 
 world. A change of mind, and common piety, were not enough 
 for such a wretch as I had been. I was unworthy of the innocent 
 comforts of Ufe. I ought to breathe in sighs, and speak in groans. 
 I resolved then to be a reform indeed, and in this part of Stane- 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 13S 
 
 more mountains, which I was well acquainted with, spend the 
 remainder of my days, in the labours of a penitential piety. 
 
 " As I had no relations living, I sold what estates I had left, 
 and gave almost the whole money among the poor. With the 
 little I kept, I bought what necessary things I should want in 
 my solitude ; and with tools and seeds, some clothes and linen, 
 a few books, and other little matters, retired to this spot in the 
 year 168 1. I^had some working men from the next village, 
 to build me the little hut I live in ; to sow my garden with every 
 vegetable, and put some fruit-trees in the ground ; to cut me a 
 pile of firing from the woody hills ; and make my place as con- 
 venient as my intended hfe could require. All this was soon done, 
 and then I was left alone ; in the possession of everything I 
 had a wish for in this world. It is now twenty years since my 
 arrival here, and in aU the time, I have not had one sick or dismal 
 hour. My garden and my cottage employ me in agreeable 
 labours, to furnish my table with roots and fruits ; which is 
 what I mostly live on ; having nothing more but goat's milk, 
 and now and then a sea-biscuit ; my drink being water, and some- 
 times a cup of meath of my own making. 
 
 " When I am weary of working, I sit down to study my B Me, 
 and in that most perfect treasure of saving knowledge, I find such 
 joy and satisfaction as make my life a scene of heavenly happiness, 
 and charm me into raptures the nearer I approach to the hour of 
 my dissolution. That wiU be a blessed hour. By jiie amazing 
 mercy of God, vouchsafed through the Lord Jesus, my crimson 
 sins are pardoned ; and when the voice of the Son of God, the 
 thunder of the dreadful trumpet will awake all the dead, I shall 
 have my part in the first resurrection, and ascend with the blessed 
 to the eternal mansions of the sky. Adored be thy goodness, 
 most glorious Eternal. Inestimable is thy love in the redemption 
 of sinners by the gospel, and the sacrifice of the holy Jesus I 
 
 " Fellow mortal, whoever thou art, into whose hands this 
 paper cometh, take my advice, and remember thy latter end. 
 If, like me, thou hast been betrayed by the demons into great 
 impieties and presumptuous sins, and hast been persuaded to 
 abdicate heaven, and its eternal hopes, in exchange for illicit 
 gratifications of every kind, and the pleasures of this world 
 then, like me, repent, and in tears and mortification, implore 
 the mercy of heaven. Turn to the everlasting Father of mercies, 
 and the God of all comforts, after his own manner, with humility, 
 sorrow, and resolutions of amendment, and in the name of Lord 
 Jesus Christ, implore his compassion and forgiveness, and he will 
 repent and turn unto thee. He will wash you in the blood of 
 Jesus, and make you whiter than snow. When he sees the sinner 
 a great way off in tears, fasting, and prayer, he will run unto 
 him, and fall upon his neck and kiss him. You will become 
 
136 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the beloved of the Father, and be reinstated in the favour of the 
 greatest and most glorious of immortal beings. He will bless you 
 here with that peace that passeth all understanding. He will bless 
 you for ever hereafter with glory and honour in the kingdom he 
 has prepared for the benevolent, the pure, and the honest. But 
 if you continue to offend your Creator, and violate the laws of 
 the God of heaven, then will you Uve exposed to judgments in 
 this world, and most certainly will depart in confusion and misery. 
 The demons you obeyed will gather round the pale, the guilty, 
 the afi&ighted ghost of you, eager to involve your wretched spirit 
 in their own horrors, and will drag it to their dismal regions. 
 And when all the monuments of human power, wealth and pride, 
 shall be overthrown ; the earth itself be in a blaze, and the 
 sea turned into vapours, at the descent of the Son of God, to 
 judge the vast congregation of the sons of men, the amazing 
 assembly of mortals, unheard of generations raised from the 
 grave to have all their actions tried ; every condition ever- 
 lastingly determined ; ■ then will you be placed in that divi- 
 sion wluch will caU upon the rocks to hide them, and the hills 
 to cover them from the face of the Judge ; but in vain attempt 
 to secret themselves from an infinite eye, and an Almighty 
 power. Then will the terrors of the gospel stand in full force 
 against thee, and in the dreadful sentence pronounced against 
 the guilty you must share — Depart from me, ye cursed, into 
 everlasting fire. O dreadful doom ! what a tremendous day to 
 sinners ! and to see the righteous acquitted, and before your eyes 
 ascend in triumph and splendour into the mansions of glory, 
 to live the happy favourities of God and Christ for never-ending 
 ages ; while you are driven forward to the infernal prison, and 
 shut up in the habitations of eternal darkness and torments, 
 the very thought of it, if you will think seriously of it, is enough 
 to curdle the blood, and wither in a moment every unlawful 
 joy that sin can produce in bloom and glory. The despair, the 
 sighs, the groans, the doleful shrieks, when the wicked are driven 
 ofi to the regions of blackness and darkness for ever, are in- 
 expressible. Think then. Think in time, my fellow mortal 
 and profit by the blood of a Saviour. Study his gospel. Hear 
 his ministers. Regard the alarms of conscience, and submit to 
 the influence of the holy Spirit. 
 
 And if you are not that monster of iniquity I once was, before 
 I obtained the divine mercy, by a timely and severe repentance, 
 yet, as in heaven so in hell, there are many mansions, and if you 
 do not work out your salvation according to the terms of the 
 gospel, and make every law of Christ the rules of your behaviour ; 
 if you do not act continually as related to God, to each other, 
 and to another world, and seek first the kingdom of God, and the 
 righteousness thereof, you will utterly disqualify yourself for the 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 137 
 
 rewards and happiness of heaven, though your conduct may be 
 far from meriting the most dreadful inflictions in another world. 
 The gains of unrighteousness, or meddling with any forbidden 
 fruit, is a violation of the laws of God that must ruin you for ever ; 
 though the punishment for so doing cannot be equal to the tor- 
 ments prepared for the t3nrant and oppressor, the murderer, 
 the adulterer, the drunkard, and offenders in the highest crimes. 
 We must cease to do evil, and learn to do well, in order to be 
 saved. Not according to promises and prayers at last, not 
 according to legacies to be paid to the poor when we are dead, 
 shall we be judged ; but, as we have rectified the judgment 
 and the wUl, made virtue the governor of the heart, and in all 
 things sought God's glory, not our own. This do, and you will 
 live. 
 
 " John Orton." 
 May I, 1701. 
 
 This extraordinary paper surprised 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 Uvely, gallant, drinking Jack Orton, who thought 
 for forty years that he was made for no higher end than to gratify 
 every appetite, and pass away time in a continual circle of vanity 
 and pleasure I Poor skeleton, what a miserable spectacle art 
 thou ! Not the least remain of activity and joy, of that spright- 
 liness and levity of mind, that jocund humour and froUc, 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 connection 
 with these dry bones. 
 
 O Death, what a change dost thou make ! The bulk of man- 
 kind 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 indulge in a round of dissipations, 
 and revel in the freedom of vicious excesses : their attention is 
 engrossed by spectacle and entertainments, and fixed to folUes 
 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 pleasure, and faculties enervated 
 and broken by idle mirth and vanity, they pass their every day 
 away without any of that consideration which becomes reasonable 
 beings, and creatures designed for a state of immortality : but 
 at lEist, you appear, and in a moment turn delight and admira- 
 tion, into aversion and horror : strength, wealth, and charms. 
 
138 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 revolution. When death 
 approaches, the amusements of sense immediately fail, and past 
 transactions in every circumstance of aggravation, crowd into 
 the mind : conscience reproaches loudly, the heart condemns, 
 and the sick tremble at the apprehensions of a vengeance they 
 laughed at in the days of diversion, and the midnight hours of 
 the baU : as they come near the black valley, they see the reaUties 
 of a future state ; and agonies convulse 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 Ues the frame, hke 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 affair, that calls for timely and 
 serious consideration. Eternity I Eternal misery I They that 
 have done evil, to come forth unto the resurrection of damna- 
 tion. 
 
 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 immortaUty, honour, and glory, 
 with the righteous, in the kingdom of their father, I will open the 
 reforming gospel night and morning, and by its heavenly direc- 
 tions regulate my conduct. I am determined to make a wise 
 and serious preparation for death and judgment. To the best 
 of my power, I will provide for that day, when the prayers and 
 charities of the righteous will be brought forth as their memorials 
 before the tribunal of Jesus Christ. 
 
 This is the thing to be minded. The brightest scenes of 
 wordly 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 competitions, 
 and the interests, which have engaged the chief attention of the 
 world, are brought to nothing, and appear, too often, ridiculous : 
 but righteousness is unchangeably 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 wiU love thee therefore, O Lord my strength ; yea, I will 
 love thee : and it shall ever be my heart's desire, that my soul 
 may behold by faith in itself, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, 
 able and ready to change it into the same image from glory to 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 139 
 
 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.* I shall then have all I wish, and all I want. With a 
 settled indifference I shall then look upon the highest advantages 
 of this world. I shall have nothing to hope or to fear. The will 
 of God will be to me unmixed felicity. 
 
 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 
 
 • The expression, " partaker of the divine nature by impressions from it/' may, perhaps, 
 be thought by some readers, to approach to vision ; and to contradict my own opinion 
 before delivered, in relation to this subject : let me observe then, that by impression, I here 
 mean no more, than bright beams of light cast upon the soud by the present Deity ; as he 
 sits all power, all knowledge, in the heart, and dispenses sudh rays of wisdom to the pious 
 petitioner, as are suf&cient to procure a lasting sense of spiritual heavenly things. God is 
 not only in heaven. He dwelleth indeed in tiie heaven of heavens after the most glorious 
 manner, as the High and Loftjr One, and by some splendid appearance, manifests a presence 
 to the senses of the blessed spirits * ; but as he is an infinite Spirit, diffused through all things 
 filling as well as containing them, seeing and knowing all, even the most secret tilings ; for, 
 His eyes, to speak after a popular manner, are ten thousand times brighter than the sun, 
 beholding all the ways of men and considering the most secret paths ; knowing all things 
 ere ever they were created, and looking upon all things after they were perfected : it follows, 
 that since nothing can exclude the presence of this infinite Spirit ; then, in Him we live, 
 move, and have our being : He is not far from any of us ; but although he is above all, yet 
 he is through aU, and in us all ; wittiin us, as well as without us ; and therefore, in the hearts 
 of the faithful, he must be considered; as an inmiense, intellectual, pure light, ready to enlighten 
 and enliven them, and to shed forth the bright beams of his love upon them. I imagine this 
 illustrates the thing. To me it seems reason. 
 
 • As to the expression just now used, to wit, that this infinite Spirit manifests himself 
 to the senses of his blessed subjects — it may be asked how this can be-^can the eye behold 
 what is infinite and invisible ? 
 
 The answer is this, that although God's essence be invisible, yet there is a glory, the train 
 and attendance of h^ essence, which exhibits a bodily and sensible vision of Gk)d. He decketh 
 himself with light as with a garment. This is the dwelling of his essence. He dwelleth 
 in light that is unapproachable. 
 
 We must distinguish then between the essential and the majestatic presence of God. The 
 majestatic presence is the discovery of his essential presence in a determinate place by a 
 munificent luminous appearance ; and this the apostle calls the excellent glory, megcUo- 
 prepous doxU. This glory appeared on Mount Sinai six days together. It rested and dwelt 
 in tiie sanctuary. It filled the house. Moses saw its back parts, that is, a small measure and 
 scantling of it, in proportion to the weakness of his mortal eyes : but, in the other world, 
 when mortals shall have put on immortality, and our bodies shall be invested with the new 
 powers of siiirituality and incoiruption, then face to face, we shall be able to see the whole 
 lustre of divine Majesty, as familiarly as one man beholdeth the face of another.* 
 
 There are two -ways then, as an excellent man observes, of seeing God, to wit, by intelligence, 
 and, in some manner, by sense : but we must not imagine that these two make up the beatific 
 vision. There is a cause of more importance to beatitude. The sight and contemplation 
 of the divine glories is our act ; but the act of God is the communication of them. This 
 makes the saints perfectly blessed. By the communication of the divine glories, we come to 
 be, not bare spectators, but, Aeia; koii/oi^oi (^uo-eo?, partakers of the divine nature. 
 
 As we are more obliged, says the writer I have mentioned to the sun, who is the cheer 
 and vigour of nature, and the very life of all animal and vegetable beings : for bis influences 
 than for his sight, so are the heavenly inhabitants much more obliged to God for tiieir recep- 
 tions hrom him as the foimtain of life and wisdom, than for the sight and contemplation of 
 him as the subject of perfection. This illustrates the matter, and we may say, there is a 
 ttiird way of seeing God, to wit, in the enjoyment of him ; the beamings of his favour, and 
 the effusions of his love, passing through the whole man, and producing an intimate sensation 
 of him both in body and soul, smd filling both with an unconceivable and endless delectation. 
 TTiis is seeing God as he is. 
 
 • As grateful objects of sense make up a great part of human delectation ; may we not 
 suppose, that this glory of God, accommodated to our senses, will produce a more ravishmg 
 and traasceodent delight, than all the objects in nature are capable of producing. 
 
140 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 
 resided in it, had given. It is often the subject 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 smoke 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 froUcs and gambols — thy Ucentiousness 
 and impiety ? — A severe and bitter repentance. In piety and 
 goodness John Orton found at last that happiness the world 
 could not give him. There is no real fehcity for man, but in 
 reforming all his errors and vices, and entering upon a strict 
 and constant course of virtue. This only makes Ufe comfortable ; 
 renders death serene and peaceful ; and secures eternal joy and 
 blessedness hereafter. Such are the lessons I extract from the 
 skull of John Orton. 
 
 When I had supped, I went about, to see what things Orton 
 had left behind him in his Uttle cottage, and I found a field bed- 
 stead large enough for two, with a mattreiss, silk blankets, quilt, 
 and cotton curtains ; 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 clothes and linen, shoes and stockings, and various useful 
 matters; There were pens, ink, and paper in a writing-desk, 
 and half a score guineas ; and on a shelf over it, a dozen good 
 books ; three of which were, a large EngUsh 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 closet, I found a box of sea-biscuits, many fiasks 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, 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 141 
 
 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 after the date of his paper ; for, I observed, that many 
 prior dates had been struck out ; and had he lived after the year 
 1 701, he would, in all probability, have razed that Ukewise, 
 and set down 1702. Some sudden sickness must have seized 
 him ; and perhaps, when he found himself sinking, he laid himself 
 out naked on the wooden couch where I found his skeleton. 
 I can no otherwise account 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.- 
 
 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, reduce 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 monkey they keep for the purpose of the motion of this 
 terrible enemy ; but it is plain from what I have often experi- 
 mented. 
 
 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 certain road, to eat sugar or sweetmeats they have dis- 
 covered, and then in two or three days, they wUl 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, wiU clear the bones of a rat in half a night's time. 
 
 There was a pretty Uttle 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 them, and the great variety of 
 things in the ground, that Orton must have used himself to hard 
 labour, and found great pleasure in his improvements and pro- 
 ductions. 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. 
 
 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 Orton on the premises : but, without turning hermit. 
 Here is, I said, a pretty small thatched mansion, that might easily 
 
 / 
 
142 THE LIFE OF 
 
 be enlarged, if more rooms were wanting ; and a garden, which 
 labour would soon restore to its usefulness and beauty, 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 Orton had, meath may be made that will be equal to the 
 best foreign wine. As to the situation, it is most delightful. 
 Nothing 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 wanting 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 wherever I am ; and if I can com- 
 mence a matrimonial relation with some sensible, good-humoured, 
 dear delightful girl of the mountains, and persuade her to be 
 the cheerful partner of my still life, nature and reason will create 
 the highest scenes of feUcity, 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 once in my life 
 T am fortunate. And suppose this partner I want in my soUtude 
 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. 
 Thus was my head employed, while I smoked a pipe after supper, 
 and I determined 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 purpose, and in vain attempted some hills that 
 were too steep for tiie horses. Down then I went again to the 
 bottom of the black and narrow glen afore-mentioned, and with 
 light 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 143 
 
 eight yards broad, and there was an ascending glen on the other 
 side of it, that appeared to rise into a fine woody country. It 
 was not half the length of that we had descended, nor near so 
 steep ; it began to widen at the distance of a hundred yards from 
 the water, so as to show, at the summit, 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 teU 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 glen 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 beheved 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 httle, and began 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 glen, and perceived that it ended 
 in a great water, and went off in some subterranean way. The 
 mountains were almost close to this fine water, on either hand, 
 for near half a mile, and made a delightful rural scene. We could 
 see the river, as we looked up it, come tumbUng on for a great 
 way between 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. 
 
 There is a cave there hkewise, 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 jEneas sheltered after 
 the storm ; * and St. Donat's Cave f in Glamorganshire, which 
 
 • Dr. Shaw, in his Travels, shews that the cave near Cape Bonn was the grot which Virgil 
 describes in the following manner : 
 
 " Defessi kneads, quae prosima litora, cursu 
 Contendunt petere^ et Lybise vertuntur ad oras. 
 Est in secessu longo locus ; insula portum 
 Efficit objectu laterum, quibus omnis ab alto 
 Frangitur inque sinus scindit sese unda reductos, 
 
 t St. Donat's Cave, by the vulgar called Reynard's Church, in Glamorganshire is on 
 hundred and sixty feet in length, the breadth forty-three, and the height thirty-four. Every 
 spring tide fills it with water, and has smoothed it to perfection. At the upper end of it, 
 there is a grand seat, arched into the stone, and near it a falhng-spring of fresh water drops 
 into a cistern it has made. The rushing tides have made good seats in the sides of the rock, 
 and from them you have a view of the channel, which is seven leagues. Every ship that 
 sails to and from Bristol, is seen, and the mountains of Somersetshire bound the prospect 
 that way. The clifi over the cave is almost double the height of the grot, and to the very 
 edge of the precipice, the cattle come to graze, to avoid the insects, who will not approach 
 the sea-breezes. The whole is a charming scene. 
 
144 THE LIFE OF 
 
 is much more beautiful than the African grot described in the 
 first ^neid. 
 
 Hioc atgue hinc vasta rupes, geminique minantur 
 In caelum scopuli. Quorum sub vertice late 
 ^quora tuta silent. Tum sylvis scena coruscis 
 Desuper horrentique atrum nemus imminet umbra; 
 Fronte sub adv^sa scopulis pendentibus antrum^ 
 Intus aqua dulces, vivoque sedilia saxo, 
 Njrmpharum domus." 
 
 The weary Trojans ply their shattered oars 
 
 To nearest land, and make the Lybian shores. D 
 
 The Trojans, weary'd with the storms, explore 
 The nearest land, and reach the Lybian ^ore. P 
 
 Within a long recess there lies a bay, 
 
 An island shades it from the rolling sea, 
 
 And forms a port secure for ships to ride. 
 
 Broke by the jutting land on either side : 
 
 In double streams the briny waters glide. D 
 
 Far in a deep recess, her jutting sides « 
 
 An isle projects, to break the rolling tides 
 
 And forms a port, where, curling from the sea 
 
 The waves steal back, and wind into a bay. J» 
 
 Betwixt two rows of rocks, a sylvan scene 
 
 Appears above, and groves for ever green. D 
 
 On either side, sublime in air, arise 
 
 Two tow'ring rocks, whose summits brave the skies ; 
 
 Low at their feet the sleeping ocean lies : 
 
 Crown'd with a gloomy shade of waving woods. 
 
 Their awful brows hang nodding o'er the floods. p 
 
 A grot is form*d beneath, with mossy seats 
 
 To rest the Nereid, and exclude the heats : 
 
 Down through the crannies of the living walls 
 
 The crystal streams descend in mmm'ring falls. O 
 
 Oppos'd to these, a secret grotto stands, 
 
 The haunt of Nereids, fram'd by nature's hands ; 
 
 Where polish'd seats appear of living stone. 
 
 And limpid rills, that tinkle as they run. P 
 
 There Ues a harbour far within the land. 
 
 Commodious form'd by an opposing isle : 
 
 Which breaking as a mound the furious waves. 
 
 They run divided, calmer then unite. 
 
 On each side rqcks, and two with steepy height 
 
 Aspiring touch the clouds, safe at whose feet 
 
 The waters far and near pacific sleep. 
 
 Distant from these a sylvan scene, beyond, 
 
 To bound the prospects, woods with horrent shade. 
 
 Op'ning to view, beneath the hanging rocks 
 
 A cave ; within, a fountain pure ; and seats 
 
 Form'd from the living stone; the cool recess 
 
 Of nymphs. 5 
 
 This grot within a mountain over-shaded with trees, and lying open to the sea, with a cliflE 
 on each side and not far from Carthage, answers so well to the Nympharum domus of Virgil,* 
 that I think we need not doubt of its being the cave into which the gallant ^neas led the 
 gracious queen : but that it ever was a quarry, and that pillars were made by the workmen to 
 support the roof, as Dr. Shaw says, does not seem to be the case. The whole grot, which 
 goes in thirty-six fathoms under the hill, its arches, and pillars were imdoubtedly by the 
 hand of nature ; like many others I have seen. So it appeared to me. I could not see the 
 least sign of a labouring hand in this cave. 
 
 ♦ The kingdom of Tunis in the west of Barbary in Afric, was once the celebrated republic 
 of Carthage, The city of Carthage was about four miles from the spot the city of Tunis now 
 
JOHN BVNCLE, ESQ. 145 
 
 The cave in Stanemore is in the bottom of a perpendicular 
 mountaii\ of a vast height, the east side of the lake and four yards 
 from the shore. The entrance is a grand sweep, high and broad 
 as the grot, that is, in breadth fifty two feet, in height fifty nine. 
 It is an hiiadred and forty seven feet long. The stone of it is 
 extremely beautiful ; of a yellow and reddish colour, bright and 
 guttering, and beautifully variegated with arched and undulated 
 veins of variovis 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 ihe alabaster, called M armor Onychites, on account 
 of its tabulated zones, resembUng those of the onyx, and is very 
 little inferior to the jEg5rptian alabaster. This Stanemore stone 
 is far beyond the Cornish and Derbyshire alabaster. The caverns 
 there are but' encrusted with a sparry substance, as I have found 
 upon various examinations ; and, as is evident to every eye that 
 sees the workman 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, though 
 somewhat coarser than this kind of Mgyptiafi stone. 
 
 The top of the cave is a bold arch, finished beyond aU 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 dozen may 
 sit with ease ; they make the place look as if it was the assembly 
 room, or council 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 softly over the 
 ground, and had worn it smooth. It brought to my remembrance 
 some very poetical Unes in Lucretius : — 
 
 " Noctivagi sylvestria templa tenebant 
 Nympharum, quibus exibant humore fluente 
 Lubrica, proluvie larga lavere humida saxa, 
 Humida Saxa super viridi stillantia musoo 
 
 Et partim piano scatere atque erumperfi campo.'" 
 
 " And then by night they took their rest in caves. 
 Where little streams roll on with silent waves ; 
 They bubble through the stones, and softly creep. 
 As fearful to disturb the nymphs that sleep. 
 The moss spread o'er the marbles, seems to weep." 
 
 This was exactly the case of the water in this fine cave. In 
 
 stands on. Many ruins of it are still remaining. This glorious city, was twenty-three miles 
 round, and built near an hundred years before Rome, was taken and utterly rased by young 
 Africanus, that is, Scipio ^milianus, before Christ 146 years. It had disputed with Rome 
 for the empire of the world, for the space of zi8 years. The most beautiful village in the 
 world, called Marsa, now stands in the western point of ancient Carthage, and from thence 
 it is a fine walk to Dido's Cave under Cape-Bonn. 
 
146 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the lowest harmony, it gently fell over the slanting fl<x>r, and as 
 Oldham has it — 
 
 " Away the streams did with such softness cresp. 
 As 'twere by their own murmurs lull'd asleej." 
 
 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 further ; and now seeing how my way lay, I departed 
 from Orton Lodge betimes the next morning, June 19th, leaving 
 my lad O'Fin to keep possession of the place till I returned, and 
 with the other boy went through 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 cUmb, and from thence descended 
 through many perils to a bottom between the hills we had come 
 down, and 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 surrounded with hiUs, whose tops and sides were covered 
 with antient trees and lofly 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 amphitheatre, by 
 nature formed ; and variety and disposition refreshed the eyes 
 whatever way they turned. 
 
 In the very centre of this ground, I found a house and gardens 
 that charmed me very much. The mansion had a rusticity and 
 wildness in its aspect, beyond anything 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 bhnd chance. It was the most Gothic 
 whimsical, four- fronted thing, without, that ever my eyes beheld ; 
 and within, the most convenient, comfortable dwelling I have 
 seen. 
 
 This edifice, which looks more Uke a smaU Gothic cathedral, 
 than a house, stands in the middle of large gardens, which are 
 not only very fine, but uncommon, and different from aU 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 artificial valleys, 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 nature. The wilderness, the 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 147 
 
 openings, the parterres, the gardens, the streams, the lakes, 
 the cascade's, the valleys, and the rising grounds, in the most 
 various disposition, and as if art had Utile, or no hand in the 
 designs, have an admirable effect upon the eye. 
 
 The passages from valley to valley, betwfeen the hills they have 
 made, are not by formal straight walks, but by windings in 
 various ways, which are decorated with Uttle grotto's, and 
 diversified in the manner of laying out t|te ground : the streams 
 and canals sometimes serpent, and sometimes spread away. 
 Rocks are 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, 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 manner. 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. 
 
 When I came up to this seat, which the owners of it call Ulubrse, 
 some gentlemen, who were in the gardens, saw me, and saved me 
 the trouble of asking admission, by inviting me in with the 
 greatest civiUty ; but they seemed under a vast surprise at 
 my arrival ; and much more so, when I gave them an account of 
 the way I had travelled. 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 hiUs that surround 
 their house ; but they did not imagine there was any travelling 
 over those mountains, and the alps upon alps beyond them, to 
 Brugh under Stanemore. The way, they said, was very bad 
 from their house to Eggleston, or Bowes, on account of hills, 
 waters, and wet bottoms ; it was worse to travel northward to 
 Bishoprick ; and scarce passable to the north-east to Cumberland. 
 What then must it be to journey as I had done over the northern 
 fells of Westmoreland, and the bad part of Yorkshire-Stanemore 
 I had passed. 
 
 "It was a terrible way," I repUed, "and what I often despaired of 
 coming through, even at the hazard of my hfe. 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 habitations of people we Uttle expected 
 to find, we might have perished for want of food, as my servant 
 
148 THE LIFE OF 
 
 could not bring from Brugh provisions 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 Inn on the southern 
 edge of Stanemore ; a httle lone public-house, that lies half-way 
 the turn-pike road, on the left hand, as the traveller goes from 
 Bowes to Brugh, Penrith, and CarUsle ; but friendship and 
 curiosity were too many for all the obstacles in the way, and in 
 hopes of finding a beloved friend, who lives somewhere towards 
 the northern edge of Yorkshire or Westmoreland, or on the 
 neighbouring confines of Bishoprick, 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 " ; * I went on, 
 "and have had success thus far. The journey has been worth my 
 pains. I have beheld the most dehghtful scenes, and met with 
 very extraordinary 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 discourse ; 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 said. They all allowed it was very extra- 
 ordinary, and requested I would obUge them with some particulars 
 that occurred. I did so immediately, and told them, among 
 other things, of my reception at Burcot Lodge, and of the skeleton 
 of John Orton which I found in the cottage on the side of the 
 woody hill. I let them know the goods and conveniences I saw 
 there, and that I was so pleased with the beauties of the place, 
 the httle mansion, the once fine gardens, and the useful things- 
 on the premises, 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 httle at what they heard. 
 If they were surprised 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 penitent 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 caUing upon 
 them many times ; that I should always be heartily welcome to > 
 
 • I have already observed [p. 126], that Camden, and every other describer of Eng- 
 land, had not the least notion of Stanemore, that is, the north fells of Westmoreland 
 and the northern mountains of Richmondshire : and as to the people who live on the borders 
 of Stanemore, I could not find so much as one man in Richmond, Greta-bridge, Bowes, and 
 Brugh, that had been any length of way up the moimtains. "^en 1 asked Railton, the 
 quaker, a very knowing man, who keeps the George at Bowes, what sort of a country Stane- 
 more was ? He answered, "It is, after a few miles riding more wild and mountain^ than the 
 highlands of Scotland, and impassable ": nay, my landlord at Eggleston, some miles within 
 Stanemore, knew nothing of the mountains upon moimtains that are far beyond his house. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 149 
 
 their house, and might with less difl&culty go backwards and 
 forwards, as their lodge was at my service, whenever I was pleased 
 to do them the favour to call. This was civil, and I returned 
 them the thanks they deserved. 
 
 Here dinner was brought in, and with these gentleman I sat 
 down to several excellent 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 cheerful glass after dinner, and laughed 
 a couple of hours away in a delightful manner. They were quite 
 polite, friendly and obUging ; and I soon found in conversing 
 with them, that they were men of great reading, and greater 
 abiUties. Philosophy had not saddened their tempers. 
 They were as hvely companions, as they were wise and learned 
 men. 
 
 These gentlemen are twenty in number, men of fortune, who 
 had agreed to live together, on the plan of a college described 
 by Evelyn in his letter to the Hon. Robert Boyle ; but, with this 
 difference, that they have no chaplain, may rise when they please, 
 go and come as they think fit, and every one is not obhged to 
 cultivate his garden. Every member lays down a hundred 
 pounds on the first day of the year, and out of that fund they 
 five, pay their servants, keep their horses, and purchase everything 
 the society requires. What is wanting at home, this stock 
 produces, and is to be expended only at Ulubras, for everything 
 necessary and comfortable, except raiment and horses. When 
 they are abroad, it is at a plus-expence. 
 
 I caU these gentlemen philosophers, because exclusive of their 
 good morals, they devote the principal part of their time to 
 natural philosophy and mathematics, and had, when I first saw 
 them, made a great number of fine experiments and observations 
 in the works of nature, though they had not been a society for 
 more than four years. They make records of ever3rthing extra- 
 ordinary which comes within their cognizance, and register every 
 experiment and observation. I saw several fine things in their 
 transactions, and among them a most ingenious and new method 
 of determining expeditiously the tangents of curve lines ; which 
 you know, mathematical reader, is a very proUx calculus, in the 
 common way : and as the determination of the tangents of 
 curves is of the greatest use, because such determinations exhibit 
 the quadratures of curvUinear spaces, an easy method in doing 
 the thing, is a promotion of geometry in the best manner. The 
 rule is this. 
 
 Suppose B D E the curve, B C the abscissa = x, CD the 
 ordinate = y, A B the tangent Une = t, and the nature of the 
 curve be such, that the greatest power of y ordinate be on one 
 side of the equation ; then y^ = — x'^ — x x y + x y y — a^ +aay 
 
ISO 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 — a ax +ax x — a y y : 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 
 prefix unity, and of two, 2, if of three, 3, and you will have — 3 a^ 
 +2 a a y — 2 a a x ■'rax x — ay y : 
 
 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 — 3 x^ — 2 X xy +xy y — a ax+2 ax x : then diminish each 
 of these by x, and the denominator will be — 3 x x — 2 x y +y y — 
 a a +2 ax. 
 
 This fraction is equal to A B, and therefore ^ is = 
 
 - 3a^+2aay-2aax+ axx-ayy 
 
 -3xx-2xy+yy-aa+2ax 
 
 In this easy way may the tangents of all geometrical 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 gentlemen. I hkewise saw them perform 
 several extraordinary experiments. 
 
 They make all the mathematical instruments they use, 
 and have brought the microscope in particular, to greater per- 
 fection 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 improved the double reflecting microscope, much farther 
 than Marshal's is by Culpeper and Scarlet, and made several 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 151 
 
 good alterations in the solar or camera obscura microscope ; 
 and in the catoptric microscope, which is made on the model 
 of the Newtonian telescope. 
 
 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 ribbon, 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 Ught red and a pellucid white. All the phoenomena 
 of colours were here to be found out. 
 
 In this instrument, the finest point of a needle appeared more 
 blunt and unequal, and more hke a broken nail, than I had 
 before seen it. The finest edge of a razor was hke the back of 
 a dog, with the hair up. The finest paper, was great hairs, cavi- 
 ties, and unevenness, and the smoothest plate of glass, was very 
 rough, full of cracks, fissures and inequahties. Very different, in- 
 deed, are the things finished by human art from the things finished 
 by the hand of nature. The points, tlje edges, the polish, the 
 angles, ever5rthing that nature produces, appear in the instru- 
 ment in a perfection that astonishes the beholder. 
 
 In the views I here took of the vegetable world, with my eye 
 thus armed, I saw many extraordinary things I had never ob- 
 served before. I took notice, in particular, that a sage leaf is 
 covered with a kind of cobweb, in which swarms of Uttie active 
 creatures, with terrible horns and piercing eyes are busily em- 
 ployed : a mulbery leaf was an amazing flexus or network : we 
 can see but nine ribs on the sigillum Solomonis ; whereas my 
 armed eye perceived here seventy-four : in a nettle I observed 
 its whole surface covered over with needles of the most perfect 
 polish, 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 surface of the nettle : from 
 a hole visible in every point the poison is thrown out, and excites 
 a sense of pain ; and a heat arises as the blood flows more copiously 
 to the wounded part. By pressing with my finger the extremity 
 of the prickles, the bag of poison fell ; and on taking off my finger, 
 it swelled again. What a piece of workmanship is here in a 
 nettle ! Wonderful are thy works, O Lord God Almighty ! 
 
 A leaf of sorrel in this microscope exhibited to my eye oblong, 
 rough and straight atoms, sharp as needles, and from thence the 
 tongue is twinged. In a bud cut away with a fine needle from 
 a steeped seed of a French-bean, I saw the entire plant ; and in 
 an almond so cut away, the perfect tree. Many other wonderful 
 
152 THE LIFE OF 
 
 things I observed of the vegetable kingdom, in the microscopes 
 of these gentlemen. 
 
 As to the animal kingdom, my observations on it, in the 
 optical instruments at Ulubrae, were so many, that I could fill 
 a volume 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 
 reflecting telescope, a louse and a flea were put ; which are crea- 
 tures that hate each other as much as spiders do, and fight to 
 death when they meet. The flea appeared first in the box, and 
 as he was magnified very greatly, 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 proportion to its body, but the eyes large, red, and 
 very fierce ; his six legs were long, robust and made for leaping ; 
 the antenncB short, but firm and sharp ; its tail was scaly, and 
 full of stings, and its mouth pointed into active pincers : his 
 colour was a deep purple. 
 
 The louse in white was next brought on, and had a well shaped, 
 oblong indented body : his six legs were short, made for walking 
 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. 
 
 The first that was brought on the stage was the flea, and to 
 show 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 gallant louse did with a frown for some time behold 
 him, and then crouching down, began very softiy to move towards 
 him, when the flea gave a leap on his enemy, and with his danger- 
 ous tail and pinching mouth began to 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 ofiering several times to advance. The louse 
 did it at last in a race, and then the flea flew at him, which pro- 
 duced a battle as terrible as ever was fought by two wild beasts. 
 Every part of their bodies was in a most violent motion, and 
 sometimes the flea was uppermost, but more frequentiy the louse. 
 They did bite, and thrust, and claw one another most furiously, 
 and the consequence of the dreadful 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 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQj 153 
 
 was to me a very surprising thing, as each of them was magnified 
 to the size of two feet : but considering what specs or atoms of 
 animated matter they were, it was astonishing to reflection to 
 behold the amazing mechanism of these two minute things, 
 which appeared in their exertions during the fray. It was still 
 more strange to see the aversion these small creatures had to 
 each other, the passions that worked in their httle breasts, and 
 the judgment they showed in their endeavours to destroy one 
 another. It is indeed a wonderful afiair : nor was it the least 
 part of admiration to see through the extraordinary transparencies 
 of the louse, the violent circulation of the blood in its heart. 
 This was as plain to my eye, as red Uquor 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 such a body as a flea, 
 to eight feet ; * 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. 
 
 The water Aranea, or great water spider, 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 Apuha, 
 called the Tarantula, and is furnished at the head with a hard 
 black forceps which resembles that of the ApuUan araneus : 
 the colour of its oval body is a bluish black, and has a transverse 
 Hne and two spots hollowed in it ; its eight legs are very long, the 
 joints large, and the httle bones of the feet have difierent articu- 
 lations : it was armed with bristles hke a boar, and had claws 
 very black, not unlike an eagle : it had eight eyes and six of 
 them were disposed in form of a half moon on the forehead ; the 
 other -flwo were on the crown of the forehead : one to the 16ft, the 
 other to the right. This disposition affords light to the whole 
 body, and as these eyes are well furnished with crystaUine 
 humours, they are sharp sighted beyond all creatures, and so 
 nimbly hunt down flies ; the mouth was full of teeth, and they 
 looked Uke short thick hairs. 
 
 • Though the image oi a flea may be magnified to eight feet, by removing farther off the 
 white paper screen, on which the picture of the object is thrown very beautifully from the 
 object posited in a single pocket microscope that is fastened to a tube to the solar microscope, 
 yet the image or picture is more distinct and exact, when not enlarged to more than three 
 feet, on the opposite side of the darkened room. By the way, reader, the solar microscope 
 is the most entertaining of all the microscopes, and by it without any skill in drawmg you 
 may easily make an exact picture of any animal or object you can put into the fastened 
 pocket microscope. The object is so intensely illuminated by the sun beams collected by 
 a convex lens, fiiat are thrown on it by a looking-glass, that its picture is most perfect 
 and plainly represented on the white screen. You may have a mite, or one of the imper- 
 ceptible anim^ of rotten wood, so truly and greatly magnified, as easily to sketch out the 
 exact image of it in all its wonderful parts, with a pencil or pin : and in this amusing work, 
 and in transferring the objects from the solar to the double reflecting microscope, the catoptric 
 microscope, and the microscope for opaque objects, how usefully and delightfully mi^t a 
 young man of fortune employ many hours that are miserably sauntered away, or consumed 
 in senseless and illicit deugbts ? 
 
IS4 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 Uves 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 bow ; but the 
 great water aranea, with his terrible weapon, the black forceps, 
 in a minute destroyed 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 and he expired at the victor's 
 feet. 
 
 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 wonderful arrangement of the intestines of the flea, 
 the motion and ebuUition of the blood of a louse, the various 
 spiders, their forms, 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 aU things. Every 
 insect, herb, and spire of grass, declare eternal power and god- 
 head. Not only the speech and language of the heavens, but of 
 aU the works and parts of nature is gone out into aU the earth : 
 and to the ends of the world ; loudly proclaiming, that thou, O 
 God, art I-ord alone : Thou hast made heaven, the heaven of 
 heavens, and all their hosts ; the earth, and all things that are 
 therein ; therefore be thou our Lord God for ever and ever, jf-} 
 
 The library belonging to these gentlemen is a very fine one, 
 and contains many thousand volumes ; but is much more valu- 
 able for the intrinsic merit, than the number of the books : and 
 as to ancient manuscripts, there is a large store of great value : 
 they had hkewise 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 gentle- 
 men did not value them so much as the editions of the classics, 
 that have been pubhshed within this last century ; especially the 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. IJS 
 
 quarto editions done in Holland. They showed me many errors 
 in the Greek authors by the Stephens' ; and as to Plantin, exclu- 
 sive of his negligence, in several places, his Italic character they 
 thought far inferior to the Roman in respect of beauty. All this 
 was true, and it is most certain that the best corrected book are 
 the best editions of the classics. They are the best helps for our 
 understanding them. There is no reason then for lajn.ng out so 
 much money for the old editions, when in reality the modern ones 
 are better. 
 
 One of the books in this library, which I chanced to take into 
 my hand was the famous Vindicice 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 T3n:ants." 
 This treatise proves, in the first place, that subjects 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, marianolatry, the demonolatry, and all the 
 diabohsm of popery. Secondly, That it is lawful to resist a 
 prince, who Uke James II. endeavours to ruin the true church, 
 and makes the superstition of Rome the religion of the land. 
 Thirdly, That it is lawful to resist a prince, when he oppresses 
 and strives to ruin a state ; Uke Charles I. who would have 
 exercised a power contrary to the interest of his people, contrary 
 likewise to that of the protestant religion ; * and when James II. 
 
 * Many instances can be produced of Charles the First's exerting a power contrary to 
 the interest of the protestant religion ; and a capital one is, this king's express and strict 
 orders, signed with his own hand, to captain John Pennington, to deUver, which he did, in 
 obedience thereto, a squadron of the naval forces of England, consisting of eight men of war, 
 into the hands and absolute power of the French king ; and Charles directed, " that in case 
 of disobedience in the EngUsh captains to that order, Pennington was to sink them." These 
 naval forces enabled the GauUsh king to break and suppress the power of the Rochelle prp- 
 testants : this was an unjustifiable step indeed in Charles' reign : and if to this we add 
 thousand acts of this said sovereign Lord, which were the cause of all the disagreements 
 differences and contentions between his majesty and his people, that happened in his reign, 
 and the sources of pubUc calamity, it is certainly most amazing, to see the memory of tbis 
 prince treated equally, if not superior to the most celebrated martyrs ! torrents of tears have 
 1 seen pour from the eyes of our moiuning theologers on the 30th of January. I remember 
 one time, when Dr. Warren preached the commemoraHon sermon at St. Margaret's West- 
 minster, that he wept and sobbed so bitterly and calamitously, that he could hardly get 
 out the following concluding words of his fine discourse, the Roy — Royal Ma — Martyr — the 
 — ^holy Martyr — the — the — blessed Martyr. 
 
 Nor can I forget [Dr. Delany] the learned author of The Life of David. This gentleman 
 preached before the late Duke of Devonshire in Christ-Church, on Monday, January 30 
 1737, from these words, • Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth a 
 vessel for the finer, — ^Take away the wicked from before the king, and his throne shall be 
 established in righteousness." Prov, ch. 25. 
 
 In this fine sermon, the Dr. gave us the picture of a Man as like Charles I. as Phalaris was 
 to the apostle St. John : he then deprecated the murder which are his own words, and in the 
 most piteous manner, with tears informed us, that God gave us this prince in his mercy 
 and took him away in his indignation : "A prince." said the doctor, " who was a true lover 
 of his people, compassionate of their errors and misfortunes and religiously tender of their 
 well-being. He equally understood and practised religion in its purity ; and he died de- 
 fending it. King Charles the First ol blessed memory ! " Here the preacher wept, and then 
 Jiroceeded to abuse the opposers of this royal contender for absolute prerogatives ; as abso- 
 ute as those the eastern or civil law potentates claim ; and then, to make and apply ob- 
 servations and inferences to the persons and characters of the present times, he told the 
 
IS6 THE LIFE OP 
 
 began his tyranny, by dispensing with the penal statute of 
 25 Car. II. in the case of Sir Edward Hales notwithstanding the 
 true religion, the honour of Almighty God, the safety of the 
 government, and the public good and peace of the nation depend 
 upon this act of 25 Car. II., and Fourthly, That neighbour princes 
 or states, may be or are bound by law, to give succours to the 
 subjects of other princes, afflicted for the cause of true religion, 
 or oppressed by manifest tyranny. These truths are finely 
 proved in this extraordinary book. The excellent author 
 evinces, that justice requires, that tyrants and destroyers of 
 the commonwealth be compeUed to reason. Charity challenges 
 the right of reUeving and restoring the oppressed. Those that 
 make no account of these things, do as much as in them Ues to 
 
 Lord Lieutenant, and the House of Lords, among other admirable things, tliat " tliey should 
 remember how the lay lords had consented to deprive the bishops of th^ seats in parliament, 
 and rob the spiritual lords of their rights and pnvileges ; which drew down a just judgement 
 upon themselves ; for they, the said lay lords, were soon after voted useless : have a care 
 then, lay lords, how you act for the future against the spiritual lords. Maintain, for the time 
 to come, a strict and inviolable regard to the rights, privileges, and properties of the spiritual 
 lords." 
 
 This advice, by the way, appeared to me very smgular, and I think, on the contrary, that 
 it would be well for our church, if our bishops were obliged to leave the court, the parlfament 
 and their politics, and then spend their lives in labounng in the vineyard of Christ, in their 
 several dioceses. What have priests to do with baronies and acts of state ; men that ought 
 above all other men to be content with food and raiment, and Ui withdraw themselves from 
 the world, that by their continued conversation with God, and attention only to the sacred 
 presCTiptlons of the gospel, they mi||bt amear replenished with that divine power and virtue 
 which by prayer, and all the exercises of piety and penitence, they had implored ; and by 
 their examples and instructions, brighten and inflame the people with the love of God, and 
 improve the good in goodness, and correct and reform the wicked. This would be acting 
 like bishops Indeed, llie holiness of our prelates lives, and their fervour in teaching man- 
 kind the truths of Jesus Christ would soon advance the cause of their master. They would 
 bring the people to conform to the will of the Lord, and cause the learned to purify the de- 
 filements of genius ■ that pride and vanity, that curiosity and self-love which are incom- 
 patible with an accomplished purity of heart. But as to " Charles the First, of bleued 
 memory," certain I am, that whatever Dean Delany may thmk of him, this prince did really 
 contend for the cardinal maxims of the civil law, and died, not for true religion, as this doctor 
 says, but to advance the civil laws above the constitution and laws of Britain, and thereby 
 acquire an absolute dominion. Quod principi placuit legl$ habet vlgfirem. It appears from 
 matters of fact, that his pleasure was to be the law. In him was to reside the sole power 
 of imposing taxes on the people. This power, and other powers contrary to the fundamental 
 form of this government ; this king ot blessed memory assumed and challenged as rights 
 under the name of his undoubted prerogatives and grasped the pretence so bard, as never 
 to part with it, till be wanted strength to hold it. This is the hasttr 1 1 1 His reign was 
 a provoking violation of parliaments^ rights, and a cruel opjinression of his subjects. 
 
 Instead then of the fine laboured reasons offered by Dr. Delany to the Lord Lieutenant of 
 Ireland, to account for the way of Providence in the tragical death of this king, he might 
 have said. That whereas this prince had departed from the known laws of the land to an 
 arbitrary power, and not only the pressures and sufferings of the people, under this method 
 of govemmg, were mnmnerable ; but the fundamental form and original constitution of 
 Britain, on which the protestant religion and the liberty of Europe depend ; was in danger 
 of being subvoted, and for ever destroyed, therefore did Providence deliver up this Idng into 
 the hanils of wicked men, who had uswped the administration of affairs : that the mortifi- 
 cation in the constitution might be cured by the death of this destroying prince ; and the 
 violence of his exit remain a monument in Urrorem to all future kings of Bngland ; to have 
 a care how they offer to make any alteration or change in the original form ofgovemment ; 
 for violations <n the constitution bad brought Charles the First to the block. This had been 
 a reasonable account of that sad a£^ir. It is supported by matters of fact. 
 
 N.B. The contentions between his Majesty axul the house of conmions began about the 
 following essential points. 
 
 I. The power the kmg assumed, and challenged asa right, to impose taxes, levy monies, 
 and impose duties on merchandizes, without a previous grant tberea in parliameDi 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 1S7 
 
 drive piety, justice, and charity out of this world that they may 
 never more be heard of. 
 
 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 leaxned Hubert Languet was the reputed author, as we 
 find in De la Mare's eulogium upon him ; but De la Mare was 
 misinformed by Legoux. The great Du Plessis * was the author. 
 
 3. That the commons were obliged to observe and obey the king's messages, in giving 
 precedency to the matter of supphes, preferable to the redress of grievances, and to depend 
 on royal promises for time and opportunity to dispatch other business. 
 
 3. That the commons had no right and power of enquiring into the demeanour of the 
 king's ministers and nearest servants, and impeaching Ihem for misdemeanours. 
 
 4. That the king could in his courts below, take cognizance of, and censure the debates of 
 the commons, 
 
 5. That the king could, by warrants signed with his own hand, arrest and imprison Ms 
 subjects ; and especially the members of parliament, for what &ey said and did m parlia- 
 ment. 
 
 These illegal and destructive acts of power King Charles I. claimed as his prerogatives, 
 and exercised them as long as he was able, with great rigour, and extraordinary circum- 
 stances ; and how such a general oppression, and rendering the two estates of lords and 
 commons of no signification, can make the memory of this prince blessed ; or, how his 
 suffering in the manner he did, in defence of such absolute, law-giving power, that was in- 
 consistent with the constitution, and with the reasons upon which it is founded, can render 
 him a holy and blessed martyr, is past my comprehension. I should rather choose to say, 
 that since that monarch would not act for ue protection, happiness, and safety of his people, 
 but by a continued exertion of sovereign power, endeavoured to oppress and rum them, and 
 change the form of government, his arbitrary principles brought him to a dismal extremity. 
 Hiis, as before observed, is the truth of the case. May his death be a warning to future 
 English kings ; that they may govern with parliaments, and exert their powers for the pro- 
 tection, safety, and happiness of the people. 
 
 • The great Du Flessis de Momay was bom on the 5th of November, 1549. He wrote 
 several excellent books, and one that is invaluable, en the Eucharist, against the papists, 
 which was published in 1598. This book produced the famous conference between Du Plessis 
 Momay and Cardhial Perron, at Fontainbleau in the year z6oo. The victory at this con- 
 ference is by the papists ascribed to Perron ; but the protestants, with more justice affirm, 
 that Du Plessis was victor at Fontainbleau. Jacques Davy du Perron, bishop of Evreux, pub- 
 lished at the time, a book on this conference, in which he gives a pretended true account of it, 
 and illustrates and defends his cause : but to this the great Momay replied, and made a poor 
 devil of Perron. See those pieces, reader, and you will be finely entertained ; for. Perron, 
 though a papist, was a ^eat man. Du Plessis med at his barony La Foret in Poictou, Nov. 
 X3f 1623, aged 74 ; having retired to his country seat after Louis XIII. had taken from him 
 the government of Saumur. 
 
 Cardinal Du Perron, bom Nov. 25, 1556, was trained up in the reformed religion with great 
 care ; but went off to popery on the preferments offered him by Henry III. As, on the con- 
 trary, Du Plessis Momay had been educated a papist, but became a protestant, to the loss 
 of the greatest preferments. — It was Du Perron that converted to popery the famous Henry 
 Sponde, bishop of Pamiers, and abridger of the Annais of Baronius, dedicated to Perron; 
 and, in conjuction witii Cardinal D'Ossat, he made a papist of Henry the Fourth of France. 
 It was owing to the management of this Cardinal de St. Agnes, in the conclave, and to 
 D'Ossat, that that wicked fellow, Paul V.* was created pope and Cardinal Baronius lost 
 the popedom. Bellanning however who was likewise one of the fifty-nine cardmals in that 
 condave, might have had it, but he refused it. Those things we find in the Lettres de Guy 
 PaHitf Vol. I. in Godeau Melanges^ critiques apud Antillion, and in the Hisioire des Coh' 
 claves. Cardinal Du Perron, died at Paris, m 16x8, aged 63. 
 
 Leo XI. who reigned but twenty-five days, died in the fifty-third year of his age, in 1605 ; 
 was succeeded by Paul Borghese alias Paul V., who died 28th of J an, x62 1 ; aged 68 ; having 
 for his successor Ludovisio, called Gregory XV. 
 
 D'Ossat was bom Aug. 23, 1536. His five volumes of Letters are a master piece, in politics, 
 and next to Father Pam's History of fiu Councii of Trent, are the best books you can look 
 into, reader, for an exact and fuU description of the artifices of the Court of Rome. Remark- 
 able was the saying of this Cardinal, when Henry IV. of France was stabbed : '* If there was 
 
 * So Marbais, a doctor of divinity^ who knew this pope well, assures us, vid. Requesfe a 
 EtHperfit*r, Leyde, 1613,"^. 223. 
 
158 THE LIFE OF 
 
 D'Aubign^,* whose word is sterling, af&rms it. See here, said 
 Mr. Seymour, the second volume of D'Aubigne's History ^ book ii. 
 ch. ii. p. 108, " il paroissoit un autre livre qui s'appelloit Junius, 
 
 the least pretext for such assassinations, they ought to be contrived and executed by the 
 heretics, whom the king separated from and abandoned, and thereby gave them reason 
 to be afraid of him ; but they never made the least attempt of th^ kind, neither against him, 
 nor the five kingp his predecessors, though their majesties made ttie most cruel butdieries 
 of the Huguenots." D'Ossat died at Rome ; March 13, 1604, in the sixty-seventh year of 
 his age* 
 
 Baronius was bom Oct. 30, 1538. His Ecclesiastical Annals in twelve volumes, folio, 
 containing the history of the church for twelve centuries, ending at the year 1198, have been 
 well called the twelve labours of the Roman Hercules, It is a prodigious work. The reading, 
 the erudition, the judgment, the order, and method of the author, are amazing ; but an un- 
 happy prejudice for papal rights, and Romish pieties, attaches him continually to ttie Roman 
 cause, without the least regard to truth, and makes it plain, that he was not as he affirms, 
 assisted from above in this work. The most judicious of the Roman Catholic writers say 
 " II seroit a souhaiter qu'U eut 6t6 exempt des preventions que son education et son pais lui 
 avoient inspirfies." Isaac Casaubon, in his fine Exerciiations, says with much justice of this 
 great man ; " qui denique merita sua in ecclesiam, si immoderato partium studio non cor- 
 rupisset, dignus erat sine controversia, cui omnes et veteres et j. -entiores, qui illam eruditionis 
 p£u:tem attigerunt, assurgerent, et fasces submitterent. Sed vir eruditissimus quando a 
 scriptionem se accingebat, de approbanda fide sua ex £equo omnibus, sicutl par erat fidelem 
 historicum, adeo nihil cogitavit ; ut contra, id summo studio videaturegisse ne,qui in negotio 
 religionis alia se(juebantur castra ullum usquam aequitatis vestigium in suis scriptis reperireut 
 Adeo in defensione illarum partium quas probabat, totus est ubique historiara professus, 
 non solum theologum, sed etiam persaepe disputatorem ^ schola agit, locos communes ad 
 narratione historica digrediens, saepissime contexit ; Protestantes passim nullo discrimine, 
 convitiis, maledictis et infandis calumniis incessit. Jura principum, quse a paucis seculis 
 obtentu religionis imminui ceperunt, ita cupide, quoties datm: occasio, contrahit, arrodit, 
 everitit, ut natum in regno noscere nequeas ; educatum, aJtum et auctum Ronue facile agnos- 
 cas. Denique ita se gessit Baronius totis iz suorum annalium tomis, ut qui dubitari nollet^ 
 praecipium sibi scopum fussie, papalem monarchiam stabilire, amplificare, et ad coelum usque 
 evehere." This is a just character of the Annals of Baronius. THie best edition of this work, 
 is the English translation of it by Hall a doctor of the Sorbonne, It is not only preferable 
 to the French, Italian, and every other translation, but far better than the original Latin, on 
 accoimt of Hail's corrections, and most learned notes and disswtations. 
 
 Baronius in writing his Annals ascribes the guidance and success of his pen, to the favour 
 of the most holy Mary, the mother of God. " To her whom I acknowledge the whole 
 to be received, I offer these Annals, &c. To her by whom the whole of this gift comes to ui 
 from God, to the most holy Virgin, the most safe ark in which our labours may be kept, and 
 in safe custody protected, we offer these A nnals, that she may sanctify them with her blessing. 
 For the entireness of his net, after his having cast it so often, and the continuance of his 
 strength fresh and green in his old age ; all was from the grace of Abisag, their shunamite 
 cherishing his aged bones ; tiie most holy and pure virgin favouring the work begun, and 
 taking care of, and happily promoting all his affairs." What must a true Christian say to 
 this? 
 
 Many are the abridgements of the Anna^ ; but the best is that of Henry Sponde, the 
 apostate, aforementioned. Baronius died Jan. 30, 1607, aged 68. 
 
 After all, the Centuries of Magdebourg, which were published in 1559 and 1360, are the 
 most valuable body of ecclesiastical history. Baronius, who pretended to answer them by 
 his Annals, is undoubtedly the finest writer; but the ministers, Matthias Flaccius, Jean 
 Vigand, Matthew le Judin, Basil Faber, Nicholas Gallus, and Andrew Corvin, are the learned 
 
 • Theodore Agrippa D'AubignS, the favourite of Henry IV., was bom in the year 1550, 
 and died 1631, aged 80. He wrote several curious things ; but his great and principal work 
 is his Univers(d History, containingjthe transactions from 1550 to 1601, in three folio volumes. 
 This is a very extraordinary history, and contains many curious relations that are nowhere 
 else to be found. He was obliged to leave France on account of this history and died 
 at Geneva. His two satires, called La Confession de Sancy and Les Aventures du Baron de 
 Fceneste, are fine things. Du Chat's edition of the latter, which is really a very curious 
 thing, is well worth reading. The best edition is that printed at Cologne in 1729, in two 
 small volumes l2mo. , , , 
 
 [The life of this extraordinary man, was written with much elegance and perspicuity, by 
 Mrs. Sarah Scott, and printed in z77^, ^ ons volume, 8vo. Ed.] 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 159 
 
 ou Defense contra las Tyrans, fait par M. Du Plessis, renomm6 
 pour plusieurs excellens livres." And again D'Aubigne says 
 that " M. Du Plessis lui a avou6 qu*il en estoit I'auteur/' ih, 
 bookii. ch. 15, p. 91. 
 
 Another extraordinary book I saw in this library, was the 
 famous piece de Lihertate Ecclesiasticaj written against the papal 
 usurpations, at the time his hoUness Camille Borghese, commonly 
 called Paul V., had the memorable contest with the Venetians ; 
 and upon enquiring, who was the author of this scarce and 
 valuable book ; which is even superior to Father Paul's book 
 upon the same subject in defence of the liberties of mankind ; 
 Mr. Trenchard the president of the society, showed me Cappel's 
 
 men to whom we are indebted for the noblest collection of historical truths in ecclesiasticai 
 affairs, that ever appeared in the world. They are honest writers indeed. Bvery page of 
 their work discovers a zeal for truth, and the glory of Christ ; while Baronius sadly labours 
 for a pontiff mazimus, and the cheats of Rome. The work of the centuriators extends 
 to the thirteenth century, and every century contains sixteen chapters : the first is a sum- 
 mary of the things to be recited ; then the second treats of the place and extent of the church ; 
 the third, of persecution and peace ; the fourth, of doctrine ; the fifth of heresies ; the sixth, 
 of ceremonies and rites ; the seventh, of policy and government ; the eighth, of schism ; the 
 ninth, of synods ; the tenth, of bishops ; the eleventti, of heretics ; the twelfth, of martyrs ; 
 the thirteenth, of miracles ; the fourteenth, of the Jews ; the fifteenth, of religions separated 
 from the diurcb ; and the sixteenth, of broils and political changes. In this clear and distinct 
 manner are the things of ev^7 age treated. 
 
 Bellarmine, bom tiie 4tb of October, 1542, was a man of great learning in the works of the 
 fathers, councils, canon-law, and <^urch history ; and wrote several laboured things ; but 
 his chief performance is bis body of Controversy, in four volumes folio ; which the catholics 
 think very fine : They shew, indeed, great readmg ; but, ignorance of ths sense of scripture, 
 and are quite void of argiunent. There is not one article of popery tolerably well defended 
 in the four volumes. Bvery exposition and vindication is senseless and ridiculous. He died 
 Sept. i7th 1621, aged 79. 
 
 Isaac Casaubon, who wrote the EfeercUaH<ms on Baronius ; was bom Feb. iS, 1559, died 
 in 1614, in the S5th year of his age and was interred in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Besides his ExercHaHons, he published several learned works and animadversions 
 commentaries on Persius, Folybius, Atheiueus, Strabo, Suetonius, and Diogenes Laertius. 
 It was he, having purchased the MS. at a great price, first published in Greek, Poly^enus' 
 Stratagems of the AnHents in War, in the year 1589 ; but the Latin version added to it, was 
 done by Justus Vulteus ; and we have since had a more correct edition of Polysenus, by 
 Pancratius, in the year 1690. The Episioke Casauboni are likewise valuable things ; but of 
 most merit are his Exercitaitons, and his Persius.His Commentary on Persius is admirable, 
 not only for a just explication of his incomparable author, but for much fine classical learning 
 whidi he has scattered through it ; and for his Exerdtations against Baronius, the friend 
 of truth must be for ever charmed with them. It is to be lamented that we have but sixteen 
 of them. They go no farther than to the thirty-foxirth year of Jesus Christ, and relate princi- 
 pally to Baronius's bad explication of scripture. 
 
 Two Jesuits, Boullenger and Jean L'Heureux, wrote against the Exerdtations ; but the 
 defence of Baronius by Endemen Jean, the name L'Heureux went by, is very weak, as you 
 will soon see, reader, on turning him over. And as to Julius Caasar Boullenger, the o&er 
 monk, when you have read his Dissertaiion against Casaubon, and Bishop Montague's 
 Animadversions on that dissertation, you will perceive he was a poor creature. 
 
 It is remarkable, that Isaac Casaubon*s two sons Henry and Meric, both went off to popery, 
 and died in France, apostate priests in the Romish church ; though their father had fled from 
 that country for the s^e of the protestant religion, and was one of the best defenders of the 
 reformed faith. He was one of the judges at the famous conference between Du Plessis and 
 Perron : and, by the way, I think it equally remarkable, that the grandson of the great 
 primate Usher, and the only remaining person of the archbishop's family, should be the 
 most violent papist I ever saw. I knew tiie man in Dublin, and never heard so outrageous 
 a catholic as he was. He said, to my astonishment, that " his grandfather was a great light 
 but bum*d wiUi his head downwards in this world, till he drop'd into hell in the next." 
 
 As to the conference between Du Plessis and Perron, about the Eucharist and other matters, 
 besides the tvro pieces I have mentioned, to wit, Perron's account of it, and Momay's answer 
 
i6o THE LIFE OF 
 
 Assertion of the True Faith against Rosweius the Jesuit. And in 
 the following passage. " In ecclesiastica, antiquitate quam non 
 esset Tyro Casaubonus, docuit A.D, 1607. libro singulari de 
 libertate ecclesiastica, cujus jam paginse 264. typis erant editae, 
 cum rex Henricus IV. Compositis jamVenetorumcum pontiiice 
 Romano controversiis, vetuit ultra progredi, et hoc ipsum quod 
 fuerat inchoatum supprimi voluit, ut ejus pauca nunc extent 
 exemplaria," p. 17. And in the same book, I saw some manu- 
 script references to Casaubon's Lettres, p. 628, 632, and 647, and 
 to one place in Scahger's Letters j edit, 1627, p. 345. Several places 
 I turned to, and saw that Casaubon hinted to his friends, that 
 he was the author of the book de Ecclesiastica Antiquitate. 
 Scaliger * afl&rms it. The words " Vetuit ultra progredi, et hoc 
 
 to the account, you will find a good relation of it in the Histoire de I'Edii de Nantes, torn i. 
 p. 343, et suivante ; and see further on this article Sully's Memoirs. 
 
 The ingenious and excellent Miss Momay, of Shelford Park, is descended from the great 
 Phillip Mornay Du Plessis, and the last of the house of Du Plessis now [1756] living. Her 
 grandfather, Jacques de Mornay, was great grandson to Du Plessis Mornay, and came over 
 to England on the revocation of the edict of Nantes, in the year 1685, when Lewis XIV, with 
 the same hand that signed the revocation of the edict of Nantes, granted to the reformed 
 religion, by Henry IV., in 1598, in the ninth year of his reign ; likewise signed an order 
 for eighty thousand merciless dragoons and other troops, to march against his protestant 
 subjects and force them by plundering and torturing, to turn papists. 
 
 I say with the same band, because the twelfth article of the edict signed by this cruel 
 and pc^dious prince in the forty-third yeu of his reign, is as follows : " And furttiermore 
 Those of the said pretended reformed religion, till such time as it shall please God to illuminate 
 them may abide in the towns, and places of our kingdom, countries and lands of our dominion 
 and continue their traffic, and enjoy their goods, without being molested or hindered on 
 account of the said pretended reformed religion, provided they do not assemble to exercise 
 it, &c." lliis was a monstrous cheat and highly perfidious to deceive and ensnare his poor 
 subjects. Something might be said for the edict of revocation, if Lewis had declared, that 
 to quell the agitations of his conscience he must revoke the edict of Nantes, tiiough he had 
 sworn to the observation of it ; and that he allowed a certain time to his protesta^ts subj^ects, 
 after which ttiey must either turn catholics, or quit the kingdom, with their families and 
 effects, or else they should be exposed to such and such treatment. This had been plain 
 and honest dealing, though an arbitrary proceeding : but to p.ve it under his hand to his 
 subjects, that they " might stay and continue their traffic, enjoy their goods without being 
 molested or hindered on account of theu: religion," and at the same time leave them to the 
 mercy of the dragoons ; Was not this an heinous act ? " Had he been guilty of this single 
 one only,' says Laval, in the sixth volume of his excellent History of the Reformation in 
 France, " it would have imprinted such a spot on his reputation, that all the waters of the 
 Seine were not sufficient to wash it away." 
 
 • Joseph Scaliger, bom Aug. 4, i544i died in the 65th year of his age, at Ley den, Jan, 21, 
 1609. His fatiier, Julius Caesar Scaliger, died in the 75th year of his age, October ai, 1558. 
 
 The father was a papist, the son a protestant ; were both great men in the republic of letters 
 and both wrote many books, but the son was by far the greatest man. 
 
 What I like best of the father's works, are his Poetics- His Account of the Latin Tongue^ 
 and his Eteercitations against Cardan. These are fine pieces. His Problems on AuUts GeUius 
 are also excellent. 
 
 The works of Joseph the son, are as follows, — CommentarU in Appendicem Virgilii. Notae 
 in Ubrutn VarrofU de Re Rusiica. Conjectwm In Varronem de Lingua LaUna. CastigoHones 
 in Valerium Flaccum. Notce in TertuUianum de PaUio, cum Tractatus de Equinoctiis. Loci 
 eujusdam Galeni DifficilUmi ExpUcaiio. Elemhus TriharesU Nicolai SerarH. ConfuiaHo 
 ejusdem Serarii Antmadversorum in Scaligerum. Castigaiiones et Nota in Eusebii Chronica. 
 Thesaurus Temporum. Elenchus utfiusque Orationis Chronologica Davidis Partci. Con- 
 jectanea de NomU Dionystatids. Not<B in Opera Ausonli. EmmdoHo Temporum. Veierum 
 Gracorum Fragmenta. Cyclometrica Elementa duo. Appendix ad Cyclometriam surnn. 
 Ausoniarum L^Honum libri duo. Emendationes ad Theocriti, &c. IdyUia. Notts in Hip- 
 pocratem. Notce et Castigationes, in Tibullum, Catulktm, PropertUtm. Epistolarwm Vohtmen. 
 CommentarH in ManiUwn. Animadversiones in Melchioris Gidllandivn Commenia/riwn in 
 Tria PUnii de Papyro CapUa. Episfola adversus Barbarum et Indodum Poema PaH^oni 
 Clienfis Lucattt. Dlatrtba de Decims in Lege Dei. NotWa GaiUa. Diatriba de Europtsorum 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. i6i 
 
 ipsum quod fuerat inchoatum supprimi voluit," accounts for its 
 being published imperfect ; which all that see itwonder at. 
 
 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 
 supposed the meaning of this design ? The emblem, 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, though my thought was not unjust. The design is to put 
 one in mind of death, of which terminus is the most just 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 medalUon, 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, ferasmus sisked the famous 
 Carvajal the Spanish cordeher, 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 being without 
 all peradventure, to the pride of Erasmus, and meant, that he 
 would never yield, right or wrong, to any one in the republic of 
 letters.' Erasmus answered, •t;hat ' 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 corneUan for a 
 seal." 
 
 Unguis, &e. Judicium de quadam Thai Cknmolo^ica. Eiipoaitio Namlamatis Argenii 
 Cottstantim Imperatoris. Orphei Poetet Hymni Sacn Versibus Antiquis Latine Exprasi 
 Maftials Select Epigram. Versiones Grace. Sopkoclis Ajax Characteri Veiere Conversua. 
 In JEschj/H Prometkeum Prologus. Animadversiones in Epigrammata, &c. CortulU Galli. 
 Atumadaersiones in Cychpem Euripidis. Dionysius Caio cum Notis. De EquinacHorum 
 Aniicipatione Diatriba. Varia Poemafa Laiina. Poemata Greeca versa ex Latino. &c. Notes 
 in Panegyricum ad Pisones. Castigafio Kalendarii Gregoriani. Interpretalio Proverbioru- 
 Arabicorum cum SchoUis. De Arte Critica Diatriba. Nota in Novum Teslamentum. Hyppo- 
 liH Canon PaschtUis, cum CommentarOs, De Re Nummaria Dissertatio. Discours de la 
 Jonction des Mers, &c. Discours sur Milice Romaine. Lettres touchant VExplicaiion d 
 quelgues Medailles. Pratio in Origines Lingua Latina. Scaligerana. Epislola in Pabrium 
 Paulinum. Animadversiones in Locos Controversos RobertiTitii. Vita Julii Cesaris Scaligeri 
 cum Epislola de Vetustaie et Splendore Gentis Sctdigera. 
 
 These are the works of Joseph Scaliger, and in them one meets with so various and fine 
 an erudition, and so much valuable criticism, that if the reader of fortune will take my advice 
 he will get tiiem all into his closet as soon as possible ; and at the same time, the four ex- 
 cellent pieces I have mentioned of Julius Caesar Scaliger, the father of Joseph. 
 
 The great Louis Cappel author of the Assertion of the True Faith, was a protestant minister 
 at Saumur. He was bom October 14, 1583, and died at Saiunur, the z6th of June, 1658, 
 aged 75. He was likewise the author of that excellent book called, Arcanum Punctuationis 
 Revelaium ; and of another very valuable work, intitled Critica Sacra. His son, Jean Cappel, 
 turned papist, and died a despicable apostate in the Romish church. 
 
 There were two other Cappels, protestant ministers ; both Jacques, one who died in 1585 
 the other in 1624, who were both authors of several controversial pieces against popery. Thty 
 were however weak writers, wh^n compared with the learned Louis Cappel. 
 
1 62 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Another extraordinary thing these gentlemen showed 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, Penpark-hole, in Gloucestershire,* within three miles 
 of Bristol ; but with this difference, 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 passage, 
 till I came to a flat rough rock, which opened two yards and a half 
 one way, and four yards the other way. This little cavern was 
 two yards high. We went from it into a more easy sloping way, 
 which brought us downward for thirteen yards, till we came to 
 another 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 
 
 • In Penpark-hole you are let down by ropes fixed at the top of the pit, four fathom per- 
 pendicular, and then descend ttiree fathoms more, in an oblique way, between two rocks, 
 which brinjgs you in a perpendicular tunnel, thirty-nine yards down, into which you descend 
 by ropes, and land in a spacious chamber, that is seventy-five yards in length, forty-one in 
 breadth, and nineteen yards high, from the margin of a great water, at the north end of it, 
 to the roof. This water is twenty-seven yards in length, twelve in breadth, and genarally 
 sixteen deep. It is sweet, bright, and good drink. It rises sometimes several feet, and at 
 other times sinks two feet below its usual depth. The torches always bum clear in this 
 chamber, nor is the air in the least offensive, though fifty-nine yards from the surface of the 
 earth, and separated from the day by such deep tunnels, and an oblique descent between 
 them. The great tunnel is about three yards wide, and in the south side of it thirty yards 
 down, nine yards before you come to the opening of the diamber, or cavity below, is a passage 
 thirty- two yards in lengtti, three and a half high, and three yards broad. It is the habitation 
 of bats, and towards the end of it, a sloping hole goes to some other place. This passage, 
 and the tunnels, and the chamber below, are all irregular work. 
 
 Penpark-hole has long been an object of curiosity, and induced many to leave " the roddie 
 lemes of dale," to explore its terrific and gloomy subterranean caverns. The descent of 
 Captain Sturmy in 1669, and of Captain Collins m September 1682, are on record ; but few 
 later visitors or such scenes, so dismal and dreary as are rarely to be paralleled and, of whidi 
 the most fervid imagination can form at best an inefficient and faint idea, have published 
 any descriptive account. Mr. George Symes Catcott, who more than once gratified his 
 curiosity in attempting further discoveries in those ' regions of horror and doleful shades ' ; 
 on a visit to this place on Easter Monday, April 17, though the year is not mentioned, describes 
 the chamber noticed in the preceding note as about ninety feet long, and fifty-two broad, with 
 a hard rocky vaulted roof, about thirty feet above the water ; but when the water is at the 
 lowest, it is supposed to be at least about ninety feet, so that even with the assistance of 
 torches the summit cannot be distinctly seen. The roof appears to be of nearly an equal 
 height in every part ; and very much resembles the ceiling of a Gothic cathedral. This 
 place is rendered awful by the great reverberation which attends the voice when speaking 
 loud, and still more so by the pendent rocks which sometimes break in very large pieces 
 from overhead and the sides, riveting forcibly on the mind the most horrific tremor and 
 dreadful apprehensions of personal danger. The water, agreeably to the preceding descrip- 
 tion, is stated by Mr, Catcott, to be in many places seven or eight fathoms deep, but " in 
 August 1762, it was found not more than one fathom." In conclusion of the notice of this 
 dreadful chasm, the melancholy circumstance of the poor traveller being thrown headlong 
 by the villains who had robbed him, into Eldine-hole, near Derby, may recur to the reader, 
 when he is told that on the 17th of March, 1775, the Rev. Mr. Newnam, fell by accident into 
 this tremendous cavern, and was no more seen. Public curiosity was excited, and for some 
 weeks a vast concourse of persons were brought together daily, to visit this ill-boding and 
 gloomy s^ot. Some few persons summoned sufficient fortitude to descend into and explore 
 the yawning gulph, and the result of these inquiries were communicated by Mr. Catcott, 
 to an excellent, but long since discontinued work, the LUgrary Magazine, March i793» PP- 
 2o6-9» Bn. 
 
JOHN BVNCLE. ESQ. 163 
 
 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 
 though they had found by the lead that there was hard ground 
 below. " I will then," I said, " explore this subterranean realm, 
 if you wiU let me and my Ifid down, with proper conveniences 
 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 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 replied," you shall have ever5rthing 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 wiU 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, I found I was in a chamber of a 
 great extent, and though a hundred and three yards from the 
 day, breathed as free as if I had been above ground. A httle 
 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 therefore we 
 crossed it, at a hundred yards from the fall, to get into a cavern 
 that had an arched entrance, 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 seventy-nine yards, an easy rising way, 
 and then came to a swallow, into 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 fifty yards. The cavern was so wide we 
 could not see the walls, and the roof was of a vast height. 
 
i64 THE LIFE OF 
 
 At the end of fifty yards, the river appeared due north again, 
 and by its side we went for ten more, till we came to another 
 vast cavern, that was a steep ascending opening, 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 difiered 
 from Pool's Hole * that the ascending 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 cUmbed from the bottom 
 to the upper end four hundred and seventy nine yards ; add to 
 this two hundred and twenty nine yards, the way we had come 
 from the bottom of the tunnel to the beginning of the watery 
 steep, and our march through the mountain, from the time we 
 parted with the gentlemen, to our getting out at the top of it, 
 was seven hundred and eight yards. 
 
 This was a laborious route, and at the hazard 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 con- 
 dition, 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 
 desirable Ught ; at which we lighted 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 
 
 * Pool's-hole, about a mile west of Buxton-wells in Derbyshire, is in the whole length 
 from the entrance to the farthest ascent, but two hundred and thirty yards. The accoimt 
 of this in Camden's Britannia is very imi>erfect, and next to nothing : and what the authors 
 of the Tour ihrouih Great-Britain say of it, even in their fifth edition, in the year r7S3, only 
 shows to one who has been there, and carefully examined it, that neither Daniel Defoe, nor 
 those since concerned in improving and correcting the four volumes of the Tour, ever were 
 in the inside of Pool's-hole. Their description of this, like a thousand other places in those 
 volumes, is mere imagination, with some things from Cotton's false account ; and the fancy 
 not only wrong, but very bad. I would describe it here, but that the reader will find me 
 in ;Derbyshire before I take my leave of him, if death does not prevent, and 1 shall then 
 give a full and true history of this high and rough country ; its waters, curiosities, and anti- 
 quities. At present, I shall only observe, to abate the wonder of my passing from the bottom 
 of the inside of one of the Richmond mountains to the plain on the top of it, that the hill 
 in which is Pool's-hole is open within side, in the ascent, so far, that five yards more of aper- 
 ture would bring one to the outside of the top : and I believe it is very possible for art to 
 make an entrance that way, as nature has done at the bottom. * 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 165 
 
 remaining sixty yards. In short, we did the work. As before 
 related we came out this way, and from the dismal caverns of 
 night ascended to a deUghtful 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 reUef . Never was repast more sweet. I was not only fatigued 
 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 towards the top. 
 
 When I had done, I walked about to see if there was any way 
 down the mountain's sides, to go to Ulubrae, from whence I came ; 
 but for miles it was a frightful perpendicular rock, next that place 
 and impossible for a goat to descend ; and on the side that faced 
 Bishoprick, a fine country house and gardens, about a quarter 
 of a mile off, in a deUghtful 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 the hazard of his hfe, 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 Umbs 
 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 possibly 
 my friend Turner might live there. 
 
 With art and caution then I began to descend, and so happily 
 took every offered advantage of jutting rock and path in my 
 way, that without any accident I got in safety down ; though the 
 perils were so great, that often I could not reach from rock to 
 rock with my pole. In this ca^e, I aimed the point of my pole 
 at the spot I intended to Ught 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 fathoms off, and the part of the rock below not more than 
 a yard broad. It is a frightful piece of activity to a bystander, 
 but the youths on the mountains of Ireland make notlung of it, 
 they are as expert at this work as the Teneriffe men, from them 
 I learned it ; and made Ralph so perfect in the action, while he 
 travelled with me, that he could go from rock to rock Uke a bird. 
 
 When we came to the ground, I sent my man before me to the 
 house, with mj?: humble service to the master of it, Mr. Harcourt, 
 and to let him know, that I had travelled through the inside of 
 
i66 THE LIFE OF 
 
 one of the high mountains that surrounded his house, and on 
 coming out on the top of it, had made the precipice next him my 
 road to the valley he hved 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, de- 
 livered by Ralph with much comic gravity, 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 ; ur- 
 prising a thing to Mr. Harcourt and his daughter, that they 
 walked out with some impatience to see this extraordinary 
 traveller, and expressed no httle amazement when they came 
 near me. After a salute, Mr. Harcourt told me he did not 
 understand what my servant had sedd to him ; nor could he 
 comprehend how I arrived in this valley, as there was but one 
 passage into it at the front of his house ; and my being on foot too, 
 increased the wonder of my appearing in the place : but whatever 
 way I came, I was welcome to his house, and he would show me 
 the way in. 
 
 " My arrival here. Sir," I replied, " is to be sure very strange, 
 and would be almost incredible to hear told by another person, 
 of one that journeyed two hundred and twenty nine 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 explain how it was done ; " and I began to 
 relate 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 
 mountain is impossible to descend, as you inform us on account 
 ol 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 answered, " for coming down this 
 very dangerous way, 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 superior to the difficulties of the outward 
 way, and if I should fall, it would be in the Ught 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 cUmbed 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- 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 167 
 
 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 fancied 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 unreasonableness 
 of a rich father, who has forsaken me because I will not submit 
 to the declarations and decisions of weak and fallible men, in 
 matters of pure revelation and divine faith, and own the infalh- 
 bihty of the orthodox system. Because the ascent 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 obhged 
 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 
 inside 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 about to ask me some questions, 
 when one of his servants came to let him know that dinner was 
 serving up, and 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 
 several men servants attending. Miss Harcourt sat at the head 
 of the table, and at her right hand two young ladies vastly hand- 
 some, whom I shall have occasion to mention hereafter in this 
 journal ; two ladies more were on the other side of her, pretty 
 women, but no beauties ; and next them sat three gentlemen ; 
 sensible, well-behaved men ; one of them a master of music, the 
 other a master of 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 extremely civU, but manifested a kind of fondness as if he 
 was well pleased with my arrival. He and his daughter took 
 great care of me, and treated me as if I had been a man of distinc- 
 tion rather than the poor pilgrim they saw me, with my staff in 
 my hand. The young lady talked to me in a very pleasant mann r, 
 and as I saw the whole company were inclined to be very cheerful 
 I club'd as much as I could to promote good-humour, and en- 
 crease 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 incUned various minds to different 
 
i68 THE LIFE OF 
 
 things and parts. Some pensively roamed in shady walks, some 
 sat by plapng 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 Uttle more particular. " That I will," and immediately pro- 
 ceeded in the following manner. 
 
 " My father. Madam, is a man of great learning, virtue and 
 knowledge, but orthodox 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 hved in, and in good time, he fondly 
 hoped, the inhabitants of many other countries : that notwith- 
 standing the symbol I have mentioned is what no human appre- 
 hension can comprehend, and the judgment hath nothing to act 
 on in 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 beheve this great and 
 awful mystery : that three persons and«Gods Eire only one person 
 and God ; and, on peril of eternal misery, they must confess that. 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, though 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 enfiame 
 the people against reason, that traitor to God and religion, which 
 our adversaries, the Christian deists, would make Lord and King 
 in opposition to faith. I wsis to tell my beloved, that reason is 
 a carnal sensual devil, and that instead of hearkening to this 
 tempter, they must assent to those heavenly propositions, which 
 give wisdom without ideas, and certainty without knowledge. 
 You must beheve, my beloved, that none is before or after the 
 other. None is greater or less than another. The infidels call 
 this an unintelUgible piece of nonsense : but it is, my beloved, a 
 very transcendent mystery. It does, we must own, stagger and 
 astonish us, being a thing beyond our reach to comprehend ; but, 
 it must be beUeved, on peril of eternal misery as I before observed : 
 and it is easy to be beheved, 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. Bishop Beveridge, in his Private Thoughts, p. 52, to 
 which book I refer you, my beloved, for more of his admirable 
 reasoning on this capital article, and further 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 writ- 
 ings, that the more incredible the Athanasian creed is, and the 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 169 
 
 fuller of contradictions, the more honour we do to our God in 
 beUeving it. It is the glory of orthodox Christians, that their 
 faith is not only contrary to the carnal mind, but even to the 
 most exalted reason. In matter of faith, we must renounce our 
 reason, even though it be only the 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 cathoUc faith is the reverse of rational religion, and except 
 a man believe it faithfully, he must go into everlasting fire and 
 brimstone.* 
 
 " 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 an apostle for that faith which is an obedience to unreason- 
 able commands : but unfortunately for my father's design : and 
 fortunately for my soul ; I was, on entering the university, put 
 into the hands of a gentleman, who abhorred modern orthodoxy, 
 and made the essential constitutive happiness and perfection of 
 every inteUigent being consist in the conformity of our mind to 
 the moral rectitude of the Divine Nature. This excellent man 
 convinced my understanding, that even faith in Christ is of an 
 inferior nature to this, and that 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 reUgion of 
 our Saviour himself. 
 
 " Thus, Madam, was I instructed by a master of arts, my pri- 
 vate tutor, and when to his lessons I added my own careful ex- 
 aminations 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 chosei> by the divine wisdom, to pub- 
 lish the will of God to mankind, and sent under the character of 
 his son, and spiritual heir of his inheritance the church, to new- 
 form the ages, and fix such good principles in the minds of men, 
 as would be productive of all righteousness in the conversation : 
 
 * Little did I think when I talked in such a manner to Miss Harcourt against the famous 
 symbol, that I should ever find in the book of a most learned man and excellent divine, the 
 same kind of arguments seriously produced in favour of the Creed of St. Athanasius; yet this 
 strange thing has time brought on, and thereby convinced the world, that the greatest learn- 
 ing and the most exalted piety, employed in the cause of mystery, can become so extravagant 
 and erring as to maintain that a thing incomprehensible to human reason can be revealed, 
 and that the more incomprehensible it is to human reason, and the more senseless it appears 
 to human tmderstanding, the more glorious is the object of faith, and the more worthy to be 
 believed by a Christian. This deplorable argument for the truth of Christianity I met with 
 in a book lately published by an admirable man. Dr. Joseph Smith, provost of Queen's Col- 
 lege, Oxon. In his third section of A Clear and Comprehensive View of the Being, Nature, and 
 Attributes of Gad, from p. fii, to p. 78, the reader may see this plea for darkness, confusion 
 and impHoU fitUh. 
 
I/O THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 therefore, instead of laying aside my under- 
 standing, and beUeving things without any rational ground or 
 evidence at all ; instead of going into orders, to draw revealed 
 conclusions 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 ingenuous as to let my 
 father know, that of all things in the world I never would be a 
 parson, since the character obUged 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, though I 
 lost his favour and large fortune by the resolution, to Uve and 
 die a Christian deist ; confessing before men the personal unity 
 and perfections of the true God, and the personal mediatorial 
 ofi&ce of Jesus Christ. As St. Paul maintained the personal unity 
 and absolute supremacy of 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 
 understandings and will, in a co-ordinate tripUcity 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 Almighty 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, beUeve 
 in and 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 Redeemer and only be- 
 gotten Son of God ; depending upon the effectual aid and assist- 
 ance of the blessed Spirit, in hope of a glorious immortality. 
 This is, this shall be my reUgion, whatever I may feel from an 
 antichristian t5rranny, on account of the confession. Though an 
 outrage of uncharitable zeal should strip me of every worldly 
 comfort, and reduce me to a want of bread. If I should become 
 a spectacle to men and angels by the faith, yet I will believe as 
 Jesus Christ and his apostles have ordered the world to beUeve. 
 No unintelligible cant, or scholastic jargon for me. The Holy 
 Ghost has in scripture expressed it sufficiently and unexception- 
 ably 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 despicable, heretical declarations of the 
 doctors, in respect of this ? 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 171 
 
 " 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 
 practice, and I think it incumbent on me to mind what he says, 
 and flee the invented pieties of our theologers. I did so, and dis- 
 obliged my father. I lost his favour entirely. He would 
 take no farther notice of me, and I became as you see a 
 wanderer." 
 
 This discourse, deUvered with my fire and action, amazed Miss 
 Harcourt so greatly, that for some time aiter 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, con- 
 verse with you on this subject. My father and I have had some 
 doubts as to the truth of the Athanasian creed ; but he told me, 
 he did not choose to examine the thing, as it had the sanction of 
 ages, and was beheved by the greatest divines in all nations. If 
 it be wrong, let the churchmen answer for it. But this does not 
 satisfy me ; and since I have seen one that has forsaken all rather 
 than live a disciple of Athansisius, after a thorough examination 
 of the system ; and that you have now said some things against 
 it that shew the foUy of beheving it, and make it a faith the most 
 preposterous 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 nature ; and the Son, only a God by communication of 
 divinity from the Father, that is, by having received from the 
 Father, the supreme 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 contradiction, 
 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 longer silent in so important a case. If a Trinity 
 in unity of equal minds or Gods is not to be proved by the inspired 
 writings, the doctors preaching it, and by creed requiring it, will 
 be no justifiable plea or excuse 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 father so orthodox and furious a bigot 
 as to force me to be a religionist against my conscience. What 
 I have to beg of you. Sir," Miss Harcourt continued, " is that 
 you will to-morrow, obhge me with your thoughts on the texts I 
 have marked, as produced by orthodox divines for their myste- 
 
172 THE LIFE' OF 
 
 rious 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 un- 
 inspired writers, I shall renounce it to be sure. I will no longer 
 mistake contradictions for mysteries. The schemes and inven- 
 tions of men shall not pass with me for the revelations of God." 
 Here Mr. Harcourt came up to us, and desired to know, if it 
 was a fair question, what we two had been talking so earnestly, 
 on ; for it seemed at a distance to be something more than ordinary. 
 " I will tell you, Sir," his daughter repUed, and immediately began 
 to relate the whole conference, and her resolution. " Your resolu- 
 tion," 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 pubhc prayers had 
 seen more conformable to the simphcity of the gospel ; that we 
 had been contented with what our Master and the Holy Spirit 
 delivered, 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 : mathematics and antiquities have employed my 
 time, and I have neither taste nor capacity for that criticism 
 which is necessary for the 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 utmost 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 successful 
 teacher of wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption ; 
 and that God is to be owned and praised, as the true, chief and 
 original cause of all spiritual blessings, according to the counsel 
 of his own wiU, his own good pleasure, purpose, &c., without 
 partner or second 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 preferring the things that 
 are eternal, when what you thought truth could not be held with 
 things temporal. I have," Mr. Harcourt continued, " a very 
 
 » The texts produced by Miss Harcourt, the next day, in a sheet of paper, she gave me 
 and in my written explication of them in answer, I satisfied her, that thejetter of scripture 
 was not full in favor of contradiction, and that where it had any appearance of being so, 
 reason allowed the purest modesty to use some freedom in interpreting, and take the texts 
 in a lower meaning, such a liberty as protestants take with the words ' this is my body,' when 
 they reject the doctrine of transubstantiation. By this means I made a convert of her. This 
 lady became a strict CbristiaB-Deist. 
 
JOHN BUNGLE, ESQ. 173 
 
 great esteem for you on this account, and if I can be of service 
 to you, I will." He imagined I might want money, and if I did, he 
 would lend me a hundred guineas, without interest, payable 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 
 accept it. He likewise invited me to stay at his house, while he 
 continued in the country, 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 uncommon kindness 
 deserves, though I cannot enjoy 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 providence, if he can be found, and 
 secure me from the evils my attachment t6 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 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 possible to be, but did me tihe honour to commence 
 a friendship with me, which lasted from that time till death des- 
 troyed the golden thread that Unked it. 
 
 Reader, this young lady, Harriet Eusebia Harcourx, was 
 the foundress of a religious house of protestant recluses, who are 
 still a society in that part of Richmondshire where I first saw her 
 and her father. They are under no vow, but while they please 
 to continue members, live as they do in nunneries, 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 himself, they 
 add music 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 music, 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 admir- 
 able ; her pictures had the ordonnance, colouring, and expression 
 of a great master. She was born with a picturesque genius, and 
 
174 THE LIFE OF 
 
 a capacity to give measure and movement to compositions of 
 harmony. Her music at the time I am speaking of had a most 
 surprising 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 imitations 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 compositions. She not only 
 drew landscapes, 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. 
 
 Her histories of the Revelations of St. John, which she finished 
 a little before her death, from the first vision to the last, demon- 
 strated a genius very wonderful, and that her hand was perfected 
 at the same time with her imagination. If this series of pictures 
 is not in every respect equal to Giotto's on the same subject, 
 which I have seen in the cloister of St. Clare at Naples ; they are 
 at least treated with greater truth, and shew that the imagina- 
 tion of the painter had a hand and eye at its disposal to display 
 the finest ideas. The great artist is obvious in them. 
 
 The first picture of this Series is a representation 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 majesty. Like 
 Raphael in his picture of the Eternal Father, in one of the Vatican 
 chapels, she does not inspire us merely with veneration, 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 Ughted lamps, and the seventh lamp 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 attitude 
 with his face to the apostle, he appears in the midst of the seven 
 golden candlesticks, 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 golden snuflers. St. John is seen on the 
 floor. He is looking in great surprise at the whole appearance, 
 
JOHN BVNCLE, ESQ. iJS 
 
 and as with amazement he beholds the divine Person in the vision, 
 he seems struck with dread, and going to faint away ; as he says 
 in the Apocalypse, " When I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead." 
 
 The next picture in this series is a continuation of, or another 
 representation of the inside of the temple, thegolden lamp-sconce 
 of seven golden candlesticks, and the august personage in reful- 
 gent brightness, and splendors transcendently glorious ; but with 
 this difference, that in this piece, the divine personage does not 
 hold the main shaft of the branches of lights in his right-hand, or 
 stand in the midst of the candlesticks ; but, notwithstanding his 
 sublime dignity, is painted with a godlike compassion in his face 
 and manner, and with the greatest tenderness raises and supports 
 the apostle. You see him, as described by St. John ; " 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 though 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 nature, 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. 
 
 The third painting in this series is the subsequent vision in 
 the 4th and 5th chapters of the Revelation of John the Divine. In 
 a part of the heavens that are opened, the throne of God is repre- 
 sented by a crystal seat of 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 tihings : 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 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 inaccessible light, or, in the moral shechinah in this lower world.* 
 
 * As the first notion of God's glory, in the scripture, is a physical notion, and signifies the 
 manifestation of God, by fire, light, clouds, brightness, and other meteorous symbols, such 
 as the marching pillars of fire and cloud that went before the Israelites, and the shechinah 
 in the Holy of Holies, which the Jews called the visible presence ; so is there a glory of God 
 in a moral signification. There is a shechinah in a physical sense by fire, light, and refracted 
 colours : and there is a moral skechinuh, or glory, when men live in obedience to all the divine 
 laws, and walk as children of light. This shews the special presence of God in the righteous, 
 as much as the cloud of glory did manifest him in the temple. The power and wisdom and 
 
176 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The next figures are the four hving creatures, or cherubim of 
 Ezekiel, which our English translation very badly renders four 
 beasts ; and they are placed in the middle of each side of the 
 throne, in the 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 covenant and promise : the four living creatures next the 
 throne, who represent the angels attendant on the shechinah, 
 and have the appearance of a Uon, 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 elders, the repre- 
 sentatives 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 fancjdng that 
 he hears the four hving creatures, sajdng, " Holy, holy, holy; Lord 
 God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come ; who for ever 
 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 worthy, 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, " Vfiao 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 power, wisdom, and 
 goodness of our Lord in the work of redemption, and the accom- 
 phshment of all God's designs of wisdom 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 
 
 goodness of God are displayed in the holy lives of men. Like the heavens they declare his 
 glory, and are the visible epistle of Christ to the world, written not with ink, but with the 
 spint of the Living God. " Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that his Spirit 
 oWelleth in you ? " 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. I77 
 
 encteasing, as he hears the living creatures and the elders sing a 
 new song, or hjrmn of a new composition, which expresses the 
 pecuhar 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 nation. 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 
 worship by saying " Amen ; " and the people by worshipping him 
 that liveth for ever and ever, the true God, who Uveth and reigneth 
 from everlasting to everlasting ; and having raised up his Son 
 Jesus, sent him to bless you in turning 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 deUghtf ul 
 richness of local colours. This painting gives the beholder a full 
 and fine idea of the vision. 
 
 But it was not only in painting, and in music, that Miss Har- 
 coURT excelled : she had when I first saw her, made great progress 
 in her studies, and discovered in her conversation extraordinary 
 abihties. 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 admiration of all that heard her : nor was it 
 only in pure Italian, Spanish, and other languages that she could 
 express her notions ; but, in the 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 EngUsh. She spoke 
 it without any manner of difficulty, which was more than I could 
 do. I was slow, and paused sometimes ; but that 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. Rehgion from her infancy was her stated and 
 ordinary business, and her sole concern to know and to 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 
 
1/8 TUB LIFE OF 
 
 was nothing gloomy, or even formal in her behaviour : she was 
 good-humour itself : frank and free ; quite easy, and for ever 
 cheerful. 
 
 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 con- 
 stitute 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 brightness as great as could appear from the 
 refraction of diamonds : her hair was as the polished 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 Constantinople in 1733, and in the course of her 
 travels, 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 correspondence 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 1734 Mrs. Harcourt returned to England, and brought over 
 with her some ladies, who became constituents of her claustral 
 house. They formed the most rational and happy society that 
 ever united, and during the life of the foundress, resided some- 
 time in one of the Western Islands, but for the most part in Rich- 
 mondshire. Since her death, which happened in 1745, they have 
 lived entirely in the North of England, separated from all the 
 world by the most dreadful mountains. They were but twelve 
 in number for several years, but, in the sixth year of the Institute, 
 Mrs. Harcourt encreased it to twenty-four members, by taking 
 in twelve elgves or disciples. The twelve seniors govern a year 
 about in their turns, unless it be the request of the house, that 
 the superior for the year past should continue in the of&ce another 
 year. This, and their easy circumstances, secure their peace, 
 and as they are ever wise to that which is good, and simple con- 
 cerning evil, they lead most happy lives : nor can it be otherwise 
 with mortals who cultivate the grace of humiUty, 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 pleasure 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 the diligence in making constant advances toward the 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 179 
 
 perfect day. Mrs. Harcourt shewed them, what an uninspired 
 mortal could do by the means of grace ; that it was possible for 
 assisted human nature, feeble as flesh and blood is, to resist temp- 
 tations the most violent, and by the supreme motives of our reU- 
 gion, acquit ourselves like Christians. If there be a devil to 
 assault, a corrupt heart to oppose, and many difficulties to be 
 encountered, yet her conduct was a demonstration, that those 
 who are heirs of the heavenly country, may choose and prosecute 
 their best interests, and improve the divine Ufe to a high degree. 
 " Let us," she used to say, " make salvation not only a concern 
 on the bye, but the governing aim through the present life, and 
 we shall not only Uve like the primitive Christians, but die for 
 our holy faith, with more resolution than the worthies of Greece 
 and Rome, though 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 dis- 
 honoured the gospel. Let what wiU happen, in all events, we 
 should secure the future happiness of our souls, and thereby pro- 
 vide for the everlasting glory and feUcity of our bodies too in the 
 morning of the resurrection. Of Mrs. Harcourt, a further 
 account will be found in the Memoirs of Several Ladies of Great 
 Britain, 1755, 8vo. p. 324. 
 
 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 obhged to ride on 
 the sides of very deep and craggy mountains, in a path so very 
 narrow, that we risked Ufe, and passed in terror : a wrong step 
 would have been destruction beyond 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 Westmoreland ; unless I rode from Mr. 
 Harcourt's into Cumberland, and then round through Bishop- 
 rick to the valley the gentlemen hved 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. Groups of crests of moun- 
 tains appeared here and there, like large cities with towers and 
 old Gothic 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 open- 
 ings 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. 
 
I So THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 Uke 
 the aisle of a church, for three hundred yards, and then ended at a 
 kind of door, or small arched opening, that was high enough 
 for a tall man to walk into a grand room which it led to. This 
 chamber was a square of seventeen yards, and had an arched roof 
 about twenty high. The stone of it was a green marble, not 
 earthy and ctpaque, but pure and crystalhne, which made it ap- 
 pear very beautiful, as the walls were as smooth as if the best 
 poUsh had made them so. There was another opening or door 
 at the other side of this chamber, and from it hkewise went a 
 descent Uke steps, but the downward passage here was much 
 steeper than the other I had come to, and the opening not more 
 than one third as wide and high ; narrowing 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, though it seemed at a great distance from me, and as it 
 was not dangerous to descend, I determined to go down. 
 
 The descent was four hundred and seventy-nine yards in a 
 straight hne, and opened in a view of meadows, scattered trees, 
 and streams, that were enchantingly 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 centre 
 of it a neat and pretty Uttle country house, on an easy rising 
 ground. I could discover with my long glass a young and hand- 
 some woman sitting at the door, engaged,in needle-work of some 
 kind ; and on the margin of a brook hard by, another charmer 
 stood, angUng 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. 
 
 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 slip'd in the 
 passage, about six yards from the day, and I came rolling out of 
 the mountain in a violent and surprising 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, and protested 
 that I had not thought of paying them a visit, when curiosity 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. i8i 
 
 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 other favour to 
 ask than that I would dine with them, and inform them how it 
 happened that I was obhged 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|niischief , there was not 
 a possibility of getting any rehef. There must be something very 
 extraordinary surely, that could cause you to journey over such 
 frightful hiUs, and through the deep bottoms at the foot of them 
 
 " Ladies," I repUed, " 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 Richmond- 
 shire in search of a gentleman, my friend ; to whose hospitable 
 house and generous 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 curiosity is more than ordinary, and I love to contem- 
 plate 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 beheve 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 deUghtful a little 
 country here as what I now see : nor should I have had the honour 
 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 desert places, as 
 there are no inns in this country, nor a house, except this, here, 
 that we know ? are you the favourite 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 answered, " 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 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 in- 
 numerable ways, but this is not always the case, like the charming 
 plain I am now on, there are many flowery and delicious extensive 
 pieces of ground, enclosed by vast surrounding hills ; the finest 
 
i8a THE LIFE OF 
 
 intervals betwixt the mountains : the sweetest interchange be- 
 tween hill and valley, I believe in all the world, is to be found in 
 Richmondshire, and in several of those dehghtful vales I dis- 
 covered inhabitants as in this place, but the houses are so separate 
 by fells scarcely passable, and torrents of water, that those who 
 live in the centre of one group of mountains, know nothing of 
 many 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 sight 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 in, as I judge from the trembling of the mountains all 
 round us, must be an opening into some part of Cumberland. For 
 this reason Stanemore hills may have several families among them, 
 though 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 began to relate some particulars concern- 
 ing my friend Price and his excellent wife ; the admirable 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 travelUng up the dark bowels of a 
 tremendous mountain ; as, on the contrary, I arrived at theirs by 
 a descent through yonder frightful hill, till I came rolling out from 
 within, in a very surprising and comical way; a way that would 
 have made you laugh, ladies ; or, in a fright, cry ou+, if you had 
 happened to be walking near the hole or opening in the bottom of 
 that hUl, when, by a slip of my foot, in descending, a few yards 
 from the day, I tumbled over and over, not only down what re- 
 mained of the dark steep within, but the high sloping bank that 
 reaches from the outside of the opening to the first flat part of the 
 vale. There is nothing wonderful then in my living in this lone 
 country for so many days. The only strange thing is, considering 
 the waters and swamps, that I was not drowned ; or, on account 
 of the precipices 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 tumbling out of the mountain into their vale. 
 They laughed very heartily ; but told me, if they had happened 
 
JOHN BUNCLJ^. ESQ. 183 
 
 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 rolhng down upon them, 
 they would have been frightened out of their senses, for they must 
 have thought it a very strange appearance ; without hearing the 
 history of it, they must think it a prodigious occurrence, or excep- 
 tion, from the constant affairs of nature. 
 
 " This might be, ladies," I answered, " but from seeing me be- 
 fore your eyes you must own, that many things may be fact, which 
 at first may seem to exceed the common limits of truth. Impos- 
 sible 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 hke of 
 before. Things thought prodigious or incredible by ignorance and 
 weakness, will appear to right knowledge and a due judgment 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 excel- 
 lent one. The ladies were very civil to me, and exerted a good 
 humour to shew me, I suppose, that my arrival was not disagree- 
 able to them, though I tumbled upon their habitation, like the 
 genie of the caverns, from the hollows 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 seemed 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 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 school-fellow, 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 uncommon 
 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 means, and therefore, I am sure 
 he is my friend." 
 
 To this the lady answered, " Sir, since Charles Turner is the 
 
1 84 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 guess who you were after I had looked a 
 while at you, and he added to his description a request to me, that 
 if you should happen 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 choose to stay longer 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 servants, 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 Scar- 
 borough 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 choose 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 
 return from the Spa, and stay with me till her brother came home : 
 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 Tur- 
 ner, the account you have given of your brother, and the infor- 
 mation that I am now at his house, his friendly offers to me by you , 
 and your prodigious civility, in resolving to return from Scar- 
 borough, to stay with me here till your brother arrives, are things 
 so strange, so uncommon, 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 favours. Accept 
 my thanks, and be assured, that while I live, I shall properly re- 
 member the civility and benevolence of this day ; and be ever 
 ready if occasion oflered, 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 humane, as I told 
 you I was an unfortunate one, that I shall ever think of it, with 
 pleasure, and mention it as a rare instance of female worth ; but 
 as to accepting these most kind offers I cannot do it. Since Mr. 
 Turner is from home, I will go and visit another friend I have in 
 this country, to whom I shall be welcome, I believe, till your 
 brother returns. To live by myself here at my friend's expence. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 185 
 
 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 wiU 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 : be- 
 side the unreasonableness of my being an expense 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 Uked her and her circumstances, and 
 fancied 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 fortune : but this was an uncertainty however, and in his 
 absence, I could not in honour 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 nothing to do this, in her brother's house 
 without his leave, was a part I could not act, though 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 Turner was good-humoured, sensible, and discreet, as one 
 could wish a woman to be, talked pleasantly upon common sub- 
 jects, and was well acquainted with the three noblest branches of 
 polite learning, antiquity, history, and geography. It was a fine 
 entertainment to hear her. She Ukewise understood music, and 
 sung, and played well on the smaU harpsicord ; but her moral 
 character 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 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 good- 
 ness of her heart was great indeed : the integrity of her life was 
 glorious. She was perfection, so far as the thing is consistent with 
 
1 86 THE Life of 
 
 the nature and state of man here, as it was possible for a mortal 
 to be exempt from blame in Ufe, and blemish of soul. An abso- 
 lute 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. 
 
 Miss Jacquelot was by the head lower than Miss Turner, and 
 her hair the very reverse of my friend's sister, that is, black as the 
 raven ; but she had a most charming Uttle person, and a mind 
 adorned with the finest qualifications. Reason never lost the 
 command in her, nor ceased to have an influence upon whatever 
 she did. It secured her mind from being ever discomposed, and 
 disengaged her Ufe from the inconveniencies which a disregard to 
 reason exposes us to. By a management it dictated, she enjoyed 
 perpetual innocence and peace. She never uttered a word tiat 
 intrenched upon piety, infringed charity, or disturbed the happi- 
 ness of any one, nor at any time shewed the least sign of a vein 
 and light spirit : yet she had a sportfulness of wit and fancy that 
 was dehghtful, 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 nei^bour, 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 carefully avoided ; but otherwise, such things 
 excepted, would enliven and instruct by good sense in jocular ex- 
 pression, 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 connoisance. She painted well, and talked in an aston- 
 ishing manner, for a woman, and for her years, of pictures, 
 sculpture, and medals. She was indeed a fine creature in soul and 
 body. 
 
 With these ladies I spent three days in Skelsmore-Vale ; and 
 the time we talked, waUced, played, and laughed away. Some- 
 times we rambled about the hUls, and low adown the dales. Some- 
 times we sat to serious ombre ; and often went to music 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 Scarborough 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. 
 
 The sun was rising as we mounted the horses, and struck me so 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ, 187 
 
 powerfully with the surpassing splendour and majesty of its ap- 
 pearance, so cheered me by the gladsome influences, and intimate 
 refreshment of its all-enlivening beams, that I was contriving an 
 apology as I rode on, for the first adorers of the solar orb, and 
 imagined they intended nothing more than the worship of the 
 transcendent majesty of the invisible Creator, under the symbol 
 of his most excellent and nearly resembUng creature ; and this 
 according to some imperfect tradition, that man, as a compound 
 Being, had, in the beginning, a visible glorious presence of Jehovah 
 Elohim, a visible exhibition of a more distinguished presence by 
 an inexpressible brightness or glory r 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 animated nature depends upon its 
 auspicious presence, we cannot wonder that the Egyptian riura- 
 Usts, without a creed, and without a philosophy, should be tempted 
 to some warmer emotion than a merely speculative admiration, 
 and incUned to something of immediate devotion. That universal 
 chorus of joy that is manifested at the illustrious solemnities of 
 opening sunshine, might tempt the weak to join in a seemingly- 
 reUgious acclamation. 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 reve- 
 lation expressly against them- — " Thou shalt worship the Lord 
 thy God, and him only shalt thou serve." Matt. ch. iv. v. 10. — 
 " Neither shalt thou set up any image or pillar." Deut. ch. xvi. 
 v. 22. But downright reason demonstrates that the things are 
 useless to the preservers, and offensive to God ; whereas on the 
 contrary, when the eye beholds that glorious and important lumin- 
 ary of heaven, and considers the benefits dispensed to mankind 
 by the means of its most beautiful and invigorating beams, it 
 might strike not only an unpractised thinker, and cause the vulgar 
 who are not able of themselves to raise their thoughts above their 
 senses, and frame a notion of an invisible Deity, to acknowledge 
 the blessings they received, by a devotion to this fancied visible 
 exhibition of divinity. 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 splendour lijkest heaven, 
 They might ascribe the origin of their own existance, 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 Ught and comfort, and the renewer of the world ; re- 
 gent of the day, and all the horizon round, invested with bright 
 rays ; that all inferior nature, the earth's own form, and the sup- 
 
i88 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ports of its animated inhabitants, 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 revealed truth and direction was lost, and reason not 
 as now in its maturity of age and observation, that some kind of 
 glory should be given to the subordinate divinity, as they fancied, 
 of this heavenly body, and that some homage was due to the foun- 
 tain 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 astonishing, that veneration and gratitude 
 united, might seduce those ignorant mortals to deify so glorious 
 an object. When they had lost the guard of traditionary reve- 
 lation,* and wanted those helps to judgment which are derived 
 
 * When the tribes went o£E from Noah in Peleg's days, ia the a»ra of the deluge 240, that 
 is, so many years after the flood, we must in reason suppose, that they had from the venerable 
 patriarch, a final and farewell relation of the creation, and the state of innocency, and the 
 fall ; the institution of worship ; and the hope of acceptance, and the promised seed. We 
 may believe they had, at going off, a distinct repetition of all the capital articles of their faith . 
 They received a clear review of the facts and revelations which Adam and Noah had the 
 knowledge of, and in a compend of every doctrine and duty, speculative and practical, especi- 
 ally the doctrine of the being of a God, his \mity and perfections, had a sufficient fund of 
 useful knowledge to set up with, in the new world. This is natural behaviour in all good 
 parents, and we may conclude, that the pious patriarch acted in this manner, when he sent 
 his relations away. But this oral tradition was liable to a gradual declension, and sunk at 
 last into a state of evanescence. Doctrines deduced from facts long since past, and known 
 hy tradition only, become precarious. The tradition is rendered obscure and dubious. It 
 might remain nearly perfect, while Peleg, Reu, Serug, Nahor, and Terah lived, as they had 
 their informations from Noah, and were thoroughly advised to make God the object 01 their 
 supreme love and fear, and trust and worship ; and to practise all virtue and righteousness 
 towards each other, as the great instruments and means of a general happiness. With an 
 earnest tenderness, these things were recommended to them. But as the people who came 
 after them never saw Noah, and their information depended on relators, who had it from 
 relators, a dimness prevailed upon the ancient facts, and distance and other objects over- 
 shadowed them. A deprivation of tradition might likewise arise from relators forgetting 
 material circumstances, and from a misapprehension of ancient facts. There might likewise 
 be many that designedly corrupted these facts, and out of a dislike to truth, and a distaste 
 to virtue, did their best to weaken the principles of religion. Ingenious bad men there were 
 among mankind then as well as in our time, and as there was no written system and history 
 to go by, they might give the ancient story a turn more favourable to sinners. By this means 
 contradiction and obscurity came on, endless fables were introduced, and truth was disguised, 
 corrupted and lost. 
 
 In respect however of an infinite mind, the author of the universe, it must be confessed 
 that those men could not have lost a right notion of him, if they had been faithful to them- 
 selves ; for the works of nature still remained in all their wond'rous beauty, and useful order, 
 and furnished daily evidence, that neither chance, nor undesigning necessity, could produce 
 the beautiful and harmonious, the regular and convenient, the amiable and good, which their 
 eyes beheld whatever way they turned. Not only the heavens, the air, the earth, the sea, 
 demonstrated the wisdom and goodness of God ; but every beast , every fowl, every fish they 
 could take, every plant and tree, shewed an exact proportion of parts, and discovered design 
 in the whole of its constitution. Their own intelUgence ought likewise to have led them to 
 the great original it was formed by, an uncreated mind. There must be a divine understand- 
 ing, or there never could be pure intellection in man. It is impossible to solve the phaeno- 
 mena of moral entities, without the being of God. If it were possible for atoms, rencont'r- 
 ing in an infinite void, to produce by collision and undirected impulse, the corporeal systems, 
 and the various beauteous forms which we see ; yet the wild and senseless hypothesis could 
 not be applied by atheism itself to the production of ideas intirely independent of matter, 
 and all its properties and powers. We must have them from an intelligent cause. The 
 human mind is so framed, that we may surely infer the cause of the constitution was intelli- 
 gent. So that God did not in any .age, leave himself without witness, or evidence, of his own 
 being and perfection. We have full proof of creating, ruling intelUgence. All the works 
 of nature proclaim it, and especially the human soul. 
 
JOHN BUS CLE, ESQ. 189 
 
 from the experience, observation, and reasoning of past times, 
 the specious idolatry might have been introduced, and something 
 tolerably plausible perhaps weis pleaded by the better heads of 
 those times. Exclusive of an imperfect notion of the Deity's 
 appearing by shechinah, and that the sun might be the visible ex- 
 hibition as before observed ; they might, in the next place, con- 
 clude froin the extraordinary motion of the luminary, that he was 
 an animated being and noble intelligence, placed in the highest 
 post of honour 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 ex- 
 alted so high ; as the chief minister of kings are had in honour, 
 which is reflected back on their royal masters. Thus might the 
 novel impiety come on. They might, in the beginning, worship 
 the sun as the shechinah, appearing by a glorious light, or in a 
 celestial train attending the presence, which, at so great a distance, 
 must appear in an indistinct, luminous vision ; but more generally 
 as the minister 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 aU 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 
 
 But through negligence, and false notions of religion brought in by impious men, corrupt 
 customs, and prejudices of education, we find that not only virtue was lost, soon after the 
 dispersion, but even the notion of God. Idolatry and wickedness prevailed for the greatest 
 part of the grand period of tradition, from the dispersion to the imparting the knowledge of 
 letters by Moses. This shews the folly, vanity, and inconsistency of all tradition, and that 
 for the support of virtue, and true religion in the world, a written word is necessary. In 
 the early ages of the [lostdiluvian world, religious knowledge was decayed, and we can trace 
 the origin and begiiming of idolatry very high. Even in Serug's time, who had received a 
 compend of religion from Noah, when he became infirm by years, and was no longer able to 
 inspect the manners of his colony, and go about to take cognizance of their irregularities, 
 we find the innovation had begun. We read in the books, that Terah, the father of Abraham 
 was an idolater, in the r7oth year of his age, which was the year that Serug died, and to be 
 sure, that was not the first year of his false religion : and it is not to be supposed, that when 
 he went forth, a worshipper of false gods, from Ur of the Chaldees, with Abraham, his son, 
 and Lot, that the yoimg people were safe from the infection. It prevailed before Abraham 
 was warned to withdraw, and of consequence he was one of the ungodly, that is an idolater. 
 To me it is plain St. Paul says so. They all served other gods. In all probability, that was 
 beginning to be the case when Abraham was born, which was in the year after the flood 353 ; 
 and as he was forty years old when his father marched him from Ur, we may think he was 
 then a settled idolater ; and if it had not been that the divine mercy called him by revelation 
 to true religion, he and the whole world might have remained in their gross innovation, eternal 
 strangers to the original truths. The free grace of the universal Father took him and his 
 posterity into covenant, and used them as a mean to restore true piety and virtue to the world, 
 till such time as he was pleased to shew his astonishing mercy, and inestimable love in Christ 
 Jesus. The Creator and Governor of Gentiles as weU as Jews, in his infinite wisdom pro- 
 ceeded in this manner, first selecting one nation to be a beacon upon a hill, a public voucher 
 of the being and providence of God ; and in the fulness of time, blessing the himian race with 
 a gospel and Redeemer. Adored be his goodness then for the written word. This only can 
 preserve the doctrine of religion free from corruption. The miserable papists may trust to 
 their traditions, and wander where no covenant is to be found : but the religion of protestants 
 must be the gospel of Christ. The written doctrine of the apostles let us receive. The un- 
 written word of Rome let us despise. There is no security in tradition. It is unsufficient for 
 the preservation of triith : and for that reason, God gave us the writings of inspired men. 
 
190 THE LIFE OF 
 
 a God. He must, they thought, from every appearance, in his 
 wond'rous, 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 became conservators of the 
 universe. From thence idolatry went on, and added to the hea- 
 venly bodies the emblematic doctrine, and animal apotheosis. 
 Artificial fire was consecrated, and made the symbol of sidereal 
 splendours. Deity was exhibited to the multitude in the forms 
 of its effects, and innumerable orders of inferior divinities by de- 
 grees sprang up. Successive enlargements of the system of na- 
 tural 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 revealed rule was wanting, or 
 man had need of physics, to suppress the rising transports of a too 
 eager gratitude, and guard against the inchnation 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 Ughts 
 of philosophers, or the supernatural assistance of religion, it was 
 hard for recent and wondering mortals, to refrain from worship- 
 ping that beautiful body, as they saw it proceeded with the great- 
 est harmony, and shed innumerable blessings on them. But pure 
 revealed religion diffuses such a Ught as manifests the error : and 
 a correct and philosophic reasoning, in this improved age the safe 
 guide, and proper arbitrator of religion, not only refuses to address 
 itself to that God of the ancient popular theology, but proves the 
 worship impious and absurd. 
 
 Right, reason, and revelation, demonstrate from the matchless 
 graces and glories of nature, which occur in great variety, and 
 without number, wherever we turn our eyes, that there is a 
 Creator of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness ; who bountifully 
 provides for the uses and occasions of human Ufe, and produces 
 repeated miUions of objects that bear the stamp of omnipotence, 
 and remain perpetual monuments of the divine benevolence. 
 Manifold are thy works, O Lord ; in wisdom hast thou made 
 them all I 
 
 And especially, when from the earth I Uft up mine eyes to the 
 heavens, and behold among the wonders of the firmament that 
 vast and magnificent orb, the sun now rising before me, bright'ning 
 by degrees the horizon, 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 illustrious object, and feel|the 
 kindly heat of that bright luminary, inspiring me with more than 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 191 
 
 usual gladness. And what power is it that supplies this fountain 
 of light and heat, with his genial and inexhausted treasure, who 
 dispenses it with such munificent, 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, 
 Preserver, and Ruler of the world ; for his perfections are stamp'd 
 upon the work. The 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 goodness. This is plain tea 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 inani- 
 mate, unconscious, instrument of conve3dng hght, heat, and 
 prolific influence to the earth ; which, by infinite power, is 
 rendered as much active in sending the vegete juices through the 
 vessels of aU 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 
 reUgion 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 voluntary communication, and is the more to be 
 admired as it is a never-failing principle. This rising luminary 
 that visits our earth, is, 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, in- 
 evitable 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 waters. No place is without witnesses of his hberaUty ; 
 and life is the care of his providence. 
 
 Of him then should our songs be, and our talking, of all his 
 wonderful works. We should join in adoring him, and acknow- 
 ledge him " worthy to receive glory and honour and power, who 
 has created aU things, and for his pleasure they are and were 
 created." And it follows, that we should likewise absolutely sub- 
 mit to this sovereign Being, and ever resign ourselves to his 
 direction and disposal. Where can ignorance and impotence find 
 
192 THE LIFE OF 
 
 so safe and sure a refuge as in infinite wisdom, and almighty 
 power ? 
 
 In this manner were my thoughts employed, as we rode over 
 the brows of many high hUls, 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 cUmbed up to the top, by a steep craggy 
 way, near two hundred yards. This was very difl&cult 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 mountains and that on which I stood, 
 and a river weis running through it that spread sometimes into 
 little lakes, and sometimes fell headlong from the rocks in sound- 
 ing cascades. The finest meadows, and Uttle 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 as- 
 semblage of the beauties of nature. It is a more deUghtful land- 
 scape than art heis been able to form in the finest gardens of the 
 world. 
 
 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 Uved in a house covered with creeping greens, that stood by 
 a sonorous waterfall. Some wise one perhaps, said I, who scorns 
 the character of the hbertine, or the sot, and to the pursuits of 
 avarice and ambition leaves the world, to enjoy in this fine re- 
 treat the true happiness of man ; by embracing 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 rela'tion, enjoy that fulness of 
 satisfaction and fehcities, which the divine institution was de- 
 signed to produce. Happy pair indeed ! if such a pair be here. 
 
 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 flowers, I knew it must be an 
 inhabited place, though 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, pulUng some 
 things, and looking at others, in hopes that some one might be 
 seen : no soul however appeared, and I was going to return to my 
 horses, when, by accident, I came to a descent of stairs, that was 
 planted round with a shade of laurel, evergreen, and branching 
 palm. Down I went immediately, and walked through a long 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 193 
 
 arched passage, in which two lamps were burning, and at the end 
 of it came to an open door, that admitted me into an entry 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 habi- 
 tation of rogues, I might find myself in a pound. What shall I 
 do then ? Go on, said curiosity, and bravely finish the adven- 
 ture. 
 
 Softly then I ascended, Ustening, by the way, if I could hear 
 any voice, and proceeded 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 opened into a large Ubrary. The books were all bound in 
 vellum, in an extraordinary manner, the collection valuable, and 
 most judiciously ordered. Mathematical instruments of all sorts 
 were on a table, and ever3rthing 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 astonishment diminish, when I went from the Ubrary 
 into two very handsome bedchambers, 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 con- 
 tinued near an hour, when I turned round to depart, and saw at 
 the door of the Ubrary 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 remem- 
 bered he was one of the company 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, except 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 pleasure, Sir," and he came with Miss Mel- 
 moth 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 Uved in too 
 remote a place, ever to expect to see me in the country ; but he 
 had a house in London, where he was every winter, if not hindered 
 by sickness, and to a part of it I should be welcome, if it was a^ee- 
 able to me to improve our acquaintance. Many other civil things 
 he said, and shewed a regard for me that I Uttle expected, and 
 could not but wonder at. All this made me as well known to him 
 as he was remember'd 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 aloud in a book I chanced to take into my hand, the 
 following Unes : 
 
 H 
 
194 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Td irepl Tois Beois votei fiiv, rryou Si tovto elvai ffCjUO KiXXifoK, KcU 
 ffepairelav iJ.eylS'i)V, 4i,v lis piKriS'ov xai SiKaibrrarov (reavrbv irapixv nSKKou 
 ykp iXvU Toils toioi)toi;s ij Tois lepeia jroXXd KaTaSdWouTas Trpi^etv rt ira/id 
 Twv 6ewv &ya6hv. 
 
 To which I added a few reflections : 
 
 Est ut dicis. Vera prsedicas, vir sapiens. Quae ad Decs spec- 
 tant, pulcherrimum sacrificium et cultum esse maximum ducito 
 si tiepsum quam optimum et justissimum praebeas. nop^ew iavrbr 
 lbs piXriS'ov Kal SiKaioTarov : Praebere se quam optimum ac 
 justissimum, pluris apud Deos quam multae victimae. Speran- 
 dum est enim tales potius, quam qui victimas multas prosternunt, 
 quidpiam boni a Diis immortalibus accepturos. Quam optimum 
 cor ac justissimum ad aras feramus, et bonum a numine semper 
 lucrabimus. 
 
 True, most excellent sage. Rectitude and Benevolence are the 
 perfection of rational nature, and when by philosophy we acquire 
 a temper, disposition and action that are comformable to the truth 
 of things, and continually display strict justice and universal 
 charity, we offer the noblest sacnfice to heaven, and are con- 
 similated with the Deity. By this divine affection, for order and 
 goodness, we manifest a continual use and employment of our- 
 selves for the glory of the supreme virtue, and may by this means, 
 expect to obtain the infinite mercy of God ; when slaughtered 
 Hecatombs are despised ; and the creeds of incomprehensible 
 mjTSteries, and the external modes and forms of churchism, may 
 be considered only as the weakness and blindness of reverend 
 heads. Thousands of rams and ten thousand rivers of oil j 
 speciHative faith, rites and ceremonies, are nothing, abstracted 
 from that temper and affection, which unites us to the Deity, and 
 to the whole system of rationals. Virtue and charity is religion. 
 
 This passage and reflection pronounced very loud, with an en- 
 thusiasm 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 at last, moving towards me, as I did to him, the moment I 
 saw himi, 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 surprising accident has thrown you on this 
 solitude ; without 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 see- 
 ing 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 natural, in the common course of events, as you shall hear. 
 " Three weeks after you left me at Whitehaven, I set out from 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 195 
 
 that place for Brugh under Stanemore, and went from thence up 
 the northern mountains, in search of a gentleman 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 thei fine prospect, and 
 seeing the descent on this side easy, and a house and large gar- 
 dens before me, I could not refrain from goiiig down to the bot- 
 tom. I marched on to take a view of the mansion and improve- 
 ments, and as I saw some very 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 accident came to the shady 
 inclosure, in which I found the descending stairs from the garden, 
 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 pleasure I 
 looked into- many of them, and at last opened the Greek writer 
 I was reading aloiid, 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 anything in 
 the force and operation of casualties, that pould bring you to my 
 house, and I assure you upon my word, that you are most heartily 
 welcomes. As I lay in my dabin on ship-board I conceived a great 
 regard for you, on account of many things I heard you say, and 
 particularly for your lively arguments with Dr. Whaley, before 
 the storm began, in defence of the divine Unity, and against that 
 miserable theology which the monks have invented, and continue 
 to support, though it militates with the revealed truths of God, 
 and the reason and fitness of things. I was greatly pleased with 
 your different definitions of churchism and religion, ^nd honoured 
 you not a Uttle for what you said in opposition to unintelUgible 
 mystery, and the glare of ceremony ; at the same time, that you 
 contended for the worship 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 country 
 place. Every thing shall be made as agreeable as possible, and 
 exclusive of tiiis 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. 
 
196 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 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." 
 
 IThis was vastly civU and afiectionate.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 obhged to go 
 on upon business : a few days however I would enjoy the happi- 
 ness he offered me, and we passed them in a very delightful man- 
 ner. 
 
 E^ly 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. 
 
 Mr. Berrisfort was a man of letters and breeding : and the 
 ladies had sense, and were no strangers to the best EngUsh books. 
 They understood no other language than their mother tongue, 
 but the choicest authors of every Mnd that our country has pro- 
 duced, they had read with great care. 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 instructive in ever3rthing he said. His sister and 
 cousin were very good ; discreet in their behaviour, temperate in 
 their discourse, and easy in their manner. They had no learning ; 
 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 Uked 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 Berrisfort for one par- 
 ticular, 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. 
 
 Mr. Berrisfort and Miss Fox followed the dogs with caution, 
 and never attempted anything that could hazard their necks 
 or their bones : but the charming Juliet Berrisfort had so 
 violent a passion for the diversion 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 goddess of the silver bow, or one of her 
 immortal train, went on without a thought of her having brittle 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 197 
 
 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 hiUs, if it was possible for a horse to keep 
 his feet on them. She frightened me the first morning 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 lihes grew I 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. 
 
 When glory call'd, and beauty led the way, 
 What man could think of life, and pooily stay ? 
 
 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 re- 
 ceived no other mischief than a black eye, a bruise in my side, and 
 a torn face, I was soon on my mare again, and by Miss Berris- 
 fort's side. She laughed immoderately at me, while the dogs 
 were at fault, as my bones were safe, and advised me with a 
 humorous tdtaderness, to ride with her brother and Miss Fox. 
 It was not long however 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 though 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 stun'd upon the ground. In a minute how- 
 ever I snatched her up, and set her on her feet. She came to her- 
 self 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. I assured 
 her, " it was not in my soul to extract mirth from the bad fortune 
 of any one ; and much less is it in my power to ridicule, or laugh 
 at a woman of distinction 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 derived from this mischance. One was, that for the 
 future, this lady hunted with a little more caution, and did not 
 
198 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 there- 
 by secured for me the greatest happiness, against a day of dis- 
 tress. From the most trivial things the most important do often 
 spring, but I proceed. 
 
 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 immediately after the death of 
 the stag we hastened 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. 
 
 " I am thinking," said Mr. Berrisfort, after a considerable 
 pause, as we sat smoking 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 want of faith in the present generation 
 that made so many renounce Christianity ; 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 extravagant doctrines which the theologers have 
 obtruded upon the church, as essential parts of Christianity. 
 Enthusiasm, absurdity, and error, and thebUnd and bloody scenes 
 of cruelty and superstition have been the great stumbUng-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 
 present condition, a rule of faith, and that Christians differ so 
 much about the meaning of the texts of their Bible, that reason 
 knows iiot what to say to a reUgion so variously represented. 
 It is not only the two great camps, papist against protestant, and 
 protestant against papist, who make the reUgion as difierent 
 as black and white ; tiiat the reformed mission at Malabar tell 
 the Indians they must not hearken to the Jesuits, if they expect 
 salvation ; and the monks at Coromandel declare, on the con- 
 trary, to those Indians, that they wiU 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 im- 
 possible for him to become a Christian, till the leaiaied Christian 
 priests had agreed among themselves 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 themselves, even the church of England against 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 199 
 
 the church of England, dissenters against dissenters, and give 
 such different accounts of the revealed S3^tem, that it requires 
 more understanding, and strict serious enquiry, than the genered- 
 ity 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 authorised professors can never agree among themselves, 
 what can a man of a plain understanding say to it ? This makes 
 many, I imagine, turn from the scriptures to study nature, and 
 the general laws which are estabUshed among the several gra- 
 dations, ranks and classes of beings, so far as they are connected 
 with intelligent, moral agency. In the natural, agreeable pages 
 of that infinite 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 compelled to confess a universal, intelligent 
 Efficient ; one infinite, eternal, omnipotent, wise, good Being, 
 from whom all others derive, and on whom aU others necessarily 
 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 rectitude to be the highest perfection 
 in the Deity, our reason informs us, that we ought to show 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 foUow nature, and disregard 
 those interested commentators, who, hke opposite counsel at the 
 bar, multiply and make void the law by different and contra- 
 dictory pleadings on it ? " Here Bob ended — and lighted his pipe 
 again, while I laid mine down, and went on in the following 
 manner : 
 
 " As Christianity was instituted by its great Author and Pub- 
 Usher, for the benefit of mankind, it is to be lamented that the 
 divines should so differ, concerning what genuine revealed re- 
 ligion is, as to cause many to renounce this standing and perpetual 
 rule of faith and manners, but as to contradictions and incon- 
 sistencies in the apostle's writings, I have read thenj over several 
 times, and never could find such things in them. Obscure pas- 
 sages there are a few at first sight ; but a httle consideration can 
 explain them by other scriptures, if we do not hke some com- 
 mentators endeavour, by forced constructions, to adapt the sense 
 of them to a system. This is what ruins Christianity. The monks 
 shut out the Ught of reason, which is to explain scripture by scrip- 
 ture, and in the dark, fancy a metaphysical theology : they 
 speculate a tritheistic mystery, original sin, divine sovereignty, 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 election, reprobation, with many other pieties, and call the things 
 revelation, which are, in reaUty, an artificial, invented corruption 
 of the gospel. The majority of the doctors insist upon it that their 
 reverend notions are revealed religion, and where they have a 
 power, wattle the people into them ; but men who wiU use the 
 human understanding their Creator has given them, and employ 
 the reason of men in the choice of their reUgion, very easily per- 
 ceive that unnatural representation could never come down from 
 heaven : and that whatever the declaimers on human nature may 
 say in praise of their gospel, it is impossible it should be inspiration, 
 when the propositions rather merit laughter and contempt than 
 the attention of rational creatures. This makes the Indians of 
 any understanding flee Christianity. This causes men of sense, 
 in a free country, to declare against revealed religion. The 
 principal ofience must remain, while the majority of the clergy 
 continue to blind the human understanding, and instead of couch- 
 ing the cataract, darken the souls of the people with a suffusion 
 of mystery : to which I may add, and obstinately refuse to make 
 use of unexceptionable, scriptural forms of expression in divine 
 pubhc service, though an alteration might be made without any 
 possible danger or injury to the church, and continue to use in our 
 liturgy unscriptural phrases, and metaphysical notions, the 
 imaginations of weak men. While this is done, the Christian 
 rehgion must suffer, and of consequence, the divines who con- 
 tend for mystery, and labour to destroy human reason and the 
 powers thereof : to stifle and extinguish our common notions of 
 things, and preclude all reasoning whatsoever upon the subject of 
 rehgion ; must have the blood of more souls to answer for, in the 
 approaching day of calamity, than they now seem to imagine, 
 while great preferments blind their understanding, and render 
 them insolent and positive. All this however has nothing to do 
 with the true gospel. If men would read the historical, and the 
 argumentative parts of the sacred writings with honesty, and 
 explain them as right reason and true criticism^directs ; if they 
 would study them with that true zeal, which is guided by a good 
 Ught in the head, and which consists of good and innocent afiec- 
 tions in the heart ; and have at the same time a knowledge of the 
 customs which prevailed, and the notions that were commonly 
 received in those distant ages and countries, they would find no 
 inconsistencies and contradictions in the scriptures, even the 
 difiiculties would soon disappear. The sacred writings would 
 appear to be what they are, a system of religion that answers to 
 all our wishes and desires ; that requires of us that obedience to 
 which as rational beings we are antecedently bound : and ofiers 
 us rewards for obeying more than nature could ever claim. In the 
 gospel, we have the religion of nature in perfection, and with it 
 a certainty of mercy and unutterable blessings : but in natural 
 
JOHN BUNGLE, ESQ. 
 
 religion, as the reason and understanding of men can collect it, 
 our hopes of pardon and glory have but uncertain foundation. 
 Without revelation, our hopes are Uable to be disturbed and shaken 
 by frequent doubts and misgivings of mind : but in revealed 
 reUgion, that is, the moral law republished by inspired men, the 
 promises of the gospel take in all the wishes of nature, and estab- 
 lish all her hopes. Blessed be God, then for sending his well- 
 beloved Son into the world. From him we have a law that is 
 holy, and the commandment holy, and just, and good : and by a 
 dutiful submission to this plain and perfect law, in which there 
 is no mystery, no inconsistency, no contradiction, we are delivered 
 from condemnation, by the grace of God through Christ. Here 
 is reason for adoring the divine goodness. The gospel gives a 
 better evidence for the truth and certainty of life and immortality 
 than nature before had given, and thereby displays the love that 
 God has for the children of men." 
 
 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, contradiction and incon- 
 sistency ; but, human ignorance, and human vanity, which have 
 loaded it with absurdities, while they excluded reasoning about 
 it, and warped its fair and heavenly maxims to the interests of 
 systems and temporalities. However," continued Bob, " you 
 will allow I believe, that the sacred writers had not perpetually 
 the aid of an unerring Spirit, and therefore are sometimes incon- 
 sistent in their accounts : that as they were sometimes destitute 
 of divine assistance, 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 evangeUsts speak of the 
 same facts differently ; and in citing prophecy, while one adapts 
 a fact to the letter of the prophecy, another accommodates the 
 letter of the prophecy 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, ch. ix. v. 9. difierently. And as to the other 
 sacred writers, does not the dispute between PatU and Peter, 
 shew a subjection, sometimes, 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 
 likewise, what you think of Mark and John's different accounts 
 of the time of the crucifixion, and does not Matthew contradict 
 Mark in his relation of the resurrection of Jesus ? " To this I 
 replied, " that however some zealots may coiltend for the per- 
 petual inspiration 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. 
 
202 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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. Nee adeo omnia, qusecunque dictis significarunt aut 
 factis, ea pro divinis oraculis habenda. Nullus, excepto Domino, 
 fuit unquam propheta, qui omnia egerit spiritu prophetico. So 
 Limborch, Dodwell, and Baxter say, and of the same opinion were 
 Grotius and Erasmus.* They assert, that the apostles, on 
 
 * Erasmus, Grotius, Limborch, Baxter, and Dodwell, were great and excellent men, and 
 their lives and writings highly merit consideration. Of the former it may jusUy be said, that 
 he in vain lived and died in the Romish communion, and sustained many reflections from 
 some zealous protestants ; he was not the less HI treated both diuring his life ,and after his 
 death, by several Romish catholic writers ; for though taking all things together, Erasmus 
 was what they called a Roman catholic ; yet his Colloquies shew his hatred of the monks, and 
 it was plain from his writings and behaviour, that he did not see without joy the first steps 
 of Luther. Bayle says of Erasmus, that he was one of those witnesses for the truth, who 
 were wishing for a reformation in the church, but who did not think it was to be procured 
 by erecting another society to be supported by leagues, and that should pass immediately 
 a verbis ad verbera, from words to blows, for speaking of bis contemporary Luther, Erasmus 
 says, " had all that he wrote been good, his seditious freedom would still have been disagree- 
 able to me, I would rather submit to some errors than raise a civil war, and put the whole 
 world in an uproar for the sake of tnith. Jo. Manlius in Locorutn Communium Collectaneis, 
 printed at Francfort on the Maine, in 1568, in 8vo,. has this passage : " Erasmus Rotero- 
 damus moriturus saepe ingeminavlt banc vocem, Domine, Domine fac finem, fac finem, sed 
 quid voluerit dicere non possum. Manlius was with Erasmus in his last hour. 
 
 Erasmus was bom at Rotterdam, October 28, 1466, and died of a bloody flux at Basil, aged 
 70. July 12, 1536. 
 
 Tlie following epitaph is on a marble stone in the cathedral at Basil, where he was buried. 
 
 Christo servatori. s. 
 DEs. Erasmo Rotterodamo. 
 
 VlRO. 
 
 Omnibus modis maximo, cujus incompara- 
 bilem in omni disciplinarum genere 
 eruditionem pari conjunctam pruden- 
 
 TIA POSTERI ET ADMIRABUNTUR ET PRjEDI- 
 CABUNT ; BONIPACIUS AMERBACHIUS, HiER. 
 
 Frobenius, Nic. Episcopius, H^REDES ET 
 
 NUNCUPATI SUPREMiE SU^ VOLUNTATIS 
 ViNDICES, PATRONO OPTIMO NON MEMORISE 
 QUAM IMMORTALEM SIBI EDITIS LUCUBRA- 
 TIONIBUS COUPARAVIT, IIS TANTISFER DUM 
 
 ORBIS TERRARUM STABIT SUPERFUTURO 
 
 AC ERUDITIS UBIQUE GENTIUM COLLOQUU' 
 
 TURO, SED CORPORIS HORTALIS QUO 
 
 ReCONDITUM sit ERGO HOC 
 
 Saxum posuere. 
 
 MoRTuus EST IV. BID. Jul. 
 
 Jam septuagenarius, ann. a Christo nato 
 
 M.D. XXXVL 
 
 Above this epitaph is the device and seal of Erasmus, to wit, terminus, the god of bounds 
 and the words—- 
 
 Concedo Nulli. 
 The inscription to hi<5 memory, at Rotterdam, is this : 
 Desiderio Brasmo 
 Maono scientiarum atque li- 
 teraturae poutioris vin- 
 
 DICI ET INSTAURATORI 
 
 VlRO SUI S«CULI PRIMARIO 
 
 ClVI OMNIUM PR^STANTISSIMO 
 
 Ac NOMINIS IMMORTALITATEf 
 
 ScRiPTis jEviternis Jure 
 
 CONSECUTO. 
 S. F. Q. ROTTBRDAH 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 203 
 
 ordinaxy occasions, were ordinary men. All true Christians critics 
 must allow this, and grant that the universal inspiration of the 
 sacred penmen, is a notion founded in the prejudices of pious 
 men and their mistaken sense of scripture. Such infallible 
 
 Ne quod tantis apud se suosque 
 po6teros virtutibus prighiumj 
 
 Deesset 
 
 Statuam hanc ex jEre publico 
 
 Erigendam curaverunt. 
 
 Barbaric taleh se debellatur Erasmus 
 
 Maxima laus Batavi nominis ore tulit 
 Reddidit En ! Fatis ars obluctata sinistris, 
 De tanto spolium nacta quod urna viro 
 
 EST 
 
 Ingenii coeleste jubar majusque caduco 
 Tempore qui reddat solus Erasmus erit. 
 
 '' Froben published an edition in 1540, of all the works of Erasmus at Basle, in nine volumes 
 folio. The first, second, and fourth, contain his Philosophical, RhetoriciA, and Grammatical 
 Pieces, his Colloquies and Praise of Folly : the third, his Epistles, which are very fine, and 
 many of them relate to the affairs of the church : the fifth, his Books of Piety ' the sixth, his 
 version of the New Testament, with notes : the seventh, his Paraphrases on the New Testament : 
 the eighth his Translations of some Greek Fathers : the ninth, which is the largest, his ApolO' 
 gies. His New Testament, Letters, and Colloquies, are the most valuable of his works. The 
 preface to his Paraphrase on the Gospel of St. Matthew, is an admirable thing. An English 
 translation of it, with notes, and a good preliminary discourse addressed to Roman catholics, 
 was printed in 1749. Reader, though the edition of 1540 here mentioned is a good one, yet 
 that of Le Clerc's printed at Leydeu, in 1703, in eleven volmnes, foUo, is infinitely superior, 
 and in better estimation. 
 
 Hugo Grotius, the son of Jean de Groot was bom at Delft in Holland, the loth of April, 
 X583, and died at Rostock in Mecklenbourg, Sept. 8, 1645, aged 62. 
 
 fin the former editions of this book; a condensed list of l^e writings of Grotius followed this 
 note, which was derived from M. de Burigny's excellent Life of that great man, printed in 
 1752, and translated from the French into English in 1754. With much asperity if not ill- 
 nature, Amoryhas accused M. de Burgny of being a " bigotted papist," and charges him with 
 having " in a sad and ridiculous manner strained some lines written by Grotius to prove that 
 he died a member of the Church of Rome." The Abb6 Raynal, a judicious French writer, 
 observes that ' M. de Burigny, has introduced nothing but facts well supported, or theo- 
 logical discussions delivered, but with the greatest conciseness and accuracy," and that, " the 
 most valuable part of his work, is the just and concise idea which it gives of Grotius's several 
 writings," The commendation given by the Abb6 Raynal is wholly and absolutely just ; 
 should the reader, therefore, be desirous of becoming better acquainted with the Life and 
 Writings of Grotius, he will find himself agreeably entertained by perusing the Life written 
 by M. de Burigny, and printed in 1745, in 8vo. The list of the works of Grotius occupies 
 pp. 363-8, and though it has met with the maledictory censure of Ajnory, will questionless 
 receive its due meed of praise from the reader. Ed.] 
 
 The great and good Richard Baxter was a nonconformist divine, who suffered much by 
 the severity of that cruel monster of a man, lord chief justice JefEeries, in a prosecution, in 
 Easter Term, 1685, on account of some passages in his Paraphrase on the New Testament. 
 He was confined in the King's Bench prison from the beginning of the year 1685, till Nov. 24, 
 1686 ; when, by the mediation of Lord Powis, he obtained a pardon from King James, and 
 was released out of prison. The passages marked for censure, by Sir Roger L'Estrange ; 
 were his explications of Matt. ch. v. v. 19. Mark, ch. ix. v. 39 ; xi. 31 ; xii. 38,39, 40. Luke, 
 ch. X. V. 2. John, ch. xi. v. 57 ; and Acts, ch xv. v. 2. Dr. South is said to have likewise 
 put into his enemies, power, some annotations, from Romans, ch. xiii. The charge was, that 
 his paraphrase on these places reflected on the prelates of the church of England, and, con- 
 sequently, that he was guilty of sedition ; but equity at this day can find no such reflection 
 or sedition in the passages so condemned. 
 
 Richard Baxter was bom November 12, 1615, at Rowton in South Bradford. He was an 
 author fifty-two years, and in that time wrote one hundred and forty-five distinct treatises, 
 whereof four were fohos, seventy-three quartos, forty-nine oqtavos, and nineteen in twelves 
 and twenty-fours ; besides single sheets, separate sermons, and prefaces to other men's writ- 
 ings. He began with Aphorisms of Justification, printed in 1649 ; in his thirty-fourth year ; 
 and ended with the Certainty of the World of Spirits, in 1691 ; on the 8th of December, in the 
 same year he died at the advanced age of 76 years, at his house in Charter-house- Yard. The 
 following books of his composing in English, are excellent : The Saint's Everiasiing Rett : 
 
20^ THE LIFE OF 
 
 authority they think the best way to silence all objections, and 
 
 weakly embrace the hjrpothesis to advance the honour of religion. 
 
 " But^our allowing this, and that there are some disagreements 
 
 and variations in the evangeUsts, cannot hurt the gospel. St. 
 
 Call to the Unconverted : Dying Thoughts : Certatniy of the World of Spirits: and his Para~ 
 phrase on the New Tesament. His Latin pieces are De Caiechisatione Domesiica. Aphoris mi 
 de /usHficaiione et Faderibus. Apologia, Libellus Rationum pro Rdigione ChrisHana contra 
 Gassendum et Habesium. Epistokt de Genersdi Omnium ProtestanOttm Unione adversus Papa- 
 turn. Dissertatio de Baptismo Infantium. Directiones de ReformoHone Ecdesia. De Reii- 
 gione Grotiana adversus Pierdum. De Jure Sacrameniorum. GiJidas SeUvianus, sive'^Pastor 
 Reformaius. CatecMsmus Quackerianus. Clavis Catholicorum. De Regimine Ecdesite. De 
 Universali Redemptione contra Calvinum et Bexam. De Rep. Sancta. Historia Conciliorum. 
 
 But few I am persuaded in those days of dissipation and pleasure, will sit down to read all 
 or any of what Baxter hath written. It may however, be conscientiously asked, What must 
 become of us when high and low, rich and poor, fly from themselves, and laugh at every thing 
 serious ; run into every extravagance and vanity, and wanton life away in dissipation and 
 diversion ? For shame, rationals, reflect. Consider what ye are. You are beings endued 
 with reason, to the end that you may pursue the true happiness of rational nature, and by a 
 truth and rectitude of life, unite yourselves to the supreme inexhaustible fountain of all in- 
 tellectual and durable good. You are likewise accountable creatures, standing on the brink 
 of death, resurrection, and judgment ; and when this fleeting scene of vanity is over, moral 
 impotence, or natiu'al weakness, as tiiey are now called, will not be accepted as a plea for the 
 offender against natiure and reason, for, let reason be beard, and spend some hours of your 
 every day, in reading good bool^, and in the closet in prayer, with a resolution to do your 
 best to live as you pray, and that power, which darkens the understanding, enslaves the will, 
 and obstructs the operations of conscience, you may easily remove. You will despise every 
 gratification against truth, and delight in being useful and pious here, that you may secure 
 eternal happiness in some futiure world. Ponder then, rationals, in time. As you are placed 
 herein a mutable condition capable of bliss and misery ; to be made confirmed blessed spirits 
 above, when Uie time of probation is over, if you have kept the commandments of God ; or, 
 to live with Lucifer and the apostates for ever in darkness and woe, if you have not fought 
 the good fight, and kept the faith ; therefore, do all that piety and goodness can do in this 
 life. Resolve by the advice of the gospel, and let nothing in nature be able to divert the 
 execution^ but a countermand from the same authority. I speak to the rich and gay, who 
 nightly visit the resplendent and delusive scenes of vitiated life, among the higher orders ; 
 as well as to others who frequent the dances given at fairs and sixpenny hops as they are 
 termed ; where people of both sexes, of low and middling condition, assemble together, to 
 their destruction in all respects. Here the ruin of many an honest tradesman's daughter 
 commences ; and from being men of pleasure at these places, idle yoimg fellows come by de- 
 grees to the gallows. Ibeir morals are here corrupted, their time is wasted, and money must 
 be got some way or other, to answer the expences. llie women there, are for the most part 
 loose characters, and the greatest part of the men, pickpockets and gamblers ; nor do they 
 keep themselves sober ; for the last time I looked into one of their dancing rooms, to see how 
 it was with my kind, one night, as I was walking home, I saw some of the men fuddled, fight- 
 ing for the women ; and several unhappy girls, so drunk, they could not stand. The whole 
 was a sad scene. 
 
 But you, who are great, honourable, and rational — may be called on, I suppose, to stay 
 every wandering or illicit thought, every inconsiderate word, and to bring every intended 
 action before Uie supreme bar of righteous and impartial reason. You may, perhaps, re- 
 member what I beg leave to tell you, that you live under a threefold duty to God, to yoiur 
 neighbours, and to youreelves : and of consequence, that you must flee all those pleasures, 
 and diversions, and alienation of mind, which usually obstruct the love of God, his fear, and 
 honour ; that you must have no immoderate desires, which may tempt you to violate the 
 laws of justice and charity ; and in the regimen of yourselves, that you must observe a strict 
 moderation and temperance, and make your whole life an oblation, and submission to the will 
 of God. Hiis advice I humbly offer to those intelligent, immortal beings, who waste their 
 precious hours in routs and spectades, and in every species of plays and sports, frolic it all 
 the long day. 
 
 Philip de Limborch, a remonstrant divuie, and professor of Theology^ was bom June xg, 
 Z633. He was a learned and excellent man, and hath written the followmg excellent books : 
 Systime Complet de la Thiologie, whidi was translated into Enghsh, and printed in 8vo. Col- 
 latio Arnica de Veritate Religtonis Christiana, cum Erudito Judeao. At the end of this, is 
 an account of Uriel Acosta, a Portuguese deist, who had been a Jew, and Limborch's Defence 
 of Christianity against Acosta's objections. This remarkable life and defence of revealed 
 religion were translated into English in the year 1740. But the ,Collafio has not been pub- 
 lished in English by any one : at least I never saw such a thing : and for this reason, I have 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ, 205 
 
 Paul might reprove St. Peter, and speak himself sometimes after 
 the manner of men ; yet, we see where they had the divine assis- 
 tance in their expHcations, and the power of working miracles to 
 confirm their doctrine ; and there, as rational and thinking men, 
 
 begun a translation of it, and intend to finish it with many notes on the arguments of the two 
 disputants ; if death, or sickness, do not hinder. L'Histoire de ce Terrible Tribunal I'Inguisi - 
 tion ; that is The History of the Inquisiion ; was translated into English by Samuel Chandler,* 
 a dissenting minister ; who prefixed, in an introduction, a History of Persecution, that cannot 
 be sufi&ciently praised, or enough admired. The History and introductioa were published in 
 4to, in 173^1 aud the introduction was afterwards re-printed in 8vo. and again by Atmore, 
 in 1813, 8vo. Contmentaritts in Acta Apostolorum et In Episiolas ad Romanos et Hebraos, 
 
 E Tinted in folio. This is one of the most valuable books in Christian learning ; strong and 
 eautiful ; just and rational. Let it stand next your bible in your study, and when you sit 
 down to the Acts of the AposUes, and the Epistles to the Romans and Hebrews, let Limborch's 
 Commentary be open before you, and you will be improved and charmed. 
 
 Let me likewise advise you, reader, to open, at the same time, Dr. Sykes on the Hebrews ; 
 a glorious performance ; and his most excellent book on Redemption : these two have been 
 published very lately. By the way. Dr. Sykes's Essay upon the Truth of the Christian Religion , 
 is one of the best, if not the best, of all the good things that have been published for revela- 
 tion ; and his Connexion and Discourse on the Miracles, are admirable. 
 
 See likewise his Essay on Sacrifices, his True Foundations of Natural and Revealed ReUgion, 
 his Two Deferu>es of Clarke's Exposition of the Catechism, his Phlegon, his Two Previous Ques- 
 tions, and Defence of the Two Questions of Dr. Middleton against Dr. Chapman, Dr. Church, and 
 Mr. Dodwell. These, and all his pieces, are delightful, useful learning. They illustrate reve- 
 lation, and give a just and charming account of the Christian religion. 
 
 Limborch wrote some other small things, as Letters, Prefaces, and Essays. Among the 
 former those addressed by him to Locke are excellent ; that on Liberty or Power, was too 
 much even for that distinguished and profound philosopher. But bis most celebrated Letter 
 to Locke, in which Limborch gave the history of his arguments, used in bringing back an 
 ingenious lady to Christianity, who had been converted to Judaism, has not been published. 
 It has been seen by several, but is now probably irretrievably lost, fcsj, 
 
 In 1675, Limborch published the valuable works of his master Etienne de Courcelles. an 
 Arminian divine. Courcelles, bom in r586, succeeded Simon Episcopius, who died April 4, 
 1643 ; as pastor to the Church of Uie Remonstrants in Holland, but Courcelles dying May 29, 
 i6j9, was followed by Arnold Poelemberg, who was succeeded on his death in 1667, by Lim- 
 borch ; who in 1693, published the Sermons of Episcopius, in a large folio, to which he not only 
 prefixed a preface, but an admirable Life of Episcopius, which was published separately, in 
 Svo. Amoldus Poelembur^. the writer of the Life of Courcelles, prefixed to his works, in 
 1675 ; was a learned and pious man. His Dissertatio Epistolaris contra Hoorr^eekium, and 
 his Examen Thesium S^anA^m^t, are fine things. Hispreface to the second volume of Epis- 
 copius's Theological Works, is excellent ; and in a valuable book called Epistolee Prastantium 
 Virorum, you will find many letters by Poelemburg, that are extremely beautiful, in respect 
 of the charms of his style, and his judicious manner of treating his subjects. 
 
 * Hiis gentleman is still living, [1756,] and greatly to be honoured, on account of several 
 other excellent writings, in defence of true piety, and the gospel of Christ. His Vindication 
 of the History of the Old Testament against Dr. Morgan. His Discourse of the Nature and Use 
 of- Mvades ; and his A nswer to Anthony CoUins' Grounds and Reasons of the Christian Religion, 
 his Re-examination of the Witnesses of the Resurrection, his Commentary on Jod, his two sermons 
 called The Notes of the Church, in the second volume of the S^ter's Hall, Sermons against 
 Popery, his Sermon on Superstition, and two funeral sermons ; one on the death of Dr. Had- 
 field, ",For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God, is eternal life through Jesus Christ 
 our Lord." Romans, oh. vi. v. 23. The other on the death of Mr. Smyth. " Who shall 
 change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body, according to the 
 worldng whereby he is able to subdue all things to hin^elf." Phil. ch. iii. v. 2 z, are all fine 
 pieces, well written, with a seme and spirit, that renders all Mr. Chandler's performances 
 very valuable ; and therefore, they highly merit the attentive reading of every gentleman. 
 Some other things written by this minister I mentioned in my Memoirs of Several Ladies of 
 Great Britain, 1755, Svo. p. 73, to which the reader is referred. 
 
 Reader, on The Resurrection of Jesus, first read bishop Sherlock's Trial of the Witnesses 
 and Tipping's Defence of the Trial : then take up Mr. Chandler's piece ; and when you have 
 seriously read it, see what Dr. Pearce, bishop of Rochester, says on this subject in the first 
 part of his Four Discourses on the Miracles ; add to them Grove s Sermons on the Resttrreciion, 
 and I imagine, these fine little pieces will give you satisfaction : if a doubt should still remain, 
 open Mr. Wesf s fine book on the Article, and I think you will be easy as to this point. Re- 
 duce the strength of what they all say to a few written arguments, and keep them for use. 
 
Jo6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 we must ailow the authority of the sacred books ; the few places 
 that have the marks of weakness, only serve to convince us, that 
 the divine writers of the books made not the least pretension to 
 perpetual inspiration. * In suo sensu abundat aliquid humanae 
 fragiUtatis dissentio habet ; ' 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 extraordinary purposes of 
 divine providence, they were made superior to the infirmities of 
 nature : their understandings were enlarged and enlightened and 
 an inspired knowledge rendered them incapable of error. This 
 in my judgment, is so far from ruining the authority of scripture, 
 that it is the greatest confirmation of its truth. It shews the 
 
 The best thing of Courcelles is "Ek Qu^^emh IHsseriationum Theologicarum in which he 
 treats, as an able, rational divine, of the Tnulty^^iginal Sin, the Knowledge of Jesus Christ 
 and Justification. The next in value to this qfe his InstiHtHones Religionis Christiana ; 
 Diatribe de Jesu Seuiguinis : Vindicia contra Amyrei^in: and Avis d'un Personage Desiti' 
 teressi : in which he acted the Mediator between the^ilyinists aud Arminians ; but without 
 success. It is a vain attempt to unite parties. Every p^cty is a church and infallible in its 
 own conceit. Happy they that axe of no party, but dewted to Jesus Christ only, and his 
 plain gospel ; doing their best to be pure and good, evemas the Lord Jesus Christ was pure 
 and good, and worshipping God the Father Almighty, inithe name of Jesus, as his disciples, 
 without speculating, inventing, or perplexing ourselves With imaginations. This was our 
 Lord's direction. When you pjay, say, Q^ Fath§r- wh^^ver ye ask in my name, without 
 holiness no man shall see the Lord. ^ Her"eit?ftf,'"^^emen'of the laity, as the doctors call us, 
 and will have us to be an inferior tribe to them. Adhere to these few, plain tilings, and you 
 will be for ever happy, though the church damns you by beU, book, and candle-light. 
 
 The learned and pious Henry Dodwell, who was some time fellow of Trinity College, Dublin ; . 
 and Camden Professor of History in Oxford, till he was ejected for refusing to take the oath 
 to King William ; was bom at Dublin, in October 1641. His works are the following : Pro- 
 legomena ad TractfUum Joannis SlearniideConstantiout Rebus Adversis. Two Letters of Advice 
 on going into Holy Orders, and Theological Studies, with a Tract concerning Sanchoniatlu). Con- 
 siderations of Present Concernment, of how far the Ronuxnists may be trusted by Princes of another 
 Persuasion. An Account of the Fundamental principle of Popery , and an Answer to six queries 
 proposed to a Lady by a Romish Priest. Separation of Churches from Episcopal Government 
 SchismOticdl, and a Defence of it. Dissertations on St. Cyprian. A Dissertation on a passage 
 of Lactantius. A Treatise of the Priesthood of Laics. Additional Discourses to the Posthumous 
 works of Dr. Pearson, published by Dodwell. Dissertatums on Irenaus. A Vindication of 
 the Deprived Bishops, Bancroft, Lloyd, Turner, Ken, Frampton, White ; to whom succeeded 
 Tillotson, Moore, Patrick, Kidder, Fowler, Cumberland ; and a Defence of the Vindication. 
 Four Camdenian Lectures, caUed Pnelectiones Academicoi. The Annals of VeUeius Paterculus, 
 &c. An Account of the Lesser Geographers. The Lawfulness of Church Music. An Account 
 of the Greek and Roman Cycle. A Letter against Tolartd, relative to the Canon of the New Testa- 
 ment. The Annals of TJutoydides and Xenophon ; and an Apology for the Philosophical Works 
 of Cicero. A Letter on the Soul to Mr. Layton, an4 a Letter to Dr. Tillotson on Schism. Two 
 Dissertations on the Age of Phalaris and Pythagoras. An Admonition to Foreigners concerning 
 Schism. A n Epistolary Discourse to prove the Soul a Principle naturaiVy Mortal, hut ImmoT' 
 talixed by its Union with the Divine Baptismal Spirit : that the Bishops only can give this Immor- 
 talizing Spirit : and that Sacerdotal Absolution is Necessary for the Remision of Sins* Three 
 Treatises in Defence of the Epistolary Discourse. 
 
 These are the works of the learned Dodwell. Some are very valuable, many of them good 
 for nothing ; and all of them written with great perplexity ; without any beauty of stile, or 
 any order. Dodwell's learning was very great, but beside the singularity of his notiom, which 
 he affected, his learning lay like a lump of puzzled silk in his head, and he could draw few 
 useful threads. Dodwell in the fifty-second year of his age, married a very young girl, the 
 daughter of a gentleman, in whose house he boarded in ^e country ; having been her pre- 
 ceptor for five years ; from a regard to her fine understandingj and by her had ten children. 
 Two sons and lour daughters siurvived him ; one of the sons is the present [1756] rector of 
 Shottesbrook, wpll known by the title of orthodox Dodwell, on account of his writings for 
 the fathers against Dr. Middleton ; and to distinguish him from the author of a bad book 
 ^nely written [by Tindal], called, Christianity, Founded on Argutnent, 
 
 P^dweU, the elder, died ^t ghottesbrogk, June 7, X7zx ; aged 70. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 207 
 
 honesty of the preachers of the new Testament, in owning they 
 were only occasionally inspired : and when the incredulous see 
 the ingenuous acknowledgment of what is human in the inspired 
 writings, the truth of our reUgion must be more conspicuous to 
 their eyes : whereas the truths of the Testament are hid from 
 them, by making God the dictator of the whole ; because they 
 think that impossible, and therefore conclude, the Christian re- 
 ligion has no better foundation. In short there is no reason to 
 beUeve that the apostles were extraordinarily inspired, when 
 they say it not ; and when their discourses have in them no mark 
 of such like inspiration. It is sufficient, says Le Clerc, if we be- 
 lieve 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 undertaken to foretell any thing, 
 which God had not indeed truly revealed 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 circumstances : that all the doctrines proposed 
 are reaUy and truly divine doctrines, and there is no sort of reason- 
 ing in the dogmatical places of the Holy Scriptures, that can lead 
 us into error, or into the beUef of any thing that is false, or con- 
 trary to piety ; that Jesus Christ was absolutely infallible, as 
 well as free from all sin, because of the Godhead 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 not 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 Scriptures, and they who affirm more are deceived. * 
 
 * Let me recommend to you, reader, two large volumes written in an epistolar^r form ; the 
 first, is Senfimens de Quelques Theotogiens d'HoUande sur VHistoire Critique du Vieux Testa- 
 ment, el de Nouveau Testament, par P. R, Simon, and the second Defense des Sentimens conire 
 Bolville. These are fine books i', my reason for mentioning them is, that the eleventh and 
 twelfth letters in the former, are on the Inspiration of the Sacred Writers ; and the tenth and 
 eleventh letters in the Defence, &c., are a continuation of the subject in a very extraordinary 
 manner, i.e. by giving a solid demonstration of the truth of our religion, without interesting 
 it in this controversy, by clearly proving, that the Christian religion is true, though the apostles 
 had not been continually inspired. Le Clerc was the author of these works ; and the letters 
 here spoken of were translated into Knglish, and {)rinted in 1690, in duodecimo. Some ac- 
 count of Le Clerc and his writings, will be found in the Memoirs of Several Ladies of Great 
 Britain, pp. 356, 358. 
 
 The famous Father Richard Simon, who wrote the Critical History of the Old Testament, 
 was born at Dieppe, X3th of May, 1638, became a priest of the Oratory, and was the author 
 of many learned works, which a general reader should be no stranger to. His Lettres Choisies, 
 his Bibiiotheqtte CriH^ae, and his Nouvelle Bibliotheque Choisie, in which there is much curious 
 learning, mixed with no less a portion of prejudice, are still worthy of commendation. Simon 
 was a great man, and bad as the Histoire Critique is in respect of design, it is a learned work, 
 and of great use to those, who have heads fit to use it. Simon died at Dieppe, April 7, 1712. 
 Herman Witsius, who defended Simon in his Miscellanea Sacra, by abusing Le Clerc, was a 
 Doctor in Divinity and Professor of the faculty at Francker, and beside the Miscellanea Sacra, 
 published some other works, entitled, CEconomia Fcederum, &c., Exercitationes Sacra in Ora- 
 Honem Domirticum : and ^syptiaca. If like me, reader, you have nothing else to do but read, 
 
2o8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 *' The case is the same as to difiEerences, want of exactness and 
 small mistakes. We may justly celebrate the harmony or agree- 
 ment of the sacred writers with regard to the principal trans- 
 actions by them mentioned, as a strong proof of the integrity of the 
 evangelists, and of the certainty of the fact. This evinces the 
 truth of Christianity : but in matters of very small moment, we 
 must allow a want of accuracy, or sHps of memory, or different 
 informations. This cannot hurt the authority of tiie gospels, as 
 it proves the honesty of the writers by shewing they did not com- 
 pose by compact : and I think, that some of the evangehsts having 
 been eye-witnesses of, and actors in the facts of the several gos- 
 pels ; and others having written for the information of those who 
 had got a perfect information of all things from the very begin- 
 ning, is an argument solid and rational for the credibility of the 
 evangelical history. It is siif&cient. I am sure it is better to 
 allow this, than to say the writers of the four gospels were mere 
 organs, when the httle omissions and inaccuracies 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 
 directs. 
 
 I advise you to read them as curious things ; there is learning, tbou^ not much good in 
 them. See M. Mark's Funeral Oration on WUstus. Simon's Eloge you will find in the Journal 
 LiUer. torn. 3. p. 225. And if you have a critical head I recommend to you Father Simon's 
 Dissertation Critique against Du Fin's Nouvelle Bibliotheque des Auteurs Ecclesiastiques ; it is 
 an arch piece of criticism, though it does not hurt Du Pin's Bibliotheque. 
 
 The learned and excellent Louis Ellies Du Pin, author of the valuable Bibliotheque Eccle- 
 siastique, was bom June 17, 1657, and died at Paris, June x6, 1719, aged 62. He wrote many 
 other excellent works : but the Bibliotheque Nouvelle des Auteurs Ecclesiastique, from Jesus 
 Christ to the year 1710, printed in thirty-five v<^iunes in 8vo, was the principal labour of his 
 life. The best edition in Bnglish of this fine work, is that printed by Grierson, at Dublin in 
 folio. 
 
 The other works of Du Fin are Dissertation Prdiminaire ou Prolegomenes sur la Bible, in 
 three volumes, 8vo. De Antigua Ecdesite Disciplina, in seven Dissertations. De la Puissance 
 Ecclesiastique et Temporelle. La Doctrine Chretienne et Orihodoxe. Notes on the Pentateuch 
 Les Pseaumes en Latm, et des Notes, in 8vo. Version Franfois des Psea/umes, avec des Notes. 
 A Defence of His Notes on the Psalms. 
 
 He edited in folio, the Works of Optatus Aser, a Numidian bishop, who was living anno 
 368 ; to this edition, he prefixed an History of the Donatists, and the Sacred Geography of 
 Africa. He also superintended the edition of Gerson s works in five volumes folio ; to which 
 he joined a work of his own, called Gersoniana : containing the Life of Gerson, the History 
 of 'his Times, and the doctrines and Lives of Contemporary Authors. Critique sur I His- 
 toire d ApoUonius de Tyanne. Une Lettre sur lAncienne Discipline touchante la Messe. Un 
 Traite de I' Excommunication. Une Hisioire de VEgHse en Abregi. Une Histoire Profane 
 depuis les Terns les Plus Reculez jusqu a Present. Uiie Analyse de VApocaiyPse, avec des Dis- 
 sertations sw Different^ Matieres Curieuses. Une Histoire du xvii Siecle. Un Traite de 
 i' Amour de Dieu : and Bibliotheque des Historiens Profanes. Of this last work, he did not pub- 
 lish more than two volumes, which have been translated into Bnglish ; and so far as he went 
 are so well done, that it is to be lamented, that he did not finish his noble design. As to his 
 edition of Basnage's Histoire des Juifs, without mentioning the name of Basnage, and his 
 making many alterations in it contrary to its author's mind, it brought on him a severe castiga- 
 tion from Basnage ; as I mentioned in my account of the writings of that writer, in my Me- 
 moirs of Several Ladies of Great Britain, p. 350 ; where I referred the reader to a fine piece 
 called the Histoire des Juifs reclaim^. 
 
 Note : next to the Bibliotheque des Auteurs Ecclesiastiques, the best books of Du Pin are, 
 his Seven Dissertations de AnHqua DisctpHna Ecclesia : in I^tin, in one volume, 4to7 and his 
 Puissance Ecclesiastique et Temporelle: m one volume, 8vo. In these volumes, he works the 
 pope in a fine manner, as to supremacy and infallibility. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 209 
 
 " As to St. Mark and St. John's accounts, I see no contradiction 
 in the relations. St. John's says, reckoning as the Romans did, 
 as he was then in Asia, and Jerusalem destroyed ; 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 deUvered him up to the soldiers, to be crucified, 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. 
 
 " As to St. Matthew and St. Mark's accounts 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, though St. Mark says, ' he appeared first to Mary 
 Magdalene.' The case to me appears to be this. Mary Mag- 
 dalene, Mary the mother of James, and the other women, went 
 with spices and ointments to embalm the body, Sunday the 28th 
 of Apnl, early in the morning, about six and thirty hours after it 
 had been laid in the sepulchre, and when they arrived at the place 
 found not the body, but two angels, as young men in white ap- 
 parel, who told them Jesus of Nazareth was risen to life again, as 
 he himself 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 prediction. With 
 these joyful tidings the women hastened away to the eleven dis- 
 ciples, and related to them what they had heard and seen. The 
 apostles looked upon this account as a dream or vision ; but how- 
 ever, 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 re- 
 moved 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 appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had 
 cast out seven devUs ; ' and after she had reverenced her dear 
 Lord and master, he bid her go immediately to his disciples, and 
 tell them she had seen him : ' let them also know that I have 
 
210 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 aU things both in heaven and earth, and to prepare a place 
 for you ; that where I am, there ye may be also,' Mary accor- 
 dingly departed. She told the apostles that Jesus had appeared 
 to her, and acquainted them with the joyful message. 
 
 " As to the other women, it is evident that they likewise went a 
 second time to the sepulchre, to look for the body of their master, 
 and having in vain searched for it, were returning to the apostles 
 to let them know they had enquired to no purpose, when Jesus 
 himself met them, saying ' All hail.' Does not this reconcile 
 Mark's account with Matthew's ? I think so. To me it is so 
 very plain from what aU the sacred relators have declared of the 
 matter, that I am astonished how Jerome could be so perplexed 
 with the two accounts, as to say, that Mark's account, which 
 constitutes 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 evangehsts. Non recipimus 
 Marci testimonium, quod in raris fertur evangeliis, praesertim cum 
 diversa atque contraria evangehstis 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 apprehend, without Mark's contradicting Matthew. The 
 meaning of the words of Mark, ' he appeared first to Mary Magda- 
 lene ' 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 (hscourse to her, and speaking famiharly and affec- 
 tionately to her, to distinguish her as his constant follower in his 
 life- time, and one on whom he had worked a great miracle of heal- 
 ing. This, I imagine might very justly be termed " he appeared 
 first to Mary Magdalene.' To appear first to any one of a com- 
 pany, 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 imagination, 
 removes the difficulty, and reconciles Mark to Matthew ; but to 
 this expUcation I prefer the woman's being a second time at the 
 sepulchre : that is, Mary Magdalene 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, &c. a 
 second time. The gospels, in my opinion, make this very plain*". 
 
 • Long since my conversation with Mr. Berrisfort, I have seen an excellent book, written 
 
JOHISI B UNCLE. ESQ. 
 
 " What has been said," rejoined Mr. Berrisfort, " seems 
 plausible, and ought to satisfy every honest man. It gives me 
 content : but there is one thing still that perplexes me, and that 
 is the various lections of the New Testament. Do they not hurt 
 the book ? " 
 
 "No:" I replied, "notwithstanding the cry of infidels, and 
 that some learned men of the church of Rome have endeavoured 
 to shake the credit of the two testaments, 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 readings in Terence, 
 Livy, Virgil, Caesar, Thucydides, Homer, Plutarch, and others, 
 yet who denies the genuineness and great use of those noble authors 
 (5f sense and politeness ? who is so hardy as to question whether 
 the works universally ascribed to them be their own and the pro- 
 duct 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 language 
 and sense. 
 
 " 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 manu- 
 script, there may be scope for fancy ; but none for judicious com- 
 parison and well-grounded criticism. 
 
 " Style and language may be distinguished by a happy genius 
 of natural sagacity, improved by true learning and proper appU- 
 cation, as well as statues, pictures and medals. No age can 
 counterfeit Cicero, Terence, St. Mark, St. John, St. Paul, no more 
 than a counterfeit picture, or medal, can be imposed on and 
 deceive the complete masters and judges of those ingenious pro- 
 fessions .a,nd sciences. 
 
 " Secondly, there is nothing in the various lections that afiects 
 the essentials of reUgion, or can imply a considerable depravation 
 of the copies, that alters or weakens one moral contained in the 
 
 by the learned minister of Maybole, in which he labours, through several 4to. pages, from 
 p. 3Z3, to reconcile Mark and Matthew, by virtue of a' second visit to the monument by Mary 
 Magdalene, when the Lord appeared first to her ; and a second visit to the sepulchre by the 
 other women, when Jesus appeared next to those women ; and in my opinion, he has proved 
 it, beyond a possbility of rational reply. See Macknight's Harmony. Le Clerc, in h& Har- 
 mony . does likewise evince the thing clearly to conviction. 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 divine books. And therefore, though it cannot with reason be 
 supposed, that God Almighty should work perpetual miracles to 
 prevent the mistakes and blunders of every careless or corrupt 
 hand, of those numerous transcribers of those sacred volumes, no 
 more than by a resistless power and restraint to prevent all the 
 errors and villainies committed by free and accountable crea- 
 tures ; yet the argument receives strength, that notwithstanding 
 the innumerable variations, mistakes and contradictions in small 
 matters, the all-seeing eye of Providence has so watched his own 
 blessed and glorious revelations to mankind, that all the tran- 
 scripts of that divine volume agree in the essential doctrine and 
 grand design of Christianity. This is a truth that Infidels and 
 Papists cannot disprove. 
 
 " I observe in the last place, that exclusive of the care of Provi- 
 dence, 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 lan- 
 guages, 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 Ubraries, 
 churches, and in private famiUes 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, scattered as they were 
 over the then discovered world, and in the noble language so 
 universally known and acceptable, be liable to hazards, by sudden 
 revolutions and public disasters ; because those convulsions 
 and surprizing calamities, could not happen aUke in every country 
 at one time. 
 
 " Neither could a general corruption of manners, a spirit of 
 profuseness or superstition, nor the wicked example, and strong 
 influence of tyrannical princes, of an apostate clergy, and atheis- 
 tical ministers of state, prevail over many distant and indepen- 
 dent 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 rights and 
 properties, their claims and titles to immortality, to the inheri- 
 tance of the saints in light, an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, 
 that f adeth not away, reserved for them in the heavens. Which, 
 to every one that deserves the name of man and Christian 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. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 213 
 
 and every believer would think himself concerned, no more to 
 let a change of consequence to pass uncorrected, than the children 
 of this world, who are wisest in their generation, would overlook 
 a flaw in deeds of sale, or contract, which would assert their 
 title, and evacuate the main intention of making such 
 indentures. 
 
 '' 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 persecu- 
 tors, and were commanded to deUver their Bible to the flames, 
 they most courageously 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 insufficient for the good ends 
 Providence designed by it, could be imposed on the universal 
 Christian world. It is easier to suppose 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 corruption of the gospel : which most sacred institution is 
 to all Christians of infinitely greater concern and value than their 
 temporal laws, and all the secular immunities and privileges 
 which they secure to them. 
 
 " And without such a wicked concert, or such an astonishing 
 carelessness and negligence in all Christian people and nations 
 supposed, which would be a monstrous supposition. No such 
 forgery, no such alteration of essentials could pass undiscovered 
 in the gospel, 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, fre- 
 frequently explained in schools, and daily used in public (Uvine 
 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, morals, or truth 
 of its historical relations, or defeat the blessed end and design 
 of the gospel revelation in any period of time, from the beginning 
 of Christianity to this present age.* 
 
 * For further Satisfaction on this Article and to be convinced that the books of the Nem 
 Tesiameni, as we now have them, are the word of God, see, reader, Blackwell on The Sacred 
 Classics, and Jones's Method o) SeuUng the Canonical Authority 0/ the Testament. By the way, 
 if Jacob Ilive, who stood in the pillory, the 30th of June, 1756, for writing and publishing a 
 thing called Modest Remarks on (Dr. Sherlock) thi bishop of London's Sermons in a letter to 
 his lordship, had read with attention the books I have mentioned, and Dr. Lardner's Credi- 
 bility of the Gospel-History, he woidd not, 1 imagine, have composed a pamphlet, that ;aani- 
 fests not only an impious licentiousness, but an ignorance at once great and despicable in 
 relation to the subjects he pretended to write on. 
 
214 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " And if from this unanswerable way of reasoning in defence 
 of the genuine purity of the sacred scriptures, we look next upon 
 the Providence of the Great God in this important case, is it not 
 consonant to sound sense, and the notions that rational creatiures 
 must have of the supreme and aU-perfect Being, firmly to believe 
 that the same goodness and providence, which took care for the 
 writing, would Ukewise take care for preserving these inestimable 
 books, so free at least from corruption, that they might be suffi- 
 cient 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 evi- 
 dent, 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 Providence, the Holy Scriptures will remain the 
 sacred and unalterable standard of true religion." 
 
 " What you say," replied Mr. Berrisfort, " 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 apostles who are said to have been eye-witnesses of the face 
 but Luke and Mark only are the relators of the thing, who were 
 not apostles, and had all they wrote from the information 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 transaction, 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 
 afiair in their gospels ; and men who did not see the thing, to 
 relate it as a part of the history they had received from the 
 apostles'; this is what astonishes me. If it was a truth, surely so 
 important 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 nan 
 est providentiae divinae rationes reddere. Placuit spiritu sancto 
 ita dirigere calamos Matthaei et Joannis, ut narratione resurrec- 
 tionis dominicse evangelia sua concluderent. Sic refert Lim- 
 borch. It does not become us to call Providence to account, or 
 assign the ways it ought to act in : infinite wisdom thought fit 
 to appoint, that Matthew and John should 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 315 
 
 most valid, and unexceptionable, 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 sepulchre ; 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, Peter and Paul, to the resurrection of 
 Christ, and for these reasons, to be sure, when John had described 
 his Lord's resurrection, he added, ' and many other signs truly 
 did Jesus in the presence of his disciples, which are not written 
 in this book. But these are written, that ye might beUeve that 
 Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that beheving, ye might 
 have life through his name.' We must allow then, that the 
 account of the ascension by Luke and Mark, may be authentic, 
 though 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 ascend up where he 
 was before ? ' and in the 7th chapter, ver. 39th. ' But this spake 
 he of the Spirit, which they that beUeve 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 though he did not write the 
 history of it, yet, not obscurely, 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 and 26, the 
 apostle declares, that Jesus foretold he would send to them, his 
 disciples, the Comforter or Holy Spirit 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 foUows, that the ascension and 
 glorification of Jesus is as much asserted and confirmed by the 
 gospel of St. John, as if that apostle, like Luke, had wrote the 
 history of it. This is evident to me, and I think, it is not possible 
 to dispute it. 
 
 " The sum of the whole is, that the prejudices of the pious, 
 and the arts of the crafty and interested, have defaced the true 
 gospel of Christ, and substituted human notions and conse- 
 quences in the place of divine revelation : but let us strip the 
 sacred records of the false glosses and systems, with which the 
 theorists have covered it, and allow the enemy, that the apostles, 
 sometimes wanting the unerring spirit of their Master, were liable 
 to sHght 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 
 
2i6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 prophecies that did not relate to Jesus in any sense at all ; * — 
 let this be done to remove incumbrances, to clear up difficulties, 
 and to answer objections otherwise unanswerable, and the 
 writings of the apostles will appear to be a globe of light from 
 heaven ; to irradiate the human understanding, and conduct the 
 
 * Let us now see, says a great man and upr^ht Christian, what use the enemies of Chris- 
 tianity have endeavoured to make of the prophecies, as the evangelists apply them ; and what 
 answer the truth of the case will oblige us to give to them. 
 
 They assert that the foundation of the Christian religion is laid by the evangelists, on the 
 proof of this point, that the mission and character of Jesus were foretold by the prophets ; 
 and that the validity of this proof depends entirely on the force of those particular prophecies 
 which the same evangelists have applied to the illustration of it, in ^eir several gospels. 
 Upon this hypothesis, the enemy undertakes to shew, that the prophecies, so applied by Uiem 
 do not at au relate to Jesus, in their proper and literal signification, but only in secondary, 
 typical, and figurative sense : but then this way of intcorpreting them is equivocal, precarious 
 and incapable of yielding any rational satisfaction ; and of consequence Christianity has no 
 foundation. Such is the use the enemy make of the prophecies applied by the evangelists. 
 
 In truth, if we admit that Christianity has no other foundation than what Its enemies assign 
 it, it might not perhaps be difficult for them to make good the rest : for upon that supposition, 
 many objections are thrown in our way, which it is scarce possible to get rid of. But while 
 they fancy themselves to be demolishing foundations, they are battering only such parts of 
 the edifice as serve for its ornaments rather than its support : and had the enemy gone farther, 
 and shewn that some of the prophecies cited by Matthew did not relate to Jesus in any sense 
 at all, they would have done no more than what some of the primitive fathers, as well as 
 modem critics had done before them, without designing or doing the least hurt to Christianity. 
 
 Jesus declared in general that Moses and the prophets had testified of him : but since the 
 evangelists did not think it necessary to give a precise account, or deduction of the several 
 prophecies, which were alleged by him in proof of that declaration, it is sufficient to take it 
 just as we find it, without thinking ourselves obliged to defend all the particular instances 
 or applications, which were ofiered afterwards in support of it by fallible men. Whiston, in 
 his LUerai Aceomplishmeni of the Scripture Prophecies, has produced forty-five prophecies 
 from the Old Testament, which are cited in the New, in proof of the Messiahsbip of Jesus, and 
 which he declares to have been clearly and directly fulfilled, without the least pretence of any 
 reply from any author whatsoever. Now if any number of these, how small soever, are found 
 to be as clearly accomplished, as he takes them to be, they are sufficient to support the au- 
 thority of the gospel, though all the rest were thrown aside. 
 
 But to say the truth, the grounds of our faith, in these latter ages of the diurch, do not lie 
 in the particular interpretations of prophecies, made by men, who might be mistaken, and 
 who, as Jerome* says more than once, by trusting to their memories, in citing these very 
 prophecies, were frequently mistaken in the words, and sometimes in the sense of them. Nor 
 IS the evidence of prophecy so proper in these days, to convert men to the faith of Christ as 
 to confirm those wno have already embraced it : serving chiefly, as St. Paul expresses it, not 
 to them who believed not, but to them who believe. 
 
 The sum then of this article is, that upon the first promulgation of the gospel, whUe the 
 conversion of the Jews was the principal object of our Saviour's ministry, and afterwards of 
 his apostles, the argument of prophecy was, of all others, the best adapted to persuade, and 
 conquer the prejudices of that nation. But in preaching the gospel to the Gentiles, not 
 ac<^uainted with the Jewish scriptures, nor tinctured with anyjewish prejudices, the testimony 
 of its miracles, and the purity of its doctrines, were the most affecting proof of its divine 
 origin. Vet when by the evidence of these, people had once received the Christian faith, 
 and acquired a competent knowledge of it, Uiey would then perceive, that the argument of 
 prophecy was a part also of the evidence, essentially necessary to complete the demonstration 
 of its truth. 
 
 • St. Jerome is one of the four great doctors of the Latin church, who support the magnifi- 
 cent bronze chair of St. Peter, in this saint's church in Rome. The other three doctors are 
 St. Augustin, St. Ambrose, and St. Gregory. Great might be the piety of those doctors, for 
 any thing I can say to the contrary, but this is certain, from their writings, that they did not 
 understand Christianity. 
 
 St. Jerome, bom at Stridon, in Dalmatia, in the year 340 ; was a hot, abusive man, and 
 quarreUed even with St. Augustin. In his disputes, he is more like a madman than a saint 
 and ever in the wrong. He wrote commcfUs on all the prophets, Ecclesiastes, St. Matthew, 
 and the epistles to the Galatiass, Ephesians. Titus, and Philemon ; but they are sad stuff in 
 respect of some modem performances. Compare them with the comments of Dr. Clarke 
 Locke, Dr. Benson, and others of our country, and you will see what a poor creature thU 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 217 
 
 sons of men 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, that they incline a 
 rational to have a serious regard to them. 
 
 " In a word, the reUgion of nature is perfect, but men are im- 
 perfect, and therefore it pleased God to send our Saviour into the 
 world, to repubhsh 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 Ufa eternaf 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 appeared in the world to 
 redeem us, will return to judge us by the gospel, we may ascend 
 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." 
 
 My friend repUed, that he had no objection to make : he was 
 quite satisfied ; and obliged to me for my advice. Thus ended 
 the conversation between Bob Berrisfort and Jack Bungle. 
 
 saint was In respect of our English divines and philosophers. He translated the Old Testament 
 into Latin from the Hebrew ; without understanding the Hebrew well : and he corrected the 
 antient Latin version of the New Testament. This is far from being correct, though the church 
 of Rome has decreed it to be infallible, and appointed it to be used in the church. The best 
 and most useful thing this saint hath written is his Treatise ot Illustrious Men: which contain 
 a summary of the lives, and the titles of the books, written by ecclesiastical authors, to his 
 time. The next in worth to this, in my opinion, is his book of letters ; in which are several 
 fine moral sentiments, and much good advice ; though his criticisms on the Bible in this work 
 are weak enough He will have it, that it was wisdom, and not a young woman, that David 
 took into bed to him, when he was old and cold y which is a mere fancy, that plainly contra- 
 dicts the history of Uiat affair in the Bible. But St. Jerome, in his Letters, tells us, he ab- 
 horred a woman, as much as Mrs. Astel did a man ; detesting and blackening matrimony 
 and a wife, to extol and exalt that whim of his brain virginity. He owns that be beheld 
 with detestation every pregnant woman though rendered so in the holy matrimonial bed 
 and could not bear looking at her, but as he reflected that she carried a virgin. He was con- 
 sequently a fit supporter of St Peter's chair. Of the works of St. Jerome, who died in the 
 year 420, aged 80, there is a good edition^ in nine volumes, in folio, printed at Paris, in 1633 ; 
 but the later one, edited by Martianay, the Benedictin, is much finer and more valuable. 
 
 St. Ambrose is the next supporter and saint. This holy prelate, bom at Treves in the year 
 340, was a great contender for tritheism and the rights of the church, and wrote many worth- 
 less pieces for them and persecution. He acted an insolent and senseless part, when the 
 emperor Theodosius, in the afiair of Thessalonica, ordered the seditious to be destroyed 
 and died soon after, in April anno 397, "the greatest and most blessed of men," so say Paulinus 
 and Baronus who have both written his life. The best edition of his works is that enriched 
 with many notes by the Benedictins, and printed at Paris in 1691, in t^o volumes folio. 
 
 As to St. Gregory of Neocaesarea, and the four other saints of the name, to wit, the two 
 Nazianzens, Nysse, and Armenia, 1 shall have occasion to mention them in the next volume 
 of my journal, and therefore shall here only observe, in respect of Neocaesarea, usually called 
 Thaumaturgus, or the wonder-worker, that he died in the year 265, according to Buronius, 
 and the saint of Armenia, or into 270, according to Fabricius : and that the best edition of 
 his works that by Gerard Vossus, printed at Mayence in 1604, 4to. His pieces were likewise 
 printed in a collection of things written bv some minor saints at Paris, in 162^ in a singk vol- 
 ume, in folio, , 
 
2i8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The third 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 cUmbing 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 besides, Mr. Berrisfort was so obUging 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 bade adieu to my friends, who walked 
 with me a couple of miles to the foot of the hills, I began 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. Immediately he produced a roast fowl, a 
 manchet, and a bottle of cyder, and among some trees, on the 
 brow of a hill, by the 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 dispatched 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, though the way 
 was bad ; being very steep, wet, and sUppery. I came to a dirty 
 lane, about two hundred yards long, and that ended at the 
 shaking-bog. 
 
 This kind of bog I take to be an abyss of standing waters 
 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 
 Natural 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 unfathomable 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 surprising manner. 
 
 To go half a mile over such a bog, and the most elastic of them 
 I had ever tried, was that I did not much like ; though the author 
 of my paper of directions, an old servant of Mr. Berrisfort, 
 af&rmed it was quite safe ; and as to Tim, he would not, on any 
 consideration cross it., He was positive 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 re- 
 mained, to go up again to the top of the hill, and try onwards for 
 some other descent beyond the bog. We did so, and after walking 
 two hours south-west, at a good rate, had a view of a deep glen, 
 to which we descended by an easy slope, and marched through it, 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 219 
 
 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. 
 
 These men were three brothers and Roman catholics. Two of 
 them were gentlemen-farmers, who Uved together, and jointly 
 managed the country business. The eldest was a Franciscan 
 friar, who came to visit them. Their j'ood manners, in their 
 plain dress, surprised me ; and their benevolence made me wonder 
 a great deal more. Their maid 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, sd cheerful 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 commenced immediately between the eldest 
 Fleming and me , and there was not one cold or cross minute in 
 it for the few years that he Uved. 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, and have 
 always appeared to me very strange. Fleming was a man of a 
 bright and very extraordinary understanding, though no more 
 than a farmer, h^d a most happy temper, a generosity too great 
 for his fortune, and was for ever cheerful and free ; but these 
 however pleasing, could not be the cause of the sudden and lasting 
 friendship between us, as I have been acquainted 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 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, 
 
 • The aiguments I used to make a convert of Fleming, the reader wUl find in the appendix 
 oj this journal, among other interesting matters, that are too long to be inserted in the story 
 of my l&e. I shall print them in hopes that they may be of service to some other soul. They 
 were introduced the first day I was at Fleming's house, by his saying to me, after dinner, 
 " Dear sir, will you give me leave to ask you, by what strange cause it has happened, that you 
 are thus travelUng on foot in this unvisited country. It must be an extraordinary affair I 
 am sure. " Sir " I replied, " my case is very uncommon. I do not believe that any thing 
 like it ever was before, and, perhaps, such another aiEfair may never happen again." lilittle 
 thought then, that I should afterwards meet with two instances of the same kind of thinking 
 and resolution in the female woildi to wit, Miss Cbawcerand Miss Janson : wliose bistoiies.I 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 a sameness of disposition had helped to produce. This is all I can 
 say as to 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 
 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. 
 
 But as to the shaking-bog I was to have passed to go to the 
 gentlemen at Ulubrae, Fleming told me, I had had a fortunate 
 escape in not venturing over it ; for, though it be passable in one 
 narrow way, about a yard broad, yet a stranger to the bog must 
 perish in attempting to cross ; as the timber causeway that w£is 
 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, " continued my new friend, to the 
 gentleman's house, to whom I am no stranger, and will make you 
 acquainted with some passes through the mountains, that will 
 render it easier riding over this country than you have found it." 
 He did so, and by his guidance I arrived at Ulubrae, the 7th day 
 of July ; being the 17th day from the morning I left the philoso- 
 phers. The gentlemen were startled at the sight of me, as they 
 concluded I had perished, and had, as they assured me, 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 hves so far from the hill I went into ; and 
 
 have given in my Mtmoirs 0/ Several Ladies of Great BrUatn, p. 41-64. The critics, I remember, 
 had some doubts as to the reality of these two cases : but to this I answer, that they may as 
 well doubt the truth of mjr own story ; and from thence proceed to deny the reality of my 
 existence ; because several incidents in my life are strange, and such as they have not heard 
 of before. It is not, however, in the power of criticism to invalidate what I deliver as facts. 
 I will tell you my story : and so began to relate the religious dispute between my father and 
 me, and how it was brought to a bead by the devil possessed by a woman, called a mother-in- 
 law. As the glass went round, I let them know, bow a man in the twenty-second ^ear of his 
 a^e, forsook adl for the tnie gospel of Chri<:t, and at a time of life, when v^ few think of reli- 
 gion, resolved to confess himself a Christian deist, to all whom it concerned, if it brought him 
 to want, and from 3 morsel of bread to the grave. So far I was heard without interrupting 
 though I declaimed by the way against the dreadful heresy of three gods : but not thinking 
 I was in company with catholics, for then I imagined that such subjects of the king of Eng- 
 land were omy to be found in Ireland, I brought into my oration against false religion, the 
 diabolism of popery, and gave it several thrusts ; as, indeed, I always do, whenever it comes 
 in my way ; for, good readra — though I love the catholic men and women, because I am a friend 
 to man, and nearly related to many Romanists of great fortune ; yet, popery I abhor; and 
 look upon it as the greatest woe that ever the devil introduced into this lower world, to ruin 
 mankind ; but when I began to touch this string, and was raking Rome papal fore and aft, 
 Fleming the friar, changed colour several times, which I took notice of, and knew not what 
 to ascribe to, unless he was very sick ; and at last he told me, by wa^ of game, that I was 
 an eloquent young gentleman, and had a flow of language ; but my mistakes as to the church 
 of Rome were very great, and he begged leave, as he was a priest of the holy Roman church, 
 to set me right {in my notions. Tbis was a great surprise to me. It struck me silent for 
 some minut^. At last, however, I told the gentlemen, that I asked their pardons for making 
 so free wth their religion, which I should not presume to have done, but that 1 thought they 
 had been protestants ; that as to his offer to set me right, he did me great honour, and I would 
 with pleasure hear him. I would, to be sure, be a convert to the strength of his arguments, 
 if uaaoswerable, or offer sacb reasons for remaining a protestant, as must satisfy a catiooal 
 man. He then went on, and my reply followed. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 
 
 the road from it to his house, scarce passable for a mortal. " In- 
 form us, we beseech you, how these strange things came to 
 pass." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said I, " I am extremely obliged 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 beheve 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 related again. Their secretary, as 
 directed, wtote it down in their 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 festal manner after dinner. We drank and laughed till 
 it weis midnight. 
 
 1^ The 8th day of July, I took my leave of the gentlemen at Ulubrae, 
 and proceeded 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 glens. Several scenes were as charming as any I had 
 before seen, and the low wa)^ as bad ; but he knew all the roads 
 and cross turnings perfectly well, and shortened the journey a 
 great many miles. I had told him the business I was going on, 
 and he requested, if I succeeded, that I would bring Miss Melmoth 
 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 capable 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 the 
 house. This was good indeed. I could not wish for more. 
 
 The 9th of July, early in the morning, Fleming and I parted, 
 and I proceeed as fast as I well could to the appointed station, 
 but when I came up to Mrs. Aisgill's door, oh the second day in 
 the evening, July lo, and asked for Miss Melmoth, an old man, 
 the only person in the house, told me, Mrs. ^sgill had been dead 
 
ii2 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 rode 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 ac- 
 quainted with her, and he knew nothing of her present abode. 
 From York then I proceeded the next morning 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 sUent 
 mountain-lodge, which kind Providence had brought me to. 
 There I resolved 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. 
 
 To this purpose then I went the second of August, 1725, to 
 Barnard's Castle in Durham, and intended the next morning to 
 set out for Fleming's house in Stanemore, to go from thence 
 to my cottage on the side of a Westmoreland-FeU, but after I had 
 rode a mile ofi the road to Eggleston, where I purposed to dine, 
 I called out to my lad to stop. A sudden thought came into my 
 head, to ride first to Greta-bridge, as I was so near it, 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 curiosities 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 beheld, 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 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 223 
 
 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 alighted from her horse, she did 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 ? " said I. " With what hfe and grace did she come to the 
 ground I but how cruel the dear little rogue is, to conceal the 
 wonders of its face." " Landlord," said I, 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." 
 " With me ? Transporting news 1 " I flew to her apartment, and 
 there saw that dear irresistible creature, who had added to the 
 inferior charms of face and person, that wisdom and goodness of 
 conduct 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 Greta-bridge, 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 antiquities in this place ; but she had very little 
 hopes, she added, of succeeding in her enquiry ; as Uttle as I had of 
 her riding up to the inn ; and this made the meeting the more 
 pleasing. It did enhance the pleasure indeed. It turned the 
 amour into an adventure, and gave it that dehcious flavour, 
 which the moderns read of in the histories of past times, but 
 rarely experience in these days. The reader that has been engaged 
 in such a wonderful and tender scene, can only form an idea of 
 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 hand, and sit 
 down with me in my pretty soUtude. 
 
 " Sir," replied Miss Melmoth, " if you required it, I would go 
 with you to Hudson's-Bay, had I a hundred thousand, instead 
 of four thousand pounds ; which is my fortune exclusive of some 
 personal estate, which my friend Mrs. Asgill by her will be- 
 queathed me : and the whole is at your service, to dispose of as you 
 please." 
 
 " Give me thy hand, then," said I, " thou generous girl. You 
 make me the happiest of men, and in return I swear by that one, 
 supreme, tremendous Power I adore, that I will be true and 
 faithful to thee, till death dissolves the sacred obUgation. 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 neither time, nor chance, 
 
224 THE LIFE OF 
 
 nor aught but death's inevitable hand, shall e'er divide our loves." 
 " Amen," responded Miss Melmoth. 
 
 Early the next morning, the third of August, we rode to Eggle- 
 ston, where we breakfasted and proceeded from thence to Fleming 
 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 
 brother, the Franciscan friar, 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. Mr friend Fleming, had 
 done ever5rthing possible, to make it a convenient and comfort- 
 able place. He had made near the Lodge two Uttle 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 I 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 dehghtful 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 
 man of God threw the fillet or ribband over our hands, according 
 to the Romish manner, and pronounced the nuptial benediction 
 on us. Husband and wife we sat down to supper. 
 
 Thus did the stars preside with friendly rays, 
 And bid me hail at last the happy days. 
 When sheltered within this wild retreat, 
 Above the scorn, below the rage of fate ; 
 Blest in a wife, a friend, and books, alone ; 
 To this mad world, and all its plagues unknown ; 
 The smooth-pace4 hours did sweetly pass away. 
 And happy nights still clos'd each happy day. 
 
 When I consider how happy I have been in the married state, 
 and in a succession of seven wives, never had one uneasy hour ; 
 that even a Paradise, without an Eve, would have been a wilder- 
 ness to me ; that the woods, the groves, the walks, the prospects, 
 the flowers, the fruits, the day, the night, all would have wanted 
 a relish, without that dear, delightful companion, a wife ; it amazes 
 me to hear many sensible people speak with abhorrence of matii- 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 225 
 
 mony, and insist upon it, that wedlock produces -so many troubles, 
 even where the pair have affection, and sorrows so very great, 
 when they have no love for each other, or begin to fail in the kind 
 and obliging of&ces, that it is contrary to reason to contract, if we 
 have a just regard to peace and satisfaction of mind, and would 
 avoid, as much as possible, the woes and bewaiUngs of this turbid 
 period. If you have acquired the divine habits, marriage may 
 unhinge them. It often forces even the pious into immoralities. 
 True, unhappy are many a wedded pair : years of calamity this 
 engagement has produced to thousands of mortals ; it has made 
 the most pious divines become very cruel, as I could relate ; it 
 has caused the most generous, sensible men to murder the women 
 they adored before they were their wives. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF ORLANDO AND BELINDA. 
 
 This story has been told before by the Tatler, in his I72d 
 paper ; but as he related it only by hearsay, and was mistaken in 
 several particulars, the account I give of this extraordinary affair 
 may be grateful to the reader. 
 
 When I was a Uttle boy in Dublin, between seven and eight, 
 Mr. Eustace and his Lady Uved next door to my father, in Smith- 
 field, and the two families were intimate. Being a lively prating 
 thing, Mrs. Eustace was fond of me, and by tarts and fruit en- 
 couraged me to run into her parlour as often as I could. This 
 made me well acquainted in the house ; and as I was a remarker so 
 early in my life, I had an opportunity of making the following 
 observations. 
 
 Orlando Eustace was a tall, thin, strong man, well made, and 
 a very genteel person. His face was pale and marked with the 
 small pox ; his features were good, and yet there was something 
 fierce in his look, even when he was not displeased. He had sense 
 and learning, and, with a large fortune, was a generous man ; but 
 passionate to an amazing degree, for his understanding ; and a 
 trifle would throw him into a rage. He had been humoured in 
 everything from his cradle, on account of his fine estate ; from 
 his infancy to his manhood, had been continually flattered, and in 
 everything obeyed. This made him opinionated and proud, 
 obstinate, and incapable of bearing the least contradiction. 
 
 Belinda Coote, his lady, with whom he had been passionately 
 in love, was as fine a figure as could be seen among the daughters 
 of men. Her person was charming ; her face was beautiful, and 
 had a sweetness in it that was pleasing to look at. Her vivacity 
 was great, and her understancfing extraordinary ; but she had a 
 satirical wit, and a vanity which made her delight in shewing the 
 weakness of other minds, and the clearness of her own conception. 
 
226 THE LIFE OF 
 
 She was too good, however, to have the least maUce, in such 
 procedure. It was human weakness, and a desire to niake her 
 neighbours wiser. Unfortunately for her, she was married to a 
 man, who, of all men in the world, was the unfittest subject for 
 her quick fancy to act on. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this, Eustace and Belinda were, for 
 the most of their time, very fond. As she was formed in a prodi- 
 gaUty of nature, to shew mankind a finished composition, and had 
 wit and charms enough to fire the dullest and most insensible 
 heart ; a man of Orlando's taste for the sex, could not be without 
 an inflamed heart, when so near the transporting object of desire. 
 She was his deUght for almost a year, the dear support of his hfe. 
 He seemed to value her esteem, her respect, her love ; and en- 
 deavoured to merit them by the virtues which fortify love : 
 and therefore, when by his being short, positive^ and unreasonable 
 in his dictates, as was too often his wont ; and on her being 
 intemperate in the strong sentiments her imagination produced 
 upon the occasion, which was too frequently the case ; when they 
 seemed to forget the Apostle's advice for a while, " that ye love 
 one another with a pure heart, fervently : " i Peter, ch. i. v. 22. 
 and had strifes and debates, which showed for the time they lasted, 
 that they were far from being perfect and entire, wanting nothing ; 
 then would her throwing her face into smiles, with some ten- 
 der expression, prove a reconciUng method at once. Till the 
 fatal night, this always had a power to soften pain, to ease and 
 calm the raging man. 
 
 But poor at best is the condition of human hfe here below ; and 
 when to weak and imperfect faculties, we add inconsistencies, 
 and do not act up to the eternal law of reason, and of God ; when 
 love of fame, curiosity, resentment, or any of our particular pro- 
 pensities ; when humour, vanity, or any of our inferior powers, 
 are permitted to act against justice and veracity, and instead of 
 reflecting on the reason of the thing, or the right of the case, that 
 by the influence this has on the mind, we may be constituted 
 virtuous, and attached to truth ; we go down with the current of 
 the passions, and let bent and humour determine us, in opposition 
 to what is decent and fit : if in a state so unfriendly as this is, 
 to the heavenly and divine hfe, where folly and vice are for ever 
 striving to introduce disorder into our frame, and it is difficult 
 indeed, to preserve, in any degree, an integrity of character, 
 and peace within : if, in such a situation, instead of labouring to 
 destroy all the seeds of envy, pride, ill-will, and impatience, and 
 endeavouring to establish and maintain a due inward economy 
 and harmony, by pa3ring a perpetual regard to truth, that is, 
 to the real circumstances and relation of things in which we stand, 
 to the practice of reason in its just extent, according to the capa- 
 cities and natures of every being ; we do, on the contrary, dis- 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 
 
 regard the moral faculty, and become a mere system of passions 
 and affections, without any thing at the head of them to govern 
 them ; what then can be expected, but deficiency and deformity, 
 degenera.cy and guilty practice ? This was the case of Eustace 
 and Belinda. Passion and own-will were so near and intimate 
 to him, that he seemed to hve under a deUberate resolution not 
 to be governed by reason. He would wink at the Ught he had, 
 struggle to evade conviction, and made his mind a chaos and a 
 heU. Belinda, at the same time, was too quick, too vain and 
 too often forgot to take into her idea of a good character, a con- 
 tinual subordination of the lower powers of our nature to the 
 faculty of reason. This produced the following scene. 
 
 Maria, sister to Belinda, returned one evening with a five 
 guinea fan she had bought that afternoon, and was tedious in 
 praising some Indian figures that were painted in it. Mrs. 
 Eustace, who had a taste for pictures, said, the colours were fine, 
 but the images ridiculous and despicable ; and her sister must 
 certainly be a Uttie Indian-mad, or her fondness for every thing 
 from that side of the globe could not be so excessive and extia- 
 vagant as it always appeared to be. 
 
 To this Maria repUed with some heat, and Eustace very per- 
 emptorily insisted upon it, that she was right. With postiveness 
 and passion he magnified the beauties of the figures on the fan, 
 and with violence reflected so severely on the good judgment 
 Belinda, upon all occasions, pretended to, as he expressed it; 
 that at last, her imagination was fired, and, with too much eager- 
 ness she not only ridiculed the opinion of her sister, in respect 
 of such things, but spoke with too much warmth against the des- 
 potic tempers of self -suflicient ^husbands. 
 
 To reverence and obey, she said, was not required by any 
 obUgation, when men were unreasonable, and paid no regaxd to a 
 wife's domestic and personal felicity ; nor would she give up her 
 understanding to his weak determination, since custom cannot 
 confer an authority which nature has denied : It cannot Ucense 
 a husband to be unjust, nor give right to treat her as a slave. If 
 this was to be the case in matrimony, and women were to suffer 
 under conjugal vexations, as she did, by his senseless arguments 
 every day, they had better bear the reproach and soUtude of 
 antiquated virginity, and be treated as the refuse of the world, in 
 the character of old maids. 
 
 This too hvely, though just speech, enraged Eustace to the 
 last degree, and from a fury, he sunk in a few minutes into a total 
 sullen silence, and sat for half an hour, while I stayed, cruelly 
 determining, I suppose, her sad doom. Belinda soon saw she 
 had gone too far, and did all that could be done to recover him 
 from the fit he was in. She- smiled, cried, asked pardon ; but 
 'twas aU in vain. Every charm had lost its power, and he 
 
2 28 THE LIFE OF 
 
 seemed no longer man. When this beauty stood weeping by his 
 chair, and said " My love, forgive me, as it was in raillery only 
 I spoke, and let our pleasures and pains be hereafter honestly 
 shared." I remember the tears burst from my eyes, and in that 
 condition I went away. It was frightful to look at Eustace, as 
 he shook, started, and wildly stared ; and the distress his Lady 
 appeared in, was enough to make the most stony heart bleed}; 
 it was a dismal scene. 
 
 This happened at nine at night, and at ten Orlando withdrew, 
 to bed, without speaking one word, as I was informed. Soon after 
 he lay down, he pretended to be fast asleep, and his wife rejoicing 
 to find him so, as she beheved, in hopes that nature's soft nurse 
 would lull the active instruments of motion, and calm the raging 
 operations of his mind, she resigned herself to slumbers, and 
 thought to aboUsh for that night every disagreeable sensation 
 of pain, but no sooner did this furious man find that his charming 
 wife, was really^asleep, than he plunged a dagger into her breast. 
 The mdnster repeated the strokes, while she had life to speak to 
 him, in the tenderest manner, and conjured him, in regard to his 
 own happiness, to let her Uve, and not sink himself into perdition 
 here, and hereafter, by her death. In vain she prayed ; he gave 
 her a thousand wounds, and I saw her the next morning a bloody 
 mangled corpse, in the great house in Smithfield, which stood at 
 a distance from the street, with a wall before it, and an avenue of 
 high trees up to the door ; and not in the country as the Tatler 
 says. 
 
 Eustace fled, when he thought she was expiring, though 
 she Uved for an hour after, to relate the case to her maid, who 
 heard] her groan and came into her room ; and went from Dublin 
 to a Uttle lodge he had in the country, about twenty miles from 
 town. The magistrates, in a short time, had information where 
 he was ; and one John Mansel, a constable, a bold and strong 
 man, undertook for a reward, to apprehend him. To this purpose 
 he set out immediately, with a case of pistols and a hanger, 
 and lurked several days and nights in the fields, before he could 
 find an opportunity of coming at him ; for Eustace hved by him- 
 self in the house, well secured by strong doors and bars, and only 
 went out now and then to an alehouse, the master of which 
 was his friend. Near it, at last, about break of day, Mansel 
 chanced to find him, and, upon his refusing to be made a prisoner, 
 and cocking a pistol to shoot the ofS.cer of justice, both their 
 pistols were discharged at once, and they both dropt down deal 
 men. Eustace was shot in the heart, and the constable in the 
 brain. They were both brought to DubUn on one of the little 
 low-backed cars there used ; and I was one of the boys that 
 followed the car, from the beginning of James-street, the out-side 
 of the city, all through the town. EusTiicE's head hung dangling 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 229 
 
 near the ground, with his face upwards, and his torn bloody 
 breast bare ; and of all the faces of the dead I have seen, 
 none ever looked like his. There was an anxiety, a rage, a 
 horror, and a despair to be seen in it, that no pencil could 
 express. 
 
 Thus feU Eustace in the tweilty-ninth year of his age, and by 
 his hand his virtuous, beautiful, and ingenious wife ; and what 
 are we to learn from thence ? is it that on such accounts, we ought 
 to dread wedlock and ne'er be concerned with a wife ? No, 
 surely, but to be from thence cbnvinced, that it is necessary in 
 order to a happy marriage, to bring the will to the obedience of 
 reason, and acquire an equanimity in the general tenour of life. 
 Of all things in this world, moral dominion, or the empire over 
 ourselves, is not only the most glorious, as reason is the superior 
 nature of man, but the most valuable, in respect of real human 
 happiness. A conformity to reason, or good sense, and to the 
 incUnation of our neighbours, with very Uttle money, may pro- 
 duce great and lasting felicity ; but without this subservience to 
 our own reason, complaisance to company, and softness and 
 benevolence to all around us, the greatest misery does frequently 
 sprout from the largest stock of fortunes. 
 
 It was by ungoverned passions, that Eustace murdered his 
 wife and died himself ; the most miserable and wretched of all 
 human beings. He might have been the happiest of mortals, if 
 he had conformed to the dictates of reason, and softened his 
 passions, as well for his own ease as in compliance to a creature 
 formed with a mind of a quite different make from his own. There 
 is a sort of sex in souls ; and, exclusive of that love and patience 
 which our religion requires, every couple should remember, 
 that there are things which grow out of their very natures, that 
 are pardonable, when considered as such. Let them not, there- 
 fore, be spying out faults, nor find a satisfaction in reproaching ; 
 but let them examine to what consequences their ideas tend, 
 and resolve to cease from cherishing them, when they lead to 
 contention and mischief. Let them both endeavour to amend 
 what is wrong in each other, and act as becomes their character 
 in practising the social duties of married persons, which are so 
 frequently and strongly inculcated by revelation and natural 
 reason ; and then, instead of matrimony being a burthen, 
 and hanging a weight upon our very beings, there will be no 
 appearance of evil in it, but harmony and joy wiU shed unmixed 
 felicities on them ; they will live in no low degree of beatitude in 
 the suburbs of heaven. 
 
 This was my case, wedlock to me became the greatest blessing ; 
 a scene of the most refined friendship, and a condition to which 
 nothing can be added to complete the sum of human felicity. So 
 I found the holy and sublime relation, and in the wilds of West- 
 
230 THE LIFE OF 
 
 moreland enjoyed a happiness as great as human nature is capable 
 of, on this planet. Sensible to all the ties of social truth and 
 honour, my partner and I lived in perfect felicity, on the products 
 of our solitary farm. The amiable dispositions of her mind, 
 cheerfulness, good nature, discretion, and diligence, gave a 
 perpetual dignity and lustre to the grace and loveliness of her 
 person ; and as I did all that love and fidelity could do, by practis- 
 ing every rule of caution, prudence and justice, to prevent variance, 
 soften cares, and preserve affection undiminished, the harmony of 
 our state was unmixed and divine. Since the primitive institution 
 of the relation, it never existed in a more delightful manner. 
 Devoted to each other's heart, we desired no other happiness in 
 this world, than to pass Ufe away together in the soUtude we were 
 in. We lived, hoped, and feared but for each other ; and made it 
 our daily study to be what revealed religion prescribes, and the 
 concurrent voice of nature requires, in the sacred tie. Do so like- 
 wise, ye mortals, who intend to marry, and ye may, Uke us, be 
 happy. As the instincts and passions were wisely and kindly 
 given us, to subserve many purposes of our present state, let them 
 have their proper, subaltern share of action ; but let reason ever 
 have the sovereignty, the divine law of reason and truth, and be 
 as it were, sail and wind to the vessel of Ufe. 
 
 Two years almost, this fine scene lasted, and during that period, 
 the business and diversions of our lone retreat appeared so various 
 and pleasing, that it was not possible to think a hundred years 
 so spent, in the least degree duU and tedious. Exclusive of 
 books and gardening, and the improvement of the farm, we had 
 during the fine season, a thousand charming amusements on the 
 mountains, and in the glens and valle3rs of that sweet silent place. 
 Whole days we would spend in fishing, and dine in some cool grot 
 by the water-side, or under an aged tree, or the margin of some 
 beautiful stream. We generally used the fly and rod, but had 
 recourse if in haste to one of the Uttle water-faUs, and, by fixing 
 a net under one of them, would take a dozen or two of very large 
 trouts, in a few nunutes time. 
 
 By a httle water-fall I mean one of those that are formed by 
 some small river, which tumbles there in various places, from rock 
 to rock, about four feet each fall, and makes a most beautiful 
 view from top to bottom of a fall. There are many of these falling 
 waters among the vast mountains of Westmoreland, and I have 
 seen them likewise in the Highlands of Scotland. 
 
 At Glencrow, half way between Dunbarton and Inverary, there 
 are some very fine ones, and just by them one Campbell keeps 
 a poor inn. There we were entertained with water and whiskey, 
 oatcakes, milk, butter, and trouts he took by the net, at one of 
 the Uttle falls of a river that descends a prodigious mountain near 
 his lone house, and forms, like what we have at Orton-Lodge, a 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 231 
 
 most beautiful scene. Several happy days I passed at this place 
 with a dear creature, who is now a saint in heaven. 
 
 At other times we had the diversion of taking as much carp and 
 tench as we pleased, in a large, standing, fenny water, that Ues 
 about two miles from the lodge, in a glen, and always found the 
 fish of this water of an enormous size, three feet long, though the 
 general length of fish of this species is eleven inches in our ponds. 
 This vast bigness must be owing to the great age of these fish, 
 which I may suppose, at least, an hundred years ; for it is certain 
 that in garden ponds which have for experiment's sake, been left 
 undisturbed for many years, the carp and tench have been found 
 alive, and grown to a surprising bigness. 
 
 A gentleman, my near relation, who hved to a very advanced 
 age, put some fish of these species in a pond, 20th Nov. 1648 ; the 
 day that Colonel Ewer, at the head of seven other ofiicers, pre- 
 sented to the commons that fatal remonstrance, which in fact 
 took ofi the head of Charles ; and in the year 1727, seventy-nine 
 years after, on his return to that seat, he found them aU aUve, and 
 near two feet and a half in length. This demonstrates that fish 
 may Uve to a very great age. It hkewise proves that they 
 continue to grow till they are a hundred years old, and then are 
 the finest eating. 
 
 Another of our amusements, during the summer's bright day, 
 was the pointer and gun, for the black cock, the moor cock, and 
 the cock of the wood, which are in great plenty on those vast hiUs.* 
 Charlotte was fond of this sport, and would walk with me for 
 hours to see me knock down the game ; till, late in the evening, we 
 would wander over the feUs, and then return to our clean, peace- 
 ful, httle house, to sup as elegantly on our birds, as the great could 
 do, and with a harmony and unmixed joy they are for ever 
 strangers to. After supper, over some httle nectared-bowl, we 
 sweetly chatted, till it was bed-time ; or I played on my flute, and 
 Charlotte divinely sung. It was a happy life, all the riches and 
 
 • The black cook, is as large as our game cocks, and flies very swift and strong. The head 
 and eyes are large, and round the eyes is a beautiful circle of red. The beak is strong, and 
 black as the body ; the legs robust and red. It is very high eating, more so than any native- 
 bird in England except the fen-ortolan ; but in one particular it exceeds the fen birds, for it 
 has two tastes, being brown and whitemeat ; under a lay of brown is one of whitemeat : both 
 delicious, the brown is higher than the black moor cock, and the white much richer than the 
 pheasant. 
 
 The moor cock is likewise very rare, but is to be had sometimes in London, as the sports- 
 men meet with it now and then on the hilly-heaths, not very far from town, particularly on 
 Hindhead-heatb, in the way to Portsmouth. It is as large as a good Dorking fowl, and the 
 colour is a deep iron-grey. Its eyes are large and fine as the black cock's ; but, instead of the 
 red circle round them, it has bright and beautiful scarlet eyebrows. 
 
 The cock of the wood, as unknown in London as the black cock, is almost as large as a 
 turkey, but flies well. Tlie back is a mixture of black, grey, and a reddish brown ; the belly 
 grey, and the breast a pale brown, with transverse lines of black, and a Uttle white at the tips 
 of the feathers. It has a large round head, of the purest black, and over its fine haele eyes, 
 there is a naked space, ttiat looks like an eye-brow of bright scarlet. It is delicious eating, 
 but far inferior to the black cock. 
 
832 THE LIFE OF 
 
 honours of the world cannot produce such scenes of bliss as we 
 experienced in a cottage, in the wilds of Westmoreland. Even the 
 winter, which is ever boisterous and extreme cold in that part of 
 the world, was no severity to us. As we had most excellent pro- 
 visions of every kind in abundance, and plenty of firing from the 
 ancient woods, which covered many of those high hills ; and two 
 men servants, and two maids, to do whatever tended to being and 
 to well-being, to supply our wants, and to complete our happiness. 
 This softened the hard rough scene, and the roaring waters, and 
 the howUng winds, appeared pleasing sounds. In short, every 
 season, and all our hours, were quite charming, and full of de- 
 light. Good Tom Fleming, our friend, did likewise enhance our 
 feUcity, by coming once or twice a week to see us, and sta3dng 
 sometimes two or three days. In the summer time, we also 
 went now and then to visit him ; and, if one was inchned to mel- 
 ancholy, it was impossible to be dull while he was by. His 
 humour, and his songs, over a bowl of punch, were enough to 
 charm the most splenetic, and make even rancour throw its face 
 into smiles. 
 
 1727. — Two years, as I have said, this fine scene lasted ; and 
 during that soft transporting period, I was the happiest man on 
 earth. But in came Death, when we least expected him, snatched 
 my charming partner from me, and melted aU my happiness into 
 air — into thin air. A fever, in a few days, snapp'd ofi the thread 
 of her life, and made me the child of affliction, when I had not a 
 thought of the mourner. Language cannot paint the distress this 
 calamity reduced me to ; nor give an idea of what I suffered, when 
 I saw her eyes swimming in death, and the throes of her departing 
 spirit. Blest as she was, in the exercise of every virtue that 
 adorns a woman how inconsolable must her husband be I and, to 
 add to my distress, by the same fever fell my friend Tom Fleming, 
 who came the day before my wife sickened to see us. One of my 
 lads hkewise died, and the two servant maids. They all lay dead 
 around me, and I sat like one inanimate by the corpse of Char- 
 lotte, till friar Fleming the brother of Tom, brought coffins and 
 buried them all. Thus did felicity vanish from my sight, and I 
 remained hke a traveller in Greenland, who had lost the 
 sun. 
 
 " O eloquent, just and mighty death I " says Raleigh. It is thou 
 alone puts wisdom into the human heart, and suddenly makes 
 man to know himself. It is death that makes the conqueror 
 ashamed of his fame, and wish he had rather stolen out of the 
 world, than purchased the report of his actions, by rapine, op- 
 pression, and cruelty ; by giving in spoil the innocent and labouring 
 soul to the idle and insolent ; by emptying the cities of the world 
 of their ancient inhabitants, and filhng them again with so many 
 and so variable sorts of sorrows. It is death tells the proud and 
 
JOHN BUNGLE. ESQ. 233 
 
 insolent, that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the 
 instant ; makes them cry, complain, and repent ; yea even, to 
 hate their former happiness. It is death takes the account of the 
 rich, and proves him a beggar, a naked beggar, which hath interest 
 in nothing but the gravel which fills his mouth. It is death holds 
 a glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see 
 therein their deformity and rottenness ; and they acknowledge 
 it. 
 
 Whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded ; what none 
 have dared, thou hast done : and whom all the world hath 
 flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world, and despised. 
 Thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched- greatness, all the 
 pride, cruelty, and ambition, of man ; all the powerful charms 
 of beauty ; and covered it all over with these two narrow words, 
 ' Hie jacet.' 
 
 Nor is this all, mighty Death I It is thou that leadest to the 
 resurrection of the dead ; and dissolution of the world ; the judg- 
 ment day ; and the eternal state of men. It is thou that finishes 
 the trial of men, and seals their characters, for happiness or misery 
 for ever. 
 
 Be thou then. Death, our morning and evening meditation : 
 let us learn from thee the vanity of all human things ; and that 
 it is the most amazing folly, to melt away time, and misapply 
 talents, as the generality of reasonable beings do : that we were 
 not made men, thinking, rational beings, capable of the noblest 
 contemplations, to spend all our thoughts and time in sense and 
 pleasure, in dressing, feeding, and sporting ; or in purchases, 
 building and planting ; but to prepare for a dying hour ; that, 
 .when at the call of God, we go out of the body, not knowing 
 whither we go, we may, like Abraham, travel by faith, and trust 
 to the conduct of the Lord of all countries. Since we must die, 
 and thy power, O Death, we see, is uncontrollable ; since to the 
 dust we must return, and take our trial at the bar of Almighty 
 God, as intelligent and free agents ; for under moral government, 
 and God is a perfectly wise and righteous governor, the wickedness 
 of the wicked will be upon him, and the righteousness of the right- 
 eous will be upon him; since we must be numbered with the dead, 
 and our circumstances and condition indicate a future judgment, 
 surely we ought to remove our chief concern from this world to 
 the other, and transfer our principal regard to the immortal 
 spirit ; that in the hour of agony, a virtuous mind, purity of 
 conscience, and good actions, may procure us the favour of God, 
 and the guidance of his good spirit to the mansions of the blessed, 
 where now pleasures are for ever springing up, and the happiness 
 of the heavenly inhabitants is perpetually increasing. This is 
 the one thing needful. Death demonstrates, that this world of 
 darkness and error, changes and chances, is not worth fixing our 
 
334 THE LIFE OF 
 
 heart on. To secure our passage into the regions of perfect and 
 eternal day, should be the employment of immortal mortals. 
 
 Thus did I reflect as I sat among the dead, with my eyes 
 fastened on the breathless corpse of Charlotte, and I wished, if 
 it was possible, to have leave to depart, and in the hospitable 
 grave, he down from toil and pain, to take my last repose ; for 
 I knew not what to do, nor where to go. I was not qualified for 
 the world ; nor had I a friend, or even an acquaintance in it, that 
 I knew where to find. But in vain I prayed, it was otherwise 
 decreed ; I must go on, or continue a sohtary in the wild I was 
 in. The latter it was not possible for me to do ; in the state of 
 mind I was in ; overwhelmed with sorrow, and without a com- 
 panion of any kind : and therefore, I must of necessity go to 
 some other place. I sold all the Uving things I had to friar 
 Fleming, and locked up my doors. My furniture, linen, clothes 
 books, hquors, and some salt provisions, instruments of various 
 kinds, and such Uke things, I left in their several places. There 
 was no one to take them, or probability that any one would come 
 there to disturb them ; and perhaps, some time or other, the fates 
 might bring me back again to the same lone place. Though it 
 was then a desolate, silent habitation, a striking memento of the 
 vanity and precarious existence of ail human good things ; yet 
 it was possible, that hearty friendship, festivity, and social life, 
 might once more be seen there. The force and operation of 
 casualties did wonders every day, and time might give me even a 
 reUsh for the sohtude in a few years more. Thus did I settle 
 affairs in that remote place ; and, taking leave of my friend, the 
 friar, with my lad O'FiN, rode off. 
 
 May 5th, 1727. — The sun was rising when we mounted our 
 horses, and I again went out to try my fortune in the world ; not 
 hke the ChevaUer La Mancha, in hopes of conquering a kingdom, 
 or marrying some great Princess ; but to see if I could find another 
 good country girl for a wife, and get a Uttle more money ; as they 
 were the only two things united, that could secure me from 
 melancholy, and confer real happiness. To this purpose, as the 
 day was extremely fine, and O'Fin had something cold, and a 
 couple of bottles at the end of his valise, I gave my horse the rein 
 and let him take what way his fancy chose. For some time he 
 gently trotted the path he had often gone, and over many a 
 mountain made his road ; but at last, he brought me to a place I 
 was quite a stranger to, and made a full stop at a deep and rapid 
 water, which ran by the bottom of a very high hill I had not been 
 before. Over this river I made him go, though it was far from 
 being safe, Snd in an hour's ride from that flood, came to a fine 
 rural scene. 
 
 It was pasture-ground, of a large extent, and in many places 
 covered with groves of trees, of various kinds ; walnuts, cbesnuts 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. «3S 
 
 and oaks ; the poplar, the plane-treCj the mulberry, and maple. 
 There was likewise the Phoenician cedar, the larix, the large- 
 leaved laurel, and the cytisus of Virgil. In the middle of this 
 place were the ruins of an old seat, over-run with shrubby plants, 
 the Virginia creeper, the box- thorn, the jessamine, the honey- 
 suckle, the periwinkle, the birdweed, the ivy, and the cUmber ; 
 and near the door was a flowing spring of water, which formed a 
 beautiful stream, and babbled to the river we came from. Charm- 
 ing scene I so silent, sweet, and pretty, that I was highly pleased 
 with the discovery. 
 
 On the margin of the brook, under a mulberry tree, I sat down 
 and dined on some cold tongue and ham, and potted black cock, 
 which O'FiN produced from his wallet ; and having drank a pint 
 of cyder, set out again, to try what land lay right onwards. In 
 an hour, we came to a large and dangerous watery moor, which we 
 crossed over with great difficulty, and then arrived at a range of 
 mountains,through which there was a narrow pass, wet and stony, 
 a long and tedious ride which ended on the border of a fine country ; 
 at four in the afternoon, we arrived on the confines of a plain, of 
 about a hundred acres, which was strewed with various flowers 
 of the earth's natural produce that rendered the glebe deUghtful 
 to behold, and was surrounded with groves. The place had all 
 the charms that verdure, forest, and vale, can give a country. In 
 the centre of this ground was a handsome square building, and 
 behind it a large and beautiful garden, encompassed by a low, 
 thick holly-hedge. As the door of this house was not locked but 
 opened by a silver spring turner, I went in, and found it was one 
 spacious room, filled on every side with books, bound in an extra- 
 ordinary manner. Globes, telescopes, and other instruments of 
 various kinds, were placed on stands, and there were two fine 
 writing tables, one at each end of the hb'-ary, which had paper, 
 ink, and pens. In the middle of the room there was a reading-desk, 
 which had a short inscription, and on it leaned the skeleton 
 of a man. The legend said " this skeleton was once Charles 
 Henley, Esq." 
 
 ' Amazed I stood, looking on these things, and wondered much 
 at the figure of the bones, tacked together with wires ; once, to be 
 sure, the master of this grand collection of books and manuscripts, 
 and this fine room, so sweetly situated in the centre of distant 
 groves ; had a striking effect on my mind ; and the more so, as it 
 held a scroll of parchment, on which was beautifully written in 
 the court-hand, to appear more remarkable, I suppose, the 
 following lines : 
 
 " FeUow-mortaJ, whoever thou art, whom the fates shall con- 
 duct into this chamber, remember, that before many years are 
 passed, thou must be laid in the bed of corruption, in the dark 
 caverns of death, among the hfeless dust, and rotten bones of 
 
236 THE LIFE OF 
 
 others, and from the grave proceed to the general resurrection of 
 all. To new life and vigour thou wilt most certainly be raised, to 
 be brought to a great account. Naked and defenceless thou must 
 stand before the awful tribunal of the great God, and from him 
 receive a final sentence, which shall determine and fix thee in an 
 eternal state of happiness or misery. 
 
 " What an alarm should this be I Ponder my feUow-mortal, and 
 remember, God now commandeth men every where to repent, 
 because he hath appointed a day, in which he will judge the world 
 in righteousness, by that man, whom he hath ordained ; whereof 
 he hath given assurance unto all men, in that he hath raised him 
 from the dead. Judge the world I judgment I the very sound is 
 solemn. Should it not deaden some part, at least, of your 
 concern for things temporal, and quicken your care and industry 
 for the future hfe ; ought it not to make us condemn, before the 
 dying hour, our vanity and devotion to bodily things and make us 
 employ the greatest part of our time in the acquisition of wisdom, 
 and an improvement in virtue, that when we appear at the session 
 of righteousness, a sacred knowledge, a heavenly piety, and an 
 angeUc goodness, may secure us from eternal punishment, and 
 entitle us to a glorious eternity ? Since a future judgment is 
 most certainly the case, and the consequence eternal damnation 
 or salvation, how contemptible a thing is a long busy Ufe, spent 
 in raking through the mire of trade and business, in pursuit of 
 riches and a large estate ; or in sweating up the steep hiU of am- 
 bition, after fame and ambition ; or in Uving and dressing as 
 if we were all body, and sent into time for no other purpose, than 
 to adorn hke idols, gratify Uke brutes, and waste life in sensuality 
 and vanity ; how contemptible and unreasonable is this kind of 
 existence for beings who were created to no other end, than to be 
 partakers of a divine life with God, and sing hallelujahs to all 
 eternity ; to separate the creature from error, fiction, impurity, 
 and corruption, and acquire that purity and hoUness, which 
 alone can see God. Away then with a worldly heart : away 
 with aU those f oUies, which engage us like fools and madmen ; 
 and let the principal thing be, to foUow the steps of our 
 great master, by patience and resignation, by a charity and con- 
 tempt of the world ; and by keeping a conscience void of offence, 
 amidst the changes and chances of this mortal life ; that at his 
 second coming, to judge the world, we may be found acceptable 
 in his sight. 
 
 " What a scene must this second coming be I I saw, says an 
 apostle, a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose 
 face the earth and the heavens fled away, and there was no place 
 found for them ; and I saw the dead small and great stand before 
 God ; and the books were opened, and the dead were judged out 
 of those things which were written i the books : and the sea gave 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 237 
 
 up her dead, and death and hell delivered up their dead which 
 were in them, and they were judged every man, according to their 
 works. The secret wickedness of men will be brought to light ; 
 and concealed piety and persecuted virtue be acknowledged and 
 honoured. While innocence and piety are set at the right hand 
 of the judge, and the righteous shall shine forth as the sun in 
 the kingdom of their father for ever and ever, shame and con- 
 fusion must sit upon the faces of the sinner and the ungodly. 
 Damnation wiU stand before the brethren in iniquity, and when 
 the intolerable sentence is executed, what inexpressible agonies 
 will they fall into ? what amazement and excesses of horror must 
 seize upon them ? 
 
 " Ponder then, in time, fellow-mortal, and choose to be good, 
 rather than to be great : prefer your baptismal vows to the pomps 
 and vanities of this world ; and value the secret whispers of a good 
 conscience more than the noise of popular applause. 
 
 Since you must 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, let it be your work 
 from morning tiU night, -to keep Jesus in your hearts ; and long 
 for nothing, desire nothing, hope for nothing, but to have all that 
 is within you changed into the spirit and temper of the holy 
 Jesus. Wherever you go, whatever you do, do all in imitation 
 of his temper and inclination ; and look upon all as nothing, but 
 that which exercises and increases the spirit and life of Christ in 
 your souls. Let this be your Christianity, your Church, and your 
 reUgion, and the judgment-day will be a charming scene. If 
 in this world, the will of the creature, as an offspring of the divine 
 will, wills and works with the will of God, and labours, without 
 ceasing, to come as near as mortals can to the purity and perfection 
 of the divine nature ; then will the day of the Lord be a day of 
 great joy, and with unutterable pleasure, you shall hear that 
 tremendous voice : Awake, ye dead, and come to judgment. In 
 transports, and full of honour and glory, the wise and righteous 
 will hear the happy sentence, Come ye blessed of my father, inherit 
 the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." 
 
 This, and the skeleton, astonished me not a little ; and my 
 wonder at the whole increased, as I could find no human creature 
 living, nor discover any house or cottage for an inhabitant. This 
 I thought exceeded all the strange things I had seen in this wonder- 
 ful country. But perhaps, it occurred at last, there might be a 
 mansion in the woods, before me, or somewhere in the groves on 
 either side j and therefore, leaving the Ubrary, after I had spent 
 an hour in it, I walked onwards, and came to a wood which had 
 private walks cut through it, and strewed with sand. They shewed 
 only light enough to distinguish the blaze of day from evening 
 shade, and had seats dispersed, to sit and listen to the chorus of 
 
238 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the birds, which added to the pleasures of the soft silent place. 
 For about three hundred yards the walk I was in extended, and 
 then terminated in meadows, which formed an oval of twenty acres 
 surrounded by groves, hke the large plain I came from. Exactly 
 in the middle of these fields, part of which were turned into 
 gardens, there stood a very handsome stone house, ai^d not far 
 from the door of it, a fountain played. On either side of the 
 water was a garden-chair, of a very extraordinary make, curious 
 and beautiful ; and each of them stood under an ever-green oak, 
 the broad leaved ilex, a charming shade. 
 
 In one of these chairs sat an ancient gentleman, a venerable 
 man, whose hair was white as silver, and his countenance had 
 dignity and goodness. His dress and manner shewed him to be 
 a person of fortune and distinction, and by a servant in waiting 
 it appeared, he was Lord of the seigneurie I was arrived at. He 
 was tall and graceful, and had not the least stoop, though he 
 wanted but a year of an hundred. I could not but admire the 
 fine old gentleman. 
 
 On the same chair, next to him, sat a young Lady, who was at 
 this time just turned of twenty and had such difiusive charms 
 as soon new fired my heart, and gave my soul a softness even 
 beyond what it had felt before. She was a Uttle taller than the 
 middle size, and had a face that was perfectly beautiful. Her 
 eyes were extremely fine, full, black and sparkUng ; and her con- 
 versation was as charming as her person ; both easy, uncon- 
 strained, and sprightly. When I came near two such personages, 
 I bowed low to the ground, and asked pardon for intruding into 
 their fine retirement. But the stars had led me, a wanderer, to 
 this dehghtful solitude, without the least idea of there being 
 such a place in our island, and as their malignant rays had forced 
 me to offend, without intending it, I hoped they would pardon my 
 breaking in upon them. 
 
 To this the old Gentleman replied, " You have not offended. 
 Sir, I assure you, but you are welcome to the Groves of Basil. It 
 gives me pleasure to see you here ; for it is very seldom we are 
 favoured with any one's company. It is hard to discover or 
 make out a road to this place, as we are surrounded almost by 
 impassible mountains, and a very dangerous morass, nor can I 
 conceive how you found the way here without a guide, or ven- 
 tured to travel this country, as there are no towns in this part of 
 the county. There must be something very extraordinary in 
 your case, and as you mentioned your being a wanderer, I should 
 be glad to hear the cause of your journes^ng in this uninhabited 
 region. But first," said Mr. Henley, "as it is now near eight 
 at night, and you must want refreshment, having met with no inn 
 the whole day, we will go in to supper." He then arose, and 
 brought me to an elegant parlour, where a table was soon covered 
 
JOHN BUNGLE, ESQ. 239 
 
 ■with the best cold things, and we immediately sat down. Every 
 eatable was excellent, and the wine and other liquors in perfection. 
 Miss Henley sat at the head of the table, her grandfather over- 
 against her, and placed me at her right hand between them both. 
 The young lady behaved in a very easy genteel manner ; and the 
 old gentleman, with freedom, cheerfulness, and good manners. 
 Till nine this scene lasted, and then Mr. Henley again requested 
 I would oblige him with an account of my travels in that part 
 of the world. This, I said, I would do in the best manner I 
 could, and while he leaned back in his easy chair, and the beauti- - 
 ful Statia fastened her glorious eyes upon me, I went on in the 
 following words : 
 
 " I am an Englishman, Sir, but have passed the greatest part 
 of my life in Ireland, and from the western extremity of it I came. 
 My father is one of the rich men in that kingdom, and was, for 
 many years, the tenderest and most generous parent that ever 
 son was blessed with. He spared no cost on my education, and 
 gave me leave to draw upon him, while I resided in the university 
 of Dublin five years, for what I pleased. Extravagant as I was in 
 several articles, he never set any bounds to my demands, nor 
 asked me what I did with the large sums I had yearly from him. 
 My happiness was his feUcity, and the glory of his life to have 
 me appear to the greatest advantage, and in the most respected 
 character, that money can gain a man. 
 
 " But at last he married his servant maid, an artful cruel 
 woman, who obtained by her wit and charms so great an ascendant 
 over him, that he abandoned me, to raise a young nephew this 
 step-mother had, to what splendor and power she pleased. He 
 had everything he could name that money could procure, and 
 was absolutely master of the house and land. Not a s hilli ng at 
 this time could I get, nor obtain the least thing I asked for, and 
 because I refused to become preceptor to this young man, and 
 had made some alteration in my religion, having renounced that 
 creed, which was composed nobody knows by whom, and intro- 
 duced into the church in the darkest ages of popish ignorance ; a 
 symbol, which strongly participates of the true nature and spirit 
 of popery, in those severe denunciations of God's wrath, which 
 it pours so plentifully forth against all those whose heads are not 
 turned to beheve it ; my father was so enraged that he would not 
 even admit me to his table any longer, but bid me be gone. My 
 mother-in-law likewise for ever abused me, and her nephew, the 
 lad, insulted me when I came in his way. 
 
 " Being thus compelled to withdraw, I set sail for England as 
 soon as it was in my power, and arrived in Cumberland by the 
 force of a storm. I proceeded from thence to the mountains 
 of Stanemore, to look for a gentleman, my friend, who Uved among 
 those hills ; and as I journeyed over them, and missed him, I 
 
240 THE LIFE OF 
 
 chanced to meet with a fine northern girl, and a habitation to my 
 purpose. I married her, and for almost two years past was the 
 happiest of the human race, till the sable curtain fell between us, 
 and the angel of death translated her glorious soul to the fields of 
 paradise. Not able to bear the place of our residence, after I had 
 lost my heart's fond idol, I left the charming spot and mansion, 
 where unmixed feUcity had been for some time my portion, and I 
 was travelling on towards London, to see what is ordained there 
 in reserve for me ; when by accident I lost my way, and the fates 
 conducted me to the Groves of Basil. Curiosity led me into the 
 Ubrary I found in the plain, without this wood, from whence, in 
 search for some human creatures, I proceeded to the fountain, 
 where I had the pleasure of seeing you. Sir, and this young I^dy. 
 This is a summary of my past life ; what is before me heaven only 
 knows. My fortune I trust with the Preserver of men, and the 
 Father of spirits. One thing I am certain of by observation, few 
 as the days of the years of my pilgrimage have been, that the 
 emptiness, and unsatisf3dng nature of this world's enjoyments, are 
 enough to prevent my having any fondness to stay in this region 
 of darkness and sorrow. I shall never leap over the bars of life, 
 let what will happen ; but the sooner I have leave to depart, I 
 shall think it the better for me." 
 
 -The old gentleman seemed surprised at my story, and after 
 some moments silence, when I had done, he said, " Your measure. 
 Sir, is hard, and as it was, in part, for declaring against a false 
 religion at your years, you please me so much, that if you will 
 give me leave, I will be your friend, and as a subaltern providence, 
 recompense your loss as to fortune in this world. In what 
 manner you shall know to-morrow, when we breakfast at eight. 
 It is now time to finish our bottle, that we may, according to 
 our custom, betimes retire." 
 
 August 4th, 1727. — At the time appointed I met the old gentleman 
 in the parlour, and just as we had done saluting each other, 
 Statia entered, bright and charming as Aurora. She was in a 
 rich dress, and her bright victorious eyes flashed a celestial fire. 
 She made our tea, and gave me some of her coffee. She asked me 
 a few civil questions, and said two or three good things on the 
 beauties of the morning, and the charms of the country. She 
 left us the moment we had done breakfast, and then the old gentle- 
 man addressed himself to me in the following words : 
 
 " I do not forget the promise I made you, but must first relate 
 the history of my family. I do it with the more pleasure, as I 
 find you are of our religion, and I cannot help having a regard for 
 you, on your daring to throw up a fortune for truth ; for bravely 
 daring to renounce those systems, which have an outward ortho- 
 dox roundness given to them by their eloquent defenders, and 
 within are mere corruption and apostacy. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 241 
 
 "The skeleton you saw in the Ubrary was once my son, Charles 
 Henley, a most extraordinary man. He had great abilities, 
 and understood every thing a mortal is capable of knowing, of 
 things human and divine. When he was in his nineteenth 
 year, I took him to France and other countries, to see the world, 
 and on our return to England, married him into a noble family, to 
 a very valuable young woman, of a large fortune, and by her he 
 had the young lady you saw sitting on the chair near the table 
 by me. This son I lost, three years after his marriage, and with 
 him all reUsh for the world ; and being naturally inclined to retire- 
 ment and a speculative life, never stirred since from this country- 
 house. Here my son devoted himself entirely to study, and amused 
 himself with- instructing his beloved Statia, the young lady 
 you have seen. At his death he consigned her to my care ; and 
 as her understanding is very great, and her disposition sweet and 
 charming, I have not only taken great pains in educating her, 
 but have bee.i delighted with my employment. Young as she is, 
 but in the second month of her one and twentieth year, she 
 not only knows more than women of distinction generally do, but 
 would be the admiration of learned men, if her knowledge in 
 languages, mathematics, and philosophy, were known to them : 
 and as her 'father taught her music and painting, perhaps there is 
 not a young woman of finer accomplishments in the kingdom. 
 
 " Her father died towards the end of the year 1723, in the 
 thirty-ninth year of his age, when she was not quite sixteen, and 
 by his will left her ten thousand pounds, and Basil-House and 
 estate ; but she is not to inherit it, or marry, until she is two and 
 twenty. This was her father's will. As to the skeleton in the 
 library, it was my son's express order it should be so, and that the 
 figure should not be removed from the place it stands in, while the 
 library remained in that room ; but continue a solemn memorial 
 in his family to perpetuate his memory, and be a memento mori 
 to the living. 
 
 " This is the history of Basil Groves, and the late owner of this 
 seat, and his daughter Statia. We live a happy, reUgious life 
 here, and enjoy every blessing that can be desired in this lower 
 hemisphere. But rs I am not very far from a hundred years, 
 having passed that ninety-two which Sir William Temple says he 
 never knew any one he was acquainted with arrive at, I must be 
 on the brink of the grave, and expect every day to drop into it. 
 What may become of Statia, then, gives me some trouble to 
 think, as all her relations, except myself are in the other world. 
 To spend her Ufe here in this soUtude, as seems to be her inclina- 
 tion, is not proper ; and to go into the world by herself, when I 
 am dead, without knowing any mortal in it, may involve her in 
 troubles and distresses. Hear then, my son, what I propose to 
 you. You are a young man, but serious. You have got some 
 
242 THE LIFE OF 
 
 wisdom in the school of affliction, and you have no aversion to 
 matrimony, as you have just buried, you say, a glorious woman, 
 your wife. If you wiU stay with us here, tiU Statia is two and 
 twenty, and in that time render yourself agreeable to her, I 
 promise you, she shall be yours the day she enters the three and 
 twentieth year of her age, and you shall have with her fortune, all 
 that I am owner of, which is no small sum. What do you say 
 to this proposal ? " 
 
 " Sir," I repUed, " you do me vast honour, much more I am sure 
 than my merits can pretend to. I am infinitely obUged to you, 
 and must be bUnd and insensible, if I refused such a woman 
 as Miss Henley, were she far from being the fortune she is. But 
 I have not vanity enough to imagine, I can gain her affections ; 
 especially in my circumstances, and to get her by your authority 
 or power of disposing of her, is what I cannot think of ; I will 
 stay however, a few months here, since you so generously invite 
 me, and let Miss Henley know, I will be her humble servant, if 
 she will allow me the honour of bearing that title." This made 
 the old gentleman laugh, and he took me by the hand, saying, 
 " This is right. Come, let us go and take a walk before dinner." 
 
 There I peissed the winter, and part of the spring, and hved in a 
 dehghtful manner. The mornings I generally spent in the library, 
 reading, or writing extracts from some curious MSS. or scarce 
 books ; and in the afternoons Miss Henley and I walked in the 
 lawns and woods, or sat down to cards. She was a fine creature 
 indeed in body and soul, had a beautiful understanding, and 
 charmed me to a high degree. Her conversation was rational 
 and easy, without the least affectation from the books she had 
 read ; and she would enUven it sometimes by singing, in which 
 kind of music she was as great a mistress as I have heard. As 
 to her heart, I found it was to be gained ; but an accident hap- 
 pened that put a stop to the amour. 
 
 1728. — In the beginning of March, the old gentleman, the 
 excellent Mr. Henley, Statia's grandfather and guardian and 
 my great friend, died, and by his death a great alteration ensued 
 in my affair. I thought to have had Miss Henley immediately, 
 as there was no one to plead her father's will against the marriage, 
 and intended to send O'Fin for friar Fleming ; but when StAXiA 
 saw herself her own mistress, without any superior, or controul, 
 and in possession of large fortunes, money, and an estate, that she 
 might do as she pleased ; this had an effect on her mind, and made 
 a change. She told me, when I addressed myself to her, after 
 her grandfather was interred, " that what she intended to 
 do, in obedience to him, had he lived, she thought required very 
 serious consideration now she was left to herself : that, exclusive 
 of this, her inclination really was for a single hfe ; and had it 
 been otherwise, yet it was not proper, since her guardian was 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 243 
 
 dead, that I should hve with her till the time Umited by her 
 father's will for her to marry was come ; but that, as she had too 
 good an opinion of me to imagine her fortune was what chiefly 
 urged my application, and must own she had a regard for me, 
 she would be glad to hear from me sometimes, if I could think her 
 worth remembering, after I had left the Groves of Basil." This she 
 said with great seriousness, and seemed by her manner to forbid 
 my urging any further. 
 
 " I assured her, however, that time only could wear out her 
 charming image from my mind, and that I had reason to fear, she 
 would long remain the torment of my heart. She had a right to 
 be sure to dismiss me from her service ; but in respect of her 
 incUnation to hve a single hfe, I begged leave to observe, that it 
 was certainly quite wrong, and what she could not answer to the 
 wise and bountiful Father of the Universe, as she was a Christian 
 and by being so, must beheve, that baptism was a memorial of the 
 covenant of grace. 
 
 ■ The Catholics and the Vision-mongers of the protestant side, 
 the Rev. Wm. Law and others of his row, may magnify the ex- 
 cellence ot cehbacy as high as they please, and work it into 
 Christian perfection, by sounding words and eloquent pens ; but 
 most surely revelation was directly against them, and required 
 the faithful to produce in a regular way. 
 
 " Consider, illustrious Statia, that when the Most High gave 
 the Abrahamic covenant in these words, I will be a God unto thee, 
 and to thy seed after thee, and in^ thy seed shall all the families, 
 or nations of the earth, be blessed ; which includes "an interest in 
 God, as a God, father and friend, for ever and a share in all the 
 blessings wherewith the Messiah, in the gospel, hath enriched the 
 world ; these inestimable blessings and promises of hfe and 
 favour, were designed by the divine munificence for rising genera- 
 tions of mankind ; and it was most certainly intended, not only 
 that they should be received with the highest gratitude and duty, 
 but that they should be strongly inculcated upon the thoughts of 
 succeeding generations, by an instituted sign or memorial, to the 
 end of the world. 
 
 " Circumcision was the first appointed token or memorial, and 
 at the same time, an instruction in that moral rectitude to which 
 the grace of God obUges : and when the New Testament succeeded 
 the Law, then was the covenant interest of infants, or their right 
 to the covenant of grace, to be confirmed by the token or sign 
 called baptism ; that action being appointed to give the expected 
 rising generation an interest in the love of God, the grace of Christ, 
 and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, that is, in all covenant bless- 
 ings. But what becomes of this great charter of heaven, if Christian 
 women, out of an idle notion of perfection, will resolve to lead 
 single lives, and thereby hinder rising generations from sharing 
 
244 THE LIFE OF 
 
 In the honours and privileges of the Church of Jesus Christ. Mil- 
 lions of the faithful must thereby be deprived of the token insti- 
 tuted by God to convey to them those covenant blessings, which 
 his love and goodness designed for the rising generations of his 
 people. Have a care then what you do, illustrious Statia, in this 
 particular. It must be a great crime to hinder the regular pro- 
 pagation of a species, which God hath declared to be under his 
 particular inspection and blessing, and by circumcision and bap- 
 tism, hath made the special object of divine attention and care. 
 Away then with aU thoughts of a virgin life, whatever becomes of 
 me. As God' hath appointed matrimony and baptism, let it be 
 your pious endeavour to bear sons and daughters, that may be 
 related to God, their Father ; to Jesus, their Redeemer, and first 
 bom in the family ; and to all the excellent, who are to enjoy, 
 through him, the blessings of the glorious world above. Marry, 
 then, illustrious Statia, marry, and let the blessing of Abraham 
 come upon us gentiles. Oppose not the gospel covenant ; that 
 covenant which was made with that patriarch ; but mind the 
 comfortable promises ; I will circumcise thy heart, and the heart 
 of thy seed. I will pour out my spirit upon thy seed, and my 
 blessing upon thine ofispring. The seed of the righteous is blessed. 
 They are the seed of the blessed of the Lord, and their ofispring 
 with them. Such is the magna charta of our existence and future 
 happiness : and as infants descending from Abraham, in the line 
 of election, to the end of the world, have as good a right and claim 
 as we to the blessings of this covenant, and immense promise, I 
 will be a God unto thee, and to thy seed after thee, in their genera- 
 tions ; it must be a great crime, to deprive children of this intailed 
 heavenly inheritance, by our resolving to live in a state of virginity. 
 In my opinion, it is a sin greater than murder. What is murder, 
 but forcing one from his post against the will of Providence ; and 
 if the virgin hinders a being or beings from coming on the post, 
 against the will of Providence, must she not be culpable ; and 
 must she not be doubly criminal, if the being or beings she hinders 
 from coming on the stage, or into this first state, were to be a part 
 of the perpetual generations, who have a right to the inheritance, 
 the blessing, and were to be heirs according to the promise made 
 to Abraham ? Ponder, illustrious Statia, on the important point. 
 Consider what it is to die a maid, when you may, in a regular way, 
 produce heirs to that inestimable blessing of life and favour, which 
 the munificence of the Most High was pleased freely to bestow, 
 and which the great Christian mediator, agent, and negociator, 
 repubUshed, confirmed, and sealed with his blood. Marry then 
 in regard to the gospel, and let it be the fine employment of your 
 life, to open gradually the treasures of revelation to the under- 
 standings of the little Christians you produce. 
 
 This I am sure your holy religion requires from you : and if 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 245 
 
 from the sacred oracles we turn to the book of nature, is it not in 
 this volume written, that there must be a malignity in the hearts 
 of those mortals, who can remain unconcerned at the destruction 
 and extirpation of the rest of mankind ; and who want even so 
 much good will as is requisite to propagate a creature, in a regular 
 and hallowed way, though they received their own being from the 
 mere benevolence of their^divine Master ? What do you say, illu- 
 strious Statia ? Shall it be a succession, as you are an upright 
 Christian ? And may I hope to have the honour of sharing 
 in the mutual satisfaction that must attend the discharge of so 
 momentous a duty ?* 
 
 * If succession be the main tbiE^, and to prevent tbe extirpation of the rest of mankind 
 why may it not be carried on as well without marriage, as in that confined way ? I answer, 
 that as the author and founder of marriage was the Antient of Days, God himself, and at the 
 creation, he appointed the institution : as Christ, who was vested with authority to abrogate 
 any laws, or supersede any custom, in which were foimd any flaw or obliquity, or had not an 
 intrinsic goodness and rectitude in them, confirmed the ordinance, by reforming the abuses 
 that had crept into it, and restoring it to its original boundary : As he gave a sanction to this 
 amicable covenant, and statuted that men should maintain the dignity of the conjugal state, 
 and by virtue of this primordial and most intimate bond of society, convey down the race 
 of mankin d, and maintain its succession to the final dissolution. It is not therefore to be 
 neglected or disregarded. -^We must not dare to follow ova fancies, and in imhallowed mix- 
 tures, or an illegal method, have any posterity. As the great God appointed and blessed 
 this institution only, for the continuance of mankind, the race is not to be preserved in 
 another way. We must marry in the Lord, to promote his glory as the apostle says, i Cor. 
 ch. vii. V. 39. The earth is not to be replenished by licentious junction, or the promiscuous 
 use of women. Dreadful hereafter must be the case of all who slight an institution of God. 
 
 I am sensible, the libertine who depreciates and vilifies the dignity of the married state 
 will laugh at this assertion : The fop and debauchee will hiss it, and still do their best to 
 render wedlock the subject of contempt and ridicule. The Roman clergy will likewise decry 
 it, and injuriously treat it as an impediment to deyotion, a cramp upon the spiritual serving 
 of God, and call it an instrument of pollution and defilement, in respect of their heavenly 
 celibacy. 
 
 But as God thought marriage was suitable to a paradisiacal state, and the scriptures declare 
 it honourable in aU : as this is the way appointed by heaven to people the earth ; and the 
 institution is necessary^ in the reason and nature of things, considering the circumstances 
 in which mankind is placed ; to prevent confusion, and promote the general happiness ; as 
 the bond of society, and the foundation of all human government ; sure I am, the rake and 
 the mass-priest, must be in a dreadful situation at the sessions of righteousness ; when the one 
 is charged with libertinism and gallantries, with madness and folly, and with aU the evils and 
 mischief they have done by illicit gratification, contrary to reason, and in direct opposition 
 to the institutes of God : and when tbe other, the miserable mass-priests, are called to an 
 account, for vilifying the honour and dignity of the married state, and for striving to seduce 
 mankind into the solitary retirements of celibacy, in violation of the laws of God ; and more 
 especially of the primary law or ordinance of heaven. Wretched priests ; your institutions 
 are breaches in revealed religion, trespasses upon the common rights of nature, and such 
 oppressive yokes as it is not able to bear. Your celibacy has not a grain of piety in it. It is 
 policy and impiety. 
 
 Hear me then, ye libertines and mass-priests : I call upon you of the first row, ye rakes of 
 genius, to consider what you are doing, and in time turn from your iniquities : Be no longer 
 profligate and licentious, blind to your true interest and happiness, but become virtuous and 
 honourable lovers, and in regard to the advantages of this solemn institution, called wedlock, 
 as well to tbe general state of the world, as to individuals, marry in the Lord ; so will you 
 avoid that dreadful sentence. Fornicators and adulterers God will judge, that is, punish, 
 and irf, this life, you may make things very agreeable, if you please ; though it is in the heavenly 
 world alone, where there shall be £U1 joy and no sorrow. Let there be true beauty and grace- 
 fulness in the mind and manners, and these with discretion, and other things in your power 
 will furnish a fund of happiness commensurate with your lives. It is possible, I am sure to 
 make marriage productive of as much happiness as faUs to our share in this lower hemisphere 
 as tiie nature of man can readi to in his present condition. For, as to joy flowing in with a 
 full, constant and equal tide, without interruption and without allay, there is no such thing. 
 Human nature doth not admit of this. " The sum of the matter is this : To the public the 
 advantages of marriage are certain, whether the parties will or no ; but to the parties engag- 
 
246 THE LIFE OF 
 
 All the smiles sat on the face of Statia, while I was haranguing 
 in this devout manner, and her countenance became a constellation 
 of wonders. When I had done, this beauty said, " I thank 
 you. Sir, for the information you have given me. I am a Christian. 
 There is no maUgnity in my heart. You have altered my way of 
 thinking, and I now declare for a succession. Let Father Fleming 
 be sent for, and without waiting for my being two and twenty, 
 or minding my father's will, as there is no one to obhge me to it, 
 I will give you my hand." Charming news I I dispatched my 
 lad for the friar. The priest arrived the next day, and at night we 
 were married. Three days after we set out for Orton-Lodge, at 
 my wife's request, as she longed to see the place. For two years 
 more I resided there ; it being more agreeable to Statia than the 
 improved Groves of Basil. We Uved there in as much happiness 
 as it is possible to have in this lower hemisphere, and much in the 
 same manner as I did with Charlotte my first wife. Statia had 
 all the good qualities and perfections which rendered Charlotte 
 so dear and valuable to me ; hke her she studied to increase the 
 delights of every day, and by art, good humour, and love, rendered 
 the married state such a system of joys as might incline one to 
 wish it could last a thousand years : But it was too subUme and 
 desirable to have a long existence here. Statia was taken ill of 
 the small-pox, the morning we intended to return to Basil Groves ; 
 she died the seventh day, and I laid her by Charlotte's side. 
 Thus did I again become a mourner. I sat with my eyes shut for 
 three days, but at^ast, called for my horse to try what air, exer- 
 cise, and a variety of objects could do. 
 
 April I, 1729. — Very early, as soon as I could see day, I left 
 Orton-Lodge, and went to Basil Groves, to order matters there. 
 From thence I set out for Harrowgate-Spa to amuse myself in that 
 agreeable place ; but I did not go the way I came to Mr. Henley's 
 house. To avoid the dangerous morass I had passed, at the 
 hazard of my Ufe, we went over a wilder and more romantic coun- 
 try than I had before seen. We had higher mountains to ascend 
 than I had ever passed before ; and some valleys so very deep to 
 ride through, that they seemed as it were descents to hell. The 
 patriarch Bermudez, in journeying over Abyssinia''', never 
 
 ing, not so : to them it is a fountain that sendeth forth both sweet and bitter waters. To 
 those who mind their duty and obligations sweet ones ; to those who neglect them bitter 
 ones." 
 
 In the next place, ye monks, 1 would persuade you, if 1 could, to labour no longer in striv- 
 ing to cancel the obligations to marriage by the pretence of religion. The voice of heaven 
 and the whispers of sound and uncorrupted reason are against it. It is will-worship in opposi- 
 tion to revelation. It is such a presumption for a creature against the author of our nature, 
 as must draw down uncommon wrath upon the head of every mass- priest, who does not repent 
 their preaching such wicked doctrine. Indeed I do not know any part of popery that can be 
 called Christianity : but this in particular is so horrible and diabolical, that I can consider 
 the preachers for celibacy in no other light than as so many devils. May you ponder in time 
 on this horrible aSair. 
 
 * Relation de I'Ambassade, dedite a Don Sebastien, roy de Portugal. 
 
__^ JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 247 
 
 travelled in more frightful glens. And yet, we often came to 
 plains and vales which had all the charms a paradise could have. 
 Such is the nature of this country. 
 
 Through these scenes, an amazing mixture of the terrible and 
 the beautiful, we proceeded from five in the morning till one in 
 the afternoon, when we arrived at a vast waterfall, which descended 
 from a precipice near two hundred yards high, into a deep lake, 
 that emptied itself into a shallow fifty yards from the catadure, 
 or fall, and went I suppose to the abyss. The land from this head- 
 long river, for half a mile in length and breadth, till it ended at 
 vast mountains again, was a fine piece of ground, beautifully 
 flowered with various perennials, the acanthus, the aconus, the 
 adonis, or pheasant's eye the purple bistorta, the blue borago, the 
 yellow bupthalmum, the white cacaUa, the blue campanula, and 
 the sweet-smeUing cassia, the pretty double daisy, the crimson 
 dianthus, the white dictamnus, the red fruximella, and many other 
 wild flowers. They make the green valley look charming ; and 
 as here and there stood two or three ever-green trees, the cypress, 
 the larix, the balm of Gilead, and the Swedish juniper, the whole 
 spot has a fine and deUghtful effect. On my arrival here, I was 
 at a loss which way to turn. 
 
 I could not however be long in suspense how to proceed, as I saw 
 near the water-fall, a pretty thatched mansion, and several in- 
 habitants in it. I found these were a rehgious society of married 
 people, ten friars .and their ten wives, who had agreed to retire to 
 this still retreat, and form a holy house on the plan of the famous 
 Ivon, the disciple of Labadie, so celebrated on account of his con- 
 nection with Maria Schurman*, and his many fanatical writings. 
 
 •Maria Schurman, was bom at Cologne, on the jth of Nov. 1607, and died at Wieuweat 
 in Friesland, on the 5th of May 1678, in the seventy-first year of her age. Jean le Labeurer 
 in his Histoire du Voyage de la Reyne de Pologne, printed at Paris in r648, speaking of her 
 surprising endowments, says, ** Elle respondet en Italien a Monsieur d'Orange, qui Tinterro- 
 geoit par ordre de la Regne, et elle argumenta tres-subtilement en Latin sur quelques points 
 de theologie. Elle repartit aussi fort ellegamment en mesme langue, au compliment que je 
 lui fis pour Madame la Mareschalle. Elle parla grec avec le Sieur Corrade premier medicin 
 de la Regne. Enfin elle nous eust encore parl6 d'autres languessinous les eussions s^euSs; 
 car outre la Grecque, la Latine, la Francoise, I'ltalienne, I'Espagnole, I'Allemande, et leFla- 
 man, qui lui est naturel, elle a encore beaucoup de connoissance de I'Hebreu, Syriacque^et 
 Chalds&que ; et il ne luimanquequ' un peu d'habitude pour les parler," Her writings entitled 
 Opuscula 1 1 ebraea, Graaca, Latina, were published by Frederic Spanheim, Professor of Di% inity, 
 in 1648, in i2mo. There ane some admirable Latin letters on moral subjects in this book. 
 Her epistle de Vita Termino to Berovicius, is a fine thing. See how she concludes : Unam 
 tantum sollicitudinem nobis reliquit Deus, ut, quam nobis imposuit provinciam curemus 
 sedulo ante rerum eventum ; post vero in hoc uno secure acquiescamus, quod ille sic voluit 
 qui nisi optima velle non potest. Audiamus, obsecro, divinam illam Epicteti vocem ; semper 
 magis volo quod Deus vult, quam quod e^o. Adjungar et adhaerebo illi, velut minister 
 et assecla ; cum illo appeto, cum illo desidero, et simpliciter atque uno verbo quod Deus 
 vult, volo. Hie tmica Halcyonia curarum sestibus ; hie animorum per ancipitia fiuctuantium 
 static tutissima ; hie denique terminus in quo mente et calamo acquiesco. This is 
 beautiful. 
 
 Her other work is called Eukleria, of Bona Pars, in allusion to Mary's chusing the better 
 part. This is liard to be met with. It is one octavo in Latin, and though it be not without 
 some vision, yet it is in the main a beautiful and solid performance. It is in the manner of 
 Law's CftrtsHan Perfection, and has several sentiments resembling those of Madam Guion in 
 her Comment on the New Testament, and Madam Bourignon, in her numerous works, It was 
 
248 THE LIFE OF 
 
 A book called the Marriage Chretien, written by this I von 'was 
 their directory, and from it they formed a protestant La Trappe ; 
 
 the famous Labadie, the fanatic, who brought Mrs. Schurman over to the interior life and 
 silent worship, in the forty-third year of her age, and from that time to her dying-day, she 
 renounced the world, and never went to public worship. The men of learning and worth 
 were no longer seen in crouds at her house, engaged with her in the noblest literary conver- 
 sations ; for the advancement of truth and the sciences ; but in a solitude, purchased by her- 
 self, she m<oped away her remainu^ life in quietism, and holy reveries, and parting from reason 
 in religion, sunk into passive unions of nothing with nothing, and became the prey of cunning 
 and stupid religionists. Her house was always full of them. She would see no other com- 
 pany. The holy Labadie expired in her arms, aged sixty-four, in the year 1674 ; Mrs. Schur- 
 man being then sixty-seven. What a deplorable change was here, and owing to no reason 
 in religion. Adhere to reason I enjoin you, for whoever tells you, you must give it up in reli- 
 gion, is the son of darkness, and the truth is not in him. 
 
 Labadie, born Feb. 13, z6zo, had been many years a Jesuit, then Jansenist, Carme Soli- 
 taire, Missionnaire, and Devot, and afterwards by the interest of the marquis de Favas, a pro- 
 testant, was made minister of Montauban. 
 
 Bayle, Bernard, and Basnages, in the Nouvelles de la Republique des Leitres, tell a strange 
 story of this man, while he was minister at Montauban : that he had brought over a beautiful 
 young lady, Madamoiselle de Calonges, to the interior or spiritual Ufe, and to make her perfect 
 m what they call ' la spirituality et I'oraison mentale,' he told her she must be absolutely 
 alienated from all sensible objects in her meditations, and lost in the depth? of reflection, 
 ' dans le reveillement interieure.' To this purpose he gave her a point to meditate on, and 
 desired she would give it her whole application, as she sighed after Christian perfection. Miss 
 de Calognes began, and the director left her, under a ' detachement absolu ; ' but returned in 
 an hour or two to her chamber. He found her like contemplation on a monument ; her eyes 
 fixed, and her whole body, as if it wer^ a petrefaction. Softly the holy man approached ; 
 strange pleasures filled his soul, as he gazed upon his heavenly disciple, and beUeving her 
 quite pe]iect,'.from her attitude, in the interior way, he gently put his pious hand upon her 
 lovely breast, and began to feel the &nest tetons in the world. But as Madenioiselle de 
 Calonges was a woman of sense and|virtue, she could not resign to this part of interior religion, 
 and started up in a passion, giving the director a poimce, and asking him what he meant by 
 such behaviour. 
 
 The minister replied, " sans 6tre d6conccrt6, et avec un air devot ; je vois bien ma fille, que 
 vous 6tes encore bien 61oign6e de la perfection reconnoissez, humblement votre foiblesse, et 
 demandez pardon a Dieu d'avoir 6t6 si peu attentive aux mysteres que vous deviez mediter 
 Si vous y aviez apport6 tout I'attention n6cessaire,vous ne vous fussiez pas appergue de ce 
 qu'on faissoit k votre gorge. Mais vous 6tiez si peu d6tach6e des sens si peu concentre avec, 
 la divinite, que vous n'avez pas 6t6 un moment h reconnoitre que je vous touchois. Je voulois 
 6prouver si votre ser\'eur dans I'oraison vous £levoit au dessu de la mati^e et vous unissoit 
 au souverain etre, la vive source de I'immortaht^ et de la spirituality, et je vois avec beaucou p 
 de douleur, que vos progres sont tr6s petits : vous n'allez que que terre k terre. Que ce la 
 vous donnez de la confusion, ma fille, et vous porte k mieux remplir les saints devoirs de la 
 pri^e mentale." 
 
 This speech, continue the historians, was so far from satisfying the beautiful Miss Calonges, 
 as she perceived the dreadful consequence of such doctrine, and knew it might be extended 
 to the most impure transactions, in order to be thoroughly concentered with the divinity, 
 that it enraged her as much as the action of Labadie, and she would never after have any 
 more to say to him. " Elle rompit entierement avec luy." Bayle says he will not warrant 
 the truth of this story, and Bernard tells us he has some doubt about it ; but Henry Basnage 
 in his Histoire des Ouvrages des Savans, assures us he bad the account of this affair from the 
 mouth of Mademoiselle de Calonges : he says he heard her relate it several times, and that she 
 always spoke of the false and hypocriticsd devotion of Labadie with horror. But, notwith- 
 standing all this, I have some doubts as to the veracity of Miss Calonges' relation, not that I 
 think such a behaviour has never been practised by a mystic, for there is a lady now living, 
 who was debauched by a mass-priest, while he was instructing her how to be perfect in the 
 interior life and abstraction. He first made a convert of her to popery, and then to raise 
 her to the tip-top saints, consolidated her soul to an impenetrable centre, and taught her to 
 pray in silence in the inward sanctuary, without any regard to what was outward ; the more 
 insensible, the more perfect. This continued for some time, and the confessor told her she 
 was in a fair way to the highest degree of perfection ; a little more absence from the body, 
 and she was quite glorious. In short, from touching the tip of her ear, as she sat like one 
 inanimate, he proceeded to the most illicit liberties. She thought him an angel of a man, 
 and was undone by the uncommon sanctity he wore, and the strong desire she had to be a 
 perfect mystic. 
 
 But as to Labadie, if he was the man Miss Calonges reported him, is it to be thought Mrs. 
 Schurman would have made him her nearest friend, and first minister in the management of 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 249 
 
 with this difference from the Catholic rehgious men, that the 
 friars of the reformed monastery were to have wives in their con- 
 
 her house and religionists, and have travelled with him wherever he went. Beside, Mrs. 
 Bourignon did not make this an objection against joining him and Mrs. Schurman. Among 
 the many books written by Labadie, and by him published, there are some of them moral, 
 and extremely pious : and more than this, Ivon was his principal disciple, and all I think 
 allow he was one of the most pious of mortals, though a thorough visionary. He founded a 
 society at Wiewert, which was another la Trappe. " Esp^ce d'Abbaye de la Trap dans le 
 parti protestant, tres 61oigii6e de I'esprit de mondanit6, reformez dans leurs mceurs et dans 
 leurs dogmes, says Bayle in his Nouvelles for November 1685. And the Marriage Ckfeiien 
 of Ivon, published iomiediately after the death of Labadie, is a piece of sanctification too 
 severe I think for mortals. I imagine then, that in contempt of those mystics and visionaries, 
 there may be some things overtold, and some stories received, that would bear mitigation, 
 if all the circumstances relating to them were known. It is bad enough that there are mystics 
 and visionaries in the world : and therefore, if I could, I had rather discover virtue amidst 
 their intellectual immoralities, than have an opportunity of displaying imperfections in any 
 of their hearts. As to I^badie, supposing the worst, and that as Henry Basnage, says, he 
 began to feel the breasts of Miss Calonges, might not the attitude of the charming image, and 
 the privacy of the place, be too much for the poor man, as they say she was a prodigious fine 
 girl, and tempt him to commit an indiscretion he might be very sorry for after ? He was at 
 that time a huge, strong, healthy he-mystic, and perhaps had a bottle of [generous in his 
 stomach. 
 
 Madame Bourignon, whom Ihave mentioned, was separated from her earthly tabernacle 
 the 20th of October, 1680, St. Vet. anno ; having lived sixty-foiu: years, nine months and 
 fourteen days. She died at Franeker, in West Friesland, and had suffered greatly in many 
 persecutions. She had an extraordinary fine understanding, and would have been a valuable 
 and useful creature, if she had not gone in to vision. There are however many admirable 
 things in her works, which she pubUshed herself at several times, and to that purpose, had 
 a printing house of her own, in the island of Nord-Strand in Holstein ; which island she pur- 
 chased from Monsiem: Cort, one of the fathers of the oratory. Her works were afterwards 
 printed at Amsterdam, 1686, in nineteen volumes in 8vo. A presiding good sense appears 
 every now and then in her writings, which kept her from sinking into the profundities, unions, 
 and annihilations, of Labadie, whom she despised, though Mrs. Schurman was so fond of him. 
 Labadie wanted her to come and live with him and Mrs, Schurman, and be one of the perfec- 
 tionists in their retreat. He pressed her to it but she would have no connection with them, 
 She told them their plan and economy were weak, and they had not the operation of the 
 spirit in what they schemed and did. The two best books in this lady's works are, The Light 
 of the World, and Solid Virtue. They have been translated into English ; but are not now to 
 be found. 
 
 Madame Guion, another illustrious visionary died the gth of June, 1717, at Blois, in the 
 seventieth year of her age, Fenelon, archbishop of Cambray's troubles were all owing /to 
 this lady. She debauched his understanding with her splendid visions and notions of perfec- 
 tion and quiet, and to his last moment he had the most singular veneration for her, and thought 
 her to be what our grand visionary, the reverend William Law, calls her in one of his pieces 
 against Dr. Trapp, the * enlight'ned Guion.' Notwithstanding the prelate made a public 
 recantation, through fear, of his maxipis of the saints, yet he was to his extreme unction, a 
 thorough Guionist ; that is, by associating and concentering witlf the divinity, as Madame 
 directed, he was all light, aJl eye, all spMt, all joy, all rest, all gladness, all love ; pure love. 
 These are their terms. They rest in quietness, and are absorbed in silent spiritual pleasmre, 
 and inexpressible sweetness. Filled with a rapt'rous stillness, they sit the hours away at a 
 royal banquet, and enjoy a divine repose in the sweet fellowship of the bridegroom. They 
 even become sometimes like angels without bodies, so exceeding light and easy do they feel 
 themselves with the body. Wretched delusion. It is all a wild, senseless fancy. It wants 
 the beams of eternal and unalterable reason, "and therefore can never be that useful, glorious 
 piety, called Christianity ; can never be that heavenly religion which was promulgated by 
 Jesus ; which consists in offering prayers with our lips, praising and giving thanks to the one 
 true God the Father, at proper seasons ; and in reducing the principles of the gospel to prac- 
 tice ; by a righteousness of mind, and an active universal benevolence. 
 
 Madame Guion's works are twenty volumes of Explications and Reflections on the Old and 
 New Testament, concerning the Interior Life. Five volumes of Spirituel Cantigues and Em~ 
 blems on Pure Love. Two volumes of religious discourses. Four volumes of Letters. Her 
 Life in three volumes. Three volumes of Justifications in defence of herself against her perse- 
 cutors. And two volumes entitled Opuscules. 
 
 As to Fenelon, archbishop of Cambray, he was a great and beautiful geniuSj and his Tele- 
 maque cannot be enough admired : but that bright genius he laid at the foot of mystery : 
 His noble reason he would not use in religion, and therefore, in this article, was as poor a 
 creature as any of the people, His maxims of the saints declare the weak visionary ; and 
 
250 THE LIFE OF 
 
 vent ; the better to enable them to obtain Christian perfection 
 in the religious Ufe. These regulars, men and women,were a most 
 industrious people, never idle ; but between their hours of prayer 
 always at work ; the men were employed in a garden of ten acres, 
 to provide vegetables and fruit, on wMch they chiefly lived ; or in 
 cutting down old trees, and fitting them for their fire : and the 
 women were knitting, spinning, or twisting what they had spun 
 into thread, which they sold for three shillings a pound : they 
 were aU together in a large, handsome room : they sat quite silent, 
 kept their eyes on their work, and seemed more attentive to some 
 inward meditations, than to any thing that appeared, or passed 
 by them. They looked as if they were contented and happy. 
 They were all extremely handsome, and quite clean ; their hnen 
 fine and white, and their gowns a black stuff. The women dined 
 at one table, the men at another ; but all sat in the same room. 
 The whole house was in bed by ten, and up by four in the morning, 
 winter and summer. What they said at their table I could not 
 hear, as they spoke low and little, and were at a distance from me, 
 in a large apartment : but the cohversation of the men, at table, 
 was very agreeable, rational and improving. I observed they had 
 a great many children, and kept four women-servants to attend 
 them, and do the work of the house. The whole pleased me very 
 greatly. I thought it a happy institution. 
 
 As to the marriage of the friars in this cloist'ral house, their 
 founder, Ivon, in my opinion, was quite light in this notion. 
 Chaste junction cannot have the least imperfection in it, as it is 
 the appointment of God, and the inchnation to a coit is so strongly 
 impressed on the machine by the author of it ; and since it is 
 quite pure and perfect ; since it was wisely intended as the only 
 best expedient to keep man for ever innocent, it must certainly 
 be much better for a regular or retreating priest, to have a lawful 
 female companion with him ; and so the woman who chuses a 
 convent, and dishkes the fashions of the world, to have her good 
 and lawful monk every night in her arms ; to love and procreate 
 legally, when they have performed all the holy offices of the day ; 
 and then, from love and holy generation, return again to prayer, 
 and all the heavenly duties of the cloistered Ufe ; than to live 
 against the institution of nature and providence, a burning, 
 
 his submitting tbem afterwards to the censure of the man of sin, called the sovereign pontiff, 
 renders his speculating rehgious character very despicable. He was a thorough visionary; 
 and at the same time a thorough papist. TTie letter he dictated for Lewis the XlVth's con- 
 fessor, after he had received extreme unction, shews that no man ever bad more at heart that 
 monstrous, and most audacious corruption of the Christian reUgion, called popery. In his 
 expiring moments he conjures that bloody tyrant, the king of France, to order him a successor 
 that wifi, like him do every thing to oppose and suppress the Jansenists ; the only remaining 
 light within the vast black realms of papacy ; Je prendrai la Ubert6 de demander a sa majesty 
 deux graces, qui ne regardent, ni ma personue ni aucim de miens. La premiere est que le 
 roi ait la bonte de me donner un successeur pieux, et r^guller, bon et ferme centre le Jansen- 
 sme, lequel est prodigieusement accredits sur cette frontifee." 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 251 
 
 tortured nun, and a burning, tortured friar ; locked up in walls, 
 they can never pass and under the government of some old, cross, 
 impotent superior. There is some sense in such a Marriage 
 Chretien in a convent. Ivon's convent is well enough. A cloister 
 may do upon his plan, with the dear creature by one's side, after 
 the daily labours of the monk are over. It had been better, if 
 that infallible man, the Pope, had come into this scheme. How 
 confortable has Ivon made it to the human race, who renounce the 
 dress and pageantry, and all the vanities of time. Their days are 
 spent in piety and usefulness ; and at night, after the cowp/etonMm, 
 they lie down together in the most heavenly charity, and ac- 
 cording to the first great hail, endeavour to increase and multiply. 
 This is a divine Ufa. I am for a cloister on these terms. It 
 pleased me so much to see these monks march off with their 
 smiUng partners, after the last psalm, that I could not help wish- 
 ing for a charmer there, that I might commence the Married 
 Regular, and add to the stock of children in this holy house. It 
 is really a fine thing to monk it on this plan. It is a divine 
 institution, gentle and generous, useful and pious. 
 
 On the contrary, how cruel is the Roman Church, to make per- 
 fection consist in cehbacy, and cause so many miUions of men 
 and women to hve at an eternal distance from each other, without 
 the least regard to the given points of contact ! How unfriendly 
 to society I This is abusing Christianity, and perverting it 
 to most pernicious purposes ; under a pretence of raising piety, 
 by giving more time and leisure for devotion. For it never can 
 be pious either in design or practice, to cancel any moral obliga- 
 tion, or to make void any command of God : and as to prayer, it 
 may go along with every other duty, and be performed in every 
 state. AU states have their intermissions ; and if it should be 
 otherwise sometimes, I can then, while discharging any duty, or 
 performing any of&ce, pray as well in my heart, O God be merciful 
 to me a sinner, and bless me with the blessing of thy grace and 
 providence, as if I was prostrate before an altar. What Martha 
 was reproved for, was on account of her being too solicitous about 
 the things of this hfe. Where this is not the case, business and 
 the world are far from being a hindrance to piety. God is as really 
 glorified in the discharge of relative duties, as in the discharge of 
 those which more immediately relate to himself. He is in truth 
 more actively glorified by our discharging well the relative duties, 
 and we thereby may become more extensively useful in the 
 church and in the world, may be more pubhc blessings, than it is 
 possible to be in a single pious state. In short, this one thing, 
 celibacy, were there nothing else, the making the unmarried state 
 a more holy state than marriage, shews the prodigious nonsense 
 and impiety of the Church of Rome, and is reason enough to flee 
 that communion, if we had no other reasons for protesting 
 
252 THE^LIFE OF 
 
 against it. The tenet is so superstitious and dangerous, that it 
 may well be esteemed a doctrine of those devils, who are the 
 seducers and destroyers of mankind ; but it is, says Wallace, in 
 his Dissertation on the Numbers of Manhood, suitable to the views 
 and designs of a church, which has discovered such an enormous 
 ambition, and made such havock of the human race, in order to 
 raise, establish, and preserve an usurped and tyrannical power. 
 
 But as to the Married Regulars I have mentioned ; they were 
 very glad to see me, and entertained me with great civihty and 
 goodness. I lived a week with them, and was not only well fed 
 with vegetables and puddings on their lean days, Wednesdays and 
 Fridays, and with plain meat, and good malt drihk, on the other 
 days ; but was greatly dehghted with their manner and piety, 
 their sense and knowledge. I will give my pious readers a sample 
 of their prayers, as I imagine it may be to edification. These friars 
 officiate in their turns, changing every day ; and the morning and 
 evening prayers of one of them, were in the words following. I 
 took them off in my shorthand. 
 
 A PRAYER FOR MORNING. 
 
 " Almighty and everlasting God, the creator and preserver of all 
 things, our law-giver, saviour, and judge, we adore thee, the author 
 of our beings, and the father of our spirits. We present ourselves, 
 our acknowledgments, and our homage, at the foot of thy throne, 
 and yield thee the thanks of the most grateful hearts for all the 
 instances of thy favour which we have experienced. We thank 
 thee for ever, O Lord God Almighty, for all thy mercies and blessing 
 vouchsafed us ; for defending us the past night from evil, and for 
 that kind provision which thou hast made for our comfortable 
 subsistence in this world. 
 
 " But above all, most glorious Eternal, adored be thy goodness, 
 for repeating and reinforcing the laws and the religion of thy 
 creation, by supernatural revelation, and for giving us that reason 
 of mind, which unites us to thee, and makes us implore thy com- 
 munications of righteousness, to create us again unto good works 
 in Christ Jesus. 
 
 " We confess, O Lord, that we have done violence to our prin- 
 ciples, and alienated ourselves from the natural use we were fitted 
 for : we have revolted from thee into a state of sin, and by the 
 operation of sense and passion, have been moved to such practices 
 as are exorbitant and irregular : but we are heartily sorry for all 
 our misdoings : to thee in Christ we now make our address, and 
 beseech thee to inform our understandings, and refine our spirits, 
 that we may reform our hves by repentence, redeem our time by 
 righteousness, and live as the glorious gospel of thy Son requires. 
 Let the divine spirit assist and enable us to over-rule, conduct, and 
 employ, the subordinate and inferior powers, in the exercise of 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 353 
 
 virtue, and the service of our Creator, and as far as the imper- 
 fections of our present state will admit, help us so to live by the 
 measures and laws of heaven, that we may have the humility and 
 meekness, the mortification and self-denial of the holy Jesus, his 
 love of thee, his desire of doing thy will, and seeking only thy 
 honour. Let us not come covered before thee under a form of 
 godhness, a cloke of creeds, observances and institutions of 
 reUgion ; but with that inward salvation and vital sanctity, which 
 renounces the spirit, wisdom, and honours of this world, dethrones 
 self-love and pride, subdues sensuaUty and covetousness, and 
 opens a kingdom of heaven within by the spirit of God. O let 
 thy Christ be our Saviour in this world, and before we die, make 
 us fit to live for ever with thee in the regions of purity and per- 
 fection. 
 
 " Since it is the peculiar privilege of our nature, through 
 thy mercy and goodness, that we are made for an eternal enter- 
 tainment in those glorious mansions, where the blessed society of 
 saints and angels shall keep an everlasting sabbath, and adore and 
 glorify thee for ever, let thy inspiring spirit raise our appre- 
 hensions and desires above all things that are here below, and 
 alienate our minds from the customs and principles of this mad, 
 degenerate, and apostate world : mind us of the shortness and 
 uncertainty of time, of the boundless duration, and the vast 
 importance of eternity, and so enable us to imitate the example 
 of the holy Jesus in this world, that we may hereafter ascend, 
 with the greatest ardour of divine love, to those realms of hoUness, 
 where our hearts will be filled with raptures of gladness and joy, 
 and we shall remain in the highest glory for ever and ever. 
 
 " We live, O Lord, in reconciUation and friendship, in love and 
 good will, with thy whole creation, with every thing that de- 
 rives from thee, holds of thee, is owned by thee ; and under the 
 power of this affection, we pray for all mankind ; that they may 
 be partakers of all the blessings which we enjoy or want, and that 
 we may all be happy in the world to come, and glorify thee 
 together in eternity. To this end bring all the human race to the 
 knowledge of thy glorious gospel, and let its influence trans- 
 form them into the Ukeness of Christ. 
 
 " But especially, we pray for all who suffer for truth and 
 righteousness sake, and beseech thee to prosper those that love 
 thee. Defend, O Lord, the just rights and liberties of mankind, 
 and rescue thy religion from the corruptions which have been 
 introduced upon it, by length of time, and by decay of piety. 
 Infatuate the counsels, and frustrate the endeavours of the priests 
 of Rome, and against all the designs of those, who are enemies 
 to the purity of the gcspel, and substitute human inventions in 
 the place of revealed religion ; prosper the pious labours of those 
 who teach mankind to worship one eternal and omnipresent 
 
254 THE LIFE OF 
 
 being : in whose understanding, there is the perfection of wisdom ; 
 in whose will, there is the perfection of goodness ; in whose actions, 
 there is the perfection of power ; a God without cause, the great 
 creator, benefactor, and saviour of men : — And that the duty 
 of man is to obey, in thought, word, and deed, the precepts of 
 godliness and righteousness, without regard to pleasure, gain, or 
 honour : to pain, loss, or disgrace ; diligently imitating the Ufe of 
 the holy Jesus, and stedfastly confiding in his mediation. 
 
 " In the last place, O Lord God Almighty, we beseech thee to 
 continue us under thy protection, guidance, and blessing this 
 day, as the followers and disciples of thy Christ, through whom 
 we recommend our souls and our bodies into thy hands, and 
 according to the doctrine of his reUgion, say. Our Father, &c." 
 
 In this manner, did these pious Ivonites begin their every day ; 
 and when the sun was set, and they had finished their supper, 
 they worshipped God again in these words. 
 
 A PRAYER FOR NIGHT. 
 
 " Most blessed, glorious, and holy Lord God Almighty, who 
 art from everlasting to everlasting, God over all, magnified and 
 adored for ever I we, thy unworthy creatures, humble our souls 
 in thy presence, and confess ourselves miserable sinners. We 
 acknowledge our miscarriages and faults, and condemn ourselves 
 for having done amiss. We deprecate thy just ofience and dis- 
 pleasure. We cry thee mercy. We ask thee pardon : and as we 
 are quite sensible of our weakness and inabiUty, and know thou 
 lovest the souls of men, when they turn and repent, we beseech 
 thee to give us true repentance, and endue us with the grace of 
 thy sanctifjdng spirit, that we may be delivered from the bondage 
 and slavery of iniquity, and have the law of the spirit of life which 
 is in Christ Jesus. Upon thee our God, we call for that help 
 which is never wanting, and beseech thee to give us thy heavenly 
 assistance, that we may recover our reasonable nature, refine 
 our spirits by goodness, and purify ourselves even as the Lord 
 Jesus is pure. O thou Father of Lights, and the God of all 
 comforts, inform our understandings, with truth, and give us 
 one ray of that divine wisdom which sitteth on the right hand of 
 thy throne. O let us be always under thy communication and 
 influence, and enable us, through the recommendation of thy 
 Son, our mediator and redeemer, to lay aside all passion, pre- 
 judice, and vice, to receive thy truth in the love of it, and to 
 serve thee with ingenuity of mind, and freedom of spirit : that 
 we may pass through a religious Life to a blessed immortality, 
 and come to that eternal rest ; where we shall behold thy face 
 in righteousness, and adore and bless thee to eternity, for our 
 salvation through him who hath redeemed us by his blood. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 255 
 
 " We praise and magnify thy goodness, O Lord God Almighty, 
 for our maintenance and preservation, by thy constant providence 
 over us, and we beseech thee to take us into thy special care 
 and protection this night. Defend us from all the powers of 
 darkness, and from evil men and evil things and raise us in health 
 and safety. Do thou, most great and good God, protect us and 
 bless us this night, and when we awake in the morning, let our 
 hearts be with thee, and thy hand with us. And the same mercies 
 we beg for all mankind ; that thy goodness and power may 
 preserve them, and thy direction and influence secure their etern^il 
 salvation, through Jesus Christ our Lord, by whom thou hast 
 taught us to call upon thee as our Father, &c." 
 
 By the way, I cannot help observing, that these disciples of 
 Ivon are much reformed in respect of what his cloistered followers 
 were in his time. It appears from Ivon's books, that he was as 
 great a visionary and tritheist as his master Labadie, or any of 
 our modern mystics now are. But these Regulars I found among 
 the fells, though on Ivon's plan, are as rational Christians as ever 
 adorned the religion of our Master by a purity of faith. You see 
 by their prayers, that their devotions are quite reasonable and 
 calm. There is no rant, nor words without meaning, no feeUng 
 instead of seeing the truth ; nor expectation of covenant mercy 
 on the belief of a point repugnant not only to the reason and 
 nature of things, but to the plain repeated declarations of God 
 in the Christian reUgion. Their prayer is a calm address to the 
 great Maker, Governor, and Benefactor of the universe ; and 
 honour and obedience to Christ as Mediator, according to the 
 will and appointment of God the Father. 
 
 Upon my asking one of these gentlemen, how they came to 
 differ so much from Ivon, their founder, and cease to be the 
 patrons of vision, and an implicit incomprehensible faith ? He 
 told me, they had read all the books on both sides of the question, 
 that had been written of late years, and could not resist the force 
 of the evidence in favour of reason and the divine unity. They 
 saw it go against mechanical impulse, and strong persuasion 
 without grounds, and therefore they dismissed Ivon's notions of 
 beUeving without ideas, as they became sensible it was the same 
 thing as seeing without light or objects. Without dealing any 
 longer in a mist 6f words, or shewing themselves orthodox, by 
 empty, insignificant sounds, they resolved that the object of their 
 worship, for the time to come, should be, that one supreme self- 
 existent being, of absolute, infinite perfection, who is the first 
 cause of all things, and whose numerical identity and infinite 
 perfections are demonstrable from certain principles of reason, 
 antecedent to any pecuUar revelation ; and confessed that the 
 blessing, with which Jesus Christ was sent by God to bless the 
 world, consists in turning men from their iniquities. They now 
 
2S6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 perceived what the creed-makers, and Ivon, their founder, could 
 not see, to wit, that it is against the sacred texts to ascribe to 
 Each Person of Three the nature and all essential attributes and 
 properties of the One only true God, and yet make the Three the 
 One true God only, when considered conjunctly ; for if Each has 
 all possible perfections and attributes, then each must be the 
 same true God as if and when conjoined ; and of consequence, 
 there must then be Three One true Gods, or One Three true Gods ; 
 Three One Supreme Beings, or One Three Supreme Beings, 
 since to each of the three must be ascribed, as the orthodox 
 say, any thing and every thing, that is most peculiar and appro- 
 priated to the divine nature, without any difference. In short 
 by conjobbUng matters of faith in this manner, they saw we had 
 three distinct selfs, or intelligent agents, equal in power and all 
 possible perfections, agreeing in one common essence, one sort of 
 species, like a supreme magistracy of distinct persons, acting by a 
 joint exercise of the same power, and so the three are one, not by 
 a numerical but specific identity : three Omnipotents and one 
 Almighty, in a collective sense. This, continued the gentle- 
 man on searching the scriptures, we found was far from being the 
 truth of the case. We discovered, upon a fair examination, and 
 la3dng aside our old prejudices, that there was nothing Uke this 
 in the New Testament. It appeared to us to be the confused 
 talk of weak heads. In the Bible we got a just idea of one 
 Eternal Cause, God the Father, almighty, all- wise, unchangeable, 
 infinite ; and are there taught how to worship and serve him. 
 The greatest care is there taken to guard against the ill effects of 
 imagination and superstition ; and in the plainest language, we 
 are ordered to pray to this blessed and only potentate, the King 
 of kings, and Lord of lords, who only, or alone hath immortality ; 
 and this in imitation of Jesus, who in the morning very early went 
 out into a soUtary place, and there prayed.* Who dismissing 
 his disciples departed into a mountain to pray.t And he con- 
 tinued all night in prayer to GOD. J We are ordered to glorify 
 and bless this only wise God for ever.§ Blessed be the God and 
 Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. || To God and our Father be 
 glory for ever.f And to love him truly by keeping the com- 
 mandments.** Cui Jesus sic respondit : primum, omnium 
 praeceptorum est ; audi Israelita. Dominus Deus vester dominus 
 unus est. Itaque dominum Deum tuum toto corde, toto animo, 
 tota mente, totisque viribus amato. Hoc primum est praeceptum. 
 Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord. And thou shalt 
 love the Lord thy God with aU thy heart, and with all thy soul, 
 and with aU thy strength. This is the first commandment. 
 
 * Mark, ch. i. v. 35. t Mark, ch. vi. v. 46. % L-uhe, ch, vi. v. 12. } RomaK 
 ch. xvi. V. 27- II 2 Cor. ch. i. v. 3. H Phtt. ch. iv. v. so. •• Mark, ch. xii. v. 29. 
 30, 3i. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 257 
 
 Et voici le second. Vous aimerez vostre prochain comme 
 vous meme. And the second is like the first. Hunc simile est 
 alterum, alterum ut teipsum amato. His majus aliud praecep- 
 tum nullum est. Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thy self. 
 There is none other commandment greater than these. 
 
 To say it ; we became fully satisfied, that the supreme God and 
 governor of the world, who exists by a prior necessity, and there- 
 fore must be one, a perfect moral agent, and possessed of all 
 moral perfections, is the sole object of religious worship : that 
 Jesus Christ was a temporary minister, with a legatarian power, 
 to publish and declare the spiritual laws of this great God : and 
 that it is incumbent on mankind to yield a perfect obedience to 
 these spiritual laws of this Supreme Being : that is, the duty of 
 all, to make the object proposed by Christ, his God and our God, 
 his Father and our Father, the sole object of faith ; and to expect 
 happiness or salvation, on the term of being turned from all our 
 iniquities. This seemed a matter worthy of the Son of God's 
 appearing in the world. Every thing else must be enthusiasm 
 and usurpation. 
 
 Here the Ivonist had done, and I was greatly pleased with his 
 sense and piety. " What a heavenly Christianity should we 
 profess," I said, " if the notions of our modern enthusiasts were 
 as consistent with Christ's great design and profession I We 
 should then set up the Kingdom of God among men, and be dili- 
 gent and active in promoting the laws of that kingdom. We 
 should then believe, like Jesus Christ and his apostles, that there 
 is but one God, the Father Almighty. There is no one good, 
 so commonly called, but one, that is God ; or only the one God.* 
 Nullus est bonus nisi unus Deus. Castalio. And Cant. MS. 
 Clem. Alex, adds. My Father who is in Heaven. This is life 
 eternal, to acknowledge thee, O Father, to be the only true God.f 
 It is one God who wiU justify. J We know that there is none 
 other God but one. For to us there is one GOD the Father. § 
 There is one GOD and Father of all, who is over all, and through 
 all, and in you all.|| And we should confess one Mediator, — 
 the man Christ Jesus.^ We should be consistent, and not throw 
 off those principles upon which Christianity was founded, and 
 alone could be first built. We should invite men into our religion, 
 by representing to them the perfection of that primary law of 
 God, reason or natural religion ; by declaring the plainness and 
 clearness of it to all attentive and well-disposed minds ; and then 
 shew them how worthy it was of the Supreme Governor to give 
 such creatures as he has made us the gospel ; that by the reUgion 
 of favour, he has, with glory to himself, displayed his paternal 
 
 • Mark, ch. x. v. i8. t /"ftn, oh. xvU. throughout. 
 X Romans, ch. lii. v. 30. § i Cor. ch. viii. v. 4-6. 
 II Eph. ch. V. V. 6. K 2 Tim. ch. ii. v. 5- 
 
»S8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 regard for us, by doing much more than what is strictly necessary 
 for our eternal good. God, on a principle of love, sends his Christ, 
 to advise us and awaken us to a sense of our danger in passing 
 through this world, in case, which he saw would be the thing, 
 we should not constantly attend to the light we might strike out, 
 ourselves with some trouble. He calls us in an extraordinary 
 manner to forsake vice and idolatry, and practise the whole sj^stem 
 of morahty. We might expect, that a good God, would once at 
 least, interpose by such an extraordinary method as revelation, 
 to turn and incUne his reasonable creatures, to the study and 
 practice of the religion of nature. This was acting like the Father 
 of the universe, considering the negligence and corruption of the 
 bulk of mankind. The reason he gave us, the law of nature, was 
 giving us all that was absolutely necessary. The gospel was an 
 addition of what is excellently useful. What, my beloved, might 
 a rational divine say, can be more paternal, and worthy of the 
 Almighty Creator, than to reveal plainly the motive of a judg- 
 ment to come, in order to secure all obedience to the religion of 
 nature ? Reason may, to be sure, be sufficient to shew men their 
 duty and to encourage their performance of it with the assurance 
 of obtaining a reward, if they would duly attend to its dictates, 
 and suffer them to have their due efiect upon them : it may guide 
 mankind to virtue, and happiness consequent to it, as God must 
 be a rewarder of all those who diligently seek him, and was 
 enough to bring them to the knowledge, and engage them in the 
 practice of true religion and righteousness, if they had not shut 
 their eyes to its light, and wilfully rejected the rule written in 
 their hearts. But as this was what mankind really did, and now 
 do ; as errors and impieties, owing to an undue use or neglect 
 of reason, became universal ; just as the case of Christians is, 
 by disregarding the New Testament ; and reason, through men's 
 faults, was rendered inefiectual, though still sufficient, which 
 justifies both the wisdom and goodness of God, in leaving man for 
 so many ages to his natural will, and so great a part of the globe 
 to this day with no other Ught than the law of nature ; and reason, 
 I say, was rendered ineffectual, though still sufficient to teach men 
 to worship God with pious hearts and sincere affections, and to 
 do his will by the practice of moral duties ; to expect his favour 
 for their good deeds, and his condemnation of their evil works ; 
 then was revelation a more powerful means of promoting true 
 religion and godliness. The gospel is a more effectua,! light. 
 It is a clearer and more powerful guide ; a brighter motive and 
 stronger obligation to universal obedience than reason can with 
 certainty propose. And therefore, though there was not a 
 necessity for God to give new rule in vindication of his providence, 
 and in order to render men accountable to him for their 
 actions ; yet the divine goodness was pleased to enforce the 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. «59 
 
 principles of reason and morality more powerfully by an express 
 sanction of future rewards and punishments, and by the gospel 
 restore religious worship to the original uncorrupted rational 
 service of the Deity. This displays his paternal regard to his 
 children, with glory to himself. Love was the moving principle 
 of his sending Christ into the world, to reform the corruptions of 
 reason to restore it to its purity, and most effectually to promote 
 the practice of the rules of it. The goSpel revelation considered in 
 this manner appears to be the pure effect of the divine goodness. 
 It is a conduct accompanied with the greatest propriety and 
 glory. 
 
 If this representation of Christianity was as much the doctrine 
 of the church as it is of the Ivonites I have mentioned, we might 
 then, with hopes of success, call upon the rational infidels to come 
 in. They could hardly refuse the invitation, when we told 
 them, our religion was the eternal law of reason and of God 
 restored, with a few excellently useful additions : that the gospel 
 makes the very religion of nature, a main part of what it requires, 
 and submits all that it reveals to the test of the law of reason : 
 that the splendor of God's original light, the light of nature, 
 and the revelation of Jesus, are the same ; both made to deliver 
 mankind from evils and madness of superstition, and make their 
 religion worthy of God, and worthy of men ; to enable them by the 
 voice of reason in conjunction with the words of the gospel, to 
 worship One God the Maker, the Governor, the Judge of the 
 world ; and to practise all that is good and praise-worthy : that 
 we may be blessed as we turn from iniquity to virtue ; and by 
 entering cordially into the spirit of the meritorious example or 
 exemplary merits of Christ, be determined to be dead to sin, and alive 
 to righteousness : in short, my brethren, in the suffering and death 
 of Jesus, his patient, pious, and meek, his benevolent and com- 
 passionate behaviour, under the most shocking insult, indignity, 
 and torture, we have what we could not learn from the religion 
 of nature, a deportment that well deserves both our admiration 
 and imitation. We learn from the perfect example of Jesus, recom- 
 mended in his gospel, to bear patiently Ul usage, and to desire the 
 welfare of our most unreasonable and malicious enemies. This is 
 improving by religion to the best purpose ; and as we resemble 
 the Son of God, the man Christ Jesus, in patience, piety, and bene- 
 volence, we become the approved children of the Most High, who 
 is kind and good to the unthankful and to the evU. In this 
 view of the gospel, all is fine, reasonable, and heavenly. The 
 gentile can have nothing to object. We have the religion of 
 nature in its original perfection, in the doctrine of the New 
 Testament, enforced by pains and pleasures everlasting ; and we 
 learn from the death of the Mediator, not only an unprecedented 
 patience, in bearing our sins in his own body on the tree : but 
 
26o THE LIFE OF 
 
 the divine compassion and piety with which he bore them. We 
 have in this the noblest example to follow, whenever called to 
 suffer for well-doing or for righteousness-sake ; and by the imi- 
 tation, we manifest such a command of temper and spirit, as 
 can only be the result of the greatest piety and virtue. This 
 added to keeping the commandments must render men the blessed 
 of the Father, and entitle them to the kingdom prepared for the 
 wise, the honest, and the excellent. 
 
 But alas, ! instead of giving such an account of Christianity, the 
 cry of the doctors is, for the most part. Discard reason, and pros- 
 trate your understanding before the adorable mysteries. Instead 
 of a Supreme Independent First Cause of all things to believe in 
 and worship, they give Three true Gods in number. Three infinite 
 independent Beings, to be called One, as agreeing in one common 
 abstract essence, or species ; as all mankind are one, in one 
 common rational nature, or abstract idea of humanity. Amazing 
 account I A triune no infidel or gentile of sense will ever worship. 
 
 Instead of fixing salvation or moral rectitude, and our pre- 
 ferring the will of God, as deUneated in the words of the gospel, 
 before all other considerations, we are told of an innocent, meri- 
 torious, propitiating blood, spilt by wicked hands, and so made 
 an acceptable sacrifice, to a Being who is of purer eyes than to 
 behold iniquity. This, we are assured, satisfies all the demands 
 of the law. Here is infinite satisfaction, and most certainly, I 
 add, a cool indifference as to personal rectitude. When such a 
 faith or creduUty becomes the principal pillar of trust and 
 dependance, then mere reliance on such satisfaction to divine 
 justice, may be a stupef5dng opiate, and make many remiss in the 
 labours of a penitential piety, and that exact rectitude of mind 
 and life, which even reason requires, to render us acceptable to 
 the Deity. Many an appetite and passion are indulged under this 
 subterfuge ; and with httle fervency or zeal for good works, men 
 expect to partake of the heavenly joys, by trusting to the merits of 
 their Saviour, in their last wUl and testament. Deplorable case I 
 Alas ! how has Christianity suffered by its doctors ! The infidel 
 laughs at it as thus preached. It becomes a by-word, and a 
 hissing to them that pass by. 
 
 As to the library of my friends, the Ivonites, it was far from 
 being a grand one, but I saw many curious books in it which had 
 not come in my way before. From them I made several ex- 
 tracts, and to gratify my reader's curiosity a little, I will here 
 favour him with one of them. 
 
 The first book I chanced to open in this library, was the second 
 volume of Severin Bini's* edition of the Councils printed at 
 
 • Severin Bini, or Biuius, as he is commonly called, bom in 1543, was a doctor of divinity 
 at Cologne, in the circle of the Lower Rhine m Germany, and canon of that archiepiscopal 
 cathedral. He published in that city, in the year 1606, an elegant edition of all the Councils 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 261 
 
 Paris, in 1630 j and over-against a very remarkable passage from 
 Cyril, p. 548, I found several written leaves, bound up in the 
 volume, and these leaves referred to by an asterisk. The passage 
 I call remarkable, is part of a homily pronounced by the Alex- 
 in four very large volumes, folio, and by this work, made the editions or collections of Uerlin, 
 Peter Crabo, and I^wrence Surius, of no value, but the second edition published by James 
 Binius in the year 1618, in nine volumes smaller folio, is far preferable to the first, and the 
 Paris edition pritited in 1638, in ten large volumes, folio, is further enlarged, more correct, 
 and of consequence still better than the second edition of x6x8. This is not however the best 
 edition to buy, if you love to read that theological stuff called Councils. The Louvre edition 
 of i64ij, in thirty-seven volimies, folio, is what you should purchase ; or, that of 1672, printed 
 at Pans, by the Jesuits Labb£ and Cossart, in eighteen large volimies in folio. I preier this 
 last, on acco\mt of the additions, correctness, and beauty of the impression. F^e Hardouin 
 likewise printed a later edition of the Councils, with explications and &ee remarks, an extra* 
 ordinary and curious work I have been told ; but I could not even see it in France, as the 
 parliament of Paris had ordered the work to be suppressed, on account of the remarks. 
 Binius died in 1620, £et. 77. 
 
 James Merlin, the first editor of the Councils, was a doctor of^divinity, and chanoine of 
 Notre-dame de Paris. Besides the Councils, in two large volumes folio ; he published the 
 works of Durand de St. Fourgain, in 1515 ; the works of Richard de St. Victor, in 1518 ; and 
 the works of Peter de Blois, in 1519. His Defence of Origen, in 4to, a good thing ; and Six 
 Homilies on Gabriel's being sent to the Virgin Mary, in 8vo ; which homilies are not worth half 
 a farthing, are all that may be considered his. Merlin, bom in 1472, died in 1541, at. 69. 
 
 Peter Crabb, the second editor of the councils, bom in 1470, was a Franciscan friar, He 
 published two volumes of the Councils, in folio, at Cologne, in 1538 ; and a third volume in 
 1550. — He died m 1553, set. 83. 
 
 Lawrence Surius, the third editor of the Councils, bom in 1522 ; a monk of the Chartreux, 
 published his edition of them, in four large volumes in folio, in 1560 ; and a few years after 
 printed his Lives of the Saints, in six volumes. He wrote likewise a short History of his own 
 Time : and An Apology for the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. He was the most outrageous, 
 abusive bigot that ever wrote against the Protestants. The great men of his own church 
 despised him, and Cardinal Perron, in particular, calls him hSte and Vignorawt. He died in 
 XS78, St. 56. 
 
 Phni^ Labb6, the Jesuit, bom in 1607 ; the fifth editor, and next after Binius ; lived only 
 to publish XX volumes of tiie Councils, the eleventh came out the year he died ; the other 
 seven were done by Cossart. Labb6 was a man of learning, and besides his collection of 
 Councils, wrote several other pieces. The best of them are B-^lioiheca Bibliothecarum ; Con- 
 cordia Cronologica ; Bellarmini Pfulologica ; and the Life of Galen. He died in 1667, ast. 60. 
 
 Gabriel Cossart, the continuator, who published the other seven volumes in 1672, died at 
 Paris, the xSth of December, X674, »t. 59. 
 
 Richard de St. Victor, whose works were pubUshed by Merlin, at Paris, in X518, was a Scotch- 
 man, and prior of the abbey of St. Victor in Paris. He was the author of Three CriticcU and 
 Historical Dissertations on the Tabernacle ; Two on the Temple ; Three on the Harmony of the 
 Chronology of the Kings ofjudea and Israel ; Cotnmentaries on the Psalms, Canticles, the Epistles 
 of St. Paul, and the Revelation : as also of some Treatises in Divinity ; and several Disquisitions 
 relating to Spiritual Life. There have been four editions of these pieces, and the best of tiiem 
 is that printed at Rouen in 1650, in two voliunes, by Father John de Toulouse, who wrote 
 the life of Father Richard, and added it to his edition. The three other editions are those of 
 Paris, in xgiS ; of Venice, in 1592, and of Cologne, in 1621. Richard de Victor has been 
 highly commended by several celebrated writers, particularly by Henry de Grand, Trithe- 
 nuus, Bellarmine, and Sixte de Sienne. There are many curious and fine things in his writ- 
 ings, it must be allowed ; but in general, he is too subtil, too diffuse, and too full of digressions. 
 His commentaries, for the most part, are weak, and evince that he did not understand St. Paul. 
 He died xoth March, 1173, set. 91 ; and, for the twelfth century, was an extraordinary man. 
 
 But who was St. Victor, to whom the abbey of Chanoines Reguliers in Paris, and tiie greater 
 abbaye of Chanoines in Marseilles, are dedicated ? He was a Frenchman, who fought under 
 the Emperors Diodesian and Maximilian with great applause, in the most honourable post, 
 but in the year 302, suffered martyrdom for refusing to sacrifice to the idols. He was executed 
 on the spot where the abbey of St. Victor in Marseilles now stands, and there they have his 
 reliques, ' a la reserve du pi6,' that is, except his foot, which lies in the Abbaye St. Victor de 
 Paris. William Grimaud, abbot of St. Victor de Marseille, on his being made Pope, imder 
 the title of Urban V. in X362, took the foot of St. Victor from his abbey, when he left it, and 
 made a present of it to John, Duke of Berry, one of the sons of John I, King of France, who 
 was t^en prisoner by Edward the Black Prince, in the battle of Poitiers, Sept. 19, X356 ; and 
 this duke of Berry gave the inestimable foot to the monks of St. Victor in Paris. There 
 it remains to this day ; and though so small a part)of the blessed Victor, sheds immense benefits 
 on the pious Catholics who adore it. Happy Catholics ! 
 
262 THE LIFE OP 
 
 andrian Patriarch before the council of Ephesus on St. John's day, 
 in a church dedicated to his name. In rehearsing his discourse 
 
 As to Peter de Blois, he was archdeacon of Bath, in the reign of Henry the secoml, and died 
 in London, in the year laoo, set. 71. His works comprise one hundred and eighty-three 
 letters on various subjects, twenty sermons, and seventeen tracts of several kinds; they were 
 first printed at Mayence in 1500, then by Merlin at Paris, in 1519, as before mentioned ; and 
 afterwards, John BusSe the Jesuit, gave an edition of them in idoo, which is far preferable 
 to that edited by Merlin. But the most valuable edition is that of Peter de Goussainville, 
 
 {)rinted at Paris, in 1667, in folio ; to this edition is prefixed the life of Peter de Blois, and very 
 earned remarks on his writings, and the subjects he wrote on, are added, by Goussainville. 
 De Blois* works contain many excellent things, and his hfe is a curious piece. Some of his 
 notions relating to the scriptures are very good, and he writes well against vice. He is a 
 good author for the age he lived in. His letters are well worth reading, especially such of 
 them as relate to his own time. Kmg Henry II. ordered him to make a collection of them 
 for his royal use. 
 
 Diirand de St. Pourjain, bishop of Meaux, in 1326, died the 13th of September, 1333, in 
 the 8pth year of his age. His works are. Liber de Origine jurisdicHonum, a learned piece ; 
 and Commentaries on the Four Books of Sentences, The book called tiie Sentences, was written 
 by the famous Peter Lombard, bishop of Paris, who died in the year 1164, set. 82. In the 
 Sentences, one of the propositions argued on is this : Christus secundum quod est homo, non 
 est aliquod. Some call these Sentences excellent, which is what I cannot think them ; but 
 in Durand's Commentary on them, there are several excellent things. 
 
 As to the Jesuit, Jean Bus6e, who published the third edition of the works of Peter de Blois ; 
 he was the author of many books not worth mentioning, and died at Mayence, 30th of May 
 x6xi, aged 64. 
 
 The learned Goussainville who printed the last edition of De Blois, with notes, died in the 
 year 1683, extremely poor and miserable. He likewise published the works of Pope Gregory 
 with many valuable remarks and notes. There are four editions of this pope's works ; that 
 by Tussiniani, bishop of Venice, -by order of Pope Sixtus the Vth ; the Paris edition of 1640 ; 
 GoussainviUe's edition; and the Benedictine edition; but Goussainville's is, in my opinion, 
 the most valuable. 
 
 The Sermons in the first and second editions of Peter de Blois* works are not bis, but by 
 Peter Comestor. De Blois* sermons are only to be found in Goussainville's edition of this 
 archdeacon's works. Peter Comestor was a regular canon of St. Victor's in Paris, and died 
 in the year 1198, »t. 65. Besides the sermons published by mistake as the work of De Blois, 
 he wrote a large Scholastic History, 'which comprehends the sacred history from Genesis to the 
 end of the Acts. This is reckoned a good thing, and has been abridged by one Himter, an 
 Englishman. 
 
 But as to Councils, we have the following account of the eighteen general ones in the Vati- 
 can library, and are told, that the several inscriptions afSxed to them were made by pope 
 Sixtus V. ; the famous Felix Peretti, who was bom the 13th of December, 1521, and died the 
 27th of August, 1590, in the 69th year of his age. 
 
 The first CouncU, which is that of Nice in 325. St. Sylvester being pope, and Constantino 
 the great emperor, Jesus Christ the Son of God is declared consubstantial with his Father ; 
 the impiety of Arius is condemned ; and the emperor, in obedience to a decree of the council , 
 ordered all the books of the Arians to be burnt. 
 
 The second Council, which is that of Constantinople in 381. The holy Damascus being pope 
 and Theodosius the elder emperor, the divinity of the Holy Ghost is defended against the 
 impious Macedonius, and his false doctrine is anathematized. 
 
 ■flie third Council, which is that of Ephesus in 431, St. Celestin being pope, and Theodosius 
 the younger emperor ; Nestorius, who divided Jesus Christ into two persons, is condemned, 
 and the Holy Virgin is decreed to be the mother of God. 
 
 The fourOi Council, which is that of Chalcedonia in 451. St. Leo being pope, and Marcian 
 emperor, the imhappy Eutychius is anathematized for maintaining that Jesus Christ had 
 but one nature. 
 
 The fifth Council, which is the second of Constantmople in 353. Vigilius being pope, and 
 Justinian emperor, the debates relating to the doctrine of Theodore, bishop of Mopsueste ; 
 Ibas, bishop of Edessa, and Theodoret, bishop of Cyr, are suppressed, and the errors of Origen 
 are separated from the holy doctrme. 
 
 The sixth Council, which is the third of Constantmople in 680. St. Agatho being pope, 
 and Constantine Pagonatus emperor, the heretics -called Monothelltes, who admitted but 
 one will in Jesus Christ, are condemned. 
 
 The seventh Council, which is the second of Nice in 784. Adrian being pope and Con- 
 stantine, the son of Irene, being emperor, the impiety of the image-breakers is condemned, 
 and the worship of the holy images is established in the church. 
 
 The eighth Council, which is the fourth of Constantinople in 689. Adrian II. being pope, 
 and Basil emperor. Ignatius, patriarch of Constantinople, is re-established m his see, and 
 Photius, the usurper, is with ignominy driven away. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 263 
 
 to the Holy Fathers, the Saint cites Heb. ch, i. v, 6, and then 
 addresses himself to the apostle. 
 
 "Oratf Se wAXuf eUray^rfti tov irp<i>T6TOKov els rrjv olKOVU'evTiVt \iyei, xai 
 
 wpoffKvtfrjffdTuffau afrrw jravres "AvyeKoi 9eoO. " When he brlngeth in 
 the first-begotten into the world, he saith. Let all the angels of 
 God worship him." Mv(rTay(i>ye<rov 'EvavyeXKrrcLj elvk iral vvvt t& MaKdpte 
 
 The ninth Council, which is the first of Lateran in 1x22. 
 
 The tenth Council, which is the second of Lateran in ii6g. The canons of these two councils 
 are wanting, and they have no inscription in the Vatican. 
 
 The eleventh Council, which is the third of Uiateran in 1x79. Alexander III. being pope 
 and Frederick I. emperor ; the errors of the Vaudois are condemned. 
 
 The twelfth Council, which is the fourth of Lateran in X2X5. Innocent III. being pope, 
 and Frederick II. emperor ; the false opinions of the abbot Joachim are condemned ; the holy 
 war, for the recovery of Jerusalem, is resolved, and the Croisades are appointed among Chris- 
 tians. 
 
 The thirteenth Council, which is the first of Lyons in 1245. Under the pontificate of Inno- 
 cent IV., the emperor Frederick is declared an enemy to the church, and deprived of the em- 
 pire ; they deliberate on the recovery of the Holy Land ; St. Lewis, King of France, is declared 
 chief of that expedition. The cardinals are honoured with red hats. 
 
 The fourteenth Council, which is the second of Lyons in X274. Gregory X., being sover- 
 eign pontifi, the Greets are reunited to the church of Rome ; St. Bonaventure does signal 
 service to the church in this council ; friar Jerome brings the king of the Tartars to the council 
 and that prince receives, in the most solemn manner, the blessed water of baptism. 
 
 The fifteenth Council, which is that of Vieime in X3X x. Under the pontificate of Clement V., 
 the Decretals, called the Clementines from the name of this pope, are received and published ; 
 the procession of the holy sacrament is instituted throughout Christendom ; and professors 
 of the oriental languages are established in the four most famous universities in Europe, for 
 the profiagation of the Christian faith in the Levant. 
 
 The sixteentii Council, which is that of Florence in X439. The Greeks, the Armenians, 
 and the Ethiopians, are reunited to the ca&olic church, under the pontificate of Eugene IV. 
 The seventeenth Council, which is the fifth of Lateran, began in the year 15x7. They 
 declared war against the Turl^, who had seized the island of Cy;prus, and possessed them- 
 selves of Egypt, on Uie death of the sultan : the emperor Masimilian, and Francis L, king of 
 France, are appointed generals of this war, under tiie popes Julius 11. and Leo X. 
 
 The eighteenth Council, which is that of Trent, the last of the oecumenical or general coun- 
 cils ; held from the year 1545 to the year X563. Paul III. Julius III. and Pius V. reigning 
 at Rome, the Lutherans and other heretics are condenmed, and the ancient d^cipline ckE the 
 church is re-established in her exact and regular practice. 
 
 These, reader, are the eighteen famoiis General Councils ; and if you will tiurn to the third 
 volume of a work, called Noies relating to Men, and Things, and Books^ you will find my obser- 
 vations on them ; my remarks on the popes, the princes, and the famers, assembled ; their 
 unchristian immoralities, and sad acts against the laws of Christ, in order to establ^h for 
 ever, that very senseless, and very wicked rel^on, called Popery ; which is, a composition 
 of sin and error so base and abominable, that we might expect such a thing from the devil ; 
 but it is impossible it could come from heavenly-inspired fathers. In that book you will find 
 many thoughts on the religion delivered to the world by those Coimcils, and by them estab- 
 lished, though it is in reality a disgrace to Christianity ; a dishonour to the religion of nature ; 
 and a faction against the common rights of mankind ; which ought to be the just object of 
 universal contempt and abhorrence ; whether we consider it as a system of idolatry, impiety, 
 and cruelty ; or, as a political scheme, to destroy the liberties, and engross the properties of 
 mankind. Of these ttungs, particularly and largely, in the piece referred to. 
 
 Here I have oidy further to observe, that in the large collections of the Councils, it is not 
 only the eighteen cecumenical the collectors have gathered, but so much of all the councils as 
 they could find, their acts, letters, formularies of faith, and canons, from the first council at 
 Jerusalem, in the year 49, to the last council in the eighteenth century ; which was convoked 
 by the ardibishop of Ambrun against Jean de Soanem, bishop of Senez. These amount to 
 above 1,600 councils. Note, reader, the condemnation and banishment of old John de 
 Soanem, the most learned and excellent prelate in France, of his time, in the eightieth year 
 of his age, by Firebrand Tartuff, archbishop of Ambrun, and his councu, Sept. 21, 1727; was 
 on account of the bishop's adnurable pastoral instruction against the execrable constitution 
 imigenitus, and the antichristian formulary of pope Alexander VII., and because he recom- 
 mended the reading of Pdre Quesnel's very pious and fine Reflections Morales, 
 
 Pasquier Quesnel, a famous Jansenist, and father of the oratory, was bom in 1636, was fbt 
 author of many bools, some of them very good. He was severely persecuted for many years, 
 and died at last in prison, if I mistake not, a sufferer for religion. 
 
264 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ludi/M, &c. — " O blessedjohn the Evangelist, explain this mystery:" 
 Who is the first-begotten, how came he into the world ? JSIysjber- 
 ium hoc aperi, effare etiam nunc, qui voces habes immortales. 
 Resera nobis puteum vitse. Da, ut nunc quoque de salutis 
 fontibus hauriamus. 
 
 This passage of Cyril I have heard several learned Roman 
 Catholic gentlemen call a prayer, and affirm it was a proof of the 
 Father's invocation of saints, in the beginning of the fifth 
 century ; for St. Cyril succeeded his uncle Theophilus in the 
 see of Alexandria, October i6, 412. But to this it may be 
 answered, 
 
 First, That Binius, though a zealous pleader for the cathohc 
 cause, as the monks of Rome miscall it, was of another opinion, 
 for he takes no notice of this passage in his notes, in calce part 3 , 
 Condi. Ephesiani, torn. ii. p. 665, &c. and most certainly, he would 
 not have failed to urge it, if he had considered it as a prayer, and 
 beUeved it did prove the invocation of saints. 
 
 Secondly, neither does Bellarmine, in his treatise de Sanctorum 
 Beatitudine, Henricus Vicus de Sanctorum Invocatione, Gabriel 
 Vasquez deAdoratione, or Gregorius de Valentia de Oratione, make 
 use of this passage of C5ail, though they do, ex professo, and 
 data opera, dihgently quote all the councils and fathers they can, 
 to prove the invocation of saints. 
 
 Thirdly, As rhetorical apostrophes, or prosopopaeias, are usual 
 in all authors, sacred or civil, this may be one in Cynl, and it 
 seems very plain from the passage, that it was intended for no 
 more. It appears to be a rhetorical figure and not a prayer ; such 
 a figure as the Greek fathers were wont very frequently to use in 
 their orations and poems. 
 
 Cyril intending, as appears by the sequel, to answer his own 
 question with a passage in St. John's gospel, makes a long rhetori- 
 cal apostrophe to the apostle, as if he were there present, then 
 adds, Annon dicentem audimus, 'Ovkovv d.Koiontv \iyovTot ? But do 
 we not hear him sajdng ? Or, as Binius has the reading, 'Ovkovh 
 Axoiontv \iyovTos. Let us hear what St. John saith, audiamus 
 itaque dicentem, as if they had heard John giving his answer, and 
 then concludes with the first verse of the first chapter of his 
 gospel, 'Ex 'apxv ^v i A670S, &c. In the beginning was the 
 word, &c. 
 
 It is therefore very plain, that this passage of Cyril is only a 
 part of his homily or sermon, and that in a rhetorical manner, 
 he quotes a text from a gospel written by John about three 
 hundred and thirty years before, in answer to his own question 
 who the word was ? For C3nil to pray to John to tell them what 
 he had told them long before, were senseless and ridiculous ; but 
 to desire the apostle to do it in a rhetorical apostrophe, was 
 allowable. It amounts to no more than the figurative expression 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 265 
 
 in our liturgy. Hear what comfortable words our Saviour saith. 
 Hear what St. Paul saith. 
 
 But if Cyril did in this passage truly pray to St. John, that 
 could be no argument for popish invocation of saints ; for if an 
 hundred fathers in the beginning of the fourth century, had 
 preached up, and practised invocation of saints, yet that could 
 not make it lawful and right, since we are taught by the scriptures 
 to direct our prayers neither to saint nor angel, but to God 
 only, and in the name and mediation of Jesus Christ only. We 
 are not only positively ordered by the apostles to make all our 
 addresses and prayers to God only, and by the mediation 
 and intercession of Jesus Christ, but are told, that God is 
 omniscient, and so able to hear all our prayers : all sufficient 
 and therefore able to supply all our necessities ; and that his 
 mercies in Jesus Christ are infinite. This makes our way sure in 
 this particular. 
 
 On the contrary, the papists have no precept to pray to saints 
 nor any promise that they shaU be heard ; nor any practice of 
 the primitive church for three hundred years after Christ, to 
 encourage them ; and therefore, such popish invocation is a 
 novel, groundless, and impious error. 
 
 We are told by St. Peter, that God had exalted the Lord Jesus 
 Christ to be a Prince and Saviour, that is, an intercessor.* By 
 St. Paul, that Christ is able to save to the uttermost all that come 
 to God by him, seeing he ever Uveth to make intercession for 
 them ; t that he is gone to heaven, for this very end, to appear 
 in the presence of God for us ; % that there is no other mediator 
 betwixt God and men but the man Christ Jesus,§ that is, whose 
 prerogative it is to intercede for sinners to the divine Majesty ; 
 being an honour and dignity God hath exalted him unto, after his 
 sufferings, and as a reward thereof : Thus are we informed by 
 the divine oracles, and yet, notwithstanding this, to make prayers 
 and supplications to the Virgin Mary, and a thousand other saints, 
 for aid or help ; and to have by their merit and intercession, the 
 gifts and graces they pray for conferred upon them : this is a 
 doctrine of such dangerous consequence, as it is a depriving of 
 Christ Jesus of that grand dignity and prerogative he is now in 
 heaven exalted to, as much as in men Ues, that I should have 
 wondered how it ever came to be embraced by such as profess 
 Christianity ; had not the spirit of God foretold || that some should 
 depart from the fedth, giving heed to seducing spirits, that is, 
 seducing men, and doctrines of devils, that is to say, doctrines 
 concerning demons, or souls of famous men departed this fife ; 
 which the heathens called demons ; and to whom they gave the 
 worship of prayer or invocation, as intercessors or inferior divini- 
 
 • AcU, ch. V. V. 31. t Hebrews, ch. vii. v. 25. % lb. ch. ix. v. 24. § i Tim. ch. ii. 
 V. S' II lb. ch. iv. V. 4. 
 
266 , THE LIFE OF 
 
 ties. This prophecy hinders my wondering at the thing ; but 
 then I must call such modern invocation, gentilism Christianized, 
 a deplorable corruption. 
 
 Ponder then, ye Catholics, in time, and think not to excuse 
 yourselves by arguing from the command Christians have here 
 on earth to require each others prayers to God for them : for. 
 We have no command to supplicate any in heaven but only God.* 
 We have no reasonable assurance that the saints in heaven do 
 hear our prayers, and" of consequence have not the same reasons 
 to request the prayers to God for us that we have to request the 
 prayers of saints on earth : nor is this all : our prayers to each 
 other in this Ufe are only Christian requests to recommend our 
 conditions to God : of&ces only of kindness : no acts of religious 
 worship. 
 
 When St. Paul was on earth, had any one on bended knees, with 
 hands and eyes lifted up to heaven, in time of public prayer, and 
 amidst the solemn prayers to God, beseeched him for aid and 
 help, and for the conference of gifts and graces, he would have 
 rent his clothes, and said. Why do you these things ? and can 
 we suppose, that now in heaven, the apostle is less careful to 
 preserve entire God's prerogative. 
 
 Besides, there is a great deal of difference betwixt St. Paul's 
 saying, Brethren, pray for us, or our requesting the prayers of 
 the faithful here on earth for us, and praying to saints in heaven, 
 as practised in the Roman church. Our's are only wishes and 
 requests ; their's, solemn prayers on bended knees, made in the 
 places and proper seasons of divine worship, and joined with the 
 prayers they make to God. They use the same postures and 
 expressions of devotions they use to God himself. They pray 
 to them for help and aid, and make them joint-petitioners with 
 Christ ; relying on their merits as the merits of Christ. 
 
 In sum, in the tabernacle of this world, we are to request the 
 prayers of every good Christian for us ; but in the tabernacle 
 of heaven, we are to call on none but him in whom we beUeve. As 
 in the outward court of the Jewish tabernacle, every priest was per- 
 mitted to officiate.to receive and present the devotions of the people 
 to the divine majesty ; but in the holyplace, within the veil, none 
 but the high-priest was to do any ofl&ce or service : even so in the 
 tabernacle of this world, every Christian being a priest to God, 
 has this honour conferred upon him ; but in the holy of holies, 
 in heaven, none but Christ, our high-priest, is to oflSciate. He 
 only is there to appear in the presence of God for us. It is his 
 prerogative alone to receive our prayers, and present them to the 
 divine majesty. As none but the high-priest was to offer incense 
 in the holy of holies, so none in heaven but Christ our high-priest 
 is to offer our prayers to God his father. He alone is that angel 
 
 • Matt. ch. vi. v. 8. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 267 
 
 to whom much incense was given, that he should ofier it with 
 the prayers of all saints, upon the golden altar that was before 
 the throne.* Which alludes to the altar that was before the 
 mercy seat, on which the high-priest only was to offer incense. 
 
 But the catholic may say perhaps, that as on earth, men 
 do not presently run to kings to present their requests, but obtain 
 his favours by the mediation of courtiers and favourites ; even 
 so, it is fitting we have recourse to saints, who are favourites in 
 heaven, that we may obtain access to God, and have our suits 
 accepted of him. Thus have I heard some learned men of the 
 church of Rome argue. They should consider, however, in the 
 first place, that if an earthly prince had declared he would have 
 nosohcitor but his son, and that all favours and royal graces 
 should come to his subjects through his hands, and by means of 
 his mediation ; such subjects could deserve no favour, if they 
 make their application to other favourites, contrary to their 
 prince's command. In the next place, if the solicitor, the son, 
 was out of the question, -and no such one had been declared by 
 the king, yet as we petition earthly princes by such as enjoy their 
 presence, because they cannot give audience to all their subjects, 
 nor do they know the worthy ; but God is omnipresent, his ears 
 always open, and his head bowed down to the prayers of his people ; 
 is no respecter of persons, but gives a like access to the beggar 
 as to the prince, and promises to cast out none that make their 
 appUcation to him ; it follows of consequence, that we ought to 
 address ourselves immediately to God, and ask from him. If an 
 earthly prince should thus invite his subjects to petition him for 
 the supply of their wants, I should account the man no better 
 than a fool or a madman, who would apply himself to any of the 
 king's favourites. 
 
 The conclusion is ; O thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall 
 all flesh come, f Since God, who is infinite in mercy, omnipresent, 
 and omnipotent in wisdom and action, admits every man to the 
 throne of grace, bids him ask in the name of Jesus Christ, and 
 promises, whatever we ask in his Son's name, he will do it. Since 
 the practice of prajdng to saints is injurious to Christ, and doth 
 manifestly rob him of his royal prerogative, which is to be the 
 one, and only mediator betwixt God and man ; for in this o£&ce, 
 he hath no sharers or partners, according to the scripture account : 
 As God is but one, and there is no other ; so the mediator (by 
 the appointment of God) is but one, and there is, there can be 
 no other. J And since, exclusive of these unalterable things, the 
 Roman doctors cannot be certain, that saints in heaven hear the 
 
 • Revtl. ch. viii. v. 3. t Psalm Ixv. v. a. 
 
 t Quid tain propiium Christi quam aavocatum apud deum patrem adstare populorumi 
 Ai^rose in PscU. 39. Pro quo nullus intorpellat sed ipse pro omnibus, hie unus verusquo 
 mediator est. Au%. Ctml. Parmen. lib. ii. c. 8. 
 
268 THE LIFE OF 
 
 requests of suppliants on earth, or know whether our prayers are 
 fit to be accepted of God ; * let us reject that unlawful practice 
 the invocation of saints, and pray for pardon and grace, as the 
 gospel directs, to God the judge of all, through Jesus Christ the 
 mediator of the new covenant. This do, and thou shalt Uve. 
 
 N.B. Who was the author of these good remarks, these friars 
 could not teU me : as they were in the book when they bought 
 it. If I mistake not, they are an abstract from a letter of Bishop 
 Barlow to Evelyn, with several additions. I have not Bishop 
 Barlow's works by me : but I think I have seen something to 
 this purpose, written by this prelate about one hundred years 
 ago. 
 
 " Say why was man so eminently rais'd 
 
 Amid the vast creation : why ordain'd 
 
 Through life and death to dart his piercing eye. 
 
 With thoughts beyond the limits of his frame ; 
 
 But that th' omnipotent might send him forth 
 
 In sight of mortal and immortal powers. 
 
 As on a boundless theatre to run 
 
 The great career of justice j to exalt 
 
 His gen'rous aim to all diviner deeds ; 
 
 To shake each partial purpose from his breast ; 
 
 And thro' the mists of passion and of sense. 
 
 And thro' the tossing tide of chance and pain. 
 
 To hold his course unfault'ring, while the voice 
 
 Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent 
 
 Of nature, calls him to his high reward, 
 
 Th' applauding smile of heav'n ? Else wherefore burns 
 
 In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope. 
 
 That breathes from day to day sublimer things. 
 
 And mocks possession ? Wherefore darts the mind 
 
 With such resistless ardor to embrace 
 
 Majestic forms ; impatient to be free. 
 
 Spurning the gross controul of wilful might ; 
 
 Proud of the strong contention of her toils ; 
 
 Proud to be daring ? " 
 
 The eighth of April, 1729, I bade the Ivonites adieu, and by 
 their directions, walked up a very steep and stony mountain, 
 which took me two hours, and then arrived at what I had often 
 seen before in this part of the world, a great lake, the water of 
 
 • The Roman doctors say, the saints know the transactions that are done here below, by 
 revelation or intuition. To this I answer, i£ it is by revelation, that they know our requests 
 and prayers to them, then it must be either from God or from angels ; of which there is not 
 the least assurance or certainty to he any where found ; but if we could be sure of it, then, 
 in my opinion, we ought to pray to God or angels to make known our prayers to saints ; 
 which would be strange reUgion. If it be by intuition, as the greatest part of the doctors 
 say, and that the saints see the requests in the divine essence, as men see things in a corporeal 
 glass : then, (exclusive of answering that the scriptures say no such thing) the saints must see 
 all things in the divine essence, or only such things as God is pleased to permit them to see : 
 if all things, they would be omniscient : if only the things permitted to be seen, how is it pos- 
 sible for us to know^whether God is pleased to permit them to see therein our prayers, or to 
 know the requests we make to them, unless he had told us so. Let it be revelation or intui- 
 tion, it is sad stuff. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 269 
 
 which was black as ink to look at as it stood, though very bright 
 in a cup, and must be owing, as I suppose, to its descending to the 
 abyss : by the side of this water, under the shade of oak-trees 
 many hundred years old, we rode for an hour, on even ground, 
 and then came to a descent so very dangerous and dark, through 
 a wood on the mountain's side, that we could hardly creep down 
 it on our feet, nor our horses keep their legs as we led them to the 
 bottom. This declivity was more than a mile, and ended in a 
 narrow lane between a range of precipices that almost met at 
 top. This pass was knee-deep in water, from a spring in the 
 bottom of the mountain we had come down, which ran through 
 it, and so very stony, that it took us three hours to walk the 
 horses to the end of it, though it was not more than two miles : 
 but at last we came to a fine plain, over which we rode for an 
 hour and a half, and arrived at a wood, which seemed very large 
 and stood between two very high and unpassable hills. In this 
 forest was our way, and the road so dark, and obstructed by the 
 branches of trees, that it was dismal and uneasy to go. On 
 however we went for a long time, and about the middle of it came 
 to a circular opening of about four acres, in which four very narrow 
 roads met ; that we had travelled, another before us, and one on 
 each hand. The way straight on we were cautioned by my 
 friends not to go, as it was a terrible ride ; but whether to turn 
 to the right or left, we had forgot. I thought to the right ; but 
 my lad was positive, he remembered the direction was to take 
 the left-hand road. This caused a stop for some time, and as 
 I was a httle fatigued, I thought it best while we paused to dine. 
 O'FiNN brought immediately some meat, bread, and a bottle of 
 cyder, from his valise, and under a great oak I sat down, while 
 our horses fed on the green. One hour we rested, and then went 
 on again, to the left, as O'Finn advised. For several hours we 
 rode, or rather our horses walked, till we got out of the wood, and 
 then arrived at the bottom of a steep mountain ; one side of 
 which is in the northern extremity of Westmoreland, and the 
 other in the north end of Stanemore-Richmondshire. This vast 
 hill we ascended, and came down the other side of the fell into a 
 plain, which extends south-east for near half a mile to the river 
 Teese, that divides the north end of Stanemore from Bishoprick, 
 or the country of Durham. Yorkshire here ends in an obtuse 
 angle, between two mountains, and the angle, for a quarter of a 
 mile, is filled with that beautiful tall ever-green tree, the broad 
 leaved alatemus, intermixed here and there in a charming manner, 
 with the fir tree, the Norway spruce, and the balm of Gilead. It 
 is as fine a grove as can in any part of the world be seen. 
 
 Just at the entrance of it, by the side of a plentiful spring, which 
 runs into the Teese, there stood the prettiest little house I had 
 ever beheld, and over it crept the pretty rock-rose, the cassine. 
 
270 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the sea-green coromilla, and other ever-green shrubs. Before 
 the house, was a large garden, seven or eight acres of land, under 
 fruit-trees, and vegetables of every kind ; very beautifully laid out, 
 and watered in a charming manner by the stream that murmured 
 a thousand ways from the spring by the house-door. I have not 
 seen a sweeter thing. It appeared so beautiful and useful, so 
 stUl and delightful a place, so judiciously cultivated, and happily 
 disposed, that I could not help wishing to be acquainted with the 
 owner of such a lodge. 
 
 As there was no other fence to this fine spot of ground but a 
 ditch hke a ha to keep cattle out, I leaped into the gardens, and 
 roamed about for some time, to look at the curious things. I 
 then went up to the house, in hopes of seeing a human creature 
 either high or low. I knocked at the door, but no one could I 
 find, though the mansion did not look hke an uninhabited place. 
 I then sauntered into the grove behind, and in a winding way 
 of three hundred yards, that had been cut through the perennial 
 wood, and was made between banks of springing flowers, beautiful 
 exotics, and various aromatic shrubs, crept on till I arrived at a 
 sleeping parlour, which stood in the middle of a circular acre of 
 ground, and was surrounded and .shaded with a beautiful grove ; 
 the larix, the Phoenician cedar, and the upright savin. There 
 was a Uttle faUing water near the door, that was pleasing to look 
 at, and charmed the ear. Entering this room, I found the walls 
 painted by some masterly hand, in baskets of flowers, and the 
 finest rural scenes. Two handsome couches were on either side 
 the chamber, and between these hts-de-repos was as curious a 
 table for wood and workmanship as could be seen. Pretty stools 
 stood near it, and a one-arm clMiir. It was a sweet silent place, 
 and in every respect, far beyond the sleeping parlour in the 
 gardens at Stow.* 
 
 On one of the couches, as it was then evening, and I knew not 
 what to do, I threw myself down, and very soon feU fast asleep. 
 I lay the whole night without waking, and as soon as I could 
 perceive any day, went to see what was become of O'Finn and the 
 horses. The beasts I found feeding on very good grass in the 
 green ; and my lad still snoring under a great tree : but he was 
 soon on his legs, and gave me the following account. 
 
 About an hour after my departure from him, he saw a poor 
 man pass over the plain, who had come down the mountain we 
 descended, and was going to cross the Teese in a small skifi of his 
 own, in order to go to his cottage on the other side in Bishoprick : 
 that he lived by fishing and fowhng, and sold what he got by 
 land and water to the quality and gentlefolk, twenty miles round 
 him. And on asking who lived in the house before us, on the 
 
 • Lord Cobham'5,5»ow Earl Temple's seat in Buckinghamshire, fifty-nine miles from London. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 271 
 
 skirts of the grove, he said, it belonged to a young lady of great 
 fortune, Miss Antonia Cranmer, whose father died in the house 
 I saw, and had been dead about a year ; that she was the greatest 
 beauty in the world, and only nineteen, and for one so young, 
 wise to an astonishing degree ; that she Uved mostly at this seat, 
 with her cousin, Agnes Vane, who was almost as handsome as 
 she : that Miss Cranmer had to reUsh for the word, being used 
 to still life, and seldom stirred from home but to visit an old lady, 
 her aunt, who lived in Cumberland : that she was at present 
 there, about twenty miles off, and would soon return : that she 
 kept four young gentlewomen, who had no fortunes, to attend 
 her and Miss Vane ; two old men servants, a gardener, and a 
 cook ; and two boys ; that whenever she went from her house, 
 she took her whole family with her, and left every place locked 
 up as I saw. O'Finn's account surprised me. It set me athinking 
 if it was possible to get this charming girl. I paused with my 
 finger in my mouth for a few minutes, and then bid him saddle the 
 horses. 
 
 As soon as it was possible, I went over the river to the fisher- 
 man's house, determining to wait there, till I could see the 
 beautiful Antonia, and her fair kinswoman, another Agnes de 
 Castro, to be sure. My curiosity could not pass two such glorious 
 objects without any acquaintance with them. 
 
 The poor fisherman gave me a bed very readily for money, 
 as he had one to spare for a traveller, and he provided for me 
 every thing I could desire. He brought bread and ale from a 
 village a few miles distant, and I had plenty of fish and wild- 
 fowl for my table. Every afternoon I crossed the water, went to 
 the sleeping parlour, and there waited for the charming Antonia. 
 Twenty days I went backwards and forwards, but the beauties 
 in that time did not return. Still however I resolved to wait, 
 and, to amuse myself till they came, went a littie way off to see an 
 extraordinary man. 
 
 While I resided in this cottage, Christopher informed me, 
 that about three miles from his habitation, there Uved, in a wild 
 and beautiful glen, a gentleman well worth my knowing, not only 
 on account of his pretty lodge, and lone manner of spending his 
 time, but as he was a very extraordinary man. This was enough 
 to excite my curiosity, and on the first of May, as soon as it was 
 Ught, I went to look for this solitary. I found him in a vale, 
 romantically situated, indeed, amongst vast rocks, ill-shaped s^nd 
 rude, and surrounded with trees, as venerable as the forest of 
 Fontainbleau. His littie house stood on the margin of a fountain, 
 and was encompassed with copses of different trees and greens. 
 The pine, the oak, the ash, the chestnut tree, cypresses, and the 
 acassia, diversified the ground, and the negligent rural air of the 
 whole spot, had charms that could always please. Variety and 
 
272 THE LIFE OF 
 
 agreeableness were everywhere to be seen. Here was an arbour 
 of shrubs, with odoriferous flowers ; and there, a copse of trees 
 was crowned with the enamel of a meadow. There was a collection 
 of the most beautiful vegetables in one part ; and in another, 
 an assembly of ever-greens, to form a perpetual spring. Pan 
 had an altar of green turf, under the shade of elms and Umes : 
 and a water-nymph stood by the spring of a murmuring stream. 
 The whole was a fine imitation of nature ; simple and rural to 
 a charming degree. 
 
 Here hved Dorick Watson, an English gentleman, who had 
 been bred a cathoUc in France, and there married a sister of the 
 famous Abbe le Blanc. But on returning to his own country, 
 being incUned by good sense and curiosity, to see what the 
 Protestants had to say in defence of their reformation, he read 
 the best books he could get on the subject, and soon perceived 
 that Luther, Melancthon, Calvin Zwinghus, Bucer, and other 
 ministers of Christ, had said more against the Romish rehgion 
 than the pretended catholics had been able to give a solid answer 
 to. He saw, that barbarity, policy, and sophistry, were the main 
 props of popery ; and that, in doctrine and practice, it was one 
 of the greatest visible enemies that Christ has in the world. He 
 found that even Bellarmine's notes of his church were so far 
 from being a clear and necessary proof that the church of Rome 
 is the body of Christ, or true church, that they proved it to be the 
 Great Babylon, or that great enemy of God's church, which the 
 apostles describe. 
 
 He saw in the first place, that there has not been, since the 
 writing of the New Testament, any empire, but that of the church 
 of Rome, so universal for one thousand two hundred and sixty 
 years together, as to have all that dwell upon earth, peoples, and 
 multitudes, and nations, and tongues, to worship it; which is 
 St. John's description of the new power that prevailed on the 
 inhabitants of the earth to receive his idolatrous constitutions, 
 and yield obedience to his tyrannical authority. And aU that 
 dwell on the earth shall worship him,* except those who are 
 enrolled in the registers, as heirs of eternal life, according to the 
 promises of the mediator of acceptance and blessing. The waters, 
 which thou sawest, where the whore sitteth, are peoples, and 
 multitudes, and nations, and tongues, t Bellarmine's UniversaUty 
 is then directed against him. 
 
 The Cardinal's second note, continued Dorick, is antiquity, 
 and his third, a perpetual and uninterrupted duration. But on 
 examination, I could find no ruling power, except Rome papal, 
 so ancient, as to have the blood of prophets, and saints, and of 
 all that were slain upon earth, of that kind for that space of time, 
 to be found in it.| And what rule but papal Rome had ever 
 
 * Revel, ch, xiii. v. 8. t m^' ''^- <vii. v. 13. t Revel, cb. xviii. v. 2^. 
 
JOHN BUNCLB, ESQ. 273 
 
 so long a duration upon seven hills, so as to answer the whole length 
 of the time of the Saracen and Turkish empires. 
 
 The Cardinal's fourth note is amplitude, and it is most certain, 
 that never had any other church such a multitude and variety of 
 behevers, as to have all nations drink of the wine of her fornication 
 and to gain, a blasphemous power over all kindreds, and tongues, 
 and nations. 
 
 The fifth note is the succession of its bishops ; and the sixth, 
 Agreement with the doctrine of the ancient church. Now it is 
 most true, that none but Rome was ever so eminently conspicuous 
 for so long a time for the succession of its bishops under one 
 supreme patriarch, as to be the Uving image of all the civil 
 dignities of the empire, where it was under one supreme church- 
 head exercising all the power of the civil head : nor did ever any 
 enemy of God's church act for so long a time like the red dragon 
 in its bloody laws against the followers of the lamb : and yet so 
 far agree with the primitive church in fundamental doctrines 
 as to answer the character of a false prophet with the horns of, 
 the lamb, that is, Christ, but speaking like the red dragon to his 
 followers, els the church of Rome has done.* 
 
 * Reader, it is well worth your while to turn to the first volume oJE that admirable work, 
 the Salier's-HaU Sermons agavnst Popery, and there see how the Cardinal's notes of his church 
 are considered by that learned and excellent man, Dr. Samuel Chandler. His consideration 
 of the sixth note more immediately concerns me here, and therefore I give you an abstract 
 of it. 
 
 The writings of the apostles are allowed even by our adversaries to be the oldest records 
 of Christianity, and therefore to this ancient and infallible rule we ought to appeal, to deter- 
 mine the controversy between us and the papists, that is, to see how far this antiquity favours 
 their doctrine and practices, or is in agreement with ours. 
 
 1. The protestants renoimce the Pope, and acknowledge one lawgiver, the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, for these reasons, That the Pope is not mentioned in the New Testament ; that Christ 
 says, one is your master, even Christ ; and St. Paul says, there is but one Lord, and one Faith : 
 the whole family in heaven and eartti is named of the Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
 2. Protestants do not pay any worship at all to saints and angels, but as St. Paul directs , 
 consider Jesus Christ as their sole mediator and advocate ; for there is but one God, and one 
 mediator between God and man, the man Jesus Christ. They say, such veneration and 
 prayer to saints and angels is superstition and will-worship, and only worship God with all 
 their hearts and souls, with the most raised affections, and the highest degrees of love and 
 fear, faith and confidence ; for it is written. Thou shalt worship the Locd God, and him only 
 Shalt thou serve. And the angel in the Revelation said to John, who fell down at bis feet 
 to worship him, See thou do it not, for I am thy fellow-servant. 
 
 ^. We affirm, that in the sacrament of the iJord's Supper, after consecration, there is no- 
 tlung existent but bread and wine ; for St. Paul says, ' Whosoever shall eat this bread and 
 drink this cup,' and ' as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup.' 
 
 4. We affirm ttie eucharist is omy a memorial of Christ's death . for Christ says, do this in 
 remembrance of me ; and St. Paul assures the Corinthians from Christ himself ; Cor. ch. xi. 
 v. 34, that they were to receive the elements with this view only : and in his epistle to the 
 Hebrews he teUs us, that by one offering Christ hath for ever perfected those who are sanc- 
 tified ; and that because there is remission of sins under the new covenant, there is no more 
 offering for sin ; which proves, the eucharist is not a propitiatory sacrifice. 
 
 j. We renounce the doctrine of purgatory, and affirm that the future state is no state of 
 probation ; for at death, the dust shall return to the eartii as it was, and the spirit shall return 
 to God who gave it. And St. Paul declares, that at the judgment seat of Christ every one 
 shall receive the things done in the body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good 
 or bad. 
 
 6. Protestants affirm, that the worship of God ought to be performed in a language which 
 all men iinderstand ; and that they have a right to search the scriptures. For, if I speak, 
 with tongues, says the apostle, in such a language as those I speak to cannot understand , 
 what sh£dl I profit you ? Let all things be done to edifying. And Christ bids us search the 
 
»74 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The seventh note of Bellarmine's holy Roman catholic church, 
 is the Union of the members among themselves, and with the head. 
 And sure it is, that no where else but in Rome papal, has there 
 been such union of head and members for that length of time, 
 as to apply the one mind of the ten kings for their agreement 
 together, to give their power, and strength, and their whole 
 kingdoms to the beast. 
 
 The eighth note produced by Cardinal Bellarmine is Sanctity, 
 and Watson saw it fairly proved by the protestant writers, that 
 no church but Rome did ever appear so long together with such 
 a medley of sanctity, in some doctrines, and outward appearances 
 of a strict hoUness of life, joined with the most abominable 
 doctrines, and practices, to quahfy it for the horns of the lamb, 
 and the speech of the dragon for the idolatrous and cruel com- 
 mands of the image ; or, for having the form of godUness in the 
 atter times, and yet denying the power thereof. 
 
 In short, Dorick not only found, on a careful enquiry, that 
 the system of the church of Rome was error and turpitude, abomin- 
 ation, gain, and cruelty, and her great design the very reverse 
 of the gospel revelation, which came down from heaven to pre- 
 pare men, by the practice of universal hoUness and virtue, for 
 eternal hfe ; but likewise, that even her Cardinal's notes 
 prove, this church cannot be, in any sense, the true church 
 of Christ ; and BeUarmine was perfectly infatuated to make 
 choice of such things for the marks of his church, as make it the 
 very picture of Babylon the Great. He resolved then to come 
 out of Rome. He determined to forsake a church, which had 
 altered the institutions of Christ, and is therefore guilty of heresy 
 as well as schism. 
 
 This change in religion gave Dorick the highest satisfaction, 
 
 scriptvires. And how could the word of Christ dwell richly in us in all wisdom, teaching and 
 admonishing one another in psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, ii we had not the word of 
 Christ, and the scriptures of truth to read and consult for ourselves. 
 
 These are the protestant doctrines, and we see they were taught hy_ Christ and by his 
 apostles. We have the sanction of the most venerable antiquity on our side, and this note of 
 the true church of Christ belongeth to us in the highest perfection. 
 
 When the papists then scornfully say. Where was your church before Luther and Calvin ? 
 The answer is obvious : the doctrine of our church was in the writings of the inspired apostles, 
 where the church of Rome is never to be found ; the same that was taught by Christ himself, 
 whom they have forsaken, and whose faith they have corrupted. As to our predecessors 
 and professors, they were the persecuted disciples of the crucified Jesus, those martyrs and 
 confessors, whose blood the church of Rome had cruelly spilt. This is the genuine antiquity 
 the protestants have to boast of. Their doctrines are the word of Christ, and their fathers 
 were put to death by papists for the testimony of Jesus. 
 
 But the papists on the contrary, exclusive of the example of the devil, who was a murderer 
 from the beginning, and Antiochus Bpiphanus, Nero, Domitian, and other monsters of man- 
 Isind, who went before them in the measures of persecution, cruelty, and blood } and excepting 
 the idolatrous nations of the earth, and the false prophets and deceivers among the Jews, by 
 whose authority and example they may vindicate their own idolatries, they have no genuine 
 antiquity to plead. Many of then: doctrines were uiUmown to, oi abhorred by the primitive 
 Church, and are mere novelties and innovations, that were originally introduced by super- 
 stition and then maintained by cruelty and blood. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 275 
 
 as he told me, and it was doubled by his being able to convert his 
 beloved Adelaide from popery to the church of Christ. But 
 this joy had soon after some mitigation, by losing one of the most 
 agreeable women in the world. Death robbed him of his heart's 
 fond idol, and- by that stroke he was so wounded, that he could 
 not heal himself for a long time. He became the real mourner. 
 He kept the reasons of his anguish continually before him, and 
 was more intent upon spending his spirits, than his sorrows. He 
 grew fond of soUtude and silence, that he might indulge his passion, 
 and provoke the emotion of that grief that was ready to devour 
 him. In short, he retreated to the silent place I found him in, 
 which was a part of his own estate, and turned hermit. He built 
 the Uttle villa I saw by the water-side, and formed the ground 
 into the natural garden I beheld. Le Blanc mentions it in his 
 letters, as an extraordinary thing, and very justly prefers it to 
 the laboured and expensive Gardens at Chiswick, the work of 
 the late Lord Burlington. Here Watson laid in every thing 
 he had a mind for, and filled his closet with books. He amused 
 and kept himself healthy by working in his garden, and when he 
 had done abroad, went in to read. His principal study was the 
 contemplation of the best learning, which is the true Christian 
 and from that he went to know what the Greeks and Romans 
 have resolved and taught. In some things I found he was^a 
 learned agreeable man, and wondered greatly at his whim in 
 turning hermit. I said a great deal against it, as we sat over a 
 bottle of claret ; told him he might employ his time and talents 
 more usefully in the world by mixing and conversing with his 
 fellow-creatures, and by a mutual participation and conveyance 
 of the common blessings of nature and providence ; and as he 
 was not yet forty, advised him to go over the Teese, and make 
 his addresses to Miss Cranmer or Miss Vane, both of them being 
 most glorious girls, as I was told, and capable of adding greatly 
 to the delights of philosophy. You have not seen two finer 
 creatures, soul and body, than they are, if I have been rightly 
 informed ; and I think, it would be a nobler and more reHgious 
 act to get one of them with child, in the state of holy wedlock, 
 than to write the best book that was ever printed. For my own 
 part, I had rather marry, and double-rib one of these dear 
 creatures, than die with the character of a father of the deserts. 
 But in vain did I remonstrate to this anchoret. Contemplation 
 was become his Venus, from the hour he lost his Adelaide 
 and he had lived so very happy in his lone state for seven years 
 past, that he could not think of hazarding fehcity by a change 
 of life. He had all he desired. If at any time, any thing was 
 wanting, Christopher the fisherman, who came to see him once 
 or twice a week, very quickly got him whatever he required. 
 This was Watson's answer to my advice, and seeing it was to 
 
276 THE LIFE OF 
 
 no purpose to say any more, I wished my hermit health, and bid 
 him adieu. 
 
 Having previously mentioned the famous Abb6 Le Blanc, 
 I think I ought to say something of him in this place, by adding 
 a few remarks in relation to this extraordinary man. He was in 
 England in the year 1735, and wrote two volumes of Letters in 
 octavo, which were translated into English, and printed for Brind- 
 ley in 1747. In this account of England, the French monk pre- 
 tends to describe the natural and political constitution of our 
 country, and the temper and manners of the nation ; but it is 
 evident from his epistles that he knew nothing at all of any of 
 them. 
 
 Voltaire, however, that wonderful compound of a man, half- 
 infidel, half -papist, who seems to have had no regard for Chris- 
 tianity, and yet compliments popery, at the expense of his under- 
 standing,* who wrote the history of England with a partiaUty and 
 malevolence almost as great as Smollett, and pretended to describe 
 the Britannic constitution, though it is plain from what he says, 
 that he had not one true idea of the primary institutions of it, but 
 taking this nation to be just such another kingdom of slaves as his 
 own country, railed at the Revolution, and like all the Jacobite 
 dunces, prated against the placing the Prince of Orange on the 
 throne, and the estabhshment of the succession in the present 
 protestant heirs ; though it is most certain, that these things 
 were the most natural fruit and efEect of our incom- 
 parable constitution, and are de jure. In short, that 
 Zolius and plagiary, that carping superficial critic, as a 
 good judge calls him ; who abuses the EngUsh nation in his 
 letters, and denies Shakespeare (who furnishes out more elegant, 
 pleasing, and interesting entertainment, in his plays, than all the 
 other dramatic writers, ancient and modern, have been able to do 
 and, without observing any one unity but that of character 
 for ever diverts and instructs, by the variety of his incidents, the 
 propriety of his sentiments, the luxuriancy of his fancy and the 
 purity and strength of his dialogue) almost every dramatic excel- 
 
 • Voltaire's words are : — And notwithstanding all the troubles and infamy which the 
 church of Rome has had to encounter, she has always preserved a greater decency and gravity 
 in her worship than any of the other churches ; and has given proofs, that when in a state 
 of freedom, and under due regulations, she was formed to give lessons to all others. Is not 
 this facing the world, and contradicting truth with a bold front ? ' Decency and gravity in 
 the church of Rome ! The licentious whore. And formed to give lessons ! Lessons, 
 Voltaire ! Is not her wisdom, in everjr article of it, earthly, sensual, devilish ; and her zeal, 
 that bitter, fierce, and cruel thing, which for ever produces confusion and every evil work ? 
 With a just abhorrence, and a manly indignation, we must look upon this mystery of iniquity, 
 and never let that horror decay, which is necessary to guard us against the gross corruptions 
 of the Roman church ; the idolatry of her worship, the absurdity and impiety of her doctrines 
 the tyranny and cruelty of her principles and practices. These are her lessons, Voltaire ; 
 and you ought to ask the world pardon for daring to recommend a church, whose schemes 
 and pieties bid defiance to reason, and are inconsistent with the whole tenor of revelation. 
 This is the more incumbent on you, as you say you are a philosopher, and let us know in 
 more places than one in your writings, that by that word, you mean a man who believes 
 nothing at all of any revelation. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 277 
 
 lence ; though in his Mahomet, he pilfers from Macbeth almost 
 every capital scene : Voltaire, I say, speaking of this Abb6 Le 
 Blanc, wishes he had travelled through all the world, and wrote on 
 all nations, for it becomes only a wise man to travel and write. 
 Had I always such cordials, I would not complain any more of my 
 ills. I support life, when I suffer. I enjoy it when I read you. 
 This is Voltaire's account of the Abb6. How true and just it is, 
 we shall see in a few observations on what this reverend man says 
 of our religion and clergy. 
 
 The substance of what this French monk reports, vol. ii. from 
 64 to p. 75 in his letter to the President Bouhier,* is this : 
 
 1. That Cranmer, and the other doctors, who introduced the 
 reformation into England, were downright enthusiasts, and com- 
 passed their designs by being seconded by those, who were 
 animated by a spirit of irreligion, and by a greedy desire of seizing 
 the possessions of the monks. 
 
 It was the desire of a change estabUshed the reformation. The 
 new doctors seduced the people, and the people having mistaken 
 darkness for Hght, quitted the road of truth, to walk in the ways 
 of error. 
 
 2. As to morals, that this boasted reformation produced no 
 change in that respect : for the people are not purer than they 
 were in former times, and the ecclesiastics are despised and hated 
 for the badness of their hves. The bishops sacrifice everything to 
 their ambition ; and the clergy of the second rank have no respect 
 for their office. They spend the whole day in pubUc places in 
 smoking and drinking, and are remarkable for drunkenness, so 
 dishonourable to ecclesiastics. Their talk is the most dissolute, 
 and the vice that degrades these professors, sets a bad example 
 to sober people, and makes them the jest of Ubertines. 
 
 ■Reader — Bouhier, president of the French academy, to whom Le Blanc inscribes his 
 fiity-eight letter, died in 1746. He was a scholar. L'Abb6 de Olivet, spealis of him in the 
 foUowing manner : " Je me suis pr6t6 k ce nouveau travail, et d'autant plus volontiers, que 
 M. le President Bouhier a bien voulu le partager avec moi. On sera, sans doute, charm£ 
 de voir Cic6ron entre les mains d'un traducteur aussi digne de lui, que Cicfoon lui-mbne 
 6toit digne d* avoir pour traducteur im savant du premier ordre." Tusc. Disp. torn. i. p. t3 . 
 And again : " Le-feu M. President Bouhier, le Varron de notre siecle, et I'homme le plus 
 capable de bien rendre les vraies beautte d'un orginal Grec ou Latin, avoit tellement retouch^ 
 ses deux Tusculanes, qu'on aura peine k les reconnoitre dans cette nouvelle Edition." Tusc. 
 Disp. tome ii. p. i. 
 
 Ihis is olivet's account of Bouhier ; and 1 have heard some gentlemen who knew him say, 
 that he was a very fine genius ; but, they added, a popish bigot to the last degree, and 
 therefore, Le Blanc chose him as the fittest person of his acquaintance, to write an epistle 
 to, that abused the reformation, and the Enghsh divines. Great is the prejudice of educa- 
 tion I When so bright a mind as Bouhier's cannot see the deformity of Popery, and the beauty 
 of the reformation ; but, on the contrary, with pleasure reads the despicable defamation 
 in Le Blanc's letter. 
 
 N.B. The two Tusculans, so finely translated by Bouhier, are the third, ie Xgrftudine 
 Lenienda ; and the fifth, Virtutem ad Beate Vivmdum se(psa esse Conieniam. De la Vertu ; 
 Qu'elle sufii pour Vivre Heureux. See likewise M. Bouhier's curious and useful remarks 
 on the three books, De Natura Deorum : the five Tusculans : Scipio's Dream : and on the 
 CatiHnafres, or three Orations againsi Catiline. These remarks are the third volume of Olivet' s 
 fine edition of Cicero. 
 
2/8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 3. The only remarkable change produced by the reformation 
 was the marriage of priests, and, exclusive of this being against 
 the decisions of the Catholic church, it is contrary to sound policy 
 and experience. The marriage of priests diminishes the respect 
 we should have for them. The misconduct of a woman makes the 
 clergyman fall into contempt. The lewdness of the daughter 
 makes the priest, her father, the object of the most indecent jests ; 
 and for the most part, the daughters of the clergy turn whores 
 after the death of their father ; who, while hving, spent more of his 
 income in maintaining himself and children in pleasure and, 
 luxury, than in works of charity. He lived profusely, and dies' 
 poor. 
 
 Besides, if the English clergy were the greatest and most excel- 
 lent men, yet a great man in the eyes of the world, loses the respect 
 which is due to him, in proportion as he has any thing in common 
 with the rest of mankind. A Madam Newton, and a Madam 
 Fontenelle, would inj ure the illustrious men whose name they bore. 
 Nor is this all. Those who by their disposition cannot fix that 
 secret incUnation, which induces us to love, on one person, are more 
 humane and charitable than others. The unmarried ecclesiastics 
 are more animated with that charitable spirit their function 
 requires, as they have no worldly affections to divert it. People 
 very rarely, as Lord Bacon says, employ themselves in watering 
 plants, when they want water themselves. In short, the English 
 divines are the worst of men, and there is hardly any reUgion in 
 England. Thus does this French Abbe revile the Enghsh refor- 
 mation and divines. He misrepresents the whole nation, and with 
 a falsehood and outrage pecuhar to popery and mass-priests, that 
 is, to devils and the most execrable reUgion screams against the 
 pure religion of the gospel, and dishonestly blackens some of the 
 finest characters that ever adorned human nature. So very viru- 
 lent is this reverend French papist against the clergy of England, 
 that he is even positive there is not a divine in the nation knows 
 how to behave like a gentleman. 
 
 In answer to the first article of impeachment, I observe, that it 
 is so far from being true, that Cranmer, and other English divines, 
 our reformers, were enthusiasts, and compassed their designs by 
 the assistance of those who were animated by a spirit of irreUgion, 
 and by a greedy desire of seizing the possession of the monks, as 
 this mass-priest asserts ; that it is most certain, on the contrary, 
 Cranmer, and the other reformers, were wise and upright Christians, 
 who, from a good understanding of rehgion, opposed the false pre- 
 tensions of the church of Rome. They saw that Popery was con- 
 trary to the true genius of Christianity ; its spirit insolent and 
 cruel ; and its worship not only a jumble of the most ridiculous 
 fopperies and extravagancies, borrowed from heathen customs 
 and superstitions ; but the impurest that ever appeared in the 
 
JOHN BVNCLE, ESQ. a/g 
 
 world : that the designs of Popish Rome were contrary to all the 
 principles of humanity ; its doctrines abominable and sinful ; and 
 its ofl&ces cursed and diabolical ; it was evident, I say, to the con- 
 ception of these great men, I mean Cranmer, and the other English 
 reformers, that the Romish church was treacherous and inhuman, 
 blood-thirsty and anti-Christian ; that her devotions were horrible 
 and impious ; her ministers false prophets and hars, covered and 
 decked with the Uvery of Christ, but in everything acting con- 
 trary to the salvation wrought by Jesus ; and therefore these wise 
 and excellent reformers renounced popery, and bravely declared 
 for that religion, which promotes the good of all mankind, and 
 inspires men to worship the Father only in spirit and in truth, 
 They threw off the cloak and garments of anti-Christ : they 
 gloriously separated from him, and joined together in purity and 
 simpUcity, to please the Lord Jehovah. There was no enthusiasm 
 in the case (as Le Blanc, the mass-priest, has the front to say) but, 
 when the light of the°gospel was obscured, and darkness had over- 
 spread the earth : when ignorance and superstition universally 
 prevailed, and the immoralities of the Church of Rome were made 
 to pass for Christianity in the world, then did these reformers call 
 the people out of Rome, and preach to them the essential truths of 
 the faith. They called them from an idolatrous reUgion, and aU its 
 trainof direful effects ; from that sin of the first rank, which strikes 
 at the being of a God, and ravishes from him the greatest honour 
 that is due to him from his creature, man ; they called them from 
 horrible service of the mass, from their addresses to angels and 
 saints, and their worship of images, to the inward knowledge of one 
 true God, and the worship due to him only ; to the sanctification 
 and honour, which is due to him above all things, and above every 
 name ; to the living hope in God through Christ ; to regeneration, 
 and inward renovation by faith, hope, and charity ; to a holy con- 
 versation, and a faithful performance ;of all the commandments ; 
 to true repentance, perseverance to the end, and Ufe eternal. To 
 these truths (not to be found in the rehgion of our traveUing mass- 
 priest) did the great, the glorious Enghsh reformers call mankind. 
 They laboured to estabhsh them in every thing tending to a pure 
 faith, and good Ufe. In this, there is not, there cannot be any 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 And as to their being assisted by those who were animated by a 
 spirit of irrehgion, and by a greedy desire of seizing the possessions 
 of the monks, it does not appear to be the truth of the case. Sup- 
 posingjthere were such irreligious men, the assistance the reformers 
 had from any great men in Henry the Eighth's time, when the 
 abbeys were destroyed, was so very little, that malice only could 
 mention it as an objection to the reformation. Popery, in that 
 monarch's reign, was still the established religion of England, and 
 both sides blame this king's persecutions. If papists were put to 
 
28o THE LIFE OF 
 
 death for denying the supremacy of Harry, protestants were no 
 less sufferers, for opposing the adoration of the host, and other 
 religious impieties. And after the short reign of his son, Edward 
 the Sixth what assistance had the reformers under bloody Mary ? 
 Did she not do all that infernal popery could suggest, to destroy 
 Cranmer, his brethren, and their reformation ? And did not they, 
 without any other assistance than what they received from the 
 spirit of God, continue to vindicate the truth as it is in Jesus, and 
 teach the pure doctrines of the gospel, in opposition to the frauds 
 and vile inventions of papal Rome ? Without minding the indig- 
 nities, the torments, and the cruel death prepared for them, the 
 brave honest men went on with their heavenly work, and, till the 
 flames made them silent, endeavoured to destroy the Romish 
 artifices and immoraUties, and to spread the pure religion and 
 undefiled before God and the Father. They were zealous, with 
 the truth of religion on their side, and laboured to convert, out of a 
 pure and friendly regard to the eternal welfare of mankind. They 
 did the work, by the blessing of God, and therefore the mahcious 
 Le Blanc, the mass-priest, reviles and blackens them. 
 
 What he says of usurpation in respect of church lands, does not 
 deserve any notice. The reforming clergy were not the actors in 
 that scene. It was the king and his council. And as the Pope 
 yet there were others to employ the church lands about, as some 
 of them were in founding new bishoprics. And if in this case, the 
 reformers had been guilty of some wilful errors, that could be no 
 crime of the reformation. The culpable must answer it. For the 
 satisfaction of conscience about the reformation, there can be but 
 three questions fairly proposed. Was there sufficient cause for 
 it ? Was there sufBcient authority ? And whether the proceed- 
 ings of our reformation were justifiable by the rule of scripture, 
 and the ancient church ? Upon these points we ought to join issue, 
 and I am sure the conclusion must be in the af&rmative. 
 
 As to Le Blanc's second observation in relation to the marriage 
 of priests, which our reformation he says produced, it may be 
 answered, that the doctrine of a priest's marriage being unlawful, 
 was borrowed by the church of Rome from the ancient heretics ; 
 especially from the Manichees, who allowed marriage to their 
 hearers, as the church of Rome doth to laymen ; but forbad it to 
 their elect, as that church doth to her priests. St. Augustin 
 charges the Manichees with this error. Hie non dubito vos esse 
 clamaturos invidiamque facturos, castitatem perfectam vos 
 vehementer commendare atque laudare, non tamen nuptias pro- 
 hibere, quandoquidem auditores vestri quorum apud vos 
 secundus est gradus ducere atque habere non prohibentur uxores. 
 De Moribus Manichcsorum, Ub. ii. c. i8. 
 
 The first pope we read of that condemned the marriage of 
 priests, was Syricius, the Roman, A.D. 384-398. And upon this 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 281 
 
 account, I wonder Baronius had not a regard to his memory : 
 but it has been the misfortune of his holiness since his death to fall 
 under the displeasure of. the Cardinal to that degree, that he has 
 struck him out of hip catalogue of his Romish saints. He does 
 not tell us for what reason. Perhaps it was because this Pope 
 rather dissuaded priests from marriage than peremptorily forbad 
 it, as appears by his letters. Syr. epist. i . et 4. apud Binium. 
 
 The next pope, who distinguished himself against the marriage 
 of priests, was the son of Bald-head, count of Burgundy, whose 
 granddaughter was consort to Lewis the sixth, king of France ; I 
 mean the celebrated Guy, archbishop of Vienne, who succeeded 
 Gelasius, A.D. 11 19, and had for successor in the year 11 24, 
 Lambert of Bononia, commonly called Honorius the second. 
 Calixtus the second, pope and prince of Burgundy, was the first 
 who absolutely forbad priests marriage, and in case they were 
 married, commanded them to be separated, Grai. Dist. 27. c. 8. 
 This was in the beginning of the twelfth century. And towards 
 the end of it, A.D. 1 198, the renowned son of Count Trasimund, I 
 mean Innocent the third, the ever memorable Cardinal Lotharius, 
 pronounced all the marriages of priests null. And afterwards 
 came on the council of Trent, A.D. 1545 — 1563, which anathema- 
 tizes those who say such marriages are valid. Sess. 24. can. 9. 
 
 But one would think, that God suflBiciently declared his approba- 
 tion of such marriages, in that the whole world hath by his 
 appointment been twice peopled by two married priests ; first by 
 Adam, secondly by Noah. And we are sure, the holy scripture 
 tells us. That marriage is honourable in all ;* and places it among 
 the qualifications of a bishop, That he be the husband of one 
 wife, having faithful children, f This, saith St. Chrysostom, the 
 apostle prescribed to this end, that he might stop the mouths of 
 heretics, who reproached marriage ; declaring thereby that mar- 
 riage is no unclean thing, but so honourable, that a married man 
 may be exalted to the sacred throne of a bishop. J What do 
 you say to this, Le Blanc ? I fancy you never read this 
 homily of Chrysostom. And well might this saint think it 
 not unbecoming a bishop to marry, when our Lord thought it 
 not unbecoming an apostle, no not the prince of the apostles, as 
 the Romanists will have him, for it is without doubt, that St. 
 Peter was married ; in that the scripture makes mention of his 
 wife's mother. Matt. viii. 14. And Clemens of Alexandria tells 
 us, that it was certainly reported that when he saw his wife led 
 to death, he rejoiced ; and having exhorted her and comforted 
 her, he called her by her name, and bid her remember the Lord. 
 Stromat. lib. 7. p. 736. lut. 1629. And that he was not only 
 married, but begat children, the same Clemens in another place 
 
 • Hib. ch. xiii. v. 4. t Titus, ch. i. v. 6. X Chrysosf. Horn. ii. in c. i. ad tit. 
 
283 THE LIFE OF 
 
 affirms ; Stromat. lib. 3. p. 448. Yea that St. Philip and St. 
 Jude were also married, and had children, Eusebius is witness. 
 Eccles. Hist. lib. 3. c. 20-31. And in like manner we find, that 
 many of the primitive bishops were married. Charemon, bishop 
 of Nilus, St. Spiridion, St. Gregory Nazianzen, St. Gregory 
 Nyssen, St. Hillary, and many more, were married men. 
 
 Nor can it be said, that they took wives while they were lay- 
 men, and after they took upon them the sacred ministry, were 
 separated from them ; since the canons, commonly called the 
 apostles, did prohibit either bishop, priest, or deacon, to put 
 away his wife upon pretence of rehgion. See Canon 5. And 
 if any such shall abstain from marriage, as in itself abominable, 
 command that he be corrected, or deposed, and cast out of the 
 church. Canon 50. 
 
 Now supposing these canons, notwithstanding all that Whis- 
 ton has said, were not made by them whose name they bear, 
 yet they are allowed by all to be of much greater antiquity than 
 the first Nicene council. And when in that council it was moved 
 that bishops and priests, deacons and sub-deacons, might not 
 cohabit with their wives, which they had taken before ordina- 
 tion, the motion was presently dashed by the famous Paphnutius, 
 who was himself a single person. Socrat. Eccles. Hist. lib. 1. c. 11. 
 Yea a long time after this council, we meet with many popes, 
 who were sons of bishops and priests. 
 
 Pope Theodorus, Silverius, and Gelasius I were the sons of 
 bishops ; pope Boniface I. Felix II. and Agapetus II. were the 
 sons of priests. Gratian. Dist. 56. c. 2. and that we may not 
 think this strange, Gratian himself informs us, that the marriage 
 of priests was in those days lawful in the Latin church. Dist. 
 56. c. 12. 
 
 Nor is this doctrine to be rejected only as contrary to scripture, 
 and to primitive and apostoUcal practice, but because of the 
 abominable fruits produced in the church of Rome by it. For 
 when the clergy might not have wives, which God allowed, in- 
 stead of them they took whores ; and that wickedness so far 
 prevailed, in the church, that the Cardinal of Cambray informs 
 us, De Reform Eccles, many clergymen were not ashamed 
 pubUcly^ in the face of the world, to keep concubines. And 
 the gloss upon Gratian says " A priest may not be deposed for 
 simple formfication, because there are few priests to be found 
 without that fault." This made Pius II. say, that though priests 
 were by the western church forbid to marry for good reason yet 
 there was stronger reason to restore marriage to them again. 
 Hist. Council. Trent, lib. vii. p. 680. And many in that council 
 were so sensible of this, that they alleged the great scandal 
 given by incontinent priests, and that there was want of con- 
 tinent persons fit to exercise the ministry. Paoli. p. 679, &c. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 283 
 
 The Emperor and the Duke of Bavaria did therefore require, 
 that the marriage of priests might be granted. Paoli, p. 660, 
 &c. An'd many bishops desired that married persons might be 
 promoted to holy orders ; but this request was not granted, 
 because, as the fathers observed, if the clergy once come to be 
 married, they will no longer depend on the Pope, but on their 
 prince. 
 
 To conclude this article, and I shall do it in the words of a 
 great man, a prelate of the church of England ; To make war 
 against the very Being of their species, they, the Romish priests, 
 devote themselves to a single Ufe, in blasphemous opposition to 
 that first great command and blessing, increase and multiply. 
 
 As to Le Blanc's third observation, relating to the immoralities 
 and bad behaviour of the Enghsh clergy ; I answer, if there are 
 several bad men among so large a body as the protestant divines 
 are, which is not strange, as it is the common case of all societies, 
 yet the majority of them, orthodox and other dox, are as worthy 
 men as can be found among the human race. " I am very sure 
 my acquaintance among them has been much larger than Le 
 Blanc's could possibly be ; and I can affirm from my own know- 
 ledge, that there are very many of this order of men, not only 
 as fine gentlemen as I have ever conversed with ; but, a clergy 
 holy in heart, superior to pride, to anger, to foolish desires-: 
 who walk as Christ also walked, and by their example and doc- 
 trine, labour to make the people what the gospel requires they 
 should be ; that is, pious and useful, pure and honest, meek and 
 charitable ; to walk by faith, and not by sight ; and so pass 
 through things temporal, that they may be sure of obtaining the 
 things eternal. This I can say of many EngUsh divines of my 
 acquaintance : and I may add, that this testimony from me 
 who am not over-fond of the clergy, as the main of the Chris- 
 tianity of too many of them Ues in their opinion ; decked with a 
 few outward observances, says Wesley very truly, in his letter 
 to Bishop Warburton, and only upon occasion, endeavour now 
 to do them justice, is certainly of more weight in their favour, 
 than the calumny and abuse of a furious bigot and mass-priest, 
 can be to make the world have as bad an opinion of them, as 
 popery, and its wretched emissaries, would have the public 
 entertain. Consider this then when you read Le Blanc's letters. 
 
 On the other hand, I have had a very large and intimate ac- 
 quaintance with mass-priests in my time, in many parts of the 
 world ; and, a few excellent once excepted. I can affirm, that 
 more wicked and more worthless men than these Romish monks, 
 I have never seen. If adultery, fornication, drunkenness, and 
 swearing, are crimes, then the greatest criminals I could name 
 in these respects, are Roman-cathohc priests. Let this assertion 
 of mine be set over against the character the Abbe Le Blanc 
 
284 THE LIFE OF 
 
 gives the English protestant ministers. Consider all I have 
 said, when you read this mass-priest's fifty-eighth letter, and 
 then judge of our reformation and clergy.* But it is time to 
 return to the cottage of Christopher the fisherman, and see 
 what happened to Antonia and Agnes. 
 
 When I came back to the poor man's cottage, he told me the 
 ladies were come home, and as he had given Miss Cranmer some 
 account of me, as a traveller who had journeyed into that remote 
 corner of the world, in search of antiquities and curiosities, he 
 did not think this lady would be averse to seeing me and hearing 
 me too, if I contrived any plausible pretence to throw myself 
 in her way. 
 
 Immediately then I crossed the water, went up to the house, 
 and as I saw her and the fair Agnes, her cousin, walking in the 
 garden, near the ha, leaped it over immediately, broad as it was, 
 and with my hat in my hand, made her a low bow, began an 
 apology for presuming to introduce myself to her presence in 
 such a manner, and concluded with my being in love with her 
 charming character, before I had the honour and happiness 
 of seeing her. What a condition then must I be in, when 
 a heaven-born maid, hke her, appeared ! Strange pleasures 
 filled my soul, unloosed my tongue, and my first talk could not 
 be any thing but love. I said much on the subject, not worth 
 repeating to the reader ; and the issue of the matter was, that I 
 became so well acquainted with this innocent beauty, that, on 
 taking my leave, I had an invitation to breakfast with her the 
 next morning. I was there by eight, and really and truly quite 
 charmed with her. She was pretty as it was possible for flesh 
 and blood to be, had a beautiful understanding ; and as she 
 had very httle notion of men, having seen very few, except 
 the two old servants who lived with her, she had not a notion 
 
 • Note, reader, in the fourth volume of a work, called Noies relaiing to Men, ancLThings, 
 and Books, you will find some more of my remarks on the Abb6 Le Blanc's epistles. You 
 will see, among other observations on this monk, a vindication of Archbishop Tillotson. 
 The Abb£ rails at one of this prelate's fine sermons, with great mahce and impudence, and 
 has the vanity to think his miserable declamation an answer. This wretched and despicable 
 Romish apostate has the impudence and impiety to defend the worship of his God of dough, 
 and would, if it were in his power, persuade the readers of his letters, to adore the tiny cake 
 he prostrates himself before. For this the reader will find the mass-priest well chastised 
 in the work I have referred to ; and see the doctrine of the Lord's Supper set in a true light. 
 You will find there a curious history of the mass, from the time the popish doctors first drew 
 it out of the bottomless pit ; and see it made quite evident, that in this abominable article 
 of their faith, as well as in every other part of their execrable religion, they make void the law 
 of God, and sink the human race into the vilest slavery and idolatry. Beware, then. Christians, 
 of popery. Still bravely dare to protest against her infernal schemes and inventions, and draw 
 your religion from the book of God, that holy volume of inestimable treasure. It is our light 
 in darkness, our comfort imder affliction, our direction to heaven, and let us die in defence 
 of it, if ever there should be occasion, rather than suffer the blood-thirsty papist^ the red- 
 handed idolaters, to snatch it out of our hands. They will give us for it tiie despicable 
 legends of fictitious saints and false miracles; a history of diseases cured instantly by 
 relics; accounts of speaking images — stories of travellhig chapels — ^wonders done by_ a 
 Madonna ; and the devil knows what he has crowded into their wretched heads. Down with 
 popery then, the religion of hell, and may that happy state be erected, when truth and love 
 shall embrace and reign. Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 285 
 
 of any danger that could come from conversing freely with a 
 man she knew nothing of, and who might be an enemy in 
 disguise. 
 
 After breakfast, I offered to go, but she asked me to stay and 
 dine ; and to sum up the matter, I did dine, sup, and breakfast 
 with her every day, for a month, till my good priest, Friar 
 Fleming, arrived, on a letter I had sent him, and we were married 
 before the end of six weeks. We loved to excess, and did en- 
 hance human happiness to a high degree. She was good as an 
 angel, and for two years we lived in unspeakable felicity. For 
 the greatest part of that time, we were at Orton-Lodge, as she 
 liked the wild place. There she likewise died of the small-pox, 
 in the first month of the third year, and left me the most disconso- 
 late of men. Four days I sat with my eyes shut, on account of 
 this loss, and then left the Lodge once more, to Uve if I could, 
 since my religion ordered me so to do, and see what I was next 
 to meet with in the world. As grief sat powerfully on my spirits, 
 and if not dislodged, would have drank them all up very soon, 
 I resolved to hasten to Harrogate, and in the festivities of that 
 place forget my departed partner as soon as I could. I laid my 
 Antonia by my Charlotte and my Statia, and then rode off. 
 What happened at the Wells, and all the observations I made 
 there, and thereabout, the reader will find shortly narrated. 
 
 As I mention nothing of any children by so many wives, some 
 readers may perhaps wonder at this, and therefore, to give a 
 general answer, once for all, I think it sufficient to observe, that 
 I had a great many, to carry on the succession ; but as they 
 never were concerned in any extraordinary affairs, nor ever 
 did any remarkable things, that I heard of ; only rise and break- 
 fast, read and saunter, drink and eat, it would not be fair, in 
 my opinion, to make any one pay for their history.* 
 
 In the year 1731 I arrived at Harrogate, in the West-riding of 
 Yorkshire, in order to amuse my mind with the diversions and 
 company of the place. It is a small straggUng village on a heath 
 two miles from Knaresborough, which is thirteen miles from 
 York, and one hundred and sevpnty-five from London. The 
 sulphur wells are three, on the north side of the town, about 
 five hundred yards east of the bog. They rise out of a little 
 dry hiU. The second is a yard from the first, and the third is 
 five yards and a half from the second. The water rises into 
 stone-basins, which are each inclosed in a small neat building 
 
 • The author of John BuncU, junior, printed in 1776, a second volume of which appeared 
 n 177S, endeavours to exculpate hims^ and brethren from this concise but severe satire 
 which the author has passed upon his children, by observing that being already stamped 
 with the character of a fool, and consequently no character to lose, he with more boldness 
 published those letters, as the only chance left him, by which he might gain the good opinion 
 of the reader, and as a means of wiping ofi the reproach their dear father had entailed upon 
 them. Anecdotes 0/ John Buncle, junior, vol. i. p. 72. 
 
286 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of stone and lime a yard square on the insides, and two yards high, 
 covered over with thick flagstones laid in a shelving direction. 
 
 The soil out of which these springs rise is first, corn-mould, then 
 a marie Ume-stone, and a stratum of plaster : the hme-stone^s 
 so abraded by the salt in the water, that when dried, it swims^ 
 and where the water stagnates between the basins and the brook, 
 the earth is ink black, and has a dry white scum, which smells 
 like sulphur, and burns with a blue flame. The water does 
 likewise throw up much candied sea salts, that is, salts to which 
 sulphur adheres, and the pigeons resort from all parts to pick 
 them up. In moist or rainy weather, these waters send forth a 
 strong smell at a distance, and before rain, they bubble up with 
 an impetuous force ; yet neither rain nor drought increases or 
 decreases the springs. 
 
 From the large quantities of fine flower of brimstone which 
 these waters throw oS, it is plain, that sulphur is the principal 
 thing in them ; but experiment likewise proves, that besides 
 sulphur, the stinking weU has vitriol, nitre, copper, and salt. 
 These he in solutis principiis in earth from which the water comes, 
 and may be separated by operation ; some, I know, deny there 
 is any copper in these waters ; but they do not consider that the 
 guttering glebes of a gold colour found here, can be nothing 
 else than glebes gilt with copper. 
 
 As to the diseases wherein this strong sulphur water is proper, 
 it is good for everything, except a consumption. For this I 
 recommend the Scarborough purging chalybeate above all 
 waters. But if, reader, you have obstructions in your Uver and 
 other viscera, and are tormented with vicious humours in your 
 intestines ; if your bowels are full of worms, the ascarides, or 
 the broad round worm, or the worms called the dog and the wolf, 
 from their hkeness to these animals ; or if, from a venereal cause, 
 the malady of many a priest and la5Tnan, you have an ulcer 
 in the anus, or in the neck of your bladder, go to Harrogate, 
 drink the stinking- water, live temperate, and you wiU be cured. 
 For the scurvy, that universal disease, it is better than all other 
 medicines. It is excellent in the jaundice, though of many years 
 standing. It cures the asthma, the scotomia, and palsy, and in 
 many other deplorable cases gives wonderful rehef. Whatever 
 ciils you, consumption excepted, fly to Harrogate, and the water 
 will do you good, if your hour be not come : and if you are well, 
 the waters will promote long Ufe, and make you the more able 
 to dance with the ladies. 
 
 Four pints of water are enough for a patient, to be taken 
 from half an hour to two hours after sunrising, upon an empty 
 stomach. You should take some preparatory medicine ; and 
 walk drinking the waters to warm the body a littie, and make 
 the passage the easier. Some people I have known drink their 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 287 
 
 dose in bed, and it does well enough : but exercise and the thin 
 open air do better, and contribute not a little to the patient's 
 recovery ; and there is no finer fresher air in England than at 
 this place. 
 
 In short, these wells are the strongest sulphur water in Great 
 Britain, and, from the superior strength of the impregnating 
 sulphur, it does not lose but retain the sulphureous smell, even 
 when exposed to a scalding, and almost a violent heat ; and, in 
 distilling it, when three pints had been taken off from a gallon 
 of it, the last was as strong as the first, and stunk intolerably. 
 
 Make heiste then to Harrogate, if you are sick, and have money, 
 and in all probability you will find the waters efficacious, unless 
 thy distemper be a consumption, or in its nature incurable, 
 which is the case of many, as death is the common fate of man- 
 kind. 
 
 But when you are there, let me advise you to exercise as much 
 as you can bear, without fatiguing yourself ; and in the next 
 place, to be regular in meats and dnnks, and as temperate as 
 possible. Without these things, you will lose the benefit of the 
 waters. No good can be expected, if men wiU indulge during 
 a course of drinking the spa, and be not only excessive in quantity, 
 but indiscreet as to the quaUty, of meats and Uquors. 
 
 I have known some worn-out hard drinkers come to the Wells 
 for rehef, and at the same time increase by intemperance what 
 they had contracted by the same measure. I have Ukewise seen 
 some in a diabetes diink white wine ; in a cachexy, ale ; in the 
 stone and gravel, claret. I have known a man in a dropsy, eat 
 nothing but coohng, insipid, mucilaginous foods, and drink malt- 
 drink plentifully ; a man in a jaundice, eat nothing but flesh 
 meat and claret ; in a scurvy prefer the pungent, saline diet ; 
 in obstinate obstructions, and a chronic hyppo, feed on thicken- 
 ing, haxdening, and drying meats ; and in a hectic, vomiting, and 
 spitting of blood, chuse only such things as increase the blood's 
 momentum and velocity. I have known some gentlemen, who 
 sat up late, never exercised, could not eat a dinner, and therefore 
 would indulge in a flesh supper. All these, and many other 
 irregularities, have I known expect surprising effects from the 
 waters, and when they received no benefits say, there were no 
 sanative principles in them. Unreasonable, unhappy men I 
 Be temperate and regular, use exercise, and keep the passions 
 within bounds, and you may expect very astonishing cures ; 
 provided your bodies are not become irreparable, and no longer 
 tenantable ; your juices not to the last degree glutinous and 
 acrimonious, and the corrosiveness of your blood not bringing 
 on mortifications ; nor inflammations, filling, dilating, and 
 breaking your vessels into suppuration and putrefactions. Then, 
 live how you will, the waters can be of no use. You must pay 
 
288 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the debt of nature by an incurable disease. Neither mineral 
 waters, nor physic, can create and enliven new bodies, or make 
 and adapt particular members to the old. But if you are only 
 hurt a little, and the disease is curable, the waters will certainly 
 be efficacious, and recover you, if you use moderate exercise, 
 riding especially, diversion, a strict regularity, and great temper- 
 ance. 
 
 O temperance ! Divine temperance : Thou art the support 
 of the other virtues, the preserver and restorer of health, and the 
 protracter of hfe ! Thou art the maintainer of the dignity and 
 liberty of rational beings, from the wretched inhuman slavery 
 of sensuality, taste, custom, and example ; and the brightener 
 of the understanding and memory ! Thou art the sweetener 
 of life and all its comforts, the companion of reason, and guard 
 of the passions I Thou art the bountiful rewarder of thy ad- 
 mirers and followers, thine enemies praise thee, and thy friends 
 with rapturous pleasure raise up a panegyric in tlxy praise. 
 
 O hunger, hunger, immortal hunger ! Thou art the blessing 
 of the poor, the regale of the temperate rich, and the delicious 
 gust of the plainest morsel. Cursed is the man that has turned 
 thee out of doors, and at whose table thou art a stranger ! 
 Yea thrice cursed is he, who always thirsts, and hungers no 
 more! 
 
 As to the company at these wells, I found it very good, and 
 was pleased with the manner of Uving there. In the day-time 
 we drank the waters, walked or rode about, and lived in separate 
 parties ; lodging in one or other of the three inns that are on 
 the edge of the common ; but at night, the company meet at 
 one of the pubUc-houses, the inns having the benefit of the 
 meeting in their turn, and supped together between eight and 
 nine o'clock on the best substantial things, such as hot shoulders 
 of mutton, rump steaks, hot pigeon pies, veal-cutlets, and the 
 Uke. For this supper, ladies and gentlemen pay eight-pence 
 each, and after sitting an hour, and drinking what wine, punch, 
 and ale, every one chuses, aU who please get up to country- 
 dances, which generally last till one in the morning ; those that 
 dance, and those who do not, drinking as they will. The ladies 
 pay nothing for what liquor is brought in, either at supper or 
 after, and it costs the gentlemen five or six shillings a man. At 
 one the ladies withdraw, some to their houses in the neighbour- 
 hood, and some to their beds in the inns. The men who are 
 temperate, do then Ukewise go to rest. 
 
 In short, of all the wells I know, Harrogate is in my opinion 
 the most charming. The waters are incomparable, no air can be 
 better ; and with the greatest civility, cheerfulness, and good 
 humour, there is a certain rural plainness and freedom mixed, 
 which are vastly pleasing.. The lady of pleasure, the well- 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 289 
 
 drest tailor, and the gamester, are not to be found there. 
 Gentlemen of the country, and women of birth and fortune, their 
 wives, sisters, and daughters, are for the most part the company. 
 There were at least fourscore ladies in the country-dances 
 every night while I was there, and among them many fine 
 women. 
 
 Among the company I found at this agreeable place, were six 
 Irish gentlemen, who had been my contemporaries in Trinity- 
 College, Dublin, and were right glad to see me, as we had been 
 Sociorums,* at the conniving-house at Ringsend, for many a 
 summer's evening, and their regard for me was great. They 
 thought I had been long numbered with the dead, as they could 
 not get any account of me for so many years ; and when they 
 saw me, on their entering the pubhc room, sitting by a beauty, 
 in deep discourse, " God-zounds," said one of them, " there he 
 is, making love to the finest woman in the world." These 
 gentlemen were Mr. Gollogher, Mr. Gallaspy, Mr. Dunkley, 
 Mr. Makins, Mr. Monaghan, and Mr. O'Keefe, who was 
 descended from the Irish kings, and first cousin to the great 
 O'Keefe, who was buried not long ago in Westminster Abbey. 
 They were all men of large fortunes, and, Makins excepted, 
 were as handsome fine fellows as could be picked out in all the 
 world. Makins was a very low, thin man, not four feet high, 
 and had but one eye, with which he squinted most shockingly. He 
 wore his own hair, which was short and bad, and only drest by 
 his combing it himself in the morning, without oU or powder. 
 But as he was matchless on the fiddle, sung well, and chatted 
 agreeably, he was a favourite with the ladies. They preferred 
 ugly Makins, as he was called, to many very handsome men. I 
 will here give the public the character of these Irish gentlemen, 
 for the honour of Ireland, and as they were curiosities of the 
 human kind. 
 
 O'Keefe was as distinguished a character as I have ever known. 
 He had read and thought, travelled and conversed, was a man of 
 sense, and a scholar. He had a greatness of soul, which shewed 
 a pre-eminence of dignity, and by conduct and behaviour, the 
 faithful interpreters of the heart, always attested the noblest 
 and most generous sentiments. He had an extreme abhorrence 
 of meanness, treachery, revenge, envy, littleness of mind, and 
 shewed in all his actions the qualities that adorn a man. His 
 learning was of the genteel and most useful kind, a sort of agree- 
 able knowledge, which he acquired rather from a sound taste and 
 good judgment than from the books he had read. He had a 
 right estimation of things, and had gathered up almost every 
 thing amusing or instructive. This rendered him a master in 
 the art of pleasing, and as he had added to these improvements 
 
 * A phrase used by "Swift. 
 
 L 
 
290 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the fashionable ornaments of life, languages and bodily exercises 
 he was the delight of all that knew him. 
 
 Makins was possessed of all the excellent qualities and per- 
 fections that are within the reach of human abiUties. He had 
 received from nature the happiest talents, and he had singularly 
 improved them by a successful appUcation to the most useful 
 and most ornamental studies. Music, as before observed, he 
 excelled in. His intellectual faculties were fine, and, to' his 
 honour I can affirm, that he mostly employed them, as he did 
 his great estate, to the good of mankind, the advancement of 
 morahty, and the spread of pure theism, the worship of God 
 our Saviour, who raised and sent Christ to be a Redeemer. This 
 gentleman was a zealous Unitarian, and, though but five and 
 twenty, when we met at Harrogate, he was a rehgious man ; 
 but his reUgion was without any melancholy, nor had it any 
 thing of that severity of temper, which diffuses too often into the 
 hearts of the religious a morose contempt of the world, and an 
 antipathy to the pleasures of it. He avoided the assemblies of 
 fools, knaves, and blockheads, but was fond of good company, 
 and condemned that doctrine which taught men to retire from 
 human society to seek God in the horrors of solitude. He thought 
 the Almighty may be best found among men, where his goodness 
 is most active, and his providence most employed. 
 
 Gallaspy was the tallest and strongest man I have ever seen, 
 well made, and very handsome. He had wit and abihties, sung 
 well, and talked with great sweetness and fluency, but was so 
 extremely wicked, that it were better for him he had been a 
 natural fool. By his vast strength and activity, his riches and 
 eloquence, few things could withstand him. He was the most 
 profane swearer I have known, fought everything, whored every- 
 thing, and drank seven in a hand ; that is, seven glasses so 
 placed between the fingers of his right hand, that in drinking, the 
 liquor fell into the next glasses, and thereby he drank out of 
 the first glass seven glasses at once. This was a common thing, 
 I find from a book in my possession, in the reign of Charles the 
 Second, in the madness that followed the restoration of that 
 profligate and worthless prince. But this gentleman was the 
 only man I ever saw who could or would attempt to do it, and he 
 made but one gulp of whatever he drank ; he did not swallow 
 a fluid hke other people, but if it was a quart, poured it in as 
 from pitcher to pitcher. When he smoked tobacco, he always 
 blew two pipes at once, one at each comer of his mouth, and 
 threw the smoke of both out of his nostrils. He had killed two 
 men in duels before I left Ireland, and would have been hanged, 
 but that it was his good fortune to be tried before a judge, the 
 late Sir John St. Leger, who never let any man sufier for killing 
 another in this manner. He debauched all the women he could. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 291 
 
 and many whom he could not corrupt, he ravished. I went with 
 hina once in the stage-coach to Kilkenny, and seeing two pretty 
 ladies pass hy in their own chariot, he swore in his horrible way, 
 having drank very hard after dinner, that he would immediately 
 stop them, and ravish them ; nor was it without great dif&culty 
 that I hindered him from attempting the thing, by assuring him 
 I would be their protector, and he must pass through my heart 
 before he could proceed to offer them the least rudeness. In 
 sum, I never saw his equal in impiety, especially when inflamed 
 with hquor, as he was every day of his life, though it was not in 
 the power of wine to make him drunk, weak, or senseless. He 
 set no bounds or restrictions to mirth and revels. He only 
 slept every third night, and that often in his clothes in a chair, 
 where he would sweat so prodigiously as to be wet quite through, 
 as if come from a pond, or that a pail of water had been thrown 
 on him. While aU the world was at rest, he was either drinking 
 or dancing, scouring the bawdy-houses, or riding as hard as he 
 could drive his horse on some iniquitous project. And yet he 
 never was sick, nor did he ever receive any hurt or mischief. In 
 health, joy, and plenty, he passed hfe away, and died about a 
 year ago at his house in the county of Galway, without a pang, 
 or any kind of pain. This was Jack Gallaspy. There 
 are, however, some things to be said in his favour; and as 
 he had more regard for me than any of his acquaintance, I 
 should be ungrateful if I did not do him all the justice in my 
 power. 
 
 He was in the first place far from being quarrelsome, and if 
 he fought .a gentleman at the small-sword, or boxed with a 
 porter or coachman, it was because he had in some degree been 
 ill used, or fancied that the laws of honour required him to call an 
 equal to an account, for a transaction. His temper was naturally 
 amicable. 
 
 In the next place, he was the most generous of mankind. His 
 pursp of gold was ever at his friend's service, was kind and good 
 to his tenants, and to the poor a very great benefactor. He 
 would give more money away to the sick and distressed in one 
 year, than I believe many rich and pious people do in seven. 
 He had the blessings of thousands, for his charities, and, perhaps 
 this procured him the protection of Heaven. 
 
 As to swearing, he thought it was only criminal, when it was 
 false, or men lied in their affirmations ; and for whoring, he 
 hoped there would be mercy, since men will be men while there 
 are women. Ravishing he did not pretend to justify, as the 
 laws of his country were against it ; but he could not think 
 the woman was a sufferer by it, as she enjoyed without sinning the 
 highest felicity. He intended her happiness ; and her saying 
 No, kept her an innocent. 
 
892 THE LIFE OF 
 
 How far all this can excuse Jack Gallaspy, I pretended 
 not to determine : but as I thought it proper to give the 
 world the picture of so extraordinary a man, it was incumbent 
 on me, as his friend, to say all I could, with truth, in his vin- 
 dication. 
 
 ^ DuNKLEY had an extensive capacity, an exquisite taste, and 
 fine genius. Besides an erudition which denominates what we 
 call a man of learning, he happily possessed a social knowledge 
 which rendered him agreeable to everybody. He was one of 
 the men that are capable of touching every note. To all the 
 variety of topics for conversation,, the diversity of occurrences 
 and incidents, the several distinctions of persons, he could adapt 
 himself. He would laugh like Democritus, and weep hke 
 Herachtus. He had the short, pert trip of the affected ; the 
 haughty, tragic stalk of the solemn ; and the free, genteel gait 
 of the fine gentleman. He was quahj&ed to please aU tastes, and 
 capable of acting every part. He was grave, gay, a philosopher 
 and a trifler. He had a time for all things, relative to society, 
 and his own true happiness, but none for anything repugnant 
 to honour and conscience. He was a surprising and admirable 
 man. 
 
 MoNAGHAN had genius and knowledge, had read many books, 
 but knew more of mankind. He laughed at those men who lose 
 among their books the elegancy of mind so necessary in civil 
 society. He had no relish but for nice studies and fine Uterature, 
 and despised the too serious and abstruse sciences. This was 
 reckoned a fault in him by several judges, but with me it is a 
 quere, if he was much to blame. Pohteness is certainly pre- 
 ferable to dry knowledge and thorny inquiries. This gentle- 
 man's was such as rendered him for ever agreeable and engaging. 
 He was continually an. improving friend, and a gay companion. 
 In the qualities of his soul, he was generous without prodigality, 
 humane without weakness, just without severity, and fond 
 without folly. He was an honest and charming fellow. Mona- 
 GHAN and DuNKLEY married ladies they fell in love with at 
 Harrogate Wells. Dunkley had the fair Alcmena, Miss Cox 
 of Northumberland ; and Monaghan, Antiope with haughty 
 charms. Miss Pearson of Cumberland. They Uved very happy 
 many years, and their children I hear are settled in Ire- 
 land. 
 
 Gollogher was a man of learning and extraordinary abihties. 
 He had read very hard for several years, and during that time, 
 had collected and extracted from the best books more than any 
 man I ever was acquainted with. He had four vast volumes 
 of common-place, royal paper, bound in rough calf, and half 
 filled them with what is most curious and beautiful in works 
 of hterature, most refined in eloquent discourses, most poignant 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 293 
 
 in books of criticism, most instructive in history, most touching 
 and affecting in news, catastrophes, and stories ; and with 
 aphorisms, sayings, and epigrams. A prodigious memory made 
 all this his own, and a great judgment enabled him to reduce 
 everything to the most exact point of truth and accuracy. A 
 rare man I Till he was five and twenty, he continued this 
 studious hfe, and but seldom went into the mixed and fashionable 
 circles of the world. Then, all at once, he sold every book he 
 had, and determined to read no more. He spent his every day 
 in the best company of every kind ; and as he had the happy 
 talent of manner, and possessed that great power which strikes 
 and awakens fancy, by giving every subject the new dress and 
 decoration it "requires ; could make the most common thing 
 no longer trivial, when in his hand, and render a good thing most 
 exquisitely pleasing. As he told a story beyond most men, 
 and had, in short, a universal means towards a universal success, 
 it was but natural that he should be everywhere Uked and wished 
 for. He charmed wherever he came. The specific I have men- 
 tioned made every one fond of him. With the ladies especially 
 he was a great favourite, and more fortunate in his amours than 
 any man I knew. Had he wanted the fine talents he was blest 
 with, his being an extremely handsome man, and a master on 
 the fiddle, could not but recommend him to the sex. He might, 
 if he had pleased, have married any one of the most illustrious 
 and richest women in the kingdom. But he had an aversion 
 to matrimony, and could not bear the thought of a wife. Love 
 and a bottle were his taste. He was however the most honour- 
 able of men in his amours, and never abandoned any woman to 
 distress, as too many men of fortune do, when they have gratified 
 desire. All the distressed were ever sharers in Gollogher's 
 fine estate, and especially the girls he had taken to his breast. 
 He provided happily for them all, and left nineteen daughters 
 he had by several women a thousand pounds each. This 
 was acting with a temper worthy of a man ; and to the memory 
 of the benevolent Tom Gollogher I devote this memoran- 
 dum. 
 
 Having said above, that too many men of fortune abandon the 
 girls they have ruined, I wiU here relate a very remarkable story, 
 in hopes it may make an impression on some rake of fortune, if 
 such a man should ever take this book in his hand. 
 
 Travelhng once in the summer-time, in the county of Kildare 
 in Ireland, I came into a land of flowers, and blossoms, hiUs, 
 woods, and shades ; where I saw upon an eminence a house, sur- 
 rounded with the most agreeable images of rural beauties, and 
 which appeared to be placed on purpose in that decorated spot 
 for retirement and contemplation. It is in such silent recesses 
 of life, that we can best enjoy the noble and felicitous ideas. 
 
294 THE LIFE OF 
 
 which more immediately concern the attention of man, and 
 in the cool hours of reflection, secreted from the fancies and 
 folhes, the business, the faction, and the pleasures of an engaged 
 world, thoroughly consider the wisdom and harmony of the 
 works of nature, the important purposes of providence, and the 
 various reasons we have to adore that ever-glorious Being, who 
 formed us for rational happiness here, and after we have passed 
 a few years on this sphere, in a Ufe of virtue and charity, to trans- 
 late us to the realms of endless bliss. Happy they who have a 
 taste for these silent retreats, and when they please, can with- 
 draw for a time from the world. 
 
 The owner of this sweet place was Charles Hunt, a gentleman 
 of a small estate and good sense, whom I knew many years be- 
 fore fortune led me to his house, ffis wife was then dead, and he 
 had but one child left, his daughter Elizabeth. The beauties 
 of this young lady were very extraordinary. She had the finest 
 eyes in the world, she looked, she smiled, and she talked with 
 such difiusive charms, as were sufficient to fire the heart of the 
 most morose woman-hater that ever lived, and give his soul a 
 softness it never felt before. Her father took all possible pains 
 to educate her mind, and had the success to render her under- 
 standing a wonder, when she was but twenty years old. She 
 sung likewise beyond most women, danced to perfection, and 
 had every accomplishment of soul and body that a man of the 
 best taste could wish for in a wife or a mistress. She was all 
 beauty, life, and softness. 
 
 Mr. Hunt thought to have had great happiness in this daughter, 
 though it was not in his power to give her more than five hun- 
 dred pounds for a fortune, and she would have been married to 
 a country-gentleman in his neighbourhood of a good estate, 
 had not death carried off both her father and lover in a few days, 
 just as the match was agreed on. This was a sad misfortune, 
 and produced a long train of sorrows. For two years however 
 after the decease of her father, she hved very happily with an 
 old lady, her near relation, and was universally admired and 
 respected. I saw her many times during that term, at the old 
 lady's villa within a few miles of Dubhn, and took great delight 
 in her company. If I had not been then engaged to another, 
 I would most certainly have married her. 
 
 In this way I left Eliza, in Ireland, and for several years could 
 not hear what was become of her. No one could give me any 
 information : but, about a twelvemonth ago, as I was walking in 
 Fleet Street, I saw a woman who cleaned shoes, and seemed to be 
 an object of great distress. She was in rags and dirt beyond all 
 I had ever seen of the profession, and was truly skin and bone. 
 Her face was almost a skull, and the oiily remaining expression 
 to be seen was despair and anguish^ The object engaged my 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 295 
 
 attention, not only on account of the uncommon misery that 
 was visible ; but, as her eyes, though sunk, were still extraor- 
 dinary, and there were some remains of beauty to be traced. I 
 thought I had somewhere seen that face in better condition. 
 This kept me looking at her, unnoticed, for near a quarter of an 
 hour ; and as I found she turned her head from me, when she 
 saw me, with a kind of consciousness, as if she knew me, I then 
 asked her name, and if she had any where seen me before ? The 
 tears immediately ran plentifully from her eyes, and when she 
 could speak, she said, I am Elizabeth Hunt. What, Mr. Hunt's 
 daughter of RafarUn ? I replied with amazement, and a con- 
 cern that brought the tears into my eyes. I called a coach 
 immediately, and took her to the house of a good woman, 
 who lodges and attends sick people, ordered her clean clothes, 
 and gave the woman a charge to take the greatest care of 
 her, and let her want for nothing proper, till I called next 
 day. 
 
 When I saw her again, she was clean and whole, and seemed 
 to have recovered a little, though very little, of what she once 
 was ; for a more miserable spectacle my eyes have not often seen. 
 She told me, that soon after I went to England, Mr. R. a gentle- 
 man of my acquaintance of great fortune, got acquainted with 
 her, courted her, and swore in the most solemn manner, by the 
 supreme power, and the everlasting gospel, that he would be her 
 husband, and marry her as soon as a rich dying uncle had breathed 
 his last, if she would consent, in the mean while, to their Uving 
 in secret as man and wife ; for his uncle hated matrimony, and 
 would not leave him his vast fortune, if he heard he had a wife ; 
 and he was sure, if he was married by any of the Church, some 
 whisperer would find it out, and bring it to his ear. But not- 
 withstanding this plausible story, and that he acted the part of 
 the fondest and tenderest man that ever lived, yet, for several 
 months, she would not comply with his proposal. She refused 
 to see him any more, and for several weeks he did not come in 
 her sight. 
 
 The fatal night however at last arrived, and from the Lord 
 Mayor's ball, he prevailed on her, by repeated vows of sincerity 
 and truth, to come with him to his lodgings. She was undone, 
 with child, and at the end of two months, she never saw him 
 more. When her relations saw her big belly, they turned her 
 out of doors ; her friends and acquaintances would not look at her, 
 and she was so despised, and ashamed to be seen, that she went 
 to England with her httle one. It fortunately died on the road 
 to London, and as her five hundred pounds were going fast by 
 the time she had been a year in the capital, she accepted an offer 
 made her by a great man to go into keeping. Three years she 
 lived with him in splendour, and when he died, she was with 
 
296 THE LIFE OF 
 
 several in high life, tiU she got a cancer in her breast ; and after 
 it was cut off, an incurable abscess appeared. This struck her 
 out of society, and as she grew worse and worse every day, the 
 little money she had, and her clothes, were all gone in four years' 
 time, in the relief she wanted and in support. She came the 
 fifth year to a garret and rags, and at last, to clean shoes, or perish 
 for want. She then uncovered the upper part of her body, 
 which was half eaten away, so as to see into the trunk, and ren- 
 dered her, in the emaciated condition she was in, an object shock- 
 ing to behold. She Uved in torment, and had no kind of ease 
 or peace but in reflecting, that her misery and distress might 
 procure her the mercy of Heaven hereafter, and in conjunction 
 with her true repentance bring her to rest, when she had passed 
 through the grave and gate of death. 
 
 Such was the case of that Venus of her sex. Miss Hunt. When 
 I first saw her, it was rapture to be in her company ; her person 
 matchless, and her conversation as charming as her person ; 
 both easy, unconstrained, and beautiful to perfection. But 
 when I last saw her, she was grim as the skeleton, horrid, loath- 
 some, and sinking fast into the grave by the laws of corruption. 
 What a change was there I She hved but three months from the 
 time I put her into a lodging, and died as happy a penitent as she 
 had Uved an unhappy woman. I gave her a decent private 
 funeral ; a hearse, and one mourning-coach, in which I alone 
 attended her remains to the earth ; the great charnel-house, 
 where all the human race must be deposited. Here ends the 
 story of Miss Hunt. 
 
 And now a word or two to the man who ruined her. Bob R. 
 is still hving, the master of thousands, and has thought no more 
 of the wretched Eliza, than if her ruin and misery were a trifle. 
 He fancies his riches and power will screen him from the hand 
 of justice, and afford him lasting satisfaction ; but, cruel man, 
 after this short day, the present life, the night of death shall 
 come, and your unrelenting soul must then appear before a judge, 
 infinitely knowing and righteous ; who is not to be imposed 
 upon, and cannot be biassed. The sighs and moans of Eliza 
 will then be remembered, confound and abash you for your 
 falsehood and inhumanity to this unhappy woman. In your 
 last agony, her spirit will haunt you, and at the sessions of right- 
 eousness appear against you, execrable R. R. 
 
 But to return to Harrogate. While I was there, it was my 
 fortune to dance with a lady, who had the head of Aristotle, the 
 heart of a primitive Christian, and the form of Venus de Medicis. 
 This was Miss Spence of Westmoreland. I was not many hours 
 in her company, before I became most passionately in love with 
 her. I did all I could to win her heart, and at last asked her the 
 question. But before I inform my readers what the conse- 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 297 
 
 quence of this was, I must take some notice of what I expect 
 from the Critical Reviewers. These gentlemen will attempt 
 to raise the laugh. Our moralist, they will say, has buried 
 three wives running, and they are hardly cold in their graves, 
 before he is dancing Uke a buck at the Wells, and plighting 
 vows to a fourth girl, the beautiful Miss Spence. An honest 
 fellow, this Suarez, as Pascal says of that Jesuit, in his Provincial 
 Letters. 
 
 To this I reply, that I think it unreasonable and impious to 
 grieve immoderately for the dead. A decent and proper tribute 
 of tears and sorrow, humanity requires ; but when that duty has 
 been paid, we must remember, that to lament a dead woman is 
 not to lament a wife. A wife must be a living woman. The 
 wife we lose by death is no more than a sad and empty object, 
 formed by the imagination, and to be still devoted to her, is to 
 be in love with an idea. It is a mere chimerical passion, as the 
 deceased has no more to do with this world, than if she had 
 existed before the flood. As we cannot restore what nature 
 has destroyed, it is foolish to be faithful to affliction. Nor is this 
 all, if the woman we marry has the seven quahiications which 
 every man would wish to find in a wife, beauty, discretion, sweet- 
 ness of temper, a sprightly wit, fertility, wealth, and noble ex- 
 traction, yet death's snatching so amiable a wife from our arms 
 can be no reason for accusing fate of cruelty, that is, providence 
 of injustice ; nor can it authorise us to sink into insensibihty, 
 and neglect the duty and business of life. This wife was born to 
 die, and we receive her under the condition of mortaUty. She is 
 lent but for a term, the limits of which we are not made acquainted 
 with ; and when this term is expired, there can be no injustice in 
 taking her back : nor are we to indulge the transports of grief 
 to distraction, but should look out for another with the seven 
 quaUflcations, as it is not good for man to be alone, and as he is 
 by the Abrahamic covenant bound to carry on the succession 
 in a regular way, if it be in his power. Nor is this all, if the woman 
 adorned with every natural and acquired excellence is trans- 
 lated from this gloomy planet to some better world, to be a 
 sharer of the divine favour, in that peaceful and happy state 
 which God hath prepared for the virtuous and faithful, must it 
 not be senseless for me to indulge melancholy and continue a 
 mourner on her account, while she is breathing the balmy air 
 of paradise, enjoying pure and radiant vision, and beyond 
 description happy ? 
 
 In the next place, as I had forfeited my father's favour and 
 estate, for the sake of christian-deism, and had nothing but my 
 own honest industry to secure me daily bread, it was necessary 
 for me to lay hold of every opportunity to improve my fortune, 
 and of consequence do my best to gain the heart of the first rich 
 
398 THE LIFE OF 
 
 young woman who came in my way, after I had buried a wife. 
 It was not fit for me to sit snivelling for months, because my wife 
 died before me, which was, at least, as probable, as that she 
 should be the survivor ; but instead of solemn affliction, and the 
 inconsolable part, for an event I foresaw, it was incumbent on 
 me, after a Uttle decent mourning, to consecrate myself to virtue 
 and good fortune united in the form of a woman. Whenever 
 she appeared, it was my business to get her if I could. This 
 made me sometimes a dancer at the Wells, in the days of my 
 youth. 
 
 As to Miss Spence, she was not cruel, but told me at last, after 
 I had tired her with my addresses and petitions, that she would 
 consider my case, and give me an answer, when I called at her 
 house in Westmoreland, to which she was then going ; at present, 
 however, to tell me the truth, she had very little inclination to 
 change her condition, she was as happy as she could wish to be, 
 and she had observed that many ladies of her acquaintance had 
 been made unhappy by becoming wives. The husband generally 
 proves a very difierent man from the courtier, and it is luck 
 indeed, if a young woman, by marrying is not undone. During 
 the moUia tempora fandi, as the poet calls it, the man may charm, 
 when, hke the god of eloquence, he pleads, and every word is 
 soft as flakes of falhng snow ; but when the man is pleased to 
 take off the mask, and play the domestic hero ; Gods ! What 
 miseries have I seen in famihes ensue ! If this were my case, I 
 should run stark mad. 
 
 Miss Spence's mentioning the memorable line from Virgil, 
 surprised me not a httle, as she never gave the least hint before, 
 though we had conversed then a fortnight, of her having any 
 notion of the Latin tongue, and I looked at her with a raised ad- 
 miration, before I replied in the following manner. " What you 
 say, Miss Spence, is true. But this is far from being the case of 
 all gentlemen. If there be something stronger than virtue in 
 too many of them, something that masters and subdues it ; a 
 passion, or passions, rebelhous and lawless, which makes them 
 neglect some high relations, and take the throne from God and 
 reason ; gaming, drinking, keeping ; yet there are very many 
 exceptions, I am sure. I know several, who have an equal 
 affection to goodness, and were my acquaintance in the world 
 larger than it is, I believe I could name a large number, who 
 would not prefer indulgence to virtue, or resign her for any con- 
 sideration. There are men, madam, and young men, who allow 
 a partial regard to rectituJie is inconsistent and absurd, and are 
 sensible, it is not certain, that there is absolutely nothing at all 
 in the evidences of rehgion : that if there was but even a chance 
 for obtaining blessings of inestimable worth, yet a chance for 
 eternal bliss is worth securing, by acting as the spotless holiness 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 299 
 
 of the Deity requires from us, and the reason and fitness of things 
 makes necessary, in respect of every kind of relation and neigh- 
 bour. This is the case of many men. They are not so generally 
 bad as you seem to think. 
 
 " On the other hand, I would ask, if there are no unhappy 
 marriages by the faults of women ? Are all the married ladies 
 consistently and thoroughly good, that is, effectually so ? Do 
 they all yield themselves entirely and universally to the govern- 
 ment of conscience, subdue everything to it, and conquer every 
 adverse passion and inclination ? Has reason always the sove- 
 reignty, and nothing wrong to be seen ? Are truth, piety, and 
 goodness, the settled prevailing regard in the hearts and lives 
 of all the married ladies you know ? Have you heard of no 
 unhappy marriages by the passions and vices of women, as well 
 as by the faults of men ? I am afraid there are too many wives 
 as subject to ill habits as the men can be. It is possible to name 
 not a few ladies who find their virtuous exercises, the duties of 
 piety, and the various of&ces of love and goodness, as distasteful 
 and irksome to them as they can be to a Ubertine or a cruel man. 
 I could tell some sad stories to this purpose ; but all I shall say 
 more is, that there are faults on both sides, and that it is not the 
 ladies only run a hazard of being ruined by marrying. I am sure, 
 there are as many men of fortune miserable by the manners and 
 conduct of their wives, as you can name ladies who are sufferers 
 by the temper and practice of their husbands. This is the truth 
 of the case, and the business is, in order to avoid the miseries 
 we both have seen among married people, to resolve to act well 
 and wisely." " This is the thing to besure," rephedMiss Spence. 
 " This will prevent faults on either side. Such a course as virtue 
 and piety require must have a continued tendency to render Ufe 
 a scene of the greatest happiness ; and it may gain infinitely 
 hereafter. Call upon me then at Cleator as soon as you can," 
 she concluded, with her face in smiles, " and we will talk over 
 this affair again." Thus we chatted as we dined together in 
 private, and early the next morning Miss Spence left the 
 WeUs. 
 
 Miss Spence being gone from Harrogate, and finding myself 
 very ill from having drank too hard the preceding night, I mounted 
 my horse, and rode to Oldfield-Spa, a few miles off, as I had heard 
 an extraordinary account of its usefulness after a debauch. There 
 is not so much as a Uttle ale-house there to rest at, and for six days 
 I lodged at the cottage of a poor labouring man, to which my in- 
 former directed me. I Uved on such plain fare as he had for him- 
 self. Bread and roots, and milk and water, were my chief support ; 
 and for the time, I was as happy as I could wish. 
 
 O Nature I Nature ! would man be satisfied with thee, and 
 follow thy wise dictates, he would constantly enjoy that true plea- 
 
300 THE LIFE OF 
 
 sure, which advances his real happiness, and very rarely be tor- 
 mented with those evils, which obstruct and destroy it ; but, alas I 
 instead of listening to the voice of reason, keeping the mind free 
 of passions, and hving as temperance and discretion direct, the 
 man of pleasure will have all the gratifications of sense to as high 
 a pitch, as an imagination and fortune devoted to them can raise 
 them, and diseases and calamities are the consequence. Fears, 
 •anxieties and disappointments are often the attendants, and too 
 frequently the ruin of health and estate, of reputation and honour, 
 and the lasting wound of remorse in reflection, follow. This is 
 generally the case of the voluptuary. Dreadful Case I He runs 
 the course of pleasure first, and then the course of produced evils 
 succeeds. He passes from pleasure to a state of pain, and the plea- 
 sure past gives a double sense of that pain. We ought then surely, 
 as reasonable beings, to confine our pleasure within the bounds of 
 just and right. 
 
 As to the place called Oldfield-Spa, it is seven miles from Harro- 
 gate, and four from Rippon, hes on a rising ground, between two 
 high hills, near an old abbey, about five yards from a running 
 stream, and in a most romantic, deUghtful situation, which re- 
 sembles Matlock in Derbyshire, so very much, that one might 
 almost take it for the same place, if conveyed there in a long deep 
 sleep. The same kind of charms and various beauties are every- 
 where to be seen ; rocks and mountains, groves and valleys, tender 
 shrubs and purUng currents, at once surprise and please the wan- 
 dering eye. 
 
 As to the mineral water at Oldfield-Spa, it is an impetuous 
 spring, that throws out a vast quantity of water, and is always of 
 the same height, neither afiected by rain or drought. It is bright 
 and sparkhng, and when poured into a glass, rises up in rows like 
 strings of Uttle beads. It has an uncommon taste, quite different 
 from all other mineral waters that ever came in my way ; but it 
 is not disagreeable. What impregnates it I know not. Dr. 
 Rutty I suppose never heard of this water, for it is not in his valu- 
 able quarto lately published ; and Dr. Short, in his excellent 
 History of Mineral Waters, printed in two quarto volumes in 1734, 
 says little more than that there is a medicinal spring there. What 
 I found upon trial is, that two quarts of it, swallowed as fast as I 
 could drink it in a morning, vomits to great advantage ; and that 
 four quarts of it, drank by degrees, at intervals, works off by siege 
 or stool, and urine, in a very beneficial, manner. I was appre- 
 hensive of a high fever from my night's hard drinking at 
 Harrogate, which I could not avoid ; and the Oldfield-water, 
 operating as related, carried off the bad symptoms, and restored 
 me to sanity in two days' time. This is aU I can say of this fine 
 water. It is very little in respect of what it deserves to have said 
 of it. 
 
JOHN BUNGLE. ESQ, 301 
 
 By the way, it is to me a matter of great admiration, that so 
 many rich and noble persons not only endure the fatigues and 
 hazards of saiUng and traveUing to remote countries, but waste 
 their money, to drink spa- waters abroad, when they can have 'as 
 good of every kind in England, by riding a few miles to the most 
 deUghtful places in the world, in summer time. Our own country 
 has heaUng waters equal to the best in France, Italy, and West- 
 phalia. Harrogate-water, in particular, has all the virtues of the 
 famous baths of Aponus, within a mile of Padua in Italy, and is in 
 every respect exactly aUke. See the analysis of Aponus-water by 
 FaUopius and Baccius, and the analysis of the English sulphur-spa 
 by Dr. Rutty. It is injustice then to our country to visit foreign 
 nations upon this account. 
 
 The mineral waters called Moffat-waters, which are as good as 
 any in the known world, are found at the distance of a long mile 
 northward from Moffat, a village in Annandale, thirty-five miles 
 south-west of Edinburgh. The springs are situated on the decUvity 
 of a hiU, and on the brow of a precipice, with high mountains at a 
 distance, and almost on every side of them. The hill is the second 
 from Hartfield, adjoining the highest hill in Scotland. 
 
 A vein of spar runs for several miles on this range of hills, and 
 forms the bottom and lower sides of the wells. It is of a grejrish 
 colour, having polished and shining surfaces of regular figures, 
 interspersed with glittering particles of a golden colour, which are 
 very copious and large. 
 
 There are two medicinal springs or wells, which are separated 
 from one another by a small rock ; the higher well hes with its mouth 
 south east. It is of an irregular square figure, and about a foot 
 and a half deep. The lower well is surrounded with naked rocks, 
 forming a small arch of a circle. Its depth is four feet and a half, 
 and by a moderate computation, the two springs yield forty loads 
 of water in twenty-four hours, each load containing sixty-four 
 or sixty-eight Scotch pints ; a Scotch pint is two English quarts. 
 The higher shallow well is used for bathing, as it is not capable of 
 being kept so clean as the lower well, on account of the shallow- 
 ness and the looseness of its parts. 
 
 These waters are strongly sulphureous, and resemble the scour- 
 ings of a foul gun, or rotten eggs, or a weak solution of sal poly- 
 chrestum, or hepar sulphuris. The colour of the water is somewhat 
 milky or bluish. The soil on every side of the wells is thin, and 
 the hills rocky, only just below the wells there is a small moss 
 caused by the f aUing of water from the hill above it. 
 
 Great is the medicinal virtue of these waters, in relieving in- 
 wardly, choUcs, pains in the stomach, griping of the guts ; bilious, 
 nephritic, nervous and hysteric cholics ; the gravel, by carrying 
 off the quantities of sand, though it does not dissolve the sUmy 
 gravel, clearing the urinary passages in a wonderful manner ; 
 
302 THE LIFE OF 
 
 curing ischuries, and ulcerated kidneys ; the gout, the palsy, ob- 
 structions of the menses, old gleets, and barrenness ; it is a sovereign 
 remedy in rheumatic and scorbutic pains, even when the hmbs are 
 monstrously swelled, useless, and covered with scales. Outwardly, 
 ulcers, tumors, itch, St. Anthony's fire, and king's evil. 
 
 The waters are used by bathing and drinking : to drink in the 
 morning three chopins, i. e. six pints or a Scotch quart, four Eng- 
 lish quarts, at most, between the hours of six and eleven. After 
 dinner to drink gradually. 
 
 Medicines commonly used during the drinking of the waters are, 
 an emetic or two at first, and a few cathartic doses.- The doses 
 sal Glauberi and polychrestum : syrup of buckthorn, and sulphur, 
 is used along with the water. 
 
 But the cathartic prescription most in use, which was given by 
 an eminent physician, for a general recipe, to be taken by all who 
 should at any time use the water, is pills that are a composition 
 of gambozia, resin of jalap, aloes, and scammony ; these to all in- 
 tents are a strong hydragogue. 
 
 The large vein of spar three feet thick, runs in one direction for 
 six miles to the wells, crosses obliquely the rivulet at the bottom 
 of the precipice, and ascends the hill on the opposite side. Small 
 veins of the same spar which appears on the precipices, are on the 
 side of the rivulet, and six small gushes of water of the mineral 
 kind proceed from them. The rocks and stones about the tops of 
 the wells, and in other parts of the hill, and precipices difEer not 
 from common stones, no more than the water of the small springs 
 in the neighbourhood with the common water. 
 
 The virtue of this water was discovered by Miss Whiteforfl, 
 daughter of bishop Whiteford, in 1632. She had been abroad, 
 and all over England, drinking minersd waters for the recovery of 
 her health, but found Uttle benefit, tiU by accident she tasted 
 these waters in her neighbourhood, and finding they resembled 
 those she had used elsewhere, made a trial of them, and was cured 
 of all her disorders. 
 
 Upon this she recommended the use of them to others, and em- 
 ployed workmen to clear the ground about the springs, their over- 
 flowing having made a small morass, that the poor and the rich 
 might come, and make use of a medicine, which nature had so 
 bounteously offered to them. 
 
 The 19th of May, 173 1, at that hour when the break of day 
 offers the most magnificent sight to the eyes of men, though few 
 who have eyes will deign to view it ; I mounted my horse, and 
 intended to breakfast at Knaresborough, in order to my being at 
 Harrogate by dinner time, with my friends again ; but the land 
 I went over was so enchantingly romantic, and the morning so 
 extremely beautiful, that I had a mind to see more of the country, 
 and let my horse trot on where he pleased. For a couple of hours. 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 303 
 
 he went slowly over the hills as his inclination directed him, and I 
 was deUghtfully entertained with the various fine scenes. 
 
 The rising sun, which I had directly before me, struck me very 
 strongly, in the fine situation I was in for observing it, with the 
 power and wisdom of the author of nature, and gave me such a 
 charming degree of evidence for the Deity, that I could not but 
 offer up, in silence, on the altar of my heart, praise and adoration 
 to that sovereign and universal mind, image of his benignity, and 
 in its circle, which it traces unweariedly round ; not only to illus- 
 trate successively the opposite sides of this globe, thereby enliven- 
 ing the animal, and supporting the vegetable world, ripening and 
 preparing matter for aU the purposes of life and vegetation ; but, 
 to enlighten and cheer surrounding worlds, by a perpetual diffusion 
 of bounties, to dispel darkness and sorrow, and like the presence 
 of the Deity, infuse secret ravishment and delight into the heart. 
 This cannot be the production of chance. It must be the work of 
 an infinitely wise and good Being, The nature, situation, and 
 motion of the sun, brings the Deity even within the reach of the 
 methods -of sense assisted by reason, and shows such constant 
 operations of his power and goodness, that it is impossible to con- 
 sider the present disposition of the system, without being full of a 
 sense of love and gratitude to the Almighty Creator — the parent 
 of Being and of Beauty ! By this returning minister of his benefi- 
 cence, all things are recalled into hfe, from corruption and decay ; 
 and by its, and all the other heavenly motions, the whole frame of 
 nature is still kept in repair. His name alone then is excellent, 
 and his glory above the earth and heaven. It becomes the whole 
 system of rationals to say. Hallelujah. 
 
 Come Cheerfulness, triumphant Fair, 
 Shine through the painful cloud of care. 
 O sweet of language, mild of mien. 
 Fair virtue's friend, and pleasure's queen ! 
 Fond guardian of domestic life. 
 Best banisher of home-bred strife; 
 Nor sullen lip, nor taunting eye 
 Deform the scene where thou art by : 
 No sick'ning husband damns the hour. 
 That bound his joys to female power ; 
 No pining mother weeps the cares. 
 That parents waste on hopeless heirs : 
 Th' officious daughters pleas'd attend ; 
 The brother rises to the friend : 
 By thee our board with flowers is crown'd. 
 By thee with songs our Walks resound ; 
 By thee the sprightly mornings shine, 
 And evening hours in peace decline. 
 
 While I was thinking in this manner of the sun, and the author 
 of it, I came into a silent unfrequented glade, that was finely 
 adorned with streams and trees. Nature there seemed to be lulled 
 
304 THE LIFE OF 
 
 into a kind of pleasing repose, and conspired as it were to soften 
 a speculative genius into solid and awful contemplations. The 
 woods, the meadows, and the water, formed the most deUghtful 
 scenes, and the charms of distant prospects multiphed as I travelled 
 on ; but at last I came to a seat which had all the beauties that 
 proportion, regularity, and convenience can give. This delightful 
 mansion was situated in the midst of meadows, and surrounded 
 with gardens, trees, and various shades. A fountain played to a 
 great height before the door, and fell into a circular reservoir of 
 water, that had foreign wild-fowl swimming on its surface. The 
 whole was very fine. 
 
 Here I walked for some time, and after roaming about, went up 
 to the house, to admire its beauties. I found the windows open, 
 and could see several ladies in one of the apartments. How to 
 gain admittance was the question, and I began to contrive many 
 ways ; but while I was busied in this kind of speculation, a genteel 
 footman came up to me, and let me know, his lady sent him to in- 
 form me I might walk in and look at the house, if I pleased. So 
 in I went, and passed through several grand rooms, aU finely 
 furnished, and filled with paintings of great price. In one of those 
 chambers the servant left me, and told me, he would wait upon me 
 again in a httle time. This surprised me, and my astonishment 
 was doubled, when I had remained alone for almost an hour. No 
 footman returned, nor could I hear the sound of any feet. But I 
 was charmingly entertained all the while. In the apartment I 
 was left in, were two figures, dressed hke a shepherd and shep- 
 herdess, which amazed me very much. They sat on a rich couch, 
 in a gay alcove, and both played on the German flute. They 
 moved their heads, their arms, their eyes, their fingers, and seemed 
 to look with a consciousness at each other, while they breathed, 
 at my entering the room, that fine piece of music, the masquerade 
 minuet ; and afterwards, several excellent pieces. I thought at 
 first, they were Uving creatures ; but on examination, finding they 
 were only wood, my admiration increased, and became exceeding 
 great, when I saw, by shutting their mouths, and stopping their 
 fingers, that the music did not proceed from an organ within the 
 figures. It was an extraordinary piece of clockwork, invented 
 and made by one John Nixon, a poor man. 
 
 At length however, a door was opened, and a lady entered, she 
 was vastly pretty, and richly drest beyond what I had ever seen, 
 and had diamonds enough for a queen. I was amazed at the sight 
 of her, and wondered still more, when, after being honoured with 
 a low courtesy, on my bowing to her, she asked me in Irish, how I 
 did, and how long I had been in England. My surprise was so 
 great I could not speak, and upon this, she said, in the same lan- 
 guage, I see, sir, you have no remembrance of me. You cannot 
 recollect the least idea of me. You have quite forgot young 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 305 
 
 Imoinda, of the county of Galway in Ireland ; who was your 
 partner in country dances, when you passed the Christmas of the 
 year 1 7 1 5 , at her father's house. What Miss Wolf of Balineskay ? 
 O my Imoinda ! I exclaimed, and snatching her in my arms, I 
 almost stifled her with kisses. I was so glad to see her again, and 
 in the situation she appeared in, that I could not help expressing 
 my joys in that tumultuous manner, and hoped she would excuse 
 her Valentine, as I then remembered I had had that honour when 
 we were both very young. 
 
 This lady, who was good humour itself in flesh and blood, was 
 so far from being angry at this strange flight of mine, that she only 
 laughed excessively at the oddness of the thing ; but some ladies 
 who came into the apartment with her seemed frightened, and at 
 a loss what to think, till she cleared up the affair to them, by letting 
 them know who I was, and how near her father and mine lived to 
 each other in the country of Ireland. She was indeed extremely 
 glad to see me, and from her heart bid me welcome to Clankford. 
 Our meeting was a vast surprise to both of us. She thought I had 
 been in the Elysian fields, as she had heard nothing of me for 
 several years, and I little imagined, I should ever find her in Eng- 
 land, in the rich condition she was in. She asked me by what 
 destiny I was brought to Yorkshire ; and in return for my short 
 story, gave me an account of herself at large. Till the bell rung 
 for dinner, we sat talking together, and then went down to as 
 elegant a repast as I had ever seen. There were twelve at table, 
 six young ladies, all very handsome, and six gentlemen. Good 
 humour presided, and in a rational, delightful cheerfulness, we 
 passed some hours away. After cofiee, we went to cards, and 
 from them to country dances, as two of the footmen played well 
 on the fiddle. The charming Imoinda was my partner, and as 
 they all did the dances extremely well, we were as happy a Uttle 
 set as ever footed it to country measure. Two weeks I passed in 
 this fine felicity. Then we all separated, and went different ways. 
 What became of Miss Wolf after this, the extraordinary events 
 of her Ufe, and the stories of the five ladies with her, I shall relate 
 in the second volume of my Memoirs of several Ladies of Great 
 Britain. Four of them were Mrs. Cheslin, Mrs. Fanshaw, Mrs. 
 Chadley, and Mrs. Bissel ; the fifth was Miss Farmor ; all 
 mentioned in the Preface to the first volume of my Memoirs afore- 
 said. 
 
 A fortnight, as said, I stayed with Miss Wolf, that was ; but, 
 at the time I am speaking of, the relict of Sir Loghlin Fitzgib- 
 BONS, an old Irish knight, who was immensely rich, and married 
 her when he was creeping upon all-fours, with snow on his head, 
 and frost in his bones, that he might lie by a naked beauty, and 
 gaze at that awful spot he had no power to enjoy. I did intend, 
 on leaving this lady, to be at Knaresborough at night ; but the 
 
3o6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 fates, for a while, took me another way. At the inn where I dined 
 I became acquainted with a gentleman much of my own age, who 
 was an ingenious, agreeable man. This was Oliver Wincup, Esq.; 
 who had lately married Miss Horner of Northumberland, a fine 
 young creature, and a great fortune. This gentleman, by his 
 good humour, and several good songs, pleased me so much, that I 
 drank more than I intended, and was easily prevailed on to go 
 with him, in the evening, to Woodcester, the name of his seat ; 
 which was but ten miles from the house we had dined at. We 
 came in just as they were going to tea. There was a great deal of 
 company, at least a dozen ladies, besides half a score gentlemen, 
 and all of them as gay and engaging as the best-bred young mor- 
 tals could be. 
 
 The vUla here was very odd, but a charming pretty thing. The 
 house consisted of, I think, ten several ground rooms, detached 
 from one another, and separated by trees and banks of flowers. 
 They were entirely of wood, but finely put together, and all dis- 
 posed with the greatest symmetry and beauty. They were very 
 handsome on the outside, and the inside was furnished and adorned 
 with the finest things the owner could get for money. Easy hills, 
 little valleys, and pretty groves, surrounded the sweet retreat, and 
 the valleys were watered with clear streams. The whole had a fine 
 appearance. The varied scenes for ever pleased. 
 
 At this delightful place I stayed ten days, and was very happy 
 indeed. We drank, we laughed, we danced, we sung, and chatted 
 and when that was done, 'twas night. But country-dances were 
 the chief diversion ; and I had a partner, who was not only a won- 
 der in face and person, being divinely pretty ; but did wonders in 
 every motion. This was Miss Veyssiere of Cumberland : the 
 dear creature : Reader, when I was a young fellow, there were few 
 could equal me in dancing. The famous Paddy Murphy, an 
 Irish member of the house of commons, commonly called the 
 Little Beau, well known at Lucas's coffee-house in DubUn, in 1734 ; 
 and Langham, the miller, who danced every night at the renowned 
 Stretch's puppet-show, before the curtain was drawn up, danced 
 one night, that I was at the castle, before the late Duke of Dorset 
 and his Duchess, at their graces' request ; and were both de- 
 servedly admired for their performance in the hornpipe, yet they 
 were nothing to me in this particular ; Miss Veyssiere however 
 out-did me far ; her steps were infinite, and she did them with 
 that amazing agility, that she seemed like a dancing angel in the 
 air. We footed it together eight nights, and all the company said, 
 we were born for each other. She charmed me exceedingly, and I 
 should have asked her the question, to try her temper, if Wincup 
 had not told me, her father intended to sacrifice her to a man old 
 enough to be her grandfather, for the sake of a great jointure ; and 
 in a week or two she was to dance the " reel of Bogee " with an old 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 307 
 
 monk. Poor Miss Veyssiere I said I, What connection can there 
 be between the hoary churl and you : — 
 
 While side by side the blushing maid 
 Shrinks from his visage, half afraid ? 
 
 I do not wish you may feather him, but may you bury him very 
 quickly, and be happy. 
 
 Another of our diversions at Woodcester, was a little company 
 of singers and dancers Wincup had hired, to perform in a sylvan 
 theatre he had constructed in his gardens. These people did the 
 mime, the dance, the song, extremely well. There was among 
 them one Miss Hinxworth, a charming young creature, who ex- 
 celling in everything, singing especially, had no equal I Ijelieve in 
 the world. She was a gentleman's daughter, and had been carried 
 off by one O'Regan, an Irishman, and dancing-master, and who 
 was the head of this company. He was the most active fellow 
 upon earth, and the best harlequin I have ever seen. Every even- 
 ing we had something or other extraordinary from these perfor- 
 mers. He gave us two pieces which so nearly resembled to two 
 favourite entertainments called Harlequin Sorcerer, and The Genii, 
 though in several particulars better ; that I cannot help thinking 
 Rich owed his Harlequin Sorcerer to O'Regan ; and that The 
 Genii of Drury-Lane was the invention of this Irishman. 
 
 You know, reader, that in the first scene of Harlequin Sorcerer 
 there is a group of witches at their orgies in a wilderness by moon- 
 light, and that harlequin comes riding in the air between two 
 witches, upon a long pole : Here O'Regan did what was never 
 attempted at Covent-Garden house, and what no other man in 
 the world I believe did ever do. As the witches danced round and 
 round, hand in hand, as swift as they could move, O'Regan 
 leaped upon the shoulder of one of them, and for near a quarter of 
 an hour, jumped the contrary way as fast as they went, round all 
 their shoulders. This was a fine piece of activity. I think it 
 much more wonderful, than to keep at the top of the outwheel of 
 a water-mill, by jumping there, as it goes with the greatest rapidity 
 round. This Mun. Hawley, of Loch-Gur in the county of Tip- 
 perary, could do. He was a charming fellow in body and mind, 
 and fell unfortunately in the twenty-second year of his age. In a 
 plain field, by a trip of his horse, he came down, and fractured his 
 skull. He did not think he was hurt, but at night as soon as he 
 began to eat, it came up. A surgeon was sent for, to look at his 
 head. It was cracked in several places, and he died the next day. 
 He and I were near friends. 
 
 The first of June, 173 1, at five in the morning, I took my leave 
 of honest Wincup, as cheerful and worthy a fellow as ever Uved, 
 and set out for Knaresborough ; but lost my way, went quite 
 
3o8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 wrong, and in three hours' time, came to a little bUnd ale-house, 
 the sign of the Cat and Bagpipe, in a lonely silent place. The master 
 of this small inn was one Tom Clancy, brother to the weU-known 
 Martin Clancy in DubUn. He came to England to try his 
 fortune, as he told me; and married an old woman, who kept this 
 public-house, the sign of the Cat, to which Tom added the Bag- 
 pipe. As he had been a waiter at his brother's house, he remem- 
 bered to have seen me often there, and was rejoiced at my arrival 
 at the Cat and Bagpipe. He got me a good supper of trouts, fine 
 ale, and a squib of punch, and after he had done talking of all the 
 gallant fellows that used to resort to his brother Martin's, Cap- 
 tain Maccan of the county of Kerry, and many more, the heroes 
 of Trinity-college, Dubhn, he let me go to sleep. 
 
 The next morning, betimes, I was up, and walked into a wood 
 adjoining to Clancy's house. I sauntered on for about an hour 
 easily enough, but at last came to a part of the forest that was al- 
 most impenetrable. Curiosity excited me to struggle onwards, 
 if possible, that I might see what country was before me, or if any 
 house was to be found in this gloomy place ; this cost me a couple 
 of hours, much toil, and many scratches ; but at length, I arrived 
 at the edge of a barren moor, and beyond it, about a quarter of a 
 mile off, saw another wood. Proud to be daring, on I went, and 
 soon came to the wood in view, which I found cut into walks, and 
 arrived at a circular space surrounded with a forest, that was above 
 a hundred yards every way. In the centre of this was a house, 
 enclosed within a very broad deep mote, full of water, and the 
 banks on the inside, all round, were so thick planted with trees, 
 that there was no seeing any thing of the mansion but the roof and 
 the chimnies. Over the water was one narrow draw-bridge, lifted 
 up, and a strong door on the garden side of the mote. Round I 
 walked several times, but no soul could I see : not the least noise 
 could I hear ; nor was there a cottage anywhere in view. I 
 wondered much at the whole, and if I had had my lad O'Fin with 
 me, and my pole, I would most certainly have attempted to leap 
 the foss, broad as it was, and if it was possible, have known who 
 were the occupants of this strange place. But as nothing could 
 be done, nor any information be had, I returned again to the Cat 
 and Bagpipe. 
 
 It was ten by the time I got back, and at breakfast I told Clancy, 
 my landlord, where I had been, and asked^him if he knew who 
 lived in that wonderful place. " His name," he replied, " is 
 Cock, an old lawyer and Umb of the devil, and the most hideous 
 man to behold, upon the face of the earth. Everything that is 
 bad and shocking is in his compound ; he is to outward appear- 
 ance a monster, and within, the miser, the oppressor, and the 
 villain. He is despised and abhorred, but so immensely rich, that 
 he can do anything, and no one is able to contend with him. I 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 309 
 
 could relate," said Tom, " a thousand instances of his injustice 
 and cruelty ; but one alone is suf&cient to render his memory for 
 ever cursed. Two gentlemen of fortune, who had employed him 
 several years in their affairs, and had a good opinion of him, on 
 account of a canted uprightness and seeming piety, left him sole 
 guardian of a daughter each of them had, and the management of 
 fifty thousand pounds a-piece, the fortune of these girls, with power 
 to do as he pleased, without being subject to any controul, till 
 they are of age. These ladies, as fine creatures as ever the eye of 
 man beheld, he has had now a year in confinement in that prison 
 you saw in the wood ; and while he hves, wiU keep them there to 
 be sure, on account of the hundred thousand pounds, or till he 
 shall be able to dispose of them, to his own 'advantage some way 
 or other. He intends them, it is said, for two ugly nephews he 
 has, who are now at school, about fourteen years old, and for this 
 purpose, or some other as bad, never suffers them to stir out of 
 the garden surrounded by the mote, nor lets any human creatures 
 visit them. Greatly as they are to be pitied, they bear his severe 
 usage wonderfully well. Miss Martha Tilston, the eldest, is in 
 her twentieth year ; and the other. Miss Alithea Llansoy, in her 
 her nineteenth. They are girls of great sense, and would, if any 
 kind of opportunity offered, make a brave attempt to escape, but 
 that seems impossible. They are not only so strictly confined, 
 and he for ever at home with them, except he rides a few miles ; 
 but they are attended continually in the garden, when they walk, 
 by a servant who is well paid, and devoted to the old man her 
 master. This makes them think their state is fixed for life, and 
 to get rid of melancholy, they read, and practise music. They 
 both play on the fiddle, and do it extremely fine." 
 
 Here Clancy had done, and I was much more surprised at his 
 relation than at the place of their residence which I had seen. I 
 became very thoughtful, and continued for some time with my 
 eyes fixed on the table, while I revolved the case of these unfor- 
 tunate young ladies. " But is all this true, or only report ? " said 
 I. " How did you get such particular information ? " "I will 
 tell you," answered Tom, " Old Cock is my landlord, and business 
 often brings me to his house in the wood, to pay my rent, or ask 
 for something I want. Besides, I sometimes take a fat pig there, 
 and other things to sell. My daughter, Ukewise, has sometimes 
 a piece of work in hand for the ladies, and she and I take a walk 
 with it there by a better and shorter way than you went. You 
 cannot think how glad they are to see us, and then acquaint us 
 with aU their perplexities and distress." 
 
 On hearing this, a sudden thought of being serviceable to these 
 ladies came into my head, and I was about to ask a question in 
 relation to it, when two horsemen rode up to the door, and one 
 of them called " House I " " This " says my landlord, " is Old 
 
310 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Cock and his man ; " and immediately went out to him, to know 
 his will. He told him, he came for the ride-sake himself, to see if 
 any letters were left for him by that day's post at his house, and 
 would dine with him if he had anything to eat. " I have " said 
 Tom, " as fine a fowl, bacon and greens, as ever was served up to 
 any table, and only one gentleman, a stranger and traveller, to sit 
 down to it." Cock upon this came into the room I was sitting in, 
 and after looking very earnestly at me, said " Your servant, sir." 
 I told him I was his " most humble," and right glad to meet with 
 a gentleman for society in that lone place. I immediately began 
 a story of a cock and a bnti, and made the old fellow grin now and 
 then. I informed him among other things, that I was travelling 
 to Westmoreland, to look after some estates I had there, but must 
 hurry back to London very soon, for my wife was within a few 
 weeks of her time. " You are a married man then, sir," he re- 
 plied. " Yes, indeed, and so supremely blest with the charms 
 and perfections, the fondness and obedience of a wife, that I would 
 not be unmarried for all the world : few men living so happy as I 
 am in the nuptial state." Here dinner was brought in, and to 
 save the old gentleman trouble, I would cut up the fowl. I helped 
 him plentifully to a slice of the breast, and the tips of the 
 wings, and picked out for him the tenderest greens. I was as com- 
 plaisant as it was possible, and drank his health many times. 
 The bottle after dinner I put about pretty quick, and told my old 
 gentleman, if affairs ever brought him up to London, I should be 
 glad to see him at my house, in Golden-Square, the very next door 
 to Sir John Heir's ; or, if I could be of any service to him there, 
 he would obUge me very much by letting me know in what way. 
 In short, I so buttered him with words, and filled him with fowl 
 and wine, that he seemed well pleased, especially when he found 
 there was nothing to pay, as I informed him it was my own dinner 
 I had bespoke, and dined with double pleasure in having the satis- 
 faction of his most agreeable company. I further said, he was a 
 fine poUtician, and talked extremely well of the government and 
 the times ; that I had received more true knowledge from his just 
 notions, than from all I had read of men and things, or from con- 
 versing with any one. The glass during this time was not long 
 stiU, but in such toasts as I found were grateful to his Jacobite 
 heart, drank brimmers as fast as opportunity served ; and he 
 pledged me and cottoned in a very diverting way. He grew very 
 fond of me at last, and hoped I would spare so much time, as to 
 come and dine with him the next day. This honour I assured 
 him I would do myself, and punctually be with him at his hour. 
 He then rode off, brim fuU, and I walked out to consider of this 
 affair. But before I proceed any farther in my story, I must give 
 a description of this man. 
 Cock, the old lawyer and guardian, was a low man, about four 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 3 1 1 
 
 feet eight inches, very broad, and near seventy years old. He 
 was humped behind to an enormous degree, and his belly as a Vast 
 flasket of garbage projected monstrously before. He had the 
 most hanging look I have ever seen. '^ His ^brows_^were prodigious, 
 and frowning in a shocking manner ; his eyes very little, and 
 above an inch within his head ; his nose hooked like a buzzard, 
 wide nostrils hke a horse, and his mouth sparrow. In this case, 
 was a mind quite cunning, in the worst sense of the word, acute, 
 artful, designing and base. There was not a spark of honour or 
 generosity in his soul. 
 
 How to circumvent this able one, and deliver the two beauties 
 from his oppressive power, was the question : it seemed almost 
 impossible ; but I resolved to do my best. This I told Clancy, 
 and requested, as I was to dine with Cock the next day, that he 
 would be there in the morning, on some pretence or other, and let 
 the ladies know, I offered them my service, without any other view 
 than to do them good ; and if they accepted it, to inform me by a 
 note, shpt into my hand when they saw me, that if they could 
 direct me what to do, I would execute it at any hazard, or let them 
 hint the least particular that might have any tendency to their 
 freedom in some time to come, though it were three months off, 
 and I would wait for the moment, and study to improve the 
 scheme. This my landlord very carefully acquainted them with, 
 at the time I mentioned ; and by two o'clock I was at Cock's 
 house, to see these beauties, and know what they thought of the 
 service offered them. The old man received me much civiler than 
 I thought he would do when he was sober, and had, what my land- 
 lord told me was a very rare thing in his house, to wit, a good 
 dinner that day. Just as it was brought in the ladies entered, 
 two charming creatures indeed, and made me very low courtesies, 
 while their eyes declared the sense they had of the good I intended 
 them. Cock said, " These are my nieces, sir," and as I had saluted 
 them, we sat down to table. The eldest carved, and helped me to 
 the best the board afforded, and young as they were, they both 
 showed by their manner, and the little they said, that they were 
 women of sense and breeding. They retired, a few minutes after 
 dinner, and the youngest contrived, in going off, to give me a 
 billet, in an invisible manner. I then turned to Cock entirely, 
 heard him abuse the government in nonsense and falsehoods, as 
 all Jacobites do ; and after we had drank and talked for better 
 than an hour, took my leave of him very willingly, to read the 
 following note. 
 
 " Sir, 
 " As you can have nothing in view but our happiness, in your 
 most generous ofier of assistance, we have not words to express 
 our grateful sense of the intended favour. What is to be done 
 
312 THE LIFE OF 
 
 upon the occasion, as yet we cannot imagine, as we are so con- 
 fined and watched, and the doors of the house locked and barred 
 in such a manner every night that a cat could not get out at any 
 part of it. — You shall hear from us however soon, if possible, 
 to some purpose ; and in the mean time we are, 
 " Sir, 
 
 "Your ever obliged servants, 
 
 " M. T. 
 "A. L." 
 
 What to do then I could not tell ; but as I rode back I con- 
 sulted with my lad O'Fin, who was a very extraordinary young 
 man, and asked him what observations he had made on the 
 servants and place. He said, he had tried the depth of the 
 water in the mote all round, and found it fordable at one angle, 
 waist high, and the rock he trod on about two feet broad. He 
 had stripped, and walked it over to be sure of the thing. As to 
 the people, he fancied there was one young man, a labourer by 
 the year under the gardener, who would, for a reasonable reward 
 for losing his place, be aiding in the escape of the ladies ; for he 
 talked with pity of them, and with 'great severity of his master : 
 that if I pleased, he would sound this man, and let me know 
 more in relation to him : that if he would be concerned, he could 
 very easily carry the ladies on his back across the water, as he 
 was a tall man, and then we might take them behind us to what 
 place we pleased ; or, if it was not safe trusting this man, for fear 
 of his telling his master, in hopes of more money on that side, 
 then, he would himself engage to bring the ladies and their clothes 
 over, on his own back, with wetting only their legs, if they could 
 be at the water-side some hour in the night. This was not bad 
 to be sure, but I was afraid to trust the man ; for, if he should 
 inform old Cock of the thing, they would be confined to their 
 chambers, and made close prisoners for the time to come. It 
 was better therefore to rely entirely upon O'Fin, if they could 
 get into the garden in the night. 
 
 In answer then to another letter I had from the ladies by my 
 landlord's daughter the next morning, in which they lamented 
 the appearing impossibUity of an escape, I let them know im- 
 mediately the state of the water, and desired to be informed what 
 they thought of the gardener's man ; or, if he would not do, 
 could they at any particular hour, get to that angle of the mote 
 I named, to be brought over on my man's back, and then imme- 
 diately ride off behind us on pilhons, which should be prepared. 
 Their answer was, that they dared not trust any of their guar- 
 dian's men, but thought my own servant would do, and the 
 scheme reasonable and seemingly safe, if they could get out. 
 They gave me a million of thanks for my amazing care of them. 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ, 313 
 
 and called the immortal powers to witness the high sense they 
 had of their unutterable obUgation to me. 
 
 Waiting then for them, I staid at the little inn three days 
 longer, and at last received a billet to let me know, that at twelve 
 o'clock that night, which was the sixth of June, they could, by an 
 accident that had happened, be at the appointed place, and 
 ready to go wherever I pleased. To a minute my man and I 
 were there, and in a few moments, O'Fin brought them and 
 their clothes over safe. In an instant after they were behind us, 
 and we rode off as fast as we could. Six hours we travelled 
 without stopping, and in that time, had gone about thirty miles. 
 We breakfasted very gaily at our inn, and when the, horses had 
 rested a couple of hours, we set out again, and rode till three in 
 the afternoon, when we baited at a lone house in a valley, called 
 Straveret Vale, which had every rural charm that can be found 
 in the finest part of Juan Fernandes. A young couple, vastly 
 civil kept here a small clean public house, the sign of the Pilgrim, 
 on the very margin of a pretty river, and the plain things they 
 had were as good as we could desire. Their bread, their drink, 
 their fowl, their eggs, their butter, cheese, vegetables, and bacon, 
 were excellent, and as they had good beds, I thought we could 
 not do better than lie by for two or three days in this charming 
 place, till it was determined, where the ladies should fix. We 
 were at least sixty miles from old Cock's house, and in an obs- 
 curity that would conceal us from any pursuers ; for we had 
 kept the' cross roads and by-ways, and were on the confines 
 of Westmoreland. Here then we agreed to rest for a little 
 time. In reaUty, it was just as I pleased. The ladies were all 
 acknowledgment for what I did to deUver them, and aU submis- 
 sion to my direction. They had each of them thirty guineas in 
 their purses, as they showed me, but what to do after that was 
 gone, or where to go while it lasted, to be in safety, they could 
 not teU. 
 
 The affair perplexed me very much, and I turned it a thou- 
 sand ways, without being able to settle it as I would. I had 
 two young heiresses on my hands, who wanted more than a 
 year of being at age, and I must support them, and place them in 
 some spot of decency, security, and peace, since I had gone thus 
 far, or I had injured them greatly, instead of serving them, in 
 bringing them from their guardian's house. This took up all 
 my thoughts for three days. I concealed however my uneasi- 
 ness from them, and endeavoured to make the house and place 
 quite pleasing to them. I kept up a cheerfulness and gaiety, 
 and we sat down with joy and pleasure to breakfast, dinner, and 
 supper. Within doors, we played at cards, we sung, and I enter- 
 tained them with my german-flute. Abroad, we walked, fished, 
 and sometimes I rowed them up the river in a boat which the 
 
314 THE LIFE OF 
 
 man of the house had. The whole scheme was really deUghtful, 
 and as the girls had great quickness and vivacity, and were far 
 from being ignorant, considering their few years, I could have 
 wished it was possible to stay there much longer : but it was no 
 place for them, and I was obliged to call at Clay tor, in a Uttle 
 time. I could not forget my promise to the lovely Miss Spence. 
 My honour was engaged, and there was no time to lose. It is 
 true, if I had not been engaged, I might immediately have mar- 
 ried either the beautiful Miss Tilston, or the more beautiful 
 Miss Llandsoy, then become my wards ; but as they were minors, 
 if such a wife died under age, I could be no gainer, and might 
 have children to maintain without any fortune. All these things 
 sat powerfully on my spirits, and I was obhged at last to make 
 the following declaration to the ladies, which I did the third day 
 after dinner. 
 
 " Miss Tilston, Miss Llandsoy, I am sensible you have too 
 high an opinion of what I have done to serve you, and think 
 there is more merit in it than there really is ; for a man of any 
 generosity and abihty would, I imagine, do all that wa^ pos- 
 sible to deliver two young ladies of your charms and perfections, 
 from the slavery and misery your guardian kept you in : I am 
 likewise sure you beheve I would do everything in my power, 
 to secure your happiness, and give you the possession of every 
 blessing of time. I honour, I admire, I regard you both, to a high 
 degree ; and if I were some powerful genie, I would crown your 
 lives with stable fehcity and glory. But nature, ladies, has 
 irrevocably fixed Umits, beyond which we cannot pass, and my 
 sphere of action is far from being large. My fortune is not very 
 great, and thereby prevents my being so useful a friend to yon 
 as I would wilhngly be. However, though it is not in my power 
 to do according to my inchnation, in regard to your case, and 
 with security place you in some station fit for your rank and 
 worth, yet I can bring you to a spot of tranquilhty, and in still 
 Ufe enable you to hve without perplexity or care of any kind. 
 You shall have peace and httle, and may perhaps hereafter say, 
 you have enjoyed more real happiness, for the time you had 
 occasion to reside there, than you could find in the tumult, pomp, 
 and grandeur of the world." 
 
 Here I gave the ladies an account of Orton-Lodge, in the 
 northern extremity of Westmoreland, where I had lived a con- 
 siderable time, told them the condition it was in, the goods, the 
 books, the hquors, and other necessaries and conveniencies that 
 were there, and if, in that charming romantic spot, where no 
 mortal could come to hurt them, they could bear to hve for a 
 while, I would settle them there, and get a man to work in the 
 garden, and a couple of maids. I would likewise procure for 
 them two cows, a few lambs, some poultry, and com, and seeds 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 3 1 5 
 
 for the ground : in short, that they should have every thing 
 requisite in such a place ; I would return to them as soon as 
 possible ; I would write to them often, directing my letters to the 
 nearest town, to be called for by their man. " What do you 
 say, ladies, to this proposal ? In London it is not possible for 
 you to be : at a farm-house you might have no satisfaction : 
 and any where that was known and frequented, you may be 
 hable to discovery, as Cock, your guardian, will inquire every 
 where ; and if he hears of you, you will be carried home most 
 certainly to his dismal habitation, and be used ten times worse 
 than before. What do you think then of this scheme ? " 
 
 " Sir," they both repUed, " you are to us a subaltern power, 
 by Heaven sent to deliver us from misery, and secure our happi- 
 ness in this world. We have not words to express the gratitude 
 of our souls for this further instance of your goodness in the 
 offer you make us, nor can it ever be in our power to make 
 you the return it deserves. You wiU be pleased to accept our 
 grateful thanks, and all we have to add at present, our 
 prayers for your preservation and health. Conduct us, we 
 beseech you, immediately to that sweet spot of peace you have 
 described." 
 
 This being agreed on, the next thing to be done was to get 
 two horses for the ladies, for mine were not able to carry double 
 any farther, if there had been a turnpike road before us ; then 
 up the mountains we were to go, where no double horse could 
 travel ; and when they were at the Lodge, they would want 
 horses to ride sometimes, or to remove, if the necessity of their 
 case should happen to require it : to my landlord therefore I 
 applied upon the occasion, and he very quickly got me not only 
 two pretty beasts, . but a young labouring man, and two country 
 girls to wait upon the ladies. I then sent to the next town for a 
 couple of side-saddles, gave the servants directions to go to the 
 Rev. Mr. Fleming's house, to wait there tiU they heard from 
 me, and then we set out for Orton-Lodge. Two days we spent 
 in travelling there, feeding on cold provisions we had with us, 
 and Ijdng a night on the fern of the mountains. The second 
 evening we arrived at the Lodge. There I found every thing 
 safe, and the place as I had left it. I opened my various store- 
 houses, to the surprise of the young ladies, and brought them 
 many good things ; biscuits, potted char, potted black-cocks, 
 sweetmeats, and hquors of various kinds ; O'FiN Ukewise got us 
 a dish of trouts for supper, and the two beauties and I sat down 
 with cheerfulness to our table. Vastly amazed they were at all 
 they saw. Every thing was so good, and the wild charms of the 
 place so pleasing, that they could not but express the transports 
 they were in at their present situation. The whole they said, 
 was charming as enchantment, and in language there was not a 
 
3i6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 force sufficient to express their grateful sentiments upon the 
 occasion. This gave me much pleasure, and tiU the end of June, 
 I lived a very happy hfe with these fine young creatures. They 
 did all that was possible to show their esteem and gratitude. 
 Exclusive of their amazing fine faces, and persons, they were 
 ingenious, gay, and engaging, and made every minute of time 
 deUghtful. If I had not been engaged to Miss Spence, I should 
 certainly have sat down in peace with these two young ladies, 
 and with them connected, have looked upon Orton-Lodge as the 
 Garden of Eden. They were both most charming women. 
 Miss Llandsoy was a perfect divinity I 
 
 On the first of July, just as the day was breaking, I mounted 
 my horse, and again left Orton-Lodge. The morning being 
 extremely fine, and every thing appearing in the loveUness of 
 Nature, I rode on softly for three or four hours, and was so de- 
 lighted with the beauty and infinite variety of enchanting ob- 
 jects my eyes were feasted with, that heedlessly instead of coming 
 to the turning that was my road, I got into a bending valley, 
 which ended at a range of rocky mountains. For half an hour 
 I travelled by the bottom of these frightful hills, and came at 
 length to a pass through them, but so narrow, that the beasts 
 had not above an inch or two to spare on each side. It was dark 
 as the blackest night in this opening, and a stream came from it, 
 by the waters falling in several places from the top of the high 
 inclosing precipices. It was the most shocking foot-way I had 
 ever seen, and therefore requested O'FiN, as the bottom was hard, 
 to try where the pass ended and let me know what kind of coun- 
 try and inhabitants were beyond it ? " That I wiU," said O'FiN, 
 and immediately entered the cleft or crevice between the moun- 
 tains. A couple of hours I allowed my adventurer to explore 
 this dark way, but if in that time he could make nothing of it, 
 then his orders were to return : but there was no sign of him at 
 the end of six hours, and I began. to fear he had got into some 
 pound. After him then I went, about one o'clock, and for near 
 half a mile, the narrow way was directly forward, a rough bot- 
 tom, and ankle deep in water ; but it ended in a fine flowery 
 green of about twenty acres, surrounded with steep rocky hiUs 
 which it was impossible to ascend. In walking up to the preci- 
 pice before me, I found many caverns, which extended on either 
 hand, and onwards, into a VEist variety of caves ; some of them 
 having high arched openings for entrance, and others only holes 
 to creep in at ; but all of them spacious within, and high enough 
 for the tallest man to walk in. 
 
 In these dismal chambers I apprehended my fellow had lost 
 himself, and therefore went into them as far as I could venture, 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 317 
 
 without losing sight of day, and cried out Fin I Fin ! but could 
 hear no sound in return. This was a great trouble to me, and 
 I knew not what to do. Back however I must go to my horses, 
 and after I had spent two hours in searching, shouting, and 
 expecting my lad's return, by some means or other, I was just 
 going to walk towards the crevice, or dark narrow pass I had 
 come through to this place, when casting my eyes once more 
 towards the caverns in the mountains, I saw my boy come out, 
 leaping and singing for joy. He told me, he never expected to see 
 daylight more : for after he had fooUshly gone too far into the 
 caves, till he was quite in the dark, in hopes of finding a passage 
 through the mountain to some open country, he was obhged 
 to wander from chamber to chamber, he knew not where, for 
 many hours, without one ray of light, and with very Uttie ex- 
 pectation Of deUverance ; that he did nothing but cry and roar, 
 and was hardly able to stand on his legs any longer, when by a 
 chance turn into a cave, he saw some light again, and then soon 
 found his way out. Poor fellow I he was in a sad condition, and 
 his escape was very wonderful. 
 
 After this, we made what haste we could to our horses, which 
 we had left feeding in the vale ; and O'Fin brought me some 
 cold provisions from his waUet for my dinner. I dined with 
 great pleasure, on account of the recovery of my lad, and when 
 we had both recruited and rested sufficientiy, on we went again. 
 We found the valley winded about the mountains for three miles, 
 and then ended at the highest hill I had ever seen, but which it 
 was possible to ascend. With great difficulty we and our horses 
 got to the top of it, and down on the other side. Six mountains 
 of the same height, whose tops were above the clouds, we had to 
 cross, and then arrived at a bottom, which formed a most de- 
 lightful scene. 
 
 The Vale of Keswick, and Lake of Derwentwater, in Cumber- 
 land, are thought by those who have been there, to be the finest 
 point of view in England, and extremely beautiful they are, 
 far more so than the Rev. Dr. Dalton has been able to rriake 
 them appear in his Descriptive Poem, addressed to two ladies, 
 the late excellent Lord Lonsdale's charming daughters, on their 
 return from viewing the coal-mines, near Whitehaven ; or than 
 the Doctor's brother, Mr. Dalton, has painted them in his fine 
 drawings ; and yet they are inferior in charms to the vale, the 
 lake, the brooks, the shaded sides of the surrounding mountains, 
 and the tuneful falls of water, to which we came in Westmore- 
 land. In aU the world, I believe, there is not a more glorious 
 rural scene to be seen, in the fine time of the year. 
 
 In this charming vale, I found one pretty Uttle house, which 
 had gardens very beautifully laid out, and usefully filled with 
 the finest dwarf fruit trees and ever-greens, vegetables, herbs. 
 
3i8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and shrubs. The mansion, and the improved spot of ground, 
 were at the end of the beautiful lake, so as to have the whole 
 delightful piece of water before the door. The projecting shaded 
 feUs seemed to nod or hang over the habitation, and on either 
 hand, a few yards from the front of the house, cascades much 
 higher than that of dread Lodore, in Cumberland, fell into the 
 lake. There is not any thing so beautiful and striking as the 
 whole in any part of the globe that I have seen : and I have been 
 in higher latitudes, north and south, than most men living. I 
 have conversed with nations who hve many degrees beyond the 
 poor frozen Laplander ; and have travelled among the barbarians 
 who scorch beneath the burning zone. 
 
 Who hved in this delightful valley, was, in the next place, 
 my inquiry, after I had admired for an hour the amazing beau- 
 ties of the place. I walked up to the house, and in one of the 
 parlour windows, that had a view up the loch, I saw a young 
 beauty sitting with a music-book in her hand, and heard her sing 
 in a masterly manner. She could not see me, but I had a full 
 view of her fine face, and as I remembered to have seen her some- 
 where, I stood gazing at her with wonder and dehght, endeavour- 
 ing to recollect where I had been in her company, when another 
 young one came into the room, whom I had reason to remember 
 very well, on account of an accident, and then I knew they were 
 the two young ladies I had seen at Mr. Harcourt's, and admired 
 very greatly for the charms of their persons, and the beauties 
 of their minds. Upon this I walked up to the window, and after 
 a httle astonishment at seeing me, they behaved with the greatest 
 civiUty, and seemed to be highly pleased with the accidental 
 meeting. While we were talking, their mamma came into the 
 apartment, and on their letting her know who I was, and where 
 they had been acquainted with me, the old lady was pleased to 
 ask me to stay at her house that night, and to assure me she 
 was glad to see me, as she had often heard her daughters speak 
 of me. Three days I passed with great pleasure in this place 
 and then with much regret took my leave. 
 
 The fifth of July I left Mrs. Thurloe's, and by the assistance 
 of a guide, had a fine ride to the house of Friar Fleming, in 
 Richmondshire, where I arrived by noon. I dined with this 
 good Franciscan, and should have lain there that night, but 
 that I could not help being melancholy, ,on missing my dear 
 friend Tom, the monk's brother,- who died of a fever, as before 
 related. From^him then I parted in the evening, and rode to a 
 Carthusian monastry, which consisted of seven monks, men of 
 some estate, who had agreed to live together in this remote 
 place, and pass their Uves in piety, study, and gardening. I 
 had a letter from Fleming to one of these gentlemen, the superior, 
 letting him know I was his near friend, and desiring he would 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 319 
 
 receive me as himself ; that, although a protestant, I was of no 
 party, but in charity with all mankind. This letter procured 
 me all the kindness and honours these gentlemen could show 
 me. They behaved with great civiUty and tenderness, and gave 
 me the best they had, good fish, good bread, good wine, ex- 
 cellent fruit, and fine vegetables ; for as to fiesh, they never eat 
 any, by their rule. 
 
 They were all learned and devout men, very grave and silent 
 for the most part, except when visited, but without anything 
 stiff or morose in their manner. They had a large collection 
 of books, and seemed to understand them well. What time 
 they had to spare from the hours of divine service, and working 
 in their gardens, according to the rule of St. Bruno, which they 
 follow, they give to study, and had many volumes of their own 
 writing ; but mostly old manuscripts which they had transcribed, 
 in Greek, Latin, and French. Making such copies was their 
 principal work in the closet. 
 
 I stayed two days with these gentlemen, and had a good deal 
 of useful conversation with them, on various subjects. On 
 looking into the writings of the Rabbles, which I saw in their 
 library, I told one of these Chartreux, that it was a wonder to me, 
 that any one read such extravagant fabulous relations and 
 despicable fictions as these books contained, and should be glad 
 to know, what good could be extracted from them. 
 
 The Friar repUed, that notwithstanding their being fictitious 
 and extravagant to a high degree, yet great use might be made 
 of the works of the Rabbles, and especially of the Talmud of 
 Babylon. * We obtain from thence a knowledge of the cus- 
 
 • Reader, that you may the better understand the conversation I had with this learned 
 Carthusian, I must iniorm you what the Talmud, and other writings of the Rabbies are. 
 
 The Talmud, a celebrated piece of Jewish literature, full of Rabinical domination and 
 enthusiasm. The Rabbins pretend, that this book contains the Oral laws, and other secrets . 
 which God communicated to Moses. It consists of two parts, each of which is divided into 
 several books. In the first part, which they call Mishna, is the text. In the other, is a sort 
 of comment on the text, and this is stiled the Gemara. 
 
 This oral law, or tradition of the Jews, was collected after the destruction of the Temple, 
 A.D. 150, by Rabbi Judah, and is by them preferred before the scripture. They suppose 
 it was orally delivered by Moses to Israel, and unlawful to be written ; but when Jerusalem 
 was destroyed, they were constrained to write it, least it should be lost ; but yet it is so written, 
 as that none but themselves might understand it. — This Mishna and Gemara complete the 
 two Tdtmuds ; that of Jerusalem, ad. 230 ; and that of Babylon, five hundred years after 
 Christ. Many parts of these TaUnuds are translated by several learned men, who have 
 endeavoured to render them intelligible : but in order to understand them fully, you must 
 read the Jad Ckaska, or Mhhna Torah of Moses Maimonides, who was physician to the king 
 of Egypt about six hundred years ago. This Rabbi hath comprized the substance of the 
 Mishna and Gemara of the Tahnud, in his books, and enabled us to understand all the Mishna 
 with ease and pleasure. See likewise the Clains Talmudica, Cock's Etcerpla, and the works 
 of the excellent Ludovicus de Campeigne du Veil, who had been a Jew, but after becoming 
 a Roman Catholic, went over to the Church of England, in which he continued for several 
 years in the character of a great divine : but at last turned Baptist, and died a member 
 of that Christian Church j which lost him all his friends and interest. He died the beginning 
 of this century, with the reputation of an upright Christian and a most learned man. There 
 is no tolerable account given of him in any of the Biographical Dictionaries. What they 
 
320 THE LIFE OF 
 
 toms and opinions of the Jews, wliich afford some benefit. In 
 the next place, they serve to the confirmation of the history of 
 Jesus Christ ; for it appears by the Babylonish Talmud, that 
 there was one Jesus, who had disciples, Uved in such and such 
 a place, and did and said divers things ; and in the Bible many 
 texts relating to the Messias are confirmed and explained by 
 these books of the Rabbles, though not by them intended. This 
 I have since found to be the truth of the case. I have read the 
 works of the Rabbins since, and find it to be as the Carthusian 
 said. For example — 
 
 It is said in Genesis ch. iii. v. 15. "I will put enmity between 
 thy seed and her seed. It shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt 
 bruise his heel." Now the Tar gum of Onkelos gives the sense 
 thus : The man shall be mindful of, or remember, what thou 
 (Satan) hast done to him in times past, and thou shalt observe, 
 watch or haunt him tiU the end of days ; that is, the serpent or 
 devil should pursue and have dominion over the world tiU the 
 last days, and then the prince of this world should be cast out, 
 and the works of the devil destroyed. Beacharith Heyamin, 
 the end of days, or last days, is, by a general rule, given by the 
 most learned Rabbins, meant of the Messias. So Kimchi on 
 Isaiah, ch. u. v. 2. — and Abarbriel and R. Moses Nachm on 
 Genesis, xlix. v. i. inform us. 
 
 It is hkewise very remarkable, that the Targim. of JeruseUem, 
 and that of Jonathan Ben Uziel, apply this place to the coming 
 of the Messias. They give the words the following sense. I 
 will put enmity between thy seed and her seed ; when the sons 
 of the woman keep my law, they shall bruise thy head, and when 
 they break my law, thou shalt bruise their heel ; but the wound 
 given to the seed of the woman, shall be healed, but thine shall 
 be incurable ; they shall be healed in the last days, in the days 
 of the Messias. Such is the opinion of the most learned Jews : 
 and from thence it follows, that the Christians have not put 
 their sense upon the text I have cited to serve their own turn ; 
 the Rabbins, we see, give the very same meaning to the place. 
 
 Again in Numbers, ch. xxiv. v. 17, we have the famous pro- 
 phecy of Balaam : " There shall come a star out of Jacob, and 
 a sceptre shall rise out of Israel," and in Isaiah, ch. xi.v. 1. it is writ- 
 ten. " And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of 
 Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots, and the spirit 
 of the Lord shall rest upon him." And in Jeremiah, ch. xxiii. 
 vv. 5,6. " Behold the days shall come, saith the Lord, that I will 
 raise unto David a righteous branch, — and this is his name where- 
 
 say is short and next to nothmg. And the Popish accounts are not only short, but false, and 
 sheer calumny. I took much pains some yeais ago, to collect among the Baptists, and from 
 others who knew this great man, everything I could get relating to him and his works, and 
 formed what I had got into a life of him, which I did intend to insert in this place : but by 
 some accident or other, it is gone. I cannot £nd it anywhere. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 321 
 
 by he shall be called, The Lord our Righteousness." That the 
 Christians apply these texts to the Messias, I need not inform 
 the reader : but it must be grateful to observe, that the para- 
 phrases of Onkelos, Jonathan, and Jerusalem, all of them ex- 
 pressly attribute the prophecy of Balaam to the Messias. And 
 Rabbi Moses Hadarsan and Maimon, say, he is here called a 
 Star, which signifies what Malachi expresses by the Sun of 
 Righteousness, Mai. ch. iv. v, 2 ; and Zachariah by the East, " I 
 will bring forth my servant the East." Zach. ch. iii. v. 8. as it 
 is _^translated in the Vulgat, Septuagint, Arabic, and Syriac, is 
 here, say these Rabbins, called a Star, because he should come 
 and destroy idolatry, among the heathen nations, by becoming 
 a Ught to the Gentiles, and the glory of Israel. 
 
 As to the other two texts, the Jews do likewise attribute them 
 to the Messias. Rabbi Joseph Albo, speaking of the words, 
 " The Lord our Righteousness," in particular, says expressly, 
 that this is one name given to the Messias. Albo, Sep. ikker. Ub. 
 2. c. 28. Thus do the Jews concur with us in the appUcation of 
 texts to the Messias. But what is become of this Messias, they 
 cannot tell. They are amazed, perplexed, and confounded at 
 him. They dispute on the article, and have the wildest fancies 
 in relation to it. Whereas the Christians give a clear and con- 
 sistent account of the Messias, and by every argument that 
 can be desired by a rational, prove the truth of Christianity. 
 
 Again : in Isaiah ch. ix. v. 6 we have these words ; "Unto us 
 a child is bom, unto us a son is given, and the government shall 
 be upon his shoulders : and his name shall be called Wonderful, 
 Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince 
 of Peace." Or as the Alexandrian Manuscript hath it, " He 
 shall call his name the Angel, Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty, 
 the Governor, the Prince of Peace, the Father of the age to come," 
 This is thought by aU Christians to be a plain declaration of the 
 Messias ; fdr to apply it to any mere mortal, as to Hezekia.h, or 
 Isaiah's son, cannot be done without the greatest absurdity, 
 and therefore Ben Maimon, Epist. ad Afric, fairly yields that 
 these words belong to the Messias, and so doth Jonathan Ben 
 Uziel in his Chaldee paraphrase. The Talmud itself allows it. 
 Tract. Sanhedrim, that it relates to a person not come in the 
 time of the prophets, but to the man, whose name is the " Branch, 
 which was to come forth out of the stem of Jesse, and to grow 
 out of his roots. My servant the Branch. Behold the man 
 whose name is the Branch." Zach. ch. iii. v, 8, and ch. xii. and 
 Isaiah ch. iv. v. 1. " Even the person that shall be sent ; " ShUo, 
 that remarkable person God had promised to his people. So 
 says the Talmud. 
 But further ; as to the birth of the Messias, in respect of the 
 
 ' M 
 
322 THE LIFE OF 
 
 manner and the place, it is thus set down by the prophet 
 Micah, V. 2, " And thou Bethlehem Ephrata, tQiough thou be 
 Uttle among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall come 
 forth unto me, that is to be ruler in Israel ; whose goings forth 
 have been of old, even from everlasting." And in Isaiah, 
 ch. vii. V. 14, are these words, " Behold a virgin shall conceive 
 and bring forth a son, and call his name Immanuel." In these 
 two texts, the Christians say, the place of the birth of the Messias, 
 and the manner of it, are as plainly described as words can do ; 
 and if they cannot, without absurdity, be explained as relating 
 to any other person, then it must be perverting the meaning of 
 the records to oppose this explication : but tiis the Jews are 
 far from doing. The place is acknowledged in the Talmud, in 
 the Chaldee paraphrase of Jonathan, and all their most famous 
 masters declare with one voice, that Bethlehem indisputably 
 belongs to the Messias. " E^te Bethlehem coram me prodibit 
 Messias, ut sit dominium exercens in Israel, cujus nomen dictum 
 est ab setemitate, a Diebus seculi." Talmud, lib. Sanhedrim, 
 et Midrasch. The hiUinic Rabbi Selemoh, Paraph. Jonath. in 
 Loc. Rabbi David Kimchi. And as to the manner, though it be 
 true that some Jews say, the Hebrew word Gnalma signifies a 
 young woman as well as a virgin ; yet Kimchi, Jarchi, and Sele- 
 moh, three of their greatest Rabbins, confess that here is some- 
 thing wonderful presaged in the birth and generation of this 
 person, and that he was not to be bom as other men and women 
 are born. What can we desire more, in the case, from an enemy ? 
 And in truth, the behold, or wonder, with which the text begins, 
 would be nothing, if it was only that a young woman should 
 have a child : and as to the Hebrew word Gnalmah, if it ever 
 does signify a young woman, which I very much doubt, yet 
 the translation of the Seventy, who well understood the original 
 surely, they render the word by parthenos, vap^trnt in Greek, which 
 always signifies a virgin in the strict propriety of the phrase. 
 And in the Punic language, which is much the same as the 
 Hebrew, the word Ahna signifies a virgin, " virgo intacta," and 
 never means a young woman. 
 
 Such are the advantages we may gain by reading the books 
 of the Rabbins ; and to me it is pleasing to see these great Hebrew 
 masters granting so much to us for our Messias, while they hate 
 our holy religion beyond every thing. Even the gay among 
 the Jews, if I have been truly informed by one who danced a 
 night with them, have, in contempt and abhorrence of our faith, 
 a country-dance called " The Littie Jesus." 
 
 The eighth of July, I left the little Chartreuse, and went from 
 thence to Knaresborough, where I arrived that night, and re- 
 sided three days. It is a fine old town, and borough by prescrip- 
 tion, in the West-riding of Yorkshire, and wapentake of Claro. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 323 
 
 The vast hills of Craven look beautifully wild in its neighbour- 
 hood, and the rapid river Nid, which issues from the bottom 
 of those mountains, almost encompasses the town. It is a hun- 
 dred and seventy five measured miles from London, and the best 
 way to it is from Ferrybridge to Wetherby, by the left-hand road, 
 where there is an excellent inn, and from that to Knaresborough. 
 
 When this very ancient town passed from the posterity of 
 Surlo de Burgh, the founder of it, we know not, but we find that 
 Henry III granted the honour, castle, and manor, to the Earl 
 of Kent, Margaret his wife, and their issue and heirs, and that 
 on failure of issue and right heirs, it returned again to the crown ; 
 for Edward II, among other lands, gave this' lordship of Knares- 
 borough to his favourite Pierse de Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, 
 and his heirs. Gaveston was taken not long after by the Barons, 
 in Scarborough castle, after a short siege, and was beheaded on 
 Gaversly-heath, near Warwick, by order of the Earl of Warwick, 
 June 20, 1 312. On the fall of the insolent Gaveston, who had 
 been banished by Edward I but recalled, ere that monarch's 
 funeral rites were performed, by the weak and inefficient 
 Edward II, whose interest becoming blended with that of his 
 favourite, rendered the public displeasure against Gaveston the 
 want of duty to the prince, and which eventually in his death 
 involved the ruin of his Sovereign ; Knaresborough again reverted 
 to the Crown, and so continued till the forty-fourth of Edward 
 III, when this king made a grant of the honour, castle, and manor 
 of the town, and the cell of St. Roberts, to John of Gaunt, the 
 king's fourth son, who was Earl of Richmond, and created Duke 
 of Lancaster, on his having married one of the coheiresses of 
 Henry, Duke of Lancaster. Other great estates were likewise 
 given at the same time to this fourth son of Edward, that he 
 might maintain his grandeur : and ever since, this town has 
 belonged to the dutchy of Lancaster. It is an appendage to the 
 crown. 
 
 Not far from this town are two wells, as strong of sulphur as 
 Harrogate-water, and as valuable, though no one takes any 
 notice of them. One lies in the way to Harrogate, in a low 
 ground by a brook-side. The other is Bitton-spa, in a park by 
 Mr. Staughton's house. 
 
 As to the famous dropping-well or petrifying water, it lies 
 on the west side of the town and river, about twenty-six yards 
 from the bank of the Nid, and it rises fifteen yards below the 
 top of a mountain of marie stone, and in four falls, of about 
 two yards each fall, comes to an easy ascent, where it spreads 
 upon the top of an isthmus of a petrified rock, generated out 
 of the water, which falls down round it. This isthmus or rock 
 is ten yards high, and hangs over its base or bottom about five 
 yards. It is near sixteen yards long and thirteen broad, and 
 
324 THE LIFE OF 
 
 as it started from the bank about fifty years ago, leaves a chasm 
 between them, that is about three yards wide. In this chasm, 
 you will find petrified twigs of trees, shrubs, and grass-roots, 
 hanging in most beautiful pillars, aU interwoven, and forming 
 many charming figures ; and on the common side are whole 
 banks like stalactites, hard and inseparable from the rock, 
 where the water trickles down. These petrefactions, the falling 
 water, and the Uttle isthmus or island being beautifully clothed 
 with ash, osier, ehn, sambucus, servicana major, geraniums, 
 wood-mercury, hart's-tongue, sage, lady's mantle, cowslips, 
 wild angelica, &c., form altogether a dehghtful scene. The first 
 spring of this water is out of a small hole on the little mountain, 
 in the middle of a thick-set of shrubs. It sends out twenty 
 gallons in a minute of the sweetest water in the world, and 
 twenty-four grains in a pint heavier than common water. 
 
 Most people are of opinion, that petrifying water is dangerous 
 drink, and may produce abundance of mischief, in causing the 
 stone and gravel in the body : the original particles or principles 
 of the stony substance called spar, which are in abundance sus- 
 pended in this kind of water, must get into the flood-gates of the 
 kidneys and ureters, as they opine, and create great misery in a 
 little time. 
 
 But this fear of petrefactions in Uving animal bodies is grounded 
 upon neither reason nor experience ; for the spar in these waters 
 forms no petrefactions whilst in a brisk motion, or in a tem- 
 perate season, or on vegetables while they preserve their vege- 
 tating Ufe. While there is warmth and circulation of juices, 
 there can be no incrustation or petrefaction from the suspended 
 stony particles. Besides, if the minim s of spar are not within 
 the spheres of sensible attraction, whilst in motion ; much less 
 are they so when mingled with tiie fluids of the human body : 
 you may therefore very safely drink these Umpid petrifying 
 waters at all times, as a common fluid, if they come in your way, 
 as the best, and most grateful or pleasant water in the world, 
 on account of the infinitesimals, or original leasts, of spar that 
 are in them, in vast quantities, but infinitely small particles : 
 and if you are sick, in many cases they are the best of medicines. 
 Human invention has nothing equal to them for fluxes of any 
 part of the body, or colliquations from an acid salt. So far 
 are they from being in the least dangerous, that in all unnatural 
 discharges, by spitting, stool, or urine ; by excessive menstrual 
 or hsemorrhoidal fluxes, in the fluor albus, diabetes, profuse 
 sweatings ; in the diarrhoea, dysentry, or Uenteria where the 
 springs are not quite worn out ; in ulcers of the viscera, hectic 
 fevers, atrophy, and colliquations or night sweats, there is not 
 any thing in physic more profitable or pleasant, to recover a 
 patient. Let your dose, in such cases, be three half-pints of 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 325 
 
 Knaresborough dropping-well in the forenoon ; and before you 
 begin to drink this water, remember to take two doses of rhu- 
 barb, to cleanse off the excrements of the first viscera. You 
 must not drink ale, drams, or punch, during a course of these 
 waters : and take but very little red port. You must Ukewise 
 have a strict regard to diet. Let it be milk, eggs, jellies, barley- 
 broth, chickens, kid, lamb, and the like. You must avoid all 
 salt, sharp, stimulating things, day-sleep, and night-air ; but 
 agreeable conversation, and diversions that require very little 
 exercise, conduce to the success of this kind of water, in the 
 distempers I have mentioned. If such diseases are curable, 
 you may expect a restoration of health. 
 
 But, in the dropsy, jaundice, diminished or irregular menses ; 
 in h3rppo, melancholy, stuffings of the lungs, obstructions of the 
 viscera, stoppages of the lacteals and misentery, glandular swell- 
 ings, king's-evil, or any case, where thinning, relaxing, opening, 
 deterging, attenuation or stimulation are wanting, such water is 
 death. ^ 
 
 Note, reader, there is another excellent petrifying-water at 
 Newton-Dale in Yorkshire, N. R. thirteen miles from Scar- 
 borough. Another near Castle-Howard, the fine seat of the 
 Earl of CarUsle, ten miles from York. Another, near Skipton 
 in that rough, romantic, wild and silent country, called Craven, 
 in the West-riding of Yorkshire. And one, called Bandwell, 
 at Stonefield in Lincolnshire, west of Homcastle, which is a 
 hundred and twenty-two miles from London. These springs, 
 and many that are not to be come at among the vast fells of 
 Westmoreland, and the high mountains of Stanemore, have all 
 the virtues of Knaresborough dropping-well ; though Knaresbor- 
 ough-water is the only one resorted to by company : and as to this 
 spring, I can affirm from my own knowledge, that it is as ex- 
 cellent, and truly medicinal, as the famous petrifying-water at 
 Qermont. There is no manner of need for Britons going to 
 the mountain Gregoire in Basse- Auvergne. 
 
 A POSTILLA, * 
 
 Containing an Account of Wardrew Sulphur-water ; the Life 
 of Claudius Hobart ; and A Dissertation on Reason and Reve- 
 lation. 
 
 In my account of sulphur-waters, I forgot to mention one 
 
 * A Postilla, reader, is a barbarous word made up of the words post ilia, and was brought 
 into use in the twelfth century, when the marginal ezplicators of the Bible left the margins 
 and under their text writ short and literal notes, before which they put the word postilla 
 instead of the words post ilia, meaning the particular words in the text, from whence, by a 
 letter, they referred to the little note below : but in the thirteenth century, the barbarou 
 word took so much, that all the commentators following, appropriated the name to their 
 most copious commentaries, contrary to Uie first practice in the use of the word, and for 
 three centuries after the biblical learning was all postilla, till at length the word disappeared , 
 according to the wonted inconstancy and agitation of all human things, and gave place to a 
 new and fifth invention, called tractatus, or bomily. This is the history of a postilla. 
 
326 THE LIFE OF 
 
 very extraordinary spring of this kind, and therefore, make a 
 postilla of it here, that the reader may find in one section all I 
 have to say on mineral waters. And as I found by the side of 
 this water, a man as extraordinary as the spring, I shall add his 
 life to my account of the water, and a couple of little pieces 
 written by him. 
 
 In Northumberland, on the borders of Cumberland, there is a 
 place called Wardrew, to the north-west of Thirlwall-castle, 
 which stands on that part of the Picts-Wall, where it crosses 
 the Tippel, and is known by the name of Murus Perforatus in 
 Saxon Thirlwall, on account of the gaps made in the wall at this 
 place for the Scots' passage. Here, as I wandered about this 
 wild, untravelled country, in search of Roman antiquities, I 
 arrived at a sulphur-spring, which I found to be the strongest 
 and most excellent of the land in all the world. It rises out of a 
 vast cliff, called Arden-Rock, over the bank of the river Arde 
 or Irthing, six feet above the surface of the water, and comes 
 out of a chink in the cUff by a small spout. The discharge is 
 fifty gallons in a minute from a mixture of limestone and iron- 
 stone ; and the water is so very foetid, that it is difficult to swal- 
 low it. The way to it is not easy, for there is no other passage 
 than along a very narrow ledge, about nine inches broad, which 
 has been cut off the rock over the deep river, and if you slip, as 
 you may easily do, having nothing to hold by, down you go into 
 a water that looks very black and shocking, by the shade of the 
 hanging precipice, and some aged trees which protect from the 
 vast cliff. 
 
 This dangerous situation, and its remoteness, will prevent its 
 being ever much visited, admirable as the spaw is ; yet the coun- 
 try-people thereabout make nothing of the ledge, and drink 
 plentifully of the water, to their sure relief, in many dangerous 
 distempers. It is to them a blessed spring. 
 
 The land all round here was one of the finest rural scenes I 
 have seen, and made a pensive traveller wish for some small 
 public-house there, to peiss a few deUghtful days. Its lawns 
 and groves, its waters, vales, and hills, are charming, and form 
 the sweetest, softest region of silence and ease. Whichever 
 way I turned, the various beauties of nature appeared, and 
 nightingales from the thicket inchantingly warbled their loves. 
 The fountains were bordered with violets and moss, and near 
 them were clumps of pine and beech, bound with sweet-briar, 
 and the tendrils of woodbine. It is a delightful spot : a para- 
 dise of blooming joys, in the fine season of the year. 
 
 One inhabitant only I found in this fine sohtude, who lived 
 on the margin of the river, in a small neat cottage, that was 
 almost hid with trees. This was Claudius Hobart, a man of 
 letters, and a gentleman, who had been unfortuna^ e in the world 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 327 
 
 and retired to these elysian fields, to devote the remainder of 
 his time to religion, and enjoy the calm feUcities of contempla- 
 tive hfe. He was obhged by law to resign his estate to a claim- 
 ant, and death had robbed him of a matchless mistress, of great 
 fortune, to whom he was to have been married. The men who 
 had called themselves his friends, and as Timon says in Lucian, 
 honoured him, worshipped him, and seemed to depend on his 
 nod, iiuiv viv/juTos avrip rrmwoi, no longer knew him ; jam ne agnoscor 
 quidem ab ilUs, nee aspici ne dignantur me, perinde ut eversum 
 hominis jam ohm defuncti cippum, ac temporis longitudine col- 
 lapsum pretereunt quasi ne norint quidem ; /aiSi &i>ayvipTes ; so 
 true, continued Hobart, are the beautiful hnes of Petronius ; 
 
 Nomen amicitis si quatenus expedlt, haeret, 
 
 Calculus in tabula mobile ducit opus. 
 Quum fortuna manet, vultum servatis amici : 
 
 Cum cecidit, turpi vertitis era fugS. 
 
 And SO Ovid says was his case, 
 
 Eandem cum Timone nostro sortem 
 
 Expertus naso, qui sic de seipso : 
 En ego non paucis quondam munitus amicis : 
 
 Dum flavit velis aura secunda meis : 
 Ut fera terribili tumuerunt aequora vento. 
 
 In mediis lacera puppe relinquor aquis. 
 
 So HoBART found it, and as his health was declining from various 
 causes, and he had nothing in view before him but misery ; he 
 retired to Wardrew, while he had some money, built the Uttle 
 house I saw on a piece of ground he purchased, and provided 
 such necessaries and comforts as he imagined might be want- 
 ing : he had a few good books, the Bible, some history, and 
 mathematics, to make him wiser and better, and abroad he 
 diverted himself mostly in his garden, and with fishing : for 
 fifteen years past he had not been in any town, nor in any one's 
 house, but conversed often with several of the country people, 
 who came to drink the mineral-water : what he had fresh occa- 
 sion for, one or other of them brought him, according to his 
 written directions, and the money he gave them, and once or 
 twice a week he was sure of seeing somebody • as the people 
 knew he was not rich, and lived a harmless Ufe, they were far 
 from being his enemies, and would do any thing in their power 
 to serve the hermit, as they called him : but he seldom gave them 
 any trouble. His food was biscuit, honey, roots, fish, and oil ; 
 and his drink, water, with a httle rum sometimes. He was never 
 sick, nor melancholy ; but by a hfe of temperance and action, 
 and a religion of trust and resignation, enjoyed perpetual health 
 and peace, and run his latent course in the pleasing expectation 
 
328 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of a remove, when his days were past, to the bright mansions 
 of the blest. 
 
 Such was the account Hobart gave me of himself, which 
 made me admire him much, as he was but fifty then ; and to 
 convince me his temper had nothing Timonean or unsocial in it 
 from his soUtary hfe, he requested I would dine with him. He 
 entertained me with an excellent pickled trout and biscuit, fine 
 fruit, and a pot of extraordinary honey : with as much cream 
 of tartar as lay on a sixpence, infused in warm water, he made 
 half a pint of rum into good punch, and he talked over it like a 
 man of sense, breeding, and good humour. We parted when 
 the bowl was out, and at my going away, he made me a present 
 of the following in manuscript, and told me I might print it, 
 if I could think it would be of any use to mankind. It was 
 called -^ 
 
 THE RULE OF REASON, VITITH A FEW THOUGHTS ON 
 REVELATION. 
 
 The throne of God rests upon reason, and his prerogative is 
 supported by it. It is the sole rule of the Deity, the Mind which 
 presides in the universe and therefore is venerable, sacred, and 
 divine. Every ray of reason participates of the majesty of that 
 Being to whom it belongs, and whose attribute it is ; and being 
 thereby awful, and invested with a supreme and absolute author- 
 ity, it is rebellion to refuse subjection to right reason and a 
 violation of the great and fundamental law of heaven and earth. 
 
 To this best, and fittest, and noblest rule, the rule of truth, 
 we ought to submit, and in obedience to the sacred voice of 
 reason, resist the importunities of sense and the usurpations of 
 appetite. Since the will of that Being, who is infinitely pure 
 and perfect, rational and righteous, is obhged and governed 
 by his unerring understanding ; our wills should be guided and 
 directed by our reason. In imitation of the wisest and best of 
 Beings, we must perpetually adhere to truth, and ever act right- 
 eously for righteousness' sake. By acting in conformity to moral 
 truths, which are really and strictly divine, we act in conformity 
 to ourselves, and it is not possible to conceive any thing so glori- 
 ous, or godlike. We are thereby taught the duties of piety, 
 our duties toward our fellows, and that self-culture which is 
 subservient to piety and humanity. 
 
 Reason informs us there is a superior Mind, endued with know- 
 ledge and great power, presiding over human affairs ; some 
 original, independent Being, complete in all possible perfection, 
 of boundless power, wisdom and goodness, the Contriver, Crea- 
 tor, and Governor of this world, and the inexhaustible source 
 of all good. A vast collection of evidence demonstrates this. 
 
JOHN BUNCLB, ESQ. 329 
 
 Design, intention, art, and power, as great as our imagination 
 can conceive, ever5rwhere occur. As far as we can make "ob- 
 servations, original intelligence and power appear to reside in a 
 Spirit distinct from all divisible, changeable, or moveable sub- 
 stance ; and if we can reason at all it must be clear that an 
 original omnipotent Mind is a good Deity, and espouses the 
 cause of virtue, and of the universal happiness ; will gloriously 
 compensate the worthy in a future state, and then make the 
 vicious and oppressive have cause to repent of their contradicting 
 his will. It follows then most certainly, that with this great 
 source of our being, and of all perfection, every rational mind 
 ought to correspond, and with internal and external worship 
 adore the divine power and goodness. His divine perfections, 
 creation and providence, must excite all possible esteem, love, 
 and admiration, if we think at aU ; must beget trust and resig- 
 nation ; and raise the highest sensations of gratitude. All our 
 happiness and excellency is from his bounty, and therefore not 
 unto us, but to his name be the praise. And can there be a joy 
 oil earth so stable and transporting as that which rises from 
 living with an habitual sense of the Divine Presence, a just per- 
 suasion of being approved, beloved, and protected by him who 
 is itifinitely perfect and omnipotent ? 
 
 By reason we likewise find, that the excesses of the passions 
 produce misery, and iniquity makes a man completely wretched 
 and despicable ; but integrity and moral worth secure us peace 
 and merit, and lead to true happiness and glory. Unless reason 
 and inquiry are banished, vice and oppression must have terrible 
 struggles against the principles of humanity and conscience. 
 Reflection must raise the most torturing suspicions, and all stable 
 satisfaction must be lost : but by cultivating the high powers 
 of our reason, and acquiring moral excellence, so far as human 
 nature is able : by justice and the benevolent affections, virtue 
 and charity, we are connected with and af&xed to the Deity, 
 and with the inward enjoyment of all the felicities suitable to 
 our transitory condition. Happy state surely I There are no 
 horrors here to haunt us. There is no dreadful thing to poison 
 all parts of life and all enjoyments. 
 
 Let us hearken then to the original law of reason, and follow 
 God and nature as the sure guide to happiness. Let the offices 
 of piety and beneficence be the principal employment of our 
 time ; and the chief work of our every day, to secure an happy 
 immortality, by equity, benignity, and devotion. By continual 
 attention and internal discipline, reason can do great things, 
 and enable us so to improve the supreme and most godhke powers 
 of our constitution, and so discharge the duties imposed upon us 
 by our Creator, that when we return into that silence we were 
 in before we existed, and our places shall know us no more, we 
 
330 THE LIFE OF 
 
 may pass from the unstable condition of terrestrial affairs to that 
 eternal state in the heavens, where everlasting pleasures and 
 enjoyments are prepared for those who have lived in the delight- 
 ful exercise of the powers of reason, and performed all social 
 and kind ofi&ces to others, out of a sense of duty to God. Thus 
 does truth oblige us. It is the basis of morality, as morality is 
 the basis of religion. 
 
 This, I think, is a just account of moral truth and rectitude, 
 and shows that it is essentially glorious in itself, and the sacred 
 rule to which all things must bend, and all agents submit. But 
 then a question may be asked, What need have we of revelation, 
 since reason can so fully instruct us, and its bonds alone are 
 sufi&cient to hold us ; — and in particular, what becomes of the 
 principal part of revelation called redemption ? 
 
 The system of moral truth and revelation, it may be answered, 
 are united, and at perfect amity with each other. Morality 
 and the gospel stand on the same foundation, and differ only in 
 this, that revealed religion, in respect of the corrupt and de- 
 generate state of mankind, has brought fresh light, and addi- 
 tional assistance, to direct, support, and fix men in their duty. 
 We have histories which relate an early deviation from moral 
 truth, and inform us that this disease of our rational nature 
 spreads Uke a contagion. The case became worse, and more 
 deplorable, in succeeding ages ; and as evil examples and pre- 
 judices added new force to the prevaiUng passions, and reason 
 and Uberty of will, for want of due exercise, grew weaker, and 
 less able to regain their lost dominion, corruption was rendered 
 universal. Then did the true God, the Father of the Universe, 
 and the most provident and beneficent of Beings, interpose by 
 a revelation of his will, and by advice and authority, do all that 
 was possible, to prevent the self-destructive effects of the cul- 
 pable ignorance and folly of his offspring. He gave the world 
 a transcript of the law of nature by an extraordinary messenger, 
 the Man Christ Jesus, who had power given him to work miracles, 
 to rouse mankind from their fatal stupidity, to set their thoughts 
 on work, and to conciliate their attention to the heavenly de- 
 claration. In this repubhcation of the original law, he gave 
 them doctrines and commandments perfectly consonant to the 
 purest reason, and to them annexed sanctions that do really 
 bind and obUge men, as they not only guard and strengthen 
 rehgion, but affect our natural sensibility and selfishness. Re- 
 ligion appears to great disadvantage, when divines preach it 
 into a bond of indemnity, and a mere contract of interest ; but 
 exclusive of this, it must be allowed, that the sanctions of the 
 gospel have a weight, awfulness, and solemnity, that prove to 
 a great degree effectual. Safety and advantage are reasons for 
 well-doing. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 331 
 
 In short, the evidence of the obligation of the duties of natural 
 reUgion is as plain and strong from reason, as any revelation can 
 make it ; but yet the means of rendering these duties effectual 
 in practice, are not so clear and powerful from mere reason, as 
 from revelation. The proof of obligation is equally strong in 
 reason and inspiration, but the obligation itself is rendered 
 stronger by the gospel, by superadded means or motives. The 
 primary obhgation of natural religion arises from the nature 
 and reason of things, as being objects of our rational moral facul- 
 ties, agreeably to which we cannot but be obliged to act ; and 
 this obhgation is strengthened by the tendency of natural religion 
 to the final happiness of every rational agent : but the clear 
 knowledge, and express promises which we have in the gospel, 
 of the nature and greatness of this final happiness, being added 
 to the obligation from, and the tendency of reason or natural 
 reUgion to the final happiness of human nature, the obhgation 
 of it is thereby still more strengthened. In this Hes the benefit 
 of Christianity. It is the old, uncorrupt reUgion of nature and 
 reason, intirely free from superstition and immoraUty ; dehvered 
 and taught in the most rational and easy way, and enforced by 
 the most gracious and powerful motives. 
 
 But if tiiis be the case, it may be asked. Where are our holy 
 mysteries — and what do you think of our Redemption ? If 
 natural reason and conscience can do so much, and to the gospel 
 we are obhged only for a httle more Ught and influence, then 
 Trinity in Unity, and the ' Sacrifice of the Cross are nothing. 
 What are your sentiments on these subjects ? 
 
 As to the Trinity, it is a word invented by the doctors, and so 
 far as I can find, was never once thought of by Jesus Christ and 
 his apostles ; unless it was to guard against the spread of tritheism 
 by taking the greatest care to inculcate the supreme divinity 
 of God the Father : but let it be a trinity, since the church will 
 have it so, and by' it I understand one Uncreated, and one Created, 
 and a certain divine virtue of quality. These I find in the Bible, 
 God, Jesus the Word, and a Divine Assistance or Holy Wind, not 
 Holy Ghost, as we have translated it : called a Wind, because 
 God, from whom every good and perfect gift cometh, gave the 
 most extraordinary instance of it under the emblem of a Wind ; 
 and holy, because it was supernatural. This is the scripture 
 doctrine, in relation to the Deity, the Messias, and the Energy 
 of God ; of which the Wind was promised as a pledge, and was 
 given as an emblem, when the day of Pentecost was come ; and 
 if these three they will call a Trinity, I shall not dispute about 
 the word. But to say Jesus Christ is God, though the apostles 
 tell us, that God raised from the dead the Man Jesus Christ, whom 
 they killed ; that he had exalted him at his right hand, and had 
 made him both Lord and Christ ; and to affirm that this Ghost, 
 
332 THE LIFE OF 
 
 as they render the word Wind ; is a person distinct and different 
 from the person of God the Father, and equally supreme ; this I 
 cannot agree to. If the scripture is true, all this appears to me 
 to be false. It is a mere invention of the Monks. 
 
 As to Redemption, it may be in perfect consistence and agree- 
 ment with truth and rectitude, if the accomplishment of it be 
 considered as premial, and as resulting from a personal reward : 
 but to regard the accomphshment as penal, and as resulting from 
 a vicarious punishment, is a notion that cannot be reconciled to 
 the principle of rectitude. Vicarious punishment or sufiering 
 appears an impossibility : but as Jesus,.by adding the most exten- 
 sive benevolence to perfect innocence, and by becoming obedient 
 to death, even the death of the cross, was most meritorious, and 
 was entitled to the highest honour, and most distinguished reward, 
 his reward might be our deliverance from the bonds of sin and 
 death, and the restoration of immortaUty. This reward was 
 worthy of the giver, and tended to the advancement and spread 
 of virtue. It was Ukewise most acceptable to the receiver. It 
 no way interfered with right and truth. It was in all respects 
 most proper and suitable. These are my sentiments of Redemp- 
 tion. This appears to me to be the truth on the most attentive 
 and impartial examination I have been capable of making. 
 
 To this, perhaps, some people may reply, that though these 
 notions are, for the most part, just, and in the case of redemption, 
 in particular, as innocence and punishment are inconsistent and 
 incompatible ideas, that it was not possible Christ's oblation of 
 himsel could be more than a figurative sacrifice, in respect of 
 translation of guilt, commutation of persons, and vicarious inflic- 
 tion ; though a real sacrifice in the sense of intending by the 
 oblation to procure the favour of God, and the indemnity of 
 sinners : yet, as the author appears to be a Socinian, his account 
 is liable to objections. For, though the Socinians acknowledge 
 the truth and necessity of the revelation of the gospel, yet, in the 
 opinion of some great divines, they interpret it in such a manner, 
 as no unprejudiced person, who has read the scriptures, with any 
 attention, nor any sensible heathen, who should read them, can 
 possibly believe. They make our Redeemer a man, and by this 
 doctrine reflect the greatest dishonour on Christianity, and its 
 Divine Author. 
 
 This is a hard charge. The Socinians are by these divines 
 described as people who read the scriptures with prejudice, and 
 without attention ; men more senseless than the Heathens, and 
 as wicked too : for, in the highest degree, they dishonour Christ 
 Jesus and his religion. Astonishing assertion I It puts me in 
 mind of an imputation of the celebrated Waterland in his second 
 charge ; " What atheism chiefly aims at, is, to sit loose from pre- 
 sent restraints and future reckonings ; and these two purposes 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 333 
 
 may be competently served by deism, which is a more refined 
 kind of atheism." Groundless and ridiculous calumny I True 
 and proper deism is a smcere belief of the existence of a God, and 
 of an impartial distribution of rewards and punishments in another 
 world, and a practice that naturally results from, and is con- 
 sonant to such beUef ; and if atheism aims to sit loose from re- 
 straints and reckonings, then of consequence, deism is the grand 
 barrier to the purposes of atheism. The true Deist is so far from 
 breaking through restraints, that he makes it the great business 
 of his Ufe to discharge the obligations he is under, because he 
 believes in God, and perceives the equity and reasonableness of 
 duties, restraints, and future reckonings. The assertion there- 
 fore demonstrates the prejudice of Dr. Waterland, in relation to 
 the Deists. 
 
 And the case is the same in respect of the charge against the 
 Socinians. It is the divines that are prejudiced against them, 
 and not the Socinians in stud3dng the New Testament. It is the 
 grand purpose of our lives to worship God, and fOrm our religious 
 notions according to the instructions of divine wisdom. We 
 examine the sacred writings, with the utmost desire, and most 
 ardent prayer, that we may be rightly informed in the truest 
 sense of the holy authors of those divine books : and it appears 
 to our plain understandings, after the most honest labour, and 
 wishes to Heaven for a clear conception of holy things, that the 
 Father is the supreme God, that is, the first and chief Being, and 
 Agent ; the first and chief Governor ; the Fountain of Being, 
 Agency, and Authority ; that the Christian Messiah, the Man 
 Christ Jesus, was sent into the world to bear witness to the truth, 
 and preach the gospel of the kingdom of God, that kingdom of God 
 which is within you, saith the Lord, Luke, ch. xvii. v. 21, not a 
 kingdom of Monks, a sacerdotal empire of power, propositions, 
 and ceremonies. He came to call sinners to repentance and 
 amendment of Ufe, to teach them the law of love, and assure 
 mankind of grace and mercy and everlasting glory, if they kept 
 the commandments, and were obedient to the laws of Heaven ; 
 laws of righteousness, peace, giving no offence, and unanimity 
 in the worship of the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ : 
 but that, if they did not repent, and cease to be hurtful and in- 
 jurious ; if they did not open their eyes and turn from darkness 
 to light, from the power of Satan unto God, and put on such an 
 agreeable and useful temper and behaviour, as would render 
 them a blessing in the creation, they would be numbered among 
 the cursed, and perish everlastingly, for want of real goodness 
 and a general sincerity of heart. This the Socinians think is 
 what Christ proposed and recommended, as the only and the 
 sure way to God's favour, through the worthiness of the Lamb 
 that was slain. We say this is pure religion. It is true, original 
 
334 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Christianity, and if the glorious design of our Lord is answered 
 by his miracles and preaching, by his death, his resurrection, his 
 ascension, and by the grace of the holy, blessed, and sanctifying 
 Sp'rit, it could reflect no dishonour on Christianity, and its divine 
 author, if our Redeemer was a mere man. If by the assistance 
 of God Almighty, a mere man performed the whole work of our 
 redemption, all we had to do was to be thankful for the mighty 
 blessing. The love of God in this way had been equally inestim- 
 able. The worth of Jesus would be still invaluable. 
 
 But it is not the opinion of the Socinians that Christ was a mere 
 man. It is plain from his assertion, that the Rev. Dr. Heathcote, 
 in his Remarks on Free and Candid Disquisitions, knows nothing 
 of them : the account they give of Jesus Christ is very different. 
 They say, he was a most glorious agent united to a human body, 
 and so far from being a mere man, that he was superior to angels. 
 He was the next in character to the necessarily existing Being. 
 He is the brightness of the Father's glory, and the express image 
 of his person : he has an excellency transcendent, and to the life 
 represents what is infinitely great and perfect. 
 
 If they do not allow that he made the worlds, or had an eternal 
 generation ; if they say, he had no existence till he was formed by 
 the power of God in the womb, and assert this eminency is proper 
 to the Man Christ Jesus ; yet they are far from af&rming he was 
 therefore a mere man : no ; they believe he was decreed to be 
 as great and glorious as possible, and that God made the world 
 for him ; that he was made the image of the invisible person of 
 the Father ; an image the most express and exact ; as great as 
 God himself could make it ; and of consequence, so transcendent 
 in all perfections, that what he says and does is the same thing 
 as if God had spoken and acted. This is not making him a mere 
 man. No : they say he is the first of all, and the head of all crea- 
 tures, whom the infinite love of God produced, to promote great- 
 ness, glory, and happiness among the creatures, by the super- 
 lative greatness and glory of Jesus ; and that angels, and the 
 spirits of the just made perfect, might have the pleasure of behold- 
 ing and enjoying the presence of this most glorious Image, that 
 is, of seeing their invisible Creator in his Image, Jesus Christ. 
 He is not a mere man ; but the brightness of the glory of God, the 
 express Image of his person, and raised so much higher than the 
 angels, as he has inherited from God a more excellent name than 
 they, to wit, the name of Son, and is the appointed heir of all 
 things. 
 
 So that this Socinianism reflects no dishonour on Christianity 
 and its Divine Author. It conduces as much to the glory of God, 
 and the benefit of man, as any Christianity can do. There is 
 something vastly beautiful and satisfactory in the notion of 
 Christ's being the most glorious Image of the invisible Father, 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 335 
 
 whenever his existence began. The many transcendent excel- 
 lencies of the Messias, in whom all fulness dwells, are exercised 
 upon men to their happiness, and to his glory ; and we learn from 
 thence, that greatness and glory are the result of the exercise of 
 virtue to the relief and happiness of others. The Redeemer of 
 the world is, in this account, the next in dignity and power to 
 the Great God ; and the perfections of the Father do most emi- 
 nently shine forth in him. We are hereby made meet to be 
 partakers of the inheritance of the saints in Ught, and delivered 
 from the power of darkness. We give thanks unto the Father, 
 who hath translated us into the kingdom of the Son of his love. 
 
 It is certain then that the divines have misrepresented the 
 people, who are injuriously called Socinians, as the religion they 
 profess is Scripture-Christianity. I say injuriously, because, in 
 the first place, the word Socinian is intended as a term of great 
 reproach to Christians, who deserve better usage for the goodness 
 of their manners, and the purity of their faith : and in the next 
 place, that Socinus was so far from being the author of our reli- 
 gion, that he was not even the first restorer of it. He did not go 
 to Poland to teach the people there his religious notions, but 
 because there was a Unitarian congregation there, with whom he 
 might join in the worship of the Father, through Jesus the Media- 
 tor, as his conscience would not sufier him to assemble with 
 those who worship a Being compounded of three divine persons. 
 
 But it is time to have done, and I shall conclude in the words 
 of a good author in old French. * The extract must be a curious 
 thing to the reader, as the valuable book I take it from is not to 
 be bought. 
 
 " Nostre confession de foy at6 depuis la premiere predication 
 de I'evangile puisque nous luy donnons la sainte ecriture pour 
 •fondement, mais il arrive de nous ce qu'il arrive des tous ceux 
 qui se sont detaches de I'eglise Romaine aux quels le papistes 
 donnent malgre eux pour autheurs de leur religion Luther, Calvin, 
 et autres docteures qui n'ont ete que les restorateurs, des dogmes 
 et de verites qui s'etoyent presque perdues sous le gouvernement 
 tyrannique de I'eglise Romaine pendant lequel 1' ecriture sainte 
 etoit devenue un Uvre inconnu a la pluspart de Chretiens la lecture 
 en ayant 6te defendue communement. Mais par un decret de la 
 providence de Diue le periode de la revolution etant venu chacun 
 a commence a deterrer la verit6 la mieux qu'U a pu, et comme 
 dans chaque revolution il y a des chefs et des gens illustres, ainsi 
 dans le retablissement des dogmes etouffSs si longtems par le 
 papisme Luther, Calvin, Arminius, et Socin, ont ete des hommes 
 illustres et dont on a donn6 le nom aux religions. Vous scaurez 
 done s'il vous plaist que Socin bien loin d'avoir 6te autheur de 
 nostre religion n'en a pas 6t6 meme la premier restaurateur : car 
 • Or rather in bad French, as the writer was no Frenchman. 
 
336'^ THE LIFE OF 
 
 il n'etoit venu en Pologne que parce qu'il avoit appris qu'il s'y 
 etoit deja form6e una assemblee de gens qui avoyent des opinions 
 semblables aux siennes : Je vous diray de plus, que la seule chose 
 que le fait un heros dans nostre religion c'est qu'il en a ecrit des 
 livres, mais il ny a presque personne qui les Use, car comme Socin 
 etoit un bon jurisconsulte il est extremement long et ennuyeux ; 
 et outre que nous ne voulous point avoir d' autre Uvre de religion 
 que le nouveau Testament et point d'autres docteurs que les 
 apostres. C'est pourquoy, c'est bien malgre nous qu'on nous 
 appelle Sociniens ou Arriens : ce sont des noms dont la maUgnite 
 de nos ennemys nous couvre pour nous rendre odieux. Nous 
 appellons entre nous du simple nom de Chretiens. Mais puisque 
 dans cette desunion de la chretient6, on nous dit qu'il ne suf6t 
 pas de porter ce nom universel, mais qu'il encore necessairement 
 se distinguer par quelque appellation particuUere, nous consentons 
 done de porter le nom de Chretiens unitaires pour nous distinguer 
 de Chretiens trinitaires. Ce nom de Chretiens unitaires nous 
 convient fort bien comme a ceux qui ne voulant en aucune f a9on 
 encherye sur la doctrine de Jesus Christ, n'y y subtiliser plus qu'il 
 ne faut, attachent leur croyance et leur confession positivement 
 a cette instruction de Jesus Christ qui se trouve dans le 17 chap, 
 de I'evangile de St. Jean, quand il dit Mon pere I'heure'est venue, 
 glorifiez vostre fils afin que vostre fils vous glorifie, comme vous 
 luy avez donn6 puissance sur tons les hommes a fin qu'il donne 
 la vie etemeUe a tous ceux que vous luy avez donn6 ; or la vie 
 etemeUe consiste a vous connoistre, vous qui estes le seul Dieu 
 veritable, et Jesus Christ que vous avez envoye. La meme lejon 
 nous donne I'apostre St. Paul dans le 8 chap, aux Cor. disant, 
 qu'il n'y a pour nous qu'un seul Dieu qui est la pere duquel sont 
 toutes choses et nous pour luy, et il n'y a qu'un seul seigneur 
 qui est Jesus Christ, par lequel sont toutes choses et nous par luyj 
 C'est done a cause de cette confession que nous nous appellons 
 Chretiens unitaires par ce que nous croyons qu'il n'y a qu'un 
 seul Dieu, pere et Dieu de nostre seigneur Jesus Christ, celuy 
 que Jesus Christ nous a appris d'adorer, et lequel il a aussy adore 
 luy meme, I'appellent non seulment nostre Dieu mais son Dieu 
 aussy selon qu'il a dit, je m'en vay a mon pere et vostre pere, a 
 mon Dieu et a vostre Dieu. 
 
 " Ainsy vous voyez que nous nous tenons aux verites divines. 
 Nous avons la reUgieuse veneration pour la sainte ecriture. Avec 
 tout cela nous sommes serviteurs tres humble des messieurs les 
 trinitaires, — penes quos mundanae fabulae actio est, et il ne tient 
 pas a nous que nous ne courrions de tout nostre coeur a leurs 
 autels, s'ils vouloyent nous faire la grace de soufErir nostre sim- 
 phcitfe en Jesus Christ, et de ne pas vouloir nous obliger a la con- 
 fession de supplemens a la sainte ecriture.'"* 
 
 • La Veriti et la Religion en Visite, Alamagnt, 1695. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 337 
 
 The great and excellent Faustus Socinus was bom at Sienna, 
 in the year 1539, and died at Luclavie, the third of March, 1604, 
 aged sixty-five. His book in defence of the authority of the 
 sacred scriptures is a matchless performance ; and if he had never 
 written any thing else, is alone sufficient to render his memory 
 glorious, and precious to all true Christians. Get this book, if 
 you can. It is the finest defence of your Bible that was ever 
 published. Steinfurti, 161 1. edit. Vorst. And yet, such is the 
 malignity of orthodoxy, that a late great prelate, Dr. Smalbroke, 
 Bishop of Litchfield and Coventry, who died in 1749 ; in his 
 Second Charge to the Clergy of St. David's, p. 34 ; could not help 
 blackening the author when he mentioned the work : his words 
 are these, " And if Grotius was more especially sissisted by the 
 valuable performance of a writer, otherwise justly of ill fame, I 
 mean, Faustus Socinus' little book De Auctoritate S. Serif turm, 
 this assistance,'' &c. Here the admirable Socinus, a man of as 
 much piety and as good morals, as hath fived since the apostles' 
 time, who truly and godly served the Almighty and everlasting 
 God, through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, is painted by 
 this eminent hand " a man of iU fame ; " and for no other reason 
 but because his heavenly religion made him oppose the orthodox 
 heresy of three Gods, as taught in the creed of Athanasius ; and 
 piously labour, by the purity of his doctrine and example, to 
 keep the world from corruption. 
 
 Let us then be careful to confess the holy unitarian faith. Let 
 us take the advice of Socinus, and be original Christians. Let 
 there not be in our religion a God compounded of three .supreme 
 spirits, equal in power and all possible perfections. Let us wor- 
 ship the Invisible Father, the first and chief Almighty Being, 
 who is one supreme universal Spirit, of peerless Majesty ; and, 
 as the inspired apostles direct, let us worship him through his 
 most glorious Image, the Man Christ Jesus ; our Redeemer and 
 Mediator, our King and our Judge. 
 
 N.B. Though the reverend Dr. Heathcote hath been very 
 unfriendly in his account of the Christians he calls Socinians, in 
 his observations before mentioned, yet you are not from thence 
 to conclude that he belongs to the Orthodox Party. He is far 
 from it, and therefore I recommend to your perusal not only his 
 Cursory Animadversions upon Free and Candid Disquisitions, and 
 his finer Boyle-Lecture Sermons on the Being of God, but also his 
 Cursory Animadversions upon the Controversy, concerning the 
 Miraculous Powers, and his Remarks on Chapman's Credibility 
 of the Fathers' Miracles. They are three excellent pamphlets. 
 The first is against the scholastic Trinity. And the others on 
 the side of Dr. Middleton, against the miracles of the Fathers. 
 
 Note, Reader, Dr. Heathcote' s two pamphlets on the side of 
 Dr. Middleton, and the Rev. Mr. Toll's admirable pieces in vindi- 
 
338 THE LIFE OF 
 
 cation of the Doctor against the miracles of the Fathers, will give 
 you a just and full idea of the late controversy. Mr. Toll's pieces 
 are called, A Defence of Dr. Middleion's Free Enquiry ; Remarks 
 upon Mr. Church's Vindication ; and his Sermon and Appendix 
 against Dr. Church's Appeal. 
 
 If you would see all that can be said in relation to this matter, 
 get likewise Dr. Syke's Two Previous Questions : and The Two 
 Previous Questions impartially Considered ; by the same author. 
 Remarks on two Pamphlets against Dr. Middleion's Introduc- 
 tory Discourse ; Two Letters to the Rev. Mr. Jackson, in Answer 
 to his Remarks on Middleion's Free Inquiry ; and A View of the 
 Controversy, concerning the Miraculous Powers, supposed to have 
 subsisted in the Christian Church through several successive Cen- 
 turies. These pamphlets will bind into two large octavo volumes, 
 and make a valuable collection of critical reUgious learning. 
 
 Note, Reader, of that admirable work, called Bibliotheca Fra- 
 trum Polonorum, by Socinus, CreUius, Sclichtingius, and Wolzo- 
 genius, six volumes, printed in Irenopoli, 1656, foUo. The first 
 and second volumes are the writings of Socinus ; the third and 
 fourth by CreUius ; the fifth by Schchtingius ; and the sixth by 
 Wolzogenius : they are all well worth your reading, as they con- 
 tain the most valuable and excellent learning ; and especially 
 Socinus and CreUius. In another place, where you wiU find me 
 alone in a sohtude ; I shaU give some curious extracts from the 
 works of these great, injured men, and a summary of their Uves. 
 But to return to my narrative ; from Knaresborough, I went to 
 Harrogate again, and there found the following letter, of an old 
 date, left for me, 
 " Sir, 
 " As you told me, you intended to go to London soon, and 
 business obliges me to ride up to the capital a few weeks hence, I 
 should take it as a great favour, if you would make Westmore- 
 land your way, and through Lancashire to the Chester road, that 
 I may have your protection and guidance in this long journey. 
 "I am, Sir, 
 
 "Your humble servant, 
 
 "Maria Spence. 
 " Cleator, six miles to the south- 
 west of Wharton-HaU." 
 
 This letter surprised me. Yes, dear creature, I said, I will 
 make Westmoreland my way to London. At four in the morn- 
 ing I mounted my horse, and rode to Cleator. I arrived there 
 at six in the evening, and had traveUed that day seventy-five 
 miles ; to wit, from Harrogate to Boroughbridge, eight ; from 
 thence to Catarric, twenty-two ; to Gretabridge, fifteen ; to Bows, 
 six ; to Brugh in Westmoreland, twelve ; to^Qrkby Steven, near 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 339 
 
 \Vhartou-Hall, six ; to Cleator, six ; in all, seventy-five miles. I 
 dined at Catarric on a hot pigeon-pye just drawn, and ale of one 
 ear, that is, admirable, as Rabelais means by the phrase, " We 
 had wine of one ear," alluding to the one shake of the head to the 
 right shoulder, when a thing is excellent ; and I gave the horses 
 another feed of corn at Bows, at the George, kept by Railton, 
 the Quaker ; an excellent inn, and the master of it an instructive 
 and entertaining orator. * I mention these things for your benefit, 
 reader, that you may know where to stop to advantage, if you 
 should ever ride over the same ground I went that day. 
 
 • WhUe I waited at the inn, till the horses had eaten their corn, the landlord brought me 
 a paper dropt, by a lady he knew not, some days before at his house. He added, it was a 
 curiosity, and worth my serious consideration. 
 
 A HORNING AND EVENING PRAYER. 
 
 " Almighty and ever-living God, have mercy on me. Forgive me all my sins, and make 
 my heart one, to fear thy glorious fearful name, Jehovah. Cruide me with thy counsel, I 
 beseech thee, and be the strength of my life and my portion for ever. 
 
 " O Lord Jehovah, defend me from the power and malice, the assaults and attempts, of 
 all m^ adversaries, and keep me in health and safety, in peace and innocence. These things 
 I ask in the name of Jesus Christ, thy Son, our Loto ; and in his words I call upon thee as , 
 Our Father, who art in heaven,'* &c. 
 
 This prayer pleased me very much. In the most beautiful manner, as weU as in a few 
 words it expresses all we need ask from Heaven ; and if Miss Dudgeon of Richmonckhire 
 was the composer of it, as I have been assured since, upon enquiry, I here place it to her 
 honour, as a monimient of her piety and sense ; and in hopes the illustrious of her sex will 
 use so short and excellent a form of devotion in their dosets morning and night. 
 
 There is an expression in this prayer, which for some time I could not well comprehend 
 the meaning of it ; that is. Make my heart one : but on considering it, I found it supported 
 by the greatest authorities. 
 
 Among the sayings of Pythagoras, one is, be simply thyself. Reduce thy conduct to one 
 single aim, by bringing every passion into subjection, and acquiring that general habit of self- 
 denial, which comprehends temperance, moderation, patience, government, and is the main 
 principle of wisdom. Be simply thyself, and so curb desire, and restrain the inclinations 
 and controul the affections, that you may be always able to move the passions as reason 
 shall direct. Let not every foremost fancy, or every forward appearance, have the least 
 mastery over you ; but view them on every side by the clear light of reason, and be no further 
 influenced by the imaginations of pleasure, and apprehensions of evil, than as the obvious 
 relations and nature of things allow. Let the result of a perception which every rational 
 mind may have of the essential difference between good and evil, be the cause or ground 
 of obligation. This will add greatly to quiet, and be productive of much real felicity. It 
 will^ender every present condition supportable, brighten every prosjwct, and always incline 
 us more to hope than to fear. This is the doctrine of Pythagoras. 
 
 I likewise find that David expresses the same thought in the 86th Psalm, ver. 11, which is 
 rendered in the Bible translation, " Unite my heart to fear thy name ; " in the Common- 
 Prayer Book, " O knit my heart unto thee, that I may fear thy name : " but the Hebrew is, 
 " Make my heart one,'* to fear thy name ; meaning. Let the fear of thee be the one ruling 
 disposition of my soul, in opposition to the double-minded man, which the Hebrew elegantly 
 expresses by a " heart and a heart ; " one that draws to the riches, pleasures, and honours 
 of this world ; and another to the practice of all virtue. 
 
 As to the other part of tiie prayer, which has ttie words — glorious — fearful — Jehovah ; 
 whereas in the 86th Psahn it is only said, " To fear thy name ; *' the author certainly took 
 them from Deuteronomy, ch. xxviii. ver. 58, The desi^^of the dreadful threatenings in this 
 diapter set before the people, is there thus expressed, " That thou mayest fear this glorious 
 and fearful name, Jehovah thy God ; " or as in our translation, " the Lord thy God " — ^And 
 therefore I think these words are very finely used in this prayer. 
 
 " It is amazing to me," says the Rev, Mr, Peters, rector of St. Mabyn, " that throughout 
 the Bible, the translators have every where changed the word Jehovah for the word Lord, 
 when God himself gave the word Jehovah as his name to be uttered ; and as in this word 
 the whole mystery of the Jewi^ and Christian dispensation seem to have been wrapped up. 
 " Say to the people. Ami Jehovah. I am Jehovah. Ye shall know that I Jehovah am 
 your God, which bringeth you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians." Exod. ch. vi, 
 vv. 6, 7. Deui. ch. vi. ver. 4. " Hear, O Israel, Jehovah our God is one Jehovah." 
 
340 THE LIFE OF 
 
 When I came to Miss Spencer's door, I sent in my name by 
 a servant, and immediately Maria came out herself to welcome 
 me to Cleator. She told me she was glad to see me, and extremely 
 obliged to me, for riding so many nules out of my way, to travel 
 
 Then as to this word's comprehending the two dispensations, a good writer observes that 
 though God was known to his true worshippers by many other names, as God Almighty, 
 the High God, the Everlasting God, &c. yet Jehovah was h^ one peculiar name ; a name 
 which be had appointed to himself, in preference to all others, and by which he declared 
 by Moses he would be distinguished for the time to come. 
 
 And as of all the names of God, this seems to be the most expressive of his essence, as it 
 can only be derived from the root which signifies to be, and denotes the one eternal self-existent 
 Being, from whom all other things derive their being, and on whom they must depend ; — 
 As the word does likewise signify "makes to be what was promised or foretold," and by such 
 meaning declares, as often as the word is repeated, that Jehbvah our God is not only self- 
 existent, and the Creator of the world, but Him in whom all divine prophecies and predictions 
 centre ; it follows, in my opinion, that we should utter this awful name in our addresses 
 to God, and not, like the Jews, through a superstition omit it, and use another instead of it." 
 This passage is to be found in an excellent Preface to the octavo edition of his admirable 
 Dissertation on the Book of Job, in replv to that part of the Divine LegaHon of Moses demon- 
 atraied, in which the author, my Ix)ra of Gloucester, sets himself to prove, that this book 
 is a work of imagination, or dramatic composition, no older than Ezra the priest, whom he 
 supposes to be the writer of it, in the year before Christ 467, or the year 455, in the twentieth 
 year of the reign of Artaxerxes, king of Persia, when Daniel's seventy weeks begin ; that is, 
 the period of 490 years, that were to be fulfilled before the passion of our Saviour. And 
 further, according to the author of the Legation, that this "allegorical drama or poem," was 
 written to quiet the minds of the Jewish people under the difficulties of their captivity, and to 
 assure them, as represented by the person of Job, of tiiose great temporal blessings whi(^ 
 three prophets had predicted. 
 
 Now in the Preface to the book aforementioned, in answer to all this and fuUy and beauti- 
 fully answered it is, you will find the passage relating to the word Jehovah, and more than I 
 have quoted from it. 
 
 As to Pythagoras the Samian, mentioned in this note, on account of his saying, " Be 
 simply thyself ; " he was famous in the 6oth olympiad, as Jamblicus informs us ; that is, 
 his Elikia, or Reign of Fame, began in the first year of this olympiad, which was the year 
 before Christ 540; for 60x4 gives 240 — 777 leaves 537+3, the plus years of the olympiad; 
 i.e. 2, 3, 4=540. And he died in the 4th year of the 70th olmypiad, that is, the year before 
 Chrkt 497 : for 70 x 4«28o — yy? remains 497 : there are no plus years to be added here, as 
 it happened in the 4th or last year of the olympiad. This philosopher was contemporary 
 with, and a near friend to, the renowned Phalaris, who was murdered in the year before Christ 
 556, when the Belshazzar of Daniel ascended the throne of Babylon. And as P;^thagoras 
 lived to the age of 90, according to Diogenes, he must have been bom in the beginning of4he 
 rei^ of Nebuchadnezzar : the year this conqueror took Jerusalem, and its lung Zedekiah, 
 which was Olymp. 47. 3. and of consequence before Christ 590 : for47X4=r88 — 777, remain, 
 389+1=590. This was 54 years before Thespis invented tragedy,* and 11 years before 
 the birth of ^^schylus, the reformer of tragedy, Cyrus was then m the tenth year of his age. 
 
 It is likewise evident from hence, that Pythagoras must have lived through the reigiis 
 of Cyrus, Cambyses, and the greatest part of the reign of Darius Histaspes, who slew Smerdis 
 the Magi, and is caLlled in scripture Ahasuerus, the king of Persia, who married Esther, and 
 ordered Haman the Amalekite to be hanged on the gallows he had erected for Mordecai the 
 Jew, in the )^ear before Christ 510. 
 Note, David was before Pythagoras 519 years. 
 
 Reader, As to the word Elikia, which I have used to express the reign or time of flourishing 
 of Pythagoras, I have an observation or two to make in relation to it, which I think worth 
 your att^ding to. 
 
 Clemens Alexandrinus says, Stromaia, p. 40, *An-b Movcreos cn-t 't7)I' SoA.o/ioi'TOf eAikiov 
 tTTf TO. irdvra fx^Kovia Sexa ; that is, I^e years from Moses to Solomon's EUkia are 610 ; to 
 
 wit, Moses's lifei 120 
 
 From his death to David's accession 45o 
 
 David's reign -----------40 
 
 610 
 From this passage it is plain, that the Elikia of Solomon is not meant of his nativity, but 
 of the beginning of his reign, when he was 33 years of age. 
 
 It is then very surprising ttiat Dodwell should insist upon it, that Elikia always signifies 
 nativity. It is the more wonderful, as Dodwell quotes this passage from Clement ; and as 
 i t is impossible to make out 610, without coming to the 33rd of Solomon, as I have reckoned it. 
 
 * Olymp. 61. z. Selden's Comment on the Arundel Marble. 
 
JOHN BUNGLE. ESQ. 341 
 
 up with her to London ; but as she had never been farther from 
 home than Harrogate, and was afraid of going such a journey by 
 herself, she had written to me, in hopes curiosity and my great 
 complaisance to the ladies, might induce me to take Cleator in 
 my way to town, though so much_ about ; but as so many weeks 
 had passed since she came away from the Wells, and she heard 
 nothing of me, she had laid aside aU expectation of my coming, 
 though this made the visit the more pleasing. 
 
 In answer to this, I replied, that if I had got her letter sooner, 
 I would have been with her long before : but that was not pos- 
 sible, as I had been at a Uttle lodge and farm of mine in the 
 northern extremity of Westmoreland, to settle things there, and 
 returned to Harrogate but yesterday, when I had the honour of 
 receiving your letter, and upon reading it, set out at daybreak 
 this morning to kiss your hand, and execute any commands. 
 
 Here an excellent hot supper was brought in, and after it. 
 Miss Spence said, she was surprised to hear I was an inhabitant 
 of Westmoreland, as she had never heard of me in the north, 
 nor seen me at Harrogate before the other day. 
 
 I told her I was a stranger in the country, and by a wonderful 
 accident, as I travelled a few years ago out of curiosity, and in 
 search of a friend, up Stanemore-hills, I became possessed of a 
 lodge I had on the northern edge of Westmoreland, where I lived 
 
 Nay, in another place of the Stromata, Clement says, Isaiah, Hosea, and Micah lived after 
 the Elikia of Lycurgus ; where he can only mean the time when that lawgiver flourished ; 
 for, from the destruction of Troy to/the Akm^'of Lycurgus, was 290 years : and from Solomon , 
 in whose time Troy was taken, to the time of the prophets, was 360 years. 
 
 Thus does learning accommodate things. Dodwell wanted to fit a passage in Antilochus 
 to his own calculation and so 312 years from the Elikia of Pythagoras, that is, says Dodwell, 
 from the nativity of the philosopher, he meant taking the word in that sense, to the death 
 of Epicurus, brings us exactly to the time. Who can forbear smiling ? A favourite notion 
 
 to many learned men a sacred thing. Dodwell settles his passage in Antilochus to his 
 mind, by perverting the word Elikia. 
 
 This, to be sure, in prophane things, can do no great harm : but when the practice is 
 brought into things sacred, it is a detriment to mankind. Some divines, for example, to sup- 
 port a notion as unreasonable as it is dear to them, tell us that the word Isos signifies strict 
 equality, not like : and that when St. Paul says to-a ©cm, we must construe it, Jesus Christ 
 was strictly. equal to the most High God. This is sad construction, when Homer, Euripides, 
 iGschylus, niake the word Isos to import no more than like. Isanemos, swift as the wind ; 
 Isatheos phos, like a God j Isanerios, like a dream. 
 
 And when a divine is positive that os and kathos, as, and even as, words occurring in the 
 New Testament, signify a strict equality, and not some sort of likeness ; this is miserable 
 perversion, and hurts the Christian religion very greatly ; as they endeavour, by such a given 
 sense, to prove that the man Christ Jesus is to be honoured with the same divine honours 
 we offer to God the Father Almighty, by the conunand and example of Jesus, who was sent 
 from God, and was a worshipper of God ; who lived obedient to the laws of God, preached 
 those laws and died for them in the cause of God ; who was raised from the dead by God, 
 and now sits on God's right hand ; intercedes with God, and in his Gospel owns his Father 
 to be his and our only true God. This is sad accommodation. Though the words never 
 signify more than a degree of likeness in the Greek classics, yet o\ir headstrong orthodox 
 monks will have them to mean strict equality ; and Alexander the Great and Alexander 
 the Coppersmith are the same Being. Amazing ! Gentlemen ; here is but One Ball, and 
 out of itself you shall see this one ball send forth two other balls, big as it, and yet not lose 
 one atom of its weight and grandeur. Hocus pocus, Reverendissimi spectatores, the One 
 
 And now Gentlemen, be pleased to observe the miracle reversed. Pilluli pilluli, congre- 
 gate Presto presto, unite : observate, Signori Doftissimi, the Three are One. Such is the 
 hocus pocus the monks have made of their Trinity. 
 
342 THE LIFE OF 
 
 a considerable time, and once imagined I should never leave it, 
 as it is the most romantic and the most beautiful solitude in the 
 world. 
 
 While I was giving this short relation, Miss Spence seemed 
 greatly amazed, and her uncle, an old clergyman, who had looked 
 with great attention at me, hoped it would be no offence to ask 
 how old I was. 
 
 " None at all. Sir," I replied. " I want some months of 
 twenty-six ; and though I dance and rattle at the Wells^ and am 
 now going up to London, where all is tumult and noise, yet my 
 passion for still life is so great, that I prefer the most silent retreat 
 to the pleasures and splendours of the greatest town. If it was 
 in my power to live as I please, I would pass my days unheard of 
 and unknown, at Orton-Lodge, so my little silent farm is called, 
 near the southern confines of Cumberland, with some bright 
 partner of my soul. I am sure I should think it a complete 
 paradise to live in that distant solitude with a woman of Miss 
 Spence's form and mind." 
 
 " But tell me, I request," said Maria, " how did you get to the 
 confines of Westmoreland over Stanemore hills, and what was 
 that accident that put you in possession of Orton-Lodge ? It 
 must be a curious account, I am sure." 
 
 " This," I replied, " you shall hear to-morrow morning after 
 breakfast ; there is not time for it now. All I can say at present 
 is, that it was love kept me among the mountains for some 
 years, and if the heaven-born maid, vastly like you. Miss Spence, 
 she was, had not, by the order of heaven, been removed to the 
 regions of immortality and day, I should not have left the soli- 
 tude, nor would you ever have seen me at Harrogate : but destiny 
 is the diligent : mutable is the condition of mortals, and we are 
 blind to futurity and the approaches of fate. This led me over 
 the vast mountains of Stanemore, enabled me to cross the amaz- 
 ing fells of Westmoreland, and brought me to that spot, where 
 I had the honour and happiness of becoming acquainted with 
 Miss Spence." Thus did we chat till eleven, and retired to our 
 chambers. 
 
 But the old gentleman, the doctor, when he came with me 
 into my apartment, told me we must have one bottle more, for 
 it was his nightcap, without which he could not sleep : he then 
 bid the servant make haste with it, and when that was out, we 
 had another. He was a sensible agreeable man, and pleased me 
 very much, as he appeared a zealous friend to the illustrious 
 house of Hanover ; whereas almost all the clergjmven I had been 
 in company with since I came to England, were violent 
 Jacobites. 
 
 I remember, among other things, I asked this Divine, over our 
 wine, If popery is ever so corrupt, could men be debarred of 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 343 
 
 their rights for an attachment to it ? Are not clowns hereditary ? 
 And is not treason in our country stamped with so peculiar an 
 infamy, as involving the delinquent's innocent children in the 
 forfeitures, or penal consequences that await it, on purpose to 
 check the rebellion of Britons by such an accumulated punish- 
 ment of evil doers ? 
 
 To this the doctor replied, that the exclusion of a popish prince 
 must be lawful, if we ought to secure our property and religion, 
 and, as in duty bound, oppose his trampUng upon the laws, and 
 his own solemn declarations. If the people have privileges and 
 interests, they may defend them, and as justifiably oppose 
 notorious domestic oppressions, as foreign invasions. The head 
 of the community, has no more a hcense to destroy the most 
 momentous interests of it, than any of the inferior members, 
 or than any foreign invader. If a king has no passion to indulge, 
 incompatible with the welfare of his people, then, as protection 
 and obedience are reciprocal, and cannot subsist, the one without 
 the other, it must be a crime in the people not to honour, and 
 obey, and assist the royal authority. It is not only the interest 
 but the duty of the subject to obey the prince, who is true to the 
 important trust reposed in him, and has the welfare of the people 
 at heart. But such a king cannot be a papist. The Romish 
 prince wiU not only stretch a limited prerogative into lawless 
 power, and grasp at abscdute monarchy ; but will break through 
 the most sacred ties, and subvert the rights he was sworn to 
 guard, to re-estabUsh popery in this kingdom. Could James II 
 have kept the seat of government, and baffled all opposition, 
 we may conclude from what he did, from his tramphng upon the 
 laws, and his own solemn declarations ; from his new court of 
 inquisition, the high commission court ; to subvert the constitu- 
 tion of the church of England, and to lay waste all its fences 
 against popery ; from that furious act of his power, which fell 
 on Magdalen-college, and his two cruel acts of parliament in 
 Ireland, the repeal of the act of settlement, by which the pro- 
 testant gentiemen were deprived of their estates ; and the act 
 of attainder, by which they were to be hanged, for going to beg 
 their bread in another country, after they had been robbed of 
 all in their own by their king, who had sworn to protect them ; 
 from hence, I say, it is plain, that if James could have sat firm 
 upon the throne, his misguided conscience would have induced 
 him to the most inhuman acts of violence. He would have 
 proceeded to the barbarities, and rekindled the flames of Mary. 
 Had he continued to reign over these kingdoms, it is most certain, 
 that instruction and persuasion only would not have been the 
 thing, but where instruction and persuasion failed, imprison- 
 ments, tortures, death, would have been used, to compel us to 
 believe all the gross absurdities of Rome, their impieties to God, 
 
344 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and contradictions to common sense. We must throw away 
 our reason and our bibles, the noblest gifts of heaven, and neither 
 think nor speak, but as we are bid by men no wiser than ourselves ; 
 or, we must expire under torments as great as the devil and the 
 monks could devise! It was therefore necessary, for the preserva- 
 tion of our church and state, to exclude James and his popish 
 heirs. The common welfare required this salutary precaution. 
 The collected interest of the community is the primary end of 
 every law. 
 
 All this, I said, seems quite right. To be sure, during that 
 short twiUght of power, which dawned upon popery in England 
 in the years 1689 and 1690, its rage was imprudent. It did 
 discover its fury and resentment. In one of the Irish acts you 
 have mentioned, more than two thousand people were attainted, 
 and some of them the most noble and venerable characters in 
 Ireland. Yet had success attended the arms of James, this 
 would have been but the beginning of sorrows. And probably 
 a son of Christian Rome would have proscribed more in these 
 two islands, than in heathen Rome, out of the whole vast Roman 
 empire, were given up to destruction for their virtue, by the 
 cruel triumvirate, Augustus, Antony, and Lepidus. And of 
 consequence, since dear experience convinced, it was equally 
 absurd and vain, to imagine that a popish head would govern a 
 protestant church by any councils, but those of popish priests, as 
 it wa,s to imagine that a popish king would govern a protesr 
 tant state by any councils, ' but those of popish counsellors ; 
 it must therefore be owned, that the Lords, and others, assembled 
 at Nottingham, were just in declaring, " that King James's 
 administrations were usurpations on the constitution ; and that 
 they owned it rebellion to resist a king that governed by law ; 
 but to resist a t3rrant, who made his will his law, was nothing but 
 a necessary defence." This, to be sure, is just. But still, if 
 crowns are hereditary, and one severe punishment of treason 
 was intended to check aU rebeUion, were we not a Uttle too hasty 
 in the affair of the Revolution ? And might we not have ex- 
 pected something better from the good sense and good nature 
 of James, if we had waited a while, till he could see the folly of 
 his proceedings ? 
 
 To this the Doctor replied, that as to James's good sense, it 
 never appeared he had any : and in respect of his many real 
 good qualities, they were extinguished by his bigotry, and could 
 never be of service to a protestant spirit, the spirit of freemen : 
 it was therefore incumbent on them, who knew and loved the 
 invaluable blessings they enjoyed, to act as they did ; that is, 
 as the wisdom of our constitution requires in such cases. 
 
 As to the crown being hereditary, and the severe punishment 
 of treasons ; in respect of the first particular, there is no natural 
 or divine law declares crowns hereditary. If a certain rule of 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 345 
 
 succession has been established in most kingdoms, the single 
 point of view in it was public good, or a prevention of those 
 intestine commotions, which might attend an election : But as 
 every rule is dispensible, and must give way when it defeats 
 the end for which it was appointed ; should the customary suc- 
 cession in a kingdom prove at any time productive of much 
 greater evils than those it was intended to obviate, it may ques- 
 tionless be superseded occasionally. This point is evident from 
 reason. Though the crown in our own country is generally 
 hereditary, yet that right is to be set aside, if the security of our 
 civil and religious liberty requires it. If the pretence of James 
 was a right to dominion, in opposition not only to the sense of 
 the legislature, but to that of the nation, then the popish prince 
 was justly excluded, for denjdng the public good to be the supreme 
 law. Had the right he claimed been estabUshed, then our 
 reUgion, our liberties, and the safety of our fortunes, had been 
 no longer our own. In case of such establishment, the glory of 
 our constitution was no more. The sum of the matter is, the 
 royal family of the Stuarts being Roman Catholics, makes their 
 case similar to an extinction of it. 
 
 And as to the accumulated punishment of treason in Great 
 Britain, that can only be designed as a powerful check to rebelUon, 
 against a king whose darUng view is the welfare of the people. 
 No infamy, forfeitures, or death, can be too severe for the man 
 who rebels against a prince that governs for the good of the 
 people, and endeavours to transmit our state safe to posterity. 
 To plot against such a sovereign is a great crime indeed. To 
 conspire against a prince, whose life is of the utmost consequence 
 to the community, is an enormity that ought to be stamped 
 with a pecuUar infamy, and punished in the severest manner. 
 But it can be no treason to act against a papist, who violates 
 every maxim of our constitution, and by every maxim of popery 
 labours to destroy our religion and Uberties. Every man may 
 repel unlawful attempts upon his person and property, and is 
 armed by God with authority for self-defence. 
 
 To this it was repUed, that I thought the Doctor quite right, 
 and for my own part was determined to oppose a popish prince, 
 whenever he comes on with his unalienable and indefeasible 
 claim, to introduce his absurd and cruel religion, to deprive us 
 of our rational Christianity, and to make us slaves, instead of 
 free-born subjects. No popish James, to write our themes, but 
 (filling a bumper) may this nation be ever happy in a king whose 
 right is founded upon law, and who has made it the rule of his 
 government. May Britons ever remember the merciless rage 
 of popery, and the envious maUce of France ; each ready to lay 
 waste the whole fabric of our excellent constitution, and cry 
 aloud, with all the embittered sons of Edom, Down with it, down 
 
346 THE LIFE OF 
 
 with it, even to the ground. Here the clock struck one, and we 
 parted. 
 
 Early the next morning I was up, according to my wont, and 
 walked out, to look at the place. Cleator is one of the finest 
 spots that can be seen, in a wild romantic country. The natural 
 views are wonderful, and afford the eye vast pleasure. The charm- 
 ing prospects of different kinds, from the edges of the mountains, 
 are very fine. The winding hills, pretty plains, vast precipices, 
 hanging woods, deep dales, the easy falls of water in some places, 
 and in others cataracts tumbling over rocks, form all together 
 the most beautiful and deUghtful scenes. AH the decorations 
 of art are but foils and shadows to such natural charms. ^ 
 
 In the midst of these scenes, and in a theatrical space of about 
 two hundred acres, which the hand of nature cut, or hollowed 
 out, on the side of a mountain, stands Cleator-Lodge, a neat and 
 pretty mansion. Near it were groves of various trees, and the 
 water of a strong spring murmured from the front down to a 
 lake at the bottom of the hiU. ji P,-' 
 
 This was Miss Spence's country-house. Here the wise and 
 excellent Maria passed the best part of her time, and never went 
 to any pubhc place but Harrogate once a year. In reading, 
 riding, fishing, and some visits to and from three or four neigh- 
 bours now and then, her hours were happily and usefully em- 
 ployed. History and Mathematics she took great dehght in, 
 and had a very surprising knowledge in the last. She was 
 another of those ladies I met with in my travels, who understood 
 that method of calculation, beyond whxh nothing further is to 
 be hoped or expected ; I mean the arithmetic of fluxions. 
 
 Very few men among the learned can consider magnitudes 
 as generated by motion, or determine their proportions one to 
 another from the celerities of the motion by which they are 
 generated. I question if the Critical Reviewers can do it ; I am 
 sure they cannot, though they have made so Ucentiously free 
 with me. They may, however, pretend to know something of 
 the matter, and so did Berkeley, the late Bishop of Cloyne in 
 Ireland ; yet that prelate, in reality, understood no more of the 
 method than a porter does, though he presumed to write against 
 it, and the divine Newton, the inventor of it. But Maria Spence, 
 in the twenty-fourth year of her age, was at this time a master 
 in the fluxionary way. She had not only a clear and adequate 
 notion of fluxions, but was able to penetrate into the depths of 
 this science, and had made subUme discoveries in this incompar- 
 able method of reasoning. She astonished me. I thought Mrs. 
 BuRcoTT and Mrs. Fletcher, mentioned in my first volume, 
 were very extraordinary women, on account of their knowledge 
 in algebra, and the fine answers they gave to the most difficult 
 problems in universal arithmetic ; but this sort of reasoning 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 347 
 
 is far inferior to the fluxionary method of calculation ; as the 
 latter opens and discovers tons the secrets and recesses of nature, 
 which have always before been locked up in obscurity and dark- 
 ness. By fluxions, such difficulties are resolved, as raise the 
 wonder and surprise of all mankind, and which would in vain 
 be attempted by any other method whatsoever. What then 
 must we think of a young woman well skilled in such work ; 
 not only able to find the fluxions of flowing or determinate 
 quantities, that is, the velocities with which they arise or begin 
 to be generated in the first moments of formation, called the 
 velocities of the incremental parts and the velocities in the last 
 ratios, as vanishing or ceasing to be ; but from given fluxions 
 to find the fluents ; and be ready in drawing tangents to curves ; 
 in the solution of problems de maximis et minimis, that is, the 
 greatest or least possible quantity attainable in any case ; in the 
 invention of points of inflection and retrogression ; in finding the 
 evoluta of a given curve ; in finding the caustic curves, by reflec- 
 tion and refraction, &c., &c., this was amazing beyond anything 
 I had seen'; or have ever seen since, except Mrs. Benlow, of 
 Richmondshire, with whom I became acquainted in 1739.* 
 With astonishment I beheld her. I was but a young beginner, 
 or leaxner, in respect of her, though I had applied so close to 
 fluxions after I had learned algebra, that my head was often 
 ready to split with pain ; nor had I the capacity, at that time, 
 to comprehend thoroughly the process of several operations she 
 performed with beauty, simpUcity, and charming elegance. 
 Admirable Maria I No one have I ever seen that was her 
 superior in tliis science : one equal only have I known, the lady 
 a little before mentioned. And does not this demonstrate, that 
 the faculties and imagination of women's minds, properly 
 cultivated, may equal those of the greatest men ? And since 
 women have the same improvable minds as the male part of the 
 species, why should they not be cultivated by the same method ? 
 Why should reason be left to itself in one of the sexes, and be 
 discipUned with so much care in the other. Learning and know- 
 ledge are perfections in us not as we are men, but as we are rational 
 creatures, in which order of beings the female world is upon the 
 same level with the male. We ought to consider in this particular, 
 not what is the sex, but what is the species they belong to. A.nd 
 if women of fortune were so considered, and educated accordingly, 
 I am sure the world would soon be the better for it. It would 
 be so far from making them those ridiculous mortals Moliere 
 has described under the character of learned ladies ; that it 
 would render them more agreeable and useful, and enable them 
 by the acquisition of true sense and knowledge, to be superior 
 
 • See Memoirs 0/ several. LaHes 0/ Great BtUaln, I755i 8vo. 
 
348 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to gayety and spectacle, dress and dissipation. They would see 
 that the sovereign good can be placed in nothing else but in 
 rectitude of conduct ; as that is agreeable to our nature ; con- 
 ducive to well-being ; accommodate to all places and times ; 
 durable, self-derived, indeprivable ; and of consequence, that 
 on rational and masculine religion only they can rest the sole 
 of the foot, and the sooner they turn to it, the happier here and 
 hereafter they shall be. Long before the power of sense, like 
 the setting sun, is gradually forsaking them, that power on which 
 the pleasures of the world depend, they would, by their acquired 
 understanding and knowledge, see the folly of pleasure, and that 
 they were bom not only to virtue, friendship, honesty, and faith, 
 but to religion, piety, adoration, and a generous surrender of 
 their minds to the supreme cause. They would be glorious 
 creatures then. Every family would be happy. 
 
 But as to Miss Spence, this knowledge, with a faultless person, 
 and a modesty more graceful than her exquisite beauty, were 
 not the things that principally charmed me : nor was it her 
 conversation, than which nothing could be more lively and 
 deUghtful : nor her fine fortune. It was her manners. She 
 was a Christian Deist, and considered Benevolence and Integrity 
 as the essentials of her religion. She imitated the piety and 
 devotion of Jesus Christ, and worshipped his God and our God, 
 his Father and our Father, as St. Jolm expressly stiles the God 
 of Christians, ch. xx. v. 17. She was extremely charitable 
 to others, and considered conscious~virtue as the greatest orna- 
 ment and most valuable treasure of human nature. Excellent 
 Maria I 
 
 With this young lady, and her two servants, her footman and 
 her woman, I went up to London. We set out from Cleator the 
 31st day of July, and without meeting with any mischief in all 
 that long way, came safe to London. We were nine days on the 
 road ; and as the weather was fine, and our horses excellent, 
 we had a charming journey. My companion was so agreeable, 
 that had it been two thousand miles from Cleator to London, 
 instead of two hundred and seventy-two, I should still have 
 thought it too short. Her conversation was so various and 
 fine, that no way could seem tiresome and tedious to him that 
 travelled with her. Her notions and remarks were ever hvely 
 and instructive. It was vast pleasure to hear her, even on the 
 driest and most abstruse subjects, on account of the admiration 
 her discourse raised, and the fine knowledge it communicated, 
 to one who understood her. I will give an instance. 
 
 In riding over the mountains the first day, we missed the road 
 in the evening, and instead of getting to a very good inn, where 
 we intended to rest, we were forced to stop at a poor little' public 
 house, and right glad to get in there as the evening was tempes- 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 349 
 
 tuous and wet, daxk and cold. Here we got some bacon and 
 fresh eggs for supper, and the ale was good, which amused us 
 well enough till nine o'clock. We then proposed to play at 
 cribbage for an hour, and called for a pack of cards ; but they 
 had none in the house, and we were obUged to divert ourselves 
 with conversation, till it was time to retire. Miss Spence began 
 in the following manner. 
 
 " Was Newton, Sir, or Leibnitz, the author of that method 
 of calculation, which lends its aid and assistance to all the other 
 mathematical sciences, and that in their greatest wants and 
 distresses ? I have heard a foreigner af&rm, that the German 
 was the inventor of fluxions." 
 
 " That cannot be," I repUed. " In 1696, Dr, Barrow received 
 from Newton a demonstration of the rule of the quadrature 
 of curves, which the Doctor communicated to Collins; and as 
 this is the foundation of fluxions, and the differential calculus, 
 it is evident Newton had invented the method before that time. 
 
 " In the beginning of 1673, Leibnitz was in England, again 
 in October, 1676 ; and the interval of this time he spent in France, 
 during which he kept a correspondence with Oldenburgh, and 
 by his means with Collins ; and sometimes also with Newton, 
 from the last of whom he received a letter, dated June 18, 
 1676, wherein is taught the method of reducing quantities into 
 infinite series, that is, of exhibiting the increments of flowing 
 quantities. This method was utterly unknown to Leibnitz, 
 before he received the abovesaid letter of Newton's, as he him- 
 self acknowledges in a letter to Oldenburgh, dated August 27, 
 1676 ; for before that time, he says in his letter, he was obUged 
 to transform an irrational quantity into a rational fraction, 
 and thence by division, after the method of Mercator, to reduce 
 the fraction into a series. 
 
 " It is likewise certain, that Leibnitz did not then understand 
 these series, because, in the same letter, he desires Newton 
 would explain to him the manner how he got these series. And 
 again in a second letter from Newton to Leibnitz, dated Octo- 
 ber 24, 1676, he gives yet clearer hints of his method, and 
 illustrates it by examples, and lays down a rule, by which, from 
 the ordinates of certain curves, their areas may be obtained 
 in finite terms, when it is possible. 
 
 " By these lights, and assisted by such examples, the acute 
 Leibnitz might have learned the Newtonian method, and indeed 
 it is plain he did so ; for in 1684, he first published, in the Leipsic 
 Acts, his Elements of the Differential Calculus, without pre- 
 tending to have had the method before the year 1677, in which 
 he received the two letters from Newton : and yet, when Sir 
 Isaac published his ^books'^of the number of curves of the first 
 kind, and of the quadrature of figures, the editors of the Acts 
 
350 THE LIFE OF 
 
 said Leibnitz was the first inventor of the differential calculus, 
 and Newton had substituted fluxions for differences, just as 
 Honoratus Faber, in his Synopsis Geometrica, had substituted 
 a progression of motion for Cavallerius' method of indivisibles ; 
 that is Leibnitz was the first inventor of the method. Newton 
 had received it from his Elements of the Differential Calculus, 
 and had substituted fluxions for differences ; but the way of 
 investigation in each is the same, and both centre in the same 
 conclusions. 
 
 " This excited Keill to reply, and he made it appear very plain 
 from Sir Isaac's letters, published by Dr. WaUis, that Newton 
 was the first inventor of the algorith, or practical rules of fluxions ; 
 and Leibnitz did no more than publish the same, with an altera- 
 tion of the name, and manner of notation. This however did 
 not silence Leibnitz, nor satisfy the foreigners who admired him. 
 He abused Dr. Keill, and appealed to the Royal Society against 
 him ; that they would be pleased to restrain the Doctor's vain 
 babblings and unjust calumniations, and report their judgment 
 as he thought they ought to do, that is, in his favour. But 
 this was not in the power of the Society, if they did justice ; 
 for it appeared quite clear to a committee of the members, 
 appointed to examine the original letters, and other papers, 
 relating to the matter, which were left by Oldenburgh and 
 Collins, that Sir Isaac Newton was the first inventor of fluxions ; 
 and accordingly they published their opinion. This deter- 
 mines the affair. When this is the case, it is senseless for any 
 foreigner to say Leibnitz was the author of fluxions. To the 
 divine Newton belongs this greatest work of genius, and the 
 noblest thought that ever entered the human mind." 
 
 " It must be so," replied Maria. " As the case is stated. 
 Sir Isaac Newton was most certainly the inventor of the method 
 of fluxions : and supposing Leibnitz had been able to discover 
 and work the differential calculus, without the lights he received 
 from Newton, it would not from thence follow, that he under- 
 stood the true method of fluxions : for, though a differential 
 has been, and to this day is, by many, called a fluxion, and a 
 fluxion a differential, yet it is an abuse of terms. A fluxion 
 has no relation to a differential, nor a differential to a fluxion. 
 The principles upon which the methods are founded shew them 
 to be very different, notwithstanding the way of investigation 
 in each be the same, and that both centre in the same con- 
 clusions : nor can the differential method perform what the 
 fluxionary method can. The excellency of the fluxionary 
 method is far above the differential." 
 
 This remark on the two methods surprised me very much, 
 and especially as it was madeJjy a young lady. I had not then 
 a notion of the difference, and had been taught by my master 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 35 £ 
 
 to proceed on the principles of the Differential Calculus. This 
 made me request an expUcation of the matter, and Maria went 
 on in the following manner. 
 
 " Magnitudes, as made up of an infinite number of very small 
 constituent parts put together, are the work of the Differential 
 Calculus ; but by the fluxionary method, we are taught to con- 
 sider magnitudes as generated by motion. A described Une 
 in this way, is not generated by an apposition of points, or dif- 
 ferentials, but by the motion or flux of a point ; and the velocity 
 of the generating point in the first moment of its formation, 
 or generation, is called its fluxion. In forming magnitudes 
 after the differential way, we conceive them as made up of an 
 infinite number of small constituent parts, so disposed as to 
 produce a magnitude of a given form ; that these parts are to 
 each other as the magnitudes of which they are differentials ; 
 and that one infinitely small part, or differential, must be in- 
 finitely great, with respect to another other differential, or 
 infinitely small part : but by fluxion, or the law of flowing, we 
 determine the proportion of magnitudes one to another, from 
 the celerities of the motions by which they are generated. This 
 moat certainly is the purest abstracted way of reasoning. Our 
 considering the different degrees of magnitude, as arising from 
 an increasing series of mutations of velocity, is much more 
 simple, and less perplexed than the other way ; and the opera- 
 tions founded on fluxions, must be much more clear, accurate, 
 and convincing, than those that are founded on the Differential 
 Calculus. There is a great difference in operations, when quan- 
 tities are rejected, because they really vanish ; and when they 
 are rejected, because they are infinitely small : the latter method, 
 which is the differential, must leave the mind in ambiguity 
 and confusion, and cannot in many cases come up to the truth. 
 It is a very great error then to call differentials, fluxions, and 
 quite wrong to begin with the differential method, in order to 
 learn the law or manner of flowing." 
 
 With amazement I heard this discourse, and requested tp 
 know by what master, and what method, she obtained these 
 notions ; for they were far beyond everything on the subject 
 that I had ever met with. What she said concerning the nature 
 and idea of fluxions, I thought just and beautiful, and I beUeve 
 it was in her power, to show the bases on which they are erected. 
 
 " My master, sir," said Maria, " was a poor traveller, a 
 Scotchman, one Martin Murdoch, who came by accident to 
 my father's house, to ask relief, when I was about fifteen years 
 old. He told us, he was the son of one of the ministers of Scot- 
 land, and came from the remotest part of the Highlands : that 
 his father taught him mathematics, and left him, at his death, 
 a little stock on a small farm ; but misfortunes and accidents 
 
352 THE LIFE OF 
 
 obliged him in/^a short time to break up house, and he was going 
 to London, to try if he could get anything there, by teaching 
 arithmetic of every kind. My father, who was a hospitable 
 man, invited him to stay with us a few days, and the parson 
 of our parish soon found, that he had not oiily a very extra- 
 ordinary understanding, but was particularly excellent at figures, 
 and the other branches of the mathematics. My father upon 
 this agreed with him to be my preceptor for five years, and 
 during four years and nine months of that time, he took the 
 greatest pains to make me as perfect as he could in arithmetic, 
 trigonometry, geometry, algebra, and fluxions. As I delighted 
 in the study above all things, I was a great proficient for so few 
 years, and had Murdoch been longer with me, I should have 
 been well acquainted with the whole glorious structure : but 
 towards the end of the fifth year, this poor Archimedes weis 
 unfortunately drowned, in crossing one of our rivers, in the 
 winter time, and went in that uncomfortable way, in the thirty- 
 sixth year of his age, to the enjoyment of that felicity and glory, 
 which God has prepared for a virtuous hfe and honest heart. 
 Why such men, as the poor and admirable Murdoch, have 
 often such hard measure in this world, is not in my power to 
 account for, nor do I believe any one can ; but what I tell you 
 is one of those surprising things, and I lamented not a httle the 
 loss of such a master. Still however I continued to study by 
 many written rules he had given me, and to this day, mathe- 
 matics are the greatest pleasure of my hfe. 
 
 "As to our method, my master, in the first place, made me 
 perfectly understand arithmetic, and then geometry, and algebra 
 in all their parts and improvements, the methods of series, 
 doctrine of proportions, nature of logarithms, mechanics, and 
 laws of motion : from thence we proceeded to the pure doctrine 
 of fluxions, and at last looked into the Differential Calculus. 
 In this true way my excellent master led me, and in the same 
 difficult path every one must go, who intends to learn Fluxions. 
 It would be but lost labour for any person to attempt them, 
 who was unacquainted with these Precognita. 
 
 '' When we turned to fluxions, the first thing my master did, 
 was to instruct me in the arithmetic of expoiients, the nature 
 of powers, and the manner of their generation. We went next 
 to the doctrine of infinite series ; and then, to the manner of 
 generating mathematical quantities. This generation of quan- 
 tities was my first step into fluxions, and my master so amply 
 explained the nature of them, in this operation, that I was able 
 to form a just idea of a first fluxion, though thought by many 
 to be incomprehensible. We proceeded from thence to the 
 notation and algorithm of first fluxions ; to the finding second, 
 third, &c,, fluxions ; the finding fluxions of exponential quan- 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 3 5 3 
 
 titles ; and the fluents from given fluxions ; to their uses in 
 drawing tangents to curves ; in finding the areas of spaces ; 
 the valves of surfaces ; and the contents of soUds ; their per- 
 cussion, oscillation, and centres of gravity. All these things 
 my master so happily explained to my understanding, that I 
 was able to work with ease, and found no more dif&culty in 
 conceiving an adequate notion of a nascent or evanescent quan- 
 tity, than in forming a true idea of a mathematical point. In 
 short, by the time I had studied fluxions two years, I not only 
 understood their fundamental principles and operations, and 
 could investigate, and give the solution of the most general and 
 useful problems in the mathematics ; but likewise, solve several 
 problems that occur in the phsenomena of nature." 
 
 Here Maria stopped, and as soon as astonishment would 
 permit me to speak, I proposed to her several diflScult questions, 
 I had heard, but was not then able to answer. I requested her, 
 in the first place, to inform me, how the time of a body's descend- 
 ing through any arch of a cycloid was found : and if ten hundred 
 weight avoirdupoise, hanging on a bar of steel perfectly elastic, 
 and supported at both ends, will just break the bar, what must 
 be the weight of a globe, faUing perpendicular 185 feet on the 
 middle of the bar, to have the same efiect ? — My next ques- 
 tions were, how long, and how far, ought a given globe to descend 
 by its comparative weight in a medium of a given density, but 
 without resistance, to acquire the greatest velocity it is capable 
 of in descending with the same weight, and in the same medium, 
 with resistance ? — And how are we to find the value of a solid 
 formed by the rotation of this curvihnear space, A C D about 
 the axis A D, the general equation, expressing the nature of 
 the curve. 
 
 a—x X X 
 being J/ = ? — How is the centre of gravity to be found 
 
 a» 
 of the space enclosed by an hyperbola, and its asymptete ? 
 And how are we to find the centre oscillation of a sphere re- 
 volving about the Une P A M, a tangent, to the generating circle 
 F A H, in the point A, as an axis ?— These questions Maria 
 answered with a celerity and elegance that again amazed me, 
 and convinced me that, notwithstanding the Right Rev. meta- 
 physical disputant, Dr. Berkeley, late Bishop of Cloyne in Ire- 
 land, could not understand the doctrine of fluxions, and therefore 
 did all he could to disgrace them, and the few mathematicians 
 who have studied magnitudes as generated by motion ; yet, 
 the doctrine, as deUvered by the divine Newton, may be clearly 
 
 N 
 
354 THE LIFE OF 
 
 conceived, and distinctly comprehended ; that the principles 
 upon which it is founded, are true, and the demonstrations of 
 its rules conclusive. No opposition can hurt it. 
 
 When I observed, that some learned men will not allow that 
 a velocity which continues for no time at all, can possibly de- 
 scribe any space at all : its effect, they say, is absolutely nothing, 
 and instead of satisfjring reason with truth and precision, the 
 human faculties are quite confounded, lost, and bewildered 
 in fluxions. A velocity or fluxion is at best we do not know 
 what ; whether something or nothing : and how can the mind 
 lay hold on, or form any accurate abstract idea of such a subtile, 
 fleeting thing ? 
 
 " Disputants," answered Maria, " may perplex with deep 
 speculations, and confound with mysterious disquisitions, but 
 the method of fluxions has no dependance on such things. 
 The operation is not what any single abstract velocity can 
 generate or describe of itself, but what a continual and suc- 
 cessively variable velocity can produce in the whole. And cer- 
 tainly, a variable cause may produce a variable effect, as well 
 as a permanent cause a permanent and constant effect. The 
 difference can only be, that the continual variation of the effect 
 must be proportional to the continual variation of the cause. 
 The method of fluxions therefore is true, whether we can or 
 cannot conceive the nature and manner of several things re- 
 lating to them, though we had no idesis of perpetually Eirising 
 increments, and magnitudes in nascent or evanescent states. 
 The knowledge of such things is not essential to fluxions. All 
 they propose is, to determine the velocity or flowing wherewith 
 a generated quantity increases, and to sum up aU that has been 
 generated or described by the continually variable fluxion. 
 On these two bases fluxions stand." 
 
 This was clear and just, and showed that the nature and 
 idea of fluxions is agreeable to the nature and constitution of 
 things. They can have no dependance upon any metaph3rsical 
 speculations, such speculations as that anti-mathematician, 
 my Lord of Clojme, brought in, to cavil and dispute against 
 principles he understood nothing of, and maliciously run the 
 account of them into the dark ; but are the genuine offspring 
 of natmre and truth. An instance or two may illustrate the 
 matter. 
 
 I. A heavy body descends perpendicularly 161*2 feet in a 
 second, and at the end of this time, has acquired a velocity 
 of 32J feet in a second, which is accurately known. At any 
 given distance then from the place the body fell, take the point 
 A in the right Une, and the velocity of the falling body in the 
 point may be truly computed : but the velocity in any point 
 above A, at ever so small a distance, will be less than in A ; 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 355 
 
 and the velocity at any point below A, at the least possible 
 distance, will be greater than in A. It is therefore plain, that 
 in the point A, the body has a certain determined velocity, 
 which belongs to no other point in the whole line. Now this 
 velocity is the fluxion of that right hne in the point A ; and with 
 it the body would proceed, if gravity acted no longer on the 
 body's arrival at A. 
 
 2. Take a glass tube open at both ends whose concavity is 
 of different diameters in different places, and immerse it in 
 a stream, till the water fills the tube, and flows through it. Then, 
 in different parts of the tube, the velocity of the water will be 
 as the squares of the diameters, and of consequence different. 
 Suppose then, in any marked place, a plane to pass through 
 the tube perpendicular to the axis, or to the motion of the water, 
 and of consequence, the water wiU pass through this section 
 with a certain determinate velocity. But if another section 
 be drawn ever so near the former, the water, by reason of the 
 different diameters, will flow through this with a velocity dif- 
 ferent from what it did at the former, and therefore to one 
 section of the tube, or single point only, the determinate velocity 
 belongs. It is the fluxion of the space which the fluid describes 
 at that section ; and with that uniform velocity the fluid would 
 continue to move, if the diameter was the same to the end of 
 the tube. 
 
 3. If a hollow cyUnder be filled with water to flow freely out 
 through a hole at the bottom, the velocity of the effluent will 
 be as the height of the water, and since the surface of the in- 
 cumbent fluid descends without stop, the velocity of the stream 
 will decrease, till the effluent be all out. There can then be 
 no two moments of time, succeeding each other ever so nearly, 
 wherein the velocity of the water is the same ; and of conse- 
 quence, the velocity, at any given point, belongs only to that 
 particular indivisible moment of time. Now this is accurately 
 the fluxion of the fluid then flowing ; and if, at that instant, 
 more water was poured into the cylinder, to make the surface 
 keep its place, the effluent would retain its velocity, and still 
 be the fluxion of the fluid. Such are the operations of nature, 
 and they visibly confirm the nature of Fluxion. It is from 
 hence quite clear, that the fluxion of a generated quantity, 
 cannot retain any one determined value for the least space of 
 time whatever, but the moment it arrives at that value, the 
 same moment it loses it again. The fluxion of such quantity 
 can only pass gradually and successively through the indefinite 
 degrees contained between the two extreme values, which are 
 the limits thereof, during the generation of the fluent, in case 
 the fluxion be variable. But then, though a determinate degree 
 of fluxion does not continue at all, yet, at every determinate 
 
355 THE LIFE OF 
 
 indivisible moment of time, every fluent has some determinate 
 degree of fluxion ; that is, every generated quantity has every- 
 where a certain rate of increasing, a fluxion whose abstract 
 value is determinate in itself, though the fluxion has no deter- 
 mined value for the least space of time whatever. To find its 
 value then, that is, the ratio one fluxion has to another, is a 
 problem strictly geometrical ; notwithstanding the Right Rev. 
 anti-mathematician has declared the contrary, in his hatred 
 to mathematicians, and his ignorance of the true principles of 
 mathematics. 
 
 If my Lord of Cloyne had been qualified to examine and 
 consider the case of fluxions, and could have laid aside that 
 unaccountable obstinacy, and invincible prejudice, which made 
 him resolve to yield to no reason on the subject ; not to regard 
 even the great Maclaurin's answer to his AncUyst, he would 
 have discovered, that it was very possible to find the abstract 
 value of a generated quantity, or the contemporary increment 
 of any compound quantity. By the binomial theorem, the 
 ratio of the fluxion of a simple quantity to the fluxion of that 
 compound quantity, may be had in general, in the lowest terms, 
 and as near the truth as we please, whilst we suppose some very 
 small increment actually described. And whereas the ratio 
 of these fluxions is required for some one indivisible point of 
 the fluid, in the very beginning of the increment, and before 
 it is generated, we make, in the particular case, the values of 
 the simple increments nothing, which before was expressed in 
 general : then aU the terms wherein they are found vanish, and 
 what is left accurately shews the relation of the fluxions for the 
 point where the increment is supposed to commence. As the 
 abstract value of the fluxion belongs only to one point of the 
 fluent, the moments are made to vanish, after we have seen 
 by their continual diminution, whither the ratio tends, and 
 what it continually verges to ; and this becomes as visible as 
 the very character it is written in. 
 
 But Bishop Berkeley was unacquainted with mathematical 
 principles, and out of his aversion to these sciences, and zeal 
 for orthodoxy, cavilled and disputed with all his might, and 
 endeavoured to bring the matter to a state unintelUgible to 
 himself, and everybody else. Here Maria had done, and for 
 near a quarter of an hour after, I sat silently looking at her, 
 in the greatest astonishment. 
 
 But as to our travels, the loth of August we got safe to London, 
 and the consequence of the journey was, that the last day of 
 the same month, I had the honour and happiness of being 
 married to this young lady. 
 
 Wise is the man, who prepares both for his own death and 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 357 
 
 the death of his friends ; who makes use of the foresight of 
 troubles, so as to abate the uneasiness of them, and puts in 
 practice the resolution of the philosopher Cleanthes.* " I am 
 thinking with myself every day, says one of the philosophers, 
 how many things are dear to me ; and after I have considered 
 them as temporary and perishable, I prepare myself, from that 
 very minute, to bear the loss of them without weakness." I 
 thought of this the morning I married the beautiful and in- 
 genious Miss Spence, and determined if I lost her, to make 
 the great affiction produce the peaceable fruits of righteousness. 
 The man must feel, in such a case : the Christian will submit. 
 Before the end of six months, she died, and I mourned the loss 
 with a degree of sorrow due to so much excellence, endearment 
 and delight. My complaint was bitter, in proportion to the 
 desires of nature. But as nature says, "Let this cup pass : " 
 Grace says, " Let thy will be done." If the flower of all my 
 comfort was gone, the glory departed ! yet thy glory is, O man, 
 to do the will of God, and bear the burthen he lays upon thee I 
 Let nature, grace, and time, do their part, to close the wound, 
 and let not ignorance impeach the wisdom of the Most High. 
 The cup which my Father hath given me : shall I not drink ? 
 I win. I will not quarrel with Providence. In short, I re- 
 signed, and not long after I had buried this admirable woman, 
 who died at her seat in Westmoreland, I went into the world 
 again, to reUeve my mind, and try my fortune once more. What 
 happened there, I wiU report, when I have related the extra- 
 ordinary case of my wife Miss Spence, and the four physicians 
 I had to attend her. It is a very curious thing. 
 
 This young lady was seized with that fatal distemper, called 
 a malignant fever : Something foreign to nature got into her 
 blood, by a cold, and other accidents, it may be, and the luctus 
 or strife to get clear thereof became very great. The effer- 
 vescence or perturbation was very soon so violent as to shew, 
 that it not only endangered, but would quickly subvert the 
 
 • Cleanthes was a native of Assus in Lysia, in Asia-Minor, and so very poor, when he came 
 to Athens to study, that, for his support, he wrought at nights in drawing water for the 
 gardens, and in grinding behind the null. He attended the lectures of Zeno, succeeded him 
 m his school, and grew into very high esteem with the Athenians. He lived to ninety-nine, 
 but the year he died we know not. His master Zeno died 342 years before Christ, and had 
 conversed with Socrates and Plato. 
 
 The antient academics were Plato, the disciple of Socrates; Speucippus, Zenocrates, 
 Polemo, Crates, and Grantor ; and from Crates, the fifth academic, sprung the old stoics, 
 to wit. Crates, Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and Diogenes the Babylonian ; not he that was 
 surly and proud. Cicero in his works often mentions this Babylonian, the stoic. We find 
 in the Roman history, that he was living in the year of Rome 599, that is, 155 years before 
 Christ ; but when he died we know not. These gentlemen of the two old schools were to be 
 sxire great philosophers, excellent men ; but then, to be strictly impartial, we must own, 
 that all they knew in relation to the will of God, and a kingdom to come, was but poor moral 
 learning, in respect to what is written in the Neai TestamenI for our Instruction, if we will 
 lay aside our fancies and systems, and let reason explain revelation. The Christian religion 
 is really more for the glory of God, and the good of mankind, than 'reason, without inspiration, 
 has been able to teach. Christianity, without the additions and supplements of monkt, 
 s not only above all just exception, but preferable to any other scheme. 
 
3S8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 animal fabric, unless the blood was speedily dispersed, and 
 nature got the victory by an exclusion of the noxious shut-in 
 particles. The thirst, the dry tongue, the coming causus, were 
 terrible, and gave me too much reason to apprehend this charm- 
 ing woman would sink under the conflict. To save her, if pos- 
 sible, I sent immediately for a great physician, Dr. Sharp, a 
 man who talked with great fluency of medicine and diseases. 
 
 This gentleman told me, the AlkaUne was the root of fevers, 
 as well as of other distempers, and therefore, to take off the 
 effervescence of the blood in the ebullitions of it, to incide the 
 viscous humour, to drain the tartarous salts from the kidnies, 
 to allay the preternatural ferment, and to brace up the relaxed 
 tones, he ordered orange and vinegar in whey, and prescribed 
 spirit of sulphur, and vitriol, the cream, chrystals, and vitrio- 
 late tartar in other vehicles. If anything can relieve, it must 
 be plenty of acid. In acidis posita est omni curatio. But 
 these things gave no relief to the sufferer. 
 
 I sent then in all haste for Dr. Hough, a man of great reputa- 
 tion, and he differed so much in opinion from Sharp, that he 
 called an acid the chief enemy. It keeps up the luctus or 
 struggle, and if not expelled very quickly, will certainly prove 
 fatal. Our sheet anchor then must be the testacea, in vehicles 
 of mineral water, and accordingly he ordered the absorbent 
 powers to conflict with this acidity, the principal cause of all 
 diseases. Pearl and coral, crab's eyes, and crab's claws, he 
 prescribed in diverse forms ; but they were of no use to the 
 sick woman. She became worse every hour. 
 
 Dr. Pym was next called in, a great practitioner, and learned 
 man. His notion of a fever was quite different from the opinions 
 of Sharp and Hough. He maintained that a fever was a poisonous 
 ferment or venom, which seized on the animal spirits : it breaks 
 and smites them ; and unless by alexipharmics the spirits can 
 be enabled to gain a victory in a day or two, this ferment will 
 bring on what the Greeks call a sjmochus, that is, a continual 
 fever. In that state, the venom holds fast the animal spirits, 
 will not let them expand, or disengage themselves, and then 
 they grow enraged, and tumultuating, are hurried into a state 
 of explosion, and blow up the fabric. Hence the inflammatory 
 fever, according to the diverse indoles of the venom ; and when 
 the contagious miasms arrive at their highest degree, the maUg- 
 nant fever ariseth. The spirits are then knocked down, and the 
 marks of the enemies' weapons, the spots, &c. appear. "This, con- 
 tiiiued the Doctor, is the case of your lady, and- therefore the 
 thing to be done is, to make the malignant tack about to the mild 
 and produce an extinction of the ferment, and reUef of the symp- 
 toms. This I endeavour to do by alexipharmics and vesicatories, 
 and by subduing the poison by the bark and the warmer anti- 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 3 59 
 
 dotes. Thus did my Doctor marshal his animal spirits, fight them 
 against the enemy venom, to great disadvantage. If his talk 
 was not romance, it was plain his spirits were routed, and venom 
 was getting the day. His alexipharmics and warm antidotes 
 were good for nothing. The malady increased. 
 
 This being the case, I sent again in haste for a fourth doctor, 
 a man of greater learning than the other three, and therefore 
 in opinion, opposite, and against their management of the fever, 
 This great man was Dr. Frost. He was a mechanician, and 
 affirmed that, the solid parts of the human body are subjected 
 to the rules of geometry, and the fluids to the hydrostatics ; 
 and therefore, to keep the machine in right order, that is, in 
 a state of health, an aequUibrium must be maintained, or restored, 
 if destroyed. The balance must not turn to one side or the 
 other. To restore sanity in acute cases, and in chronic too, 
 our business is to prevent the vessels being elevated or deprest 
 beyond the standard of nature : when either happens, the division 
 of the blood is increased, the motion is augmented, and so beget 
 a fever. There cannot be an inordinate elevation of the oily 
 or fiery parts of the blood, till the vessels vibrate above the 
 standard of nature. 
 
 In a slight fever, the blood increases but Uttle above the 
 balance ; but if more than one day, turns to a synochus, which 
 is but the same fever augmented beyond the balance of nature. 
 This turns to a putrid synochus, and this to a causus. This is 
 the case of your lady. From an elevated contraction, the 
 Doctor continued, to my amazement, her blood obtains a greater 
 force and motion ; hence greater division, hence an increase 
 of quantity and fluidity : and thus from greater division, motion 
 and quantity increased, arises that heat and thirst, with the 
 other concomitant symptoms of her fever ; for the blood dividing 
 faster than it can be detached through the perspiratory emunc- 
 tories of the skin, is the immediate cause of the heart's pre- 
 ternatural beating : and this preternatural division of the blood 
 arises from the additional quantity of obstructed perspirable 
 matter, added to the natural quantity of the blood. 
 
 Things being so, the Doctor went on ; and the fever rising 
 by the blood's dividing faster than can be detached by the 
 several emunctories ; and this from an elevation of the solids 
 above the balance, we must then strive to take off the tension 
 of the soUds, and subtract the cause. This makes me begin 
 in a manner quite contrary to the other physicians, and I doubt 
 not but I shall soon get the better of the fury and orgasm, make 
 an alteration in the black scabrous tongue, and by according 
 with the modus of nature, throw forth the matter of the disease. 
 I will enable nature to extricate herself. I hope to disentangle 
 her from the weight. 
 
S6o THE LIFE OF 
 
 Thus did this very learned man enlarge ; and while he talked 
 of doing wonders, the dry and parched skin, the black and brushy 
 tongue, the crusty fur upon the teeth, and all the signals of an 
 incendium within, declared her dissolution very near. As the 
 serum diminished fast, and the intestine motion of the crassa- 
 mentum increased, nature was brought to her last struggles. 
 All the dismal harbingers of a general wreck appeared, to give 
 the bystanders notice of approaching death. She died the 
 ninth day, by the ignorance of four learned Physicians. Had 
 these Gentlemen considered the fever no otherwise than as a 
 disease arising from some unusual ferment, stirred up among 
 the humours of the blood, disturbing both those natural motions 
 and functions of the body, hindering perspiration, and thereby 
 giving quick and large accession to such parts of the aUment 
 or hquors taken down, as are disposed to ferment ; and there 
 is always a strong disposition that way ; for the blood has a 
 three-fold motion, fluidity, common to all liquors, protrusive, 
 from the impulse of the heart and arteries, and fermentative, 
 that is, a motion throughout of all its parts, which quality is 
 owing to the dissimilar parts of the blood ; for being a com- 
 pound of various particles, there must be a coUuctation when 
 they occur, and of consequence, a continual fermentation. As 
 this is just and moderate, it is for the good of the animal, and 
 purifies the blood : if it is too much, it tends to a fever ; if it 
 still increases, it produces the burning causus. Hard is the 
 struggle then, and if nature cannot dispume, even helped by 
 art, the patient has no hazard for life. Hence it is, that we 
 are so subject to fevers, and that it carries away more people 
 than all the rest of the diseases. Out of every forty-two that 
 have it, twenty-five generally die. It was so in the time of 
 Hippocrates, 430 years before Christ. And so Dr. Sydenham 
 and Dr. Friend found it, in their practice. But had my four 
 Doctors considered the fever as I have plainly stated it, without 
 vainly pretending to be so wise as to know the essential causes 
 of it ; and in the beginning of it, before the terrible appearances, 
 the vigil, delirium, subsultus, the dry black tongue, the furred 
 teeth, and the pale, unconcocted urine, had caused a depletion 
 by large bleeding, had opened the pores by a mild sudorific, 
 had then given a vomit, Rad. Ipecacuanha in small sack-whey 
 or chicken- water, and let the sufferer indulge in that thin diluting 
 Uquor, an emulsion of the seeds and almonds in barley water, 
 and if the patient required it, a draught of table-beer with a 
 toast, between whiles ; had this been done very soon, there 
 might be relief as quickly ; or if the fever still run high, to bleed 
 again, and wash down some proper alexipharmic powder with 
 a proper cordial julap, it is possible nature would have been 
 able to accomplish the work, and health had been again restored. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 361 
 
 I use the word proper alexipharmic, and proper cordial julap, 
 because the Theriaca and Mithridatium of the shops, which 
 are commonly, almost always ordered as an alexipharmic bole, 
 are rather poisons than useful in a fever ; and because the tincture 
 and syrup of saffron, the treacle-water, or any other distilled 
 compound, are not fit cordials in the case ; but it should be the 
 conserva lujulse in an emulsion ex sem. fr. cum amygd. in aq. 
 hordei. This is the true alexipharmic, and the only cordial, 
 to be given in a fever. But it was the destructive alexipharmics 
 and cordials of the shops they forced down Maria's throat, and 
 this, with the other bad prescriptions and management, killed 
 one of the finest and most excellent women that ever lived. 
 
 And now to give the world a better idea of this admirable 
 woman than any description of mine can exhibit, I shall here 
 place a few religious little Pieces, which she wrote while Miss 
 Spence, and which I found among her papers. 
 
 MORAL THOUGHTS. 
 Written by Miss Spence. 
 
 MORALITY. 
 
 Abstract, mathematical, or physical truth, may be above 
 the reach of the bulk and community of mankind. They have 
 neither the leisure, nor the necessary helps and advantages to 
 acquire the natural knowledge of arte and sciences. The many 
 calls and importunities of the animal kind, take up the greatest 
 part of their time, thoughts, and labour, so that the more abstract 
 speculations, and experimental disquisitions of philosophy, are 
 placed by Providence quite out of their reach and beyond their 
 sphere of action. 
 
 On the contrary, moral truth, right and wrong, good and 
 evil, the doing as we would be done by, and acting towards all 
 men as they really are and stand related in society ; these things 
 are as evident to the understanding, as light and colours are 
 to the eye, and may be called the intellectual, moral sense. Here 
 needs no deep learning, or trouble and expence of education, 
 but the same truths are as evident, and as much seen and felt 
 by the learned and unlearned, the gentleman and the plough- 
 man, the savage or wild Indian, as by the best instructed philo- 
 sopher. The divine perfections shine through all nature, and 
 the goodness and bounty of the Creator to all his creatures, 
 impress the obhgation of imitating this wisest and best of Beings 
 upon every man's heart and conscience. 
 
 But notwithstanding the maxims of moraUty are thus solidly 
 established, and adapted to all capacities ; and though every 
 man has a happiness to seek, and a main end to secure, 'which 
 must be infinitely preferable to any concerns of life, yet here it 
 
363 THE LIFE OF 
 
 IS we find, that mankind in general have been most lost and 
 bewildered, as if Providence had placed their own happiness, 
 and the way to it, more out of their power than anything else. 
 How this should happen, might seem unaccountable at first 
 sight, and yet it can be no great mystery to any man tolerably 
 acquainted with the world and human nature. It is no difficult 
 matter to discover the reasons hereof, and it is withal highly 
 useful to give them their due consideration. 
 
 1. The principal cause I take to be the prevaihng strength 
 and bias of private, corrupt, animal affection, and desires. 
 Reason is silenced and borne down by brutal appetite and pas- 
 sion. They resolve to gratify their sensual appetites and desires, 
 and wUl therefore never taste or try the superior pleasures and 
 enjoyments of reason and virtue. But such men as these having 
 declared open war against their own reason and conscience, 
 and being resolved at all risks to maintain the combat, must be 
 self-condemned, and cannot plead ignorance, or error of judg- 
 ment in the case. 
 
 2. Another fundamental cause of moral error, is the prejudice 
 and prepossession of a wrong education. False principles and 
 absurd notions of God and religion, wrought early into the 
 tender, unexperienced mind, and there radicated and confirmed 
 from time to time, from youth to riper age, by parents, teachers, 
 our most intimate friends and acquaintance, and such as we 
 have the best opinion of, and confide most in ; such causes make 
 such strong impressions, that the grossest errors, thus riveted 
 and fixed, are with the greatest difficulty ever conquered or 
 cleared off. In this case, men turn out well-grounded be- 
 lievers, and are w^ell-armed against conviction. Circumcision 
 or baptism fixes their reUgion in their infancy, and their church 
 is as natural to them as their country. Free enquiry is with 
 them an apostasy from the orthodox party, and as the great 
 and sure trial of their faith and fortitude, they will hear no 
 reasonings about the holy religion they have taken upon trust. 
 
 3. Then the few, who have applied themselves to the study 
 of morality, have done it for the most part in a manner con- 
 fused ; and superficial enough : and often so, as even to build 
 upon principles either entirely false, or obscure and uncertain ; 
 either foreign to its proper business, or mixt up with gross errors, 
 and absurdities. From whence it comes to pass, that in all 
 languages, the terms of morality, both in common discourse, 
 and in the writings of the learned, are such as have the most 
 obscure, confused, indetermined, and unfixed ideas, of any 
 other terms whatever ; men for the most part despising the 
 things which are plain and ordinary, to run after such as are 
 extraordinary and mysterious ; and that they either will not 
 know, or reject even truth itself, unless she brings some charm 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 363 
 
 with her, to raise their curiosity, and gratify their passion for 
 what is marvellous and uncommon. 
 
 In sum, the prejudices of the understanding, the illusions 
 of the heart, and the tyranny established in the world, with 
 relation to opinions, form a grand obstacle to the serious study 
 of morality ; and to the attainment of a more exact knowledge 
 of our duty. Nor is it to be expected that any will very much 
 apply themselves to make discoveries in these matters, whilst 
 the desire of esteem, riches, or power, makes men espouse the 
 well-endowed opinions in fashion, and then seek arguments 
 either to make good their beauty, or varnish over and cover 
 their deformity. Whilst the parties of men, cram their tenets 
 down aU men's throats, whom they can get into their power, 
 without permitting them to examine their truth and falsehood ; 
 and will not let truth have fair play in the world, nor men the 
 liberty to search after it ; what improvements can be expected 
 of this kind ? What greater light can be hoped for in the moral 
 sciences ? The subject part of mankind in most places might, 
 instead thereof, with Egyptian bondage, expect Egyptian dark- 
 ness, were not the candle of the Lord set up by himself in men's 
 minds, which it is impossible for the breath of man wholly to 
 extinguish ; how much soever the infallible guides of one church, 
 and the orthodox rulers of another, may scheme and labour 
 to subject conscience to human jurisdiction, and bring the 
 inward principle and motive of action within the cognizance 
 of their political theocracy, or theocratic policy. 
 
 After all this, is it to bfi wondered at, that such, whose occupa- 
 tions and distractions of life, or want of genius and outward helps, 
 do not allow them to engage in long and profound meditations, 
 are found to have generally understandings so short and narrow, 
 and ideas so false ot confused, in matters of morality ? 
 
 And since this is the case of the greatest part of mankind, 
 it has no doubt been always God's will, that they, who had the 
 greatest Ught, and whom his providence had furnished with 
 the greatest helps, should communicate their knowledge to 
 such as were not able of themselves to acquire it so easily, or 
 in so great a degree. 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 What is religion ? The true, eternal, immutable religion of 
 God and nature, consists, as I opine, in the fiUal love and fear 
 of God, and the brotherly love of mankind ; in the practice of 
 aU those moral duties of truth and righteousness, which result 
 from it, under a fiducial trust in, and dependance on God, and 
 the constant sense of his power and presence in all our actions, 
 SiS the rewarder of good and pupisher of bad men. This is the 
 
364 THE LIFE OF 
 
 religion founded in nature and reason, and which must be at 
 all times and everywhere the same. As this religion was in 
 a great measure lost, and neglected, amidst the general ignor- 
 ance, superstition, and idolatry of the world, it was the great 
 business and design of revelation to restore it, and set moral 
 truth and reason in its original light, by bringing mankind to 
 the right use of their reason and understanding in such matters. 
 
 After Epicurus and Zeno, there were no new succeeding 
 schemes of morality, but each man betook himself to that sect, 
 where he found what most suited his own sentiments. 
 
 In the reign of Augustus, Potamo of Alexandria introduced 
 a manner of jphilosophising, which was called the Eclectic, 
 because it consisted in collecting from all the tenets of pre- 
 ceding philosophers, such as appeared most reasonable ; out 
 of which they formed each man his own system of philosophy. 
 It appears from Cicero's works that he was an Eclectic. 
 
 And why should it not be good in religion, as well as in philo- 
 sophy ? I own I am an Eclectic in divinis. And the sum of 
 my religion is, without regard to modes or parties, so to live 
 to the glory of the Father, without attachment to the creature, 
 for the sanctification and happiness of mankind ; that when 
 this fleeting scene of sin and sorrow shall vanish, and pass away 
 from sight, the angels of God may give my soul a safe tran- 
 sition to that heavenly happiness, which no thought can lay 
 hold on, and which no art can describe. 
 
 The practice of reason and truth is the rule of action to God 
 himself, and the foundation of all true rehgion. It is the first 
 and highest obUgation of all rational beings, and our divine 
 Lord came down from heaven to earth to teach it to mankind. 
 Christ preached a plain doctrine to men, fitted to reform their 
 hearts and hves, intended to make them perfect in self-denial, 
 humility, love, goodness, and innocence ; and to enable them, 
 with hearts raised above the world, to worship the Father in 
 spirit and in truth. 
 
 But this glorious rehgion the Romish priests have perverted 
 into a system of mysteries, and staring contradictions, the 
 better to support the worst and most deplorable purposes of 
 temporal wealth, power, pride, mahce, and cruelty. In direct 
 opposition to reason and common sense, we must commence 
 generous believers in an ecclesiastical Christianity, and confess 
 the symbol of their holy Athanasius, though it be no more, 
 or better, than the effects of a luxuriant fancy, without hke- 
 ness and correspondency, in the real nature and reason of things ; 
 17, 4, and 19 are 41, says convocation to his beUevers, and your 
 religion, my brethren, is all a tremendous mystery : You must 
 adore as such, what the Infidels renounce as a contradiction. 
 
 Thus shamefully do these priests sink the credibility of our 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 365 
 
 gospelj and impose upon the silly people, a ball of wax for the 
 religion of Jesus ; making them believe contrary to knowledge, 
 and prefer a system that is a lye against the light of nature, 
 and the gospel. 
 
 But the chief end, duty, happiness, and highest perfection 
 that man can arrive at, consists, and is found, in a perfect exer- 
 cise of human reason. 
 
 We read in Chronicles, that HezeMah began his good reign 
 with the revival of religion, which had long suSered by the 
 neglect and profanation, or through the neglect and omission 
 of his predecessors. To this purpose he opened the doors of 
 the house of the Lord, and issued a decree, that all Israel should 
 come to keep the passover, which they had not done of a long 
 time. But as the legal cleansing and purif5dng, could not be 
 performed by great numbers that did eat the passover, by the 
 appointed time, on account of many things, and particularly 
 the force of long interval and disuse ; therefore this irregularity 
 employed the devotion of the good king, as the canon of the 
 passover, under the strictest prohibition, and the severest 
 penalty, forbid any one to eat, that did not come with outward 
 and legal purity. No unclean person shall eat of it : and he 
 prayed for the people, sajdng. The good Lord pardon every 
 one that prepareth his heart to seek God, the Lord God of their 
 fathers, though he be not cleansed according to the purification 
 of the sanctuary ; and the Lord hearkened unto Hezekiah, 
 says the next verse, and healed the people, that is, took off the 
 penalties of the canon, and gave them the benefit of the rite. 
 From hence it follows, that, however defective we may be in 
 outward rites and ceremonies of a church, yet inward truth and 
 purity will be accepted in default of outward things. Inward 
 disposition is the substance of religion, and may compound 
 for the want of outward matters ; but outward service can 
 never be accepted instead of inward purification. 
 
 And it farther follows, if the outward solemnities of religion 
 cannot be obtained upon lawful terms, which is the case of 
 many, in respect of Popery and Athanasian worship ; then 
 will the good Lord pardon and be propitious to those who pre- 
 pare their heart to seek him, though they be not cleansed accord- 
 ing to the solemn institution, and ritual puriffcation. 
 
 This text is in the vulgar Latin, Dominus bonus propitiabitur 
 cunctis qui in toto corde requirunt Dominum, Deum patrum 
 suorum, et non 'imputabit eis quod minus sanctificati sunt. 
 The good Lord will be propitious to aU those, who in their whole 
 heart seek the Lord God of their Fathers, and will not impute 
 to them their being less sanctified than they ought. 
 
 * Histories in all ages are full of the encroachments of the 
 
 * Note. This article relating to the encroachments of the clergy, was not found among 
 Miss Spence's papecs, but is inserted here as in a proper place. 
 
366 THE LIFE OF 
 
 clergy, yet they all omit one of the most successful stratagems 
 to ingross money. We are indebted to our statute-book for 
 informing us of one of the most notorious pieces of priestcraft 
 that ever'^was practised. Would one beheve, that there is a 
 country, and in Europe too, where the clergy gained such an 
 ascendant over the minds of the people, as tamely to suffer 
 the moveable estate of every man who died intestate, to be 
 swallowed up by them ; yet so prevalent was superstition in our 
 country, that it produced a law preferring the Bishop to the 
 next of kin ; and in its extension excluding the children, the 
 wife, and the relations of the deceased, nay the creditor ; and 
 giving all to the Bishop per aversionem. Such was the shameful 
 rapacity of the clergy here for ages. Such a monstrous prac- 
 tice was established upon this foundation, that the moveable 
 effects of every deceased person, his own appointment faiUng, 
 ought to be laid out for promoting the good of his soul ; and 
 so the Ordinary took possession, without, deigning to account 
 with any mortal. This began temp. Hen. I. when the Ordinary, 
 for the good of the soul of the deceased, obtained a directing 
 power, and was in the nature of an overseer, and somewhat 
 more. In the time of King John, [the Ordinary drew blood, 
 as Bacon well expresses it * ; for though the possession was as 
 formerly, yet the dividend must be in the view of the church, 
 and by which means, the dividers were but mere instruments, 
 and the right was vanished into the clouds. But temp. Hen. III. 
 it was settled, the Ordinary had not only gotten the game, but 
 gorged it. Both right and possession were now become the 
 clergy's, the Ordinary was to distribute it according to pious 
 uses, and no use seemed so pious as to appoint to himself and 
 his brethren. 
 
 The first statute that Umited the power of the Ordinary was 
 13 Edw. I. c. 19. By this the Ordinary was obliged to satisfy the 
 intestate's debts so far as the goods extended. And 31 Edw. III. 
 cap. 2, the actual possession was taken from the Ordinary, by 
 obUging him to give a deputation to the next and most lawful 
 friends of the intestate, for administrating his goods. But this 
 statute proved but a weak check to the avarice of the clergy. 
 Means were fallen upon to elude it, by preferring such of the in- 
 testate's relations, who were wilUng to offer the best terms . this 
 corrupt practice was suffered in the days of Hen. VIII., when the 
 clergy losing ground, the statute 21 Hen. VIII. was enacted, bear- 
 ing " That in case any person die intestate, or the executors refuse 
 to prove the testament, the Ordinary shall grant administration 
 to the widow, or to the next of kin, or to both, taking surety for 
 true administration." 
 
 This statute, as it points out the particular persons who are in- 
 
 * Discourse oj Laws^ pp. i, 66, and New A brid^ment of ike Law, p. 398^ 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 367 
 
 titled to letters of administration, without leaving any choice to 
 the Ordinary, was certainly intended to cut him out of all hope of 
 making gain of the effects of persons dying intestate. But the 
 church does not easily quit its hold. Means were fallen upon to 
 elude this law also. Though the possession given by this statute 
 was wrested out of the hands of the Ordinary, yet his pretentions 
 subsisted intire, of caUing the administrator to account, and oblig- 
 ing him or her to distribute the effects to pious uses. This was an 
 admirable engine in the hands of a churchman for squeezing 
 money. An administrator who gave any considerable share to 
 the Bishop, to be laid out by him, without doubt, in pious uses, 
 would not find much difSculty in making his accompt. This rank 
 abuse moved the judges solemnly to resolve, that the Ordinary, 
 after administration granted by him, cannot compel the adminis- 
 trator to make distribution.* And at last, the right of the next 
 of kin, was fully established by statute 22 and 23 Car. II. cap. 10. 
 This cut out the Ordinary entirely. 
 
 If I thought the Athanasian creed was a part of the religion of 
 Jesus, I should be induced to entertain a hard thought of Christi- 
 anity. I should think it enjoined a slavish submission to the dic- 
 tates of designing men : and instead of a reasonable service, 
 required us to renounce our understandings, to apostatize from 
 humanity, and degenerate into brutes, by giving up our reason, 
 which alone distinguishes us from them. Most unjust charge 
 upon our holy reUgion ! A religion, which enlarges our rational 
 faculties, filhng the mind with an astonishing idea of an eternal 
 duration, and thereby giving us a contempt of the mean, transient 
 pleasures of this Ufe, and which we and the brutes enjoy in com- 
 mon : a reUgion that requires only the highest degree of reverence 
 towards the most high, the most refined purity of heart and mind, 
 and the most noble and diffusive charity towards all mankind. In 
 short, that estabUshes righteousness upon earth, and intire obedi- 
 ence to the wiU of God ; that so having put the oil into our lamp, 
 according to the gospel parable, it may not only measure the course 
 of time, but Ught us beyond it, to the coming of the bridegroom, 
 and the morning of eternity. 
 
 But this wiU not do for the Doctors, they must have estabhshed 
 Credenda for judgments of all sizes, they must have a formulary 
 of dogmatic theology, an Athanasian Jumble, to support the Holy 
 Church ; though their creed burlesques mathematical certainty, 
 and renders their ecclesiastical Christianity inferior to the antient 
 pagan reUgion. A trinity is the ecclesiastical God ; but whether 
 three distinct conscious beings of co-ordinate power, equal inde- 
 pendency, and unorigination, and so three proper Deities ; or, 
 only three symbols of natural powers. In this the Doctors are not 
 agreed j but the majority are for the three proper Deities : this 
 
 * Ntw Abridgment of the Law, p. 398. 
 
368 THE LIFE OF 
 
 heresy of three Gods we must subscribe to, or the priests will num- 
 ber us with the infidels, and do us all the mischief they can. Hence 
 it comes to pass, that humanity, sweetness of temper, and mo- 
 deration, are banished from society?; religion, hke a cloak, is made 
 use of to authorise hatred, violence, and injustice ; and the 
 Christian religion, as the priests have forged it, and shew it off, 
 that is, upon its present footing, as an establishment, is pernicious 
 to mankind, and ought to go, that the people may be restored 
 again to Christ's religion, and be led to attend to the command of 
 God ; which is to beUeve in the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and 
 to love one another. 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 " Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of 
 things not seen ; " Hebrews, ch. xi. v. i, that is, faith is such a firm 
 persuasion as gives, as it were, a substance or present existence to 
 the good things which we hope for, and which are not yet in being, 
 and as engages us to depend upon the truth of unseen things, as 
 really, as upon ocular demonstration. 
 
 " He endured, as seeing him who is invisible ; " ver. 27, that is, 
 Moses, as really beUeved the being and attributes of the invisible 
 God, as if he had seen him with his eyes ; and f uUy depended upon 
 his conduct and assistance. 
 
 The better thing provided for Christians. 
 
 " And these all having obtained a good report through faith, 
 received not the promise, God having provided some better thing 
 for us, that they without us should not be made perfect ; Hebrews, 
 ch. xi. V. 39, 40, that is. Though the upright under the law have a 
 good character in Scripture, and of consequence were accepted of 
 God upon the account of their faith in the divine power and good- 
 ness, yet they received not the promised reward of another life, 
 immediately on their leaving this world : God provided this better 
 thing for us Christians, that we should be made happy immedi- 
 ately, as soon as we leave this world, that so they might not be 
 made happy in heaven, till Christianity commenced, and Christians 
 should be there received to happiness with them. 
 
 Note I. It is plain from what the Apostle says before, that the 
 thing promised is the better and more enduring substance in heaven. 
 
 2. The better thing provided for Christians, cannot be the re- 
 surrection from the dead, and the being, after that, received into 
 the heavenly Jerusalem ; since herein we shall have nothing better 
 than the good people who hved under the law : therefore better 
 things can only mean our enjoyment of God immediately upon 
 our leaving this world. 
 
 It is strange then that Bishop Fell and Whitby say, the better 
 thing means the Messias, or the heavenly country to be fully pos- 
 sessed at the'end of the world. 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 369 
 
 OVthe same opinion is Pyle. He says, our pious ancestors under 
 the I\w, though in a state of rest and happiness, after death, yet 
 recei-^d not the full and complete enjoyment of celestial glory, 
 that bUng deferred till the last and great dispensation of the Mes- 
 siah be past, that so they and sincere Christians, may be all re- 
 wardedWd crowned together, with the happiness both of body 
 and soul\ at the final day of judgment : but if so, tell me, Mr. Pyle, 
 where is\he better thing provided for us Christians ? 
 
 3. Besides, if the Apostle may be his own interpreter, the word 
 perfect means the intermediate state of good souls in paradise 
 and not the complete state after the resurrection. In the next 
 chapter, h6 speaks of the spirits of the just made perfect, by which 
 he means uudoubtedly the separate souls now in glory. 
 
 In a worft, the design of the Apostle was to prove that, since 
 God has pro-rided some better thing for us, we appear to be more 
 in his favour ; and therefore the argument from their being justi- 
 fied to our being justified by faith, is stronger, that is, such a faith 
 as has an operative influence, by rendering our hves a comment 
 upon the blessed nature of God. 
 
 And that this was the meaning of the Apostle in the something 
 better provided for us Christians, appears yet plainer from the 
 consequence drawn by the inspired writer, to wit, that we ought 
 with the greater patience and courage to endure persecution, since 
 God has provided something better for us than for them. If the 
 antient believers held out, who expected but a state of sleep, till 
 the time of the general resurrection : much more should we pa- 
 tiently suffer affliction, and even death itself, for the sake of truth, 
 and of the gospel, when we know, that God has promised us some- 
 thing better ; to wit, that we shall be conducted to paradise im- 
 mediately after death, and be there spirits of just men made per- 
 fect, and be with Christ, which is far better than either to sleep 
 after death, or to live longer in this world. 
 
 Let us lay aside then every weight, and the sin which doth so 
 easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set be- 
 fore us. Let us put away every thing from us, that would hinder 
 us from improving in virtue and goodness ; looking to and imi- 
 tating Jesus, the leader and captain of the faithful, and an ex- 
 ample of spotiess virtue and perfect obedience. The love of the 
 world is enmity with God, and to place our affections here, is to 
 vilify that better provision which he has made for us. We are 
 but strangers and pilgrims here. The human state is but a pas- 
 sage, not a place of abode. It is a station of exercise and disci- 
 pline, and was not designed for the place of enjoyment. That 
 happy country is before us. 
 
 AVOIDINGS. 
 
 Avoid aU indirect arts in the pursuit of a fortune. All unlawful 
 
370 THE LIFE OF 
 
 methods of self-preservation. And every gratification that liili- 
 tates with reason and benevolence. 
 
 The Offices of a Christian. 
 These are heavenly-mindedness, and contempt of the world, 
 and chusing rather to die than commit a moral evil. Such things, 
 however, are not much esteemed by the generaUty of Chistians : 
 Most people laugh at them, and look upon them as indiscretions ; 
 therefore there is but httle true Christianity in the world It has 
 never been my luck to meet with many people that had tlese three 
 necessary qualifications. And as for the people, exclusive of their 
 going to church to make a character, or to ogle one another, or out 
 of superstition to perform so much opus operatum, a job of Up ser- 
 vice, which they idly fancy to be rehgion, they, I mean the great 
 and the small, might as weU be Heathens as Christians, for any 
 real Christian purpose they answer, in a strict adherence to the 
 three of&ces aforementioned. The name of Christian sounds over 
 Europe, and large parts of Asia, Africa, and America : but if a 
 Christian is what St. Paul defines it, to wit, a man that is heavenly- 
 minded, that contemns the world, and would die rather than 
 commit a moral evil, then is the number of Christians very small 
 indeed. 
 
 The meaning of John, ch. vi. v. 44. " No man can come to me, 
 except the Father draw him." 
 
 That is, no one can be a Christian, unless his regard for the Deity 
 and natural rehgion inchnes him to receive a more improved 
 scheme of rehgion. 
 
 But Dr. Young, in one of his sermons, explains this text in the 
 following manner. No one can hve up to the rehgion of Jesus, 
 and reach Christian perfection, unless the Father enhghtens and 
 enables him, by the operative influence of his holy spirit. We can 
 do nothing, in respect of what ought to be done, to be more than 
 nominal Christians, without the inward principle of sanctification. 
 This I think is mere methodism. The excellent Dr. Lardner ex- 
 pounds the text in the following words : " No man will come to 
 me, and receive my pure, subUme, and spiritual doctrine, unless 
 he have first gained some just apprehensions concerning the gen- 
 eral principles of rehgion. And if a man have some good notions 
 of God, and his perfections, and his wiU as already revealed, he 
 will come unto me. If any man is well disposed, if he has a love 
 of truth, and a desire to advance in virtue, and rehgious know- 
 ledge ; he will readily hearken to me, and believe in me." Ser- 
 mons, vol. i. p. 303. 
 
 Of Baptism, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 
 
 What is the meaning of baptizing them into the name of the 
 Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost ? 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 371 
 
 ItBignifies receiving men by baptism to the profession and pri- 
 vileges of that religion, which was taught by the Father, Son, and 
 Spirit}that is, which the Father taught by the Son, in his hfetime, 
 and bythe Spirit, after his ascension. 
 
 Or, to be baptized, is solemnly to profess our resolution to ad- 
 here to that holy doctrine, which is the mind and will of God the 
 Father, pubhshed to the world by his Son, whom he sent from 
 heaven foi that purpose, and confirmed by the power of the Holy 
 Ghost. 
 
 Note, AA able writer, St. Hillary de Trinitate, hb. 2. ad calcem 
 on Matt. ch. xxviii. v. 19, says that baptising in the name of the 
 Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, signifies, In con- 
 fession of the author of all things, and of the only begotten, and 
 of the gift. 
 
 Of Christian Idolatry. 
 
 What a surprising incident is idolatry in the church of Christ I 
 that after the reUgion of Jesus had accomphshed its glorious de- 
 sign, and subverted idolatry and superstition throughout the 
 world, it should itself be wounded almost to death, by the enemy 
 it had subdued ! This is the case all over the realms of popery. 
 And can they be said to have any true reUgion among them, where 
 the theology of Athanasius prevails ? 
 
 Churchism and Creeds. 
 
 1 have no very good opinion of creeds. Jesus Christ came with 
 a^legatarian power from God, the Supreme Being, to declare his 
 will to mankind ; and the great work to be done, so far as I can 
 find in the gospel, is, the perfecting our minds in all that is truly 
 excellent ; by labouring to excel in all the virtues of the gospel, 
 by loving the whole race of mankind with an universal charity, 
 and striving to add to the satisfaction and happiness of aU about 
 us, and with whom we have any connection. 
 
 Having lost Maria, I went up to London, and on my way to the 
 metropolis, dined at a pleasant village, not far from Nottingham, 
 where I saw two gentlemen well worth mentioning. They were 
 sitting in a room the waiter shewed me into, and had each of them 
 a porringer of mutton broth. One of them seemed a little con- 
 sumptive creature, about four feet six inches high, uncommonly 
 thin, or rather exsiccated to a cuticle. « His broth and bread how- 
 ever he supped up with some rehsh. He seemed to be past three- 
 score. His name was Ribble. 
 
 The other was a young man, once very handsome, tall and ■ 
 strong, but so consumed and weak, that he could hardly speak or 
 stir. His name was Richmond. He attempted to get down his 
 broth, but not above a spoonful or two could he swallow. He ap- 
 peared to me to be a dying man. 
 
 While I beheld things with astonishment, the servant brought 
 
373 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in dinner, a pound of rump steaks, and a quart of green peas , two 
 cuts of bread, a tankard of strong beer, and pint of port wine : 
 with a fine appetite, I soon dispatched my mess, and over my wine, 
 to help digestion, began to sing the following : 
 
 Tell me, I charge you, O ye sylvan swains. 
 Who range the mazy grove, or flow'ry plains, 
 Beside what fountain, in what breezy bower. 
 Reclines my charmer in the noon-tide hour ? 
 
 Soft, I adjure you, by the skipping fawns. 
 By the fleet roes, that bound along the lawns ; 
 Soft tread, ye virgin daughters of the grove, 
 Nor with your dances wake my sleeping love. 
 
 Come, Rosalind, O come, and infant flow'rs 
 Shall bloom and smile, and form their charms by yours ; 
 By you the lily shall her white compose, 
 Your blush shall add new blushes to the rose. 
 
 Hark I from yon bow'rs what airs soft warbled play ! 
 My soul takes wing to meet th' inchanting lay. 
 Silence, ye nightingales ! attend the voice I 
 While thus it warbles, all your songs are noise. 
 
 See ! from the bower a form majestic moves. 
 And smoothly gliding, shines along the groves ; 
 Say, comes a goddess from the golden spheres ? 
 A goddess comes, or Rosalind appears. 
 
 While I was singing, and indeed all the while I was at dinner, 
 the gentlemen looked with wonder at me, and at last; as soon as I 
 was sUent, old Ribble expressed himself in the following words : 
 
 ' ' You are the most fortunate of mortals to be sure. Sir. A happy 
 man indeed. You seem to have health and peace, contentment 
 and tranquLUity, in perfection. You are the more striking, when 
 such spectacles as my cousin Richmond (pointing to the d3dng 
 gentleman in the room) and I are in contrast before you. I will 
 tell you our stories, Sir, in return for your charming song, and 
 hope what I am going to say may be of service to you, as you are 
 coming on, and we going off from this world. 
 
 " My kinsman there, the dying Richmond, in that chair, was 
 once a Sampson, and the handsomest man of Ids time, though the 
 remains of beauty or strength cannot now be traced. By drink- 
 ing and whoring he brought himself to what you see ; to a state 
 that eludes all the arts of medicine. He has an aggravated cough, 
 which produces a filthy pus of an ash-colour, streaked with blood, 
 and mixed with filaments torn from his lungs and membranes, 
 and with the utmost difficulty he respires. He has a perpetual 
 violent pain in his breast, a pricking soreness in his paps when he 
 coughs, and defects in all his functions. He has that flux of the 
 belly, which is called a lientery, and the fluids of his body are 
 wasted in colliquative sweats. A stretching pain racks him if he 
 lies on either side, by reason of some adhesion of the lungs to the 
 pleura. HUs hair is fallen off, and his nails you see are dead- 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 373 
 
 coloured, and hooked. His countenance, you observe, is Hippo- 
 cratical,ithe very image of death : his face a dead paJe, his eyes 
 sunk, his nose sharp, his cheeks hollow, his temples fallen, and his 
 whole body thin Uke a skeleton. What a figure now is this once 
 curled darKng of the ladies : it was done, good Sir, by the hand of 
 Intemperance. 
 
 " As to myself," he continued, " I brought a consumption into 
 the world with me, and by art have supported under it. I was 
 bom with the sharp shoulders you see, which are called pterogoi- 
 des, or wing-like, and had a contracted thorax, and long chest, a 
 thin and long neck, a fiaccid tone of all parts about the breast, 
 and a very flabby contexture of the muscles all over my body : 
 but nevertheless, by a strict temperance aU my Ufe, and by follow- 
 ing the directions of Dr. Bennet in his Theatrum Tabidorum, I 
 have not only made Ufe tolerable, but so removed the burden of 
 stagnant phlegm from the thorax, by throwing it down by stool, 
 and up by expectoration, exhaling it sometimes through the skin, 
 and at other times digesting it with fasting, that I contrive more 
 useful hours to myself than the strong and young can enjoy in 
 their continued scenes of dissipation and riot. In me is seen the 
 wonderful effect of rule and sobriety. I am now past fifty by 
 several years, notwithstanding my very weak and miserable con- 
 stitution, and by attending to nature, and never indulging in gra- 
 tification or excess, am not only able to hve without pain, but to 
 divert life by experimental philosophy. I came down to this pleas- 
 ant place, chiefly for the benefit of poor Richmond, my kinsman, 
 whom you see with his eyes shut before you, the very picture of 
 death ; and also, with a view to do some good to myself, as it is 
 the finest air in the world. I took a house in the village to hve the 
 more easily, as the lodging-houses are all crowded here, aind re- 
 solved to amuse the days I have left in cultivating the science of 
 chemistry ; not in order to finish what nature has begun, do you 
 see me, as the alchymists talk, and procure to the imperfect metals 
 the much desired coction ; but, to examine substances, and by 
 the examination, obtain ideas of the bodies capable of the three 
 degrees of fermentation, spiritous, acetous, and putrid ; and of 
 the products of those fermentations, to wit, ardent spirits, acids 
 analogous to those of vegetables and animals, and volatile alkahs. 
 
 " To this purpose, I made for myself a laboratory, and about a 
 year ago, began to employ my vessels and furnaces in various pro- 
 cesses. A vast variety of entertaining things have since occurred, 
 and my life is thereby made agreeable and pleasing ; though to 
 look at my poor frame, one would think me incapable of any satis- 
 factions. I will give you an instance or two of my amusements, 
 and do you judge, if they may not afford a mind more than the 
 tumultuous joys of love and wine, horse-racing, cock-fighting, 
 hunting, and other violent pleasures can yield. 
 
374 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " You know, good Sir, I suppose, that there are six metals, two 
 perfect, and four imperfect. Gold and silver, perfect ; the others, 
 copper, tin, lead, and iron. Quicksilver is by some called a seventh 
 metal : but that I think cannot be, as it is not malleable. Yet it 
 is not to be confounded with the semi-metals, as it differs from 
 the metals no otherwise than by being constantly in fusion ; which 
 is occasioned by its aptness to flow with such a small degree of 
 heat, that be there ever so Uttle warmth on earth, there is stiU 
 more than enough to keep mercury in fusion. It must be called 
 then, in my opinion, a metalhc body of a particular kind : And 
 the more so, let me add, as art has not yet found out a way of de- 
 priving it whoUy of its phlogiston. 
 
 " I must observe to you, good Sir, in order to be intelligible in 
 what I am sa34ng, that the phlogiston in metals is the matter of 
 fire as a constituent principle in bodies. It is the element of fire 
 combined with some other substance, which serves it as a basis for 
 constituting a kind of secondary principle ; and it differs from 
 pure fixed fire in these particulars, that it communicates neither 
 heat nor hght, it causes no charge, but only renders body apt to 
 fuse by the force of a culinary fire, and it can be conveyed from 
 body to body, with this circumstance, that the body deprived of 
 the phlogiston is greatly altered, as is the body that receives it. 
 
 " As to the semi-metals, which I mentioned, you will be pleased 
 to observe, that they are regulus of antimony, bismuth, zinc, and 
 regulus of arsenic. They are not malleable, and easily part with 
 their phlogiston. Zinc and bismuth are free from the poisonous 
 quality, but arsenic is the most violent poison ; especially the 
 shining crystaUine calx of it, or flowers raised by the fire, and 
 named white arsenic ; regulus of antimony is hkewise a poison, 
 not in its nature, but because it always contains a portion of arsenic 
 in its composition. 
 
 " Antimony is a pretty white bright colour, and has the splen- 
 dour, opacity, Jand gravity of a metal, but under the hammer 
 crumbles to dust. A moderate heat makes it flow, and a violent 
 fire dissipates it into smoke and white vapours. They adhere to 
 cold bodies, and when the farina is collected, we call these vapours 
 flowers of antimony. 
 
 " Butter of Antimony, good Sir, that wonderful corrosive, is a 
 compound made by distilling pulverized regulus of antimony, 
 and corrosive sublimate. The production, on operation, is a 
 white matter, thick and scarce fluid, which is the regulus of anti- 
 mony united with the acid of sea-salt. Here the corrosive sub- 
 limate is decompounded, the mercury revivified, and the acid 
 combined with it, quits it to join the regulus of antimony, because 
 its affinity with it is greater." Little Ribble, the Chemist, went 
 on, and with difficulty I could refrain from laughing ; not on ac- 
 count of the man's talking nonsense, fgr his discourse was the very 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 375 
 
 reverse of that ; but by reason of the gripe he had of my arm, the 
 pulls he gave me, if I happened to look another way, and the sur- 
 prising eagerness with which he spoke ; which shewed, that he 
 was chemically struck to an amazing degree, and following up 
 closely, " But hver of antimony, good Sir," he continued, " is 
 made of equal parts of nitre and antimony. On the mixture's 
 being exposed to the action of fire a violent detonation ensues, 
 and the deflagrating nitre consumes the sulphur of the antimony, 
 and even a part of its phlogiston. A gre5dsh m«ftter remains 
 after the detonation, and this is what we call hver of antimony. 
 It contains a fixed nitre, a vitriolated tartar, and the reguline part 
 of antimony vitrified. 
 
 "The principal use the Chemists make of antimony is to separ- 
 ate gold from the other metals. AU metals, gold excepted, have a 
 greater affinity with [sulphur than the reguhne 'part of antimony. 
 As to gold, it is incapable of contracting any union with sulphur. 
 If therefore I have a mass compounded of various 'metals, 
 and want to get the gold out, I melt it with antimony," and as 
 soon as it flows, every thing in the mass which is not gold, unites 
 with the sulphur, in or of the antimony, and causes two separa- 
 tions, that of the sulphur of antimony from its reguhne part, and 
 that of the gold from the metals with which it was mixed. This 
 produces two new combinations, the metals and the sulphur, in 
 fusion, being hghter, rise to the surface ; and the gold and the 
 reguhne part of antimony being heaviest, the combination of them 
 sinks to the bottom. Now the business is to part these two, and 
 to this purpose, I expose the combination to a degree of fire, cap- 
 able of dissipating into vapours all the semi-metal the mass con- 
 tains. The reguline being volatile, goes off by the great heat, and 
 my gold remains pure and fixed in my crucible. 
 
 " As to the antimonial wine, made by the essence of antimony, 
 that is, by impregnating the most generous white wine, with the 
 minims or leasts of antimony, which the physicians have found 
 out, it is not the part of a chemist to speak of that ; and therefore, 
 I shall only observe to you, that it is the best vomit, the best purge, 
 and the best thing for a sweat, in the world. I will tell you, good 
 Sir, what I heard an eminent Doctor say of it. Affirmo sanctis- 
 sime, nihil inde mehus, nihil tutius, nihil efficacius, deprehendi un- 
 quam, quam tritum iUum, acsimplicem vini automoniahs infusum 
 ex vino albo generoso, aromate aUquo stomachico adjecto. Epo- 
 tus largiter maximas movit vomitiones, in minuta tantum quanti- 
 tate, ad guttas puta viginta, aut triginta, adhibitus sudores elicit 
 benignos ; paulo tamen majorae aleum solvit leniter. Medica- 
 mentum, paratu quidem facilUmum, at viribus maximum. And 
 therefore, good Sir, when any thing ails you, let me recommend 
 the antimonial wine to you. Thirty drops will sweat you effectu- 
 ally, and about forty or fifty will effect a purge in a happy manner. 
 
376 ' THE LIFE OF 
 
 " But as to the second semi- metal, bismuth, it has almost the 
 same appearance as regulus of antimony, but of a more dusky cast 
 inclining somewhat to red. It requires less heat than antimony 
 to flow, and like it, and the other semi-metals, is volatile, by the 
 action of a violent fire, and under the hammer is dust. In fusion, 
 it mixes well with aU metals, and whitens them by union, but 
 destroys their malleability. In flowing, it loses its phlogiston 
 with its metallic form. And it has a singular property, which the 
 other semi-metals have not, of attenuating lead so as to make it 
 amalgamatic with mercury, so perfectly as to make it pass with it 
 through shamoy leather. As soon as the amalgama is made, the 
 bismuth goes off or separates ; but the lead for ever remains united 
 with the mercury. 
 
 "It is of a solution of the ore of bismuth, we make that very 
 curious and useful thing called sympathetic ink, which is a Uquor 
 of a beautiful colour, Uke that of the hlach or pipe-tree blossom. 
 The process in preparing this liquor is tedious and difficult by 
 aqua fortis, aqua regis, and fire, and therefore the ink is rarely to 
 be met with. It is not to be had, unless some gentleman who 
 makes chemistry his empl03mient, gives one a present of a bottle 
 of it ; as I do now to you, in hopes it may some time or other be of 
 singular service to you ; for I have conceived a great regard for 
 you, though I never saw you before, as you seem not only more 
 teachable than any I have met with, but to deUght in the infor- 
 mation I give you relating to chemical things." 
 
 Here I returned my Chemist many thanks, and professed my 
 eternal obUgation to him : that I could Usten for years to him ; 
 and wished it was possible to become his disciple, that I might 
 see him by experiment facilitate the study of a science, more 
 entertaining, instructive, and extensively useful than any other. 
 ' ' But how, dear sir, am I to use this ink, you are so vastly good as 
 to give me, to make it more useful than any other ink could be?" 
 
 " I will teU you," rephed he, " you must write with this lilach- 
 coloured Uquor, on good well gummed paper that does not sink ; 
 and the singularity of the ink, consists in its property of dis- 
 appearing entirely, and becoming invisible, though it be not 
 touched with anything whatever, and this distinguishes it from 
 all others. The writing must dry in a warm air, and while it is 
 cold no colour can be perceived : but gently warming it before the 
 fire, the writing gradually acquires a greenish blue colour, which 
 is visible as long as the paper continues a little warm, and dis- 
 appears entirely when it cools. When other sympathetic inks 
 are made to appear by proper appUcation, they do not disappear 
 again ; but tlus Uquor from the ore of bismuth must have the 
 fire or heat kept to it, to render it legible. If a man writes to his 
 mistress, suppose, or to a minister of state, with lemon juice, once 
 the writing has been warmed by the fire, and the letters by that 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 377 
 
 means appear, the epistle may be afterwards read at any time 
 and place ; but if the lady's father should by accident get your 
 letter, ■written in hlach-coloured Uquor, it must stiU remain a 
 secret to him, for if on getting it, and opening the seal, he could 
 see no writing, and therefore imagining it was written with lemon 
 juice, or some other sympathetic ink, he should hold it himself to 
 the fire, or bid his servant hold it to the heat, that the letters might 
 be produced, and made visible, yet the moment bismuth ink is 
 taken away from the fire, and begins to cool, it is as invisible 
 again, as a sheet of white paper. How serviceable this may be 
 on various occasions, may be easily conceived. 
 
 " But as to our third semi-metal, called Zinc, this is so like 
 bismuth in appearance, that some have confounded it with Zinc ; 
 though it differs from it essentially in its properties, and will unite 
 with all metalline substances, except bismuth. It is volatile by 
 fire above all things, and makes a subhmate of the metallic sub- 
 stances with which it is fused. Zinc mixed with copper in the 
 quantity of a fourth part, produces brass. If the Zinc is not very 
 pure, the composition proves Tombac, or Prince's metal. 
 
 " Regulus of arsenic, the fourth semi-metal, has a colour re- 
 sembhng lead, unites readily witbmetalUc substances, and renders 
 them brittle, unmalleable, and volatile. The cabc of it produced 
 by fire, may be made volatile by more fire, and in this difiers from 
 the calx of all metalUne substances ; for all other calxes are fixed, 
 and cannot be moved. It has Ekewise a saUne character, in 
 which its corrosive quaUty or poison consists : a quahty from 
 which the other metallic substances are free, when they are not 
 combined with a saline matter. These things being noticed, in 
 relation to metals, and semi-metals in general, I will now proceed 
 to relate a few curious cases, in respect of the metals. 
 
 " Gold, our first metal, has ten sensible criterions. It is the 
 heaviest and densest of all bodies : the most simple of all bodies : 
 the most fixed of all bodies : the only body that cannot be turned 
 into scoriae, by antimony and lead ; the most ductile of all bodies : 
 so soft as to be scarcely elastic or sonorous : must be red hot to 
 melt : is dissolvable by sea-salt and its preparations, but remains 
 untouched by any other species of salts ; and of consequence not 
 liable to rust ; as aqua regia and spirit of sea-salt do not float in 
 the air, unless in laboratories, or chemists' shops, where we find 
 them sometimes : it unites spontaneously with pure quick-silver, 
 and never wastes by emitting efiluvia, or exhalations. These are 
 the ten sensible properties or characteristics of this metal. It is 
 certainly pure gold, if it has these criterions, and they are of great 
 use in Ufe ; especially to persons who have to do with that subtil 
 tribe, the alchemists. 
 
 "As to the weight of gold, it is more than nineteen times 
 heavier than water, bulk for bulk, and this property is inseparable 
 
378 -' THE LIFE OF 
 
 from it ; it being impossible to render gold more or less heavy ; 
 and for this reason, the specific gravity of gold, if it had no other 
 criterion, might demonstrate real gold. To make gold, other 
 metals must be rendered equiponderant to it, and therefore, if an 
 alchemist should offer to obtrude a metal on you for gold, hang 
 an equal weight of pure, and of suspected gold by two threads to a 
 nice balance, and on immerging them in water, if the alchemist's 
 gold be pure, the water will retain both pieces in sequiUbrio ; other- 
 wise, the adulterate metal will rise, and the pure descend. 
 
 " The reason is, all bodies lose some of their weight in a fluid, 
 and the weight which a body loses in a fluid, is to its whole weight, 
 as the specific gravity of the fluid is to that of the body. The 
 specific gravity of a body is the weight of it, when the bulk is 
 given ; thirty-eight grains of gold weighed in the air, is not the 
 true weight of it : for there it loses the weight of an equal bulk 
 of air : it weighs only thirty-six grains in the water, and there it 
 loses the weight of as much water, as is equal in bulk of itself, that 
 is, two grains, and as the gold weighs thirty-eight grains, it fol- 
 lows, that the weight of water is to that of gold, bulk for bulk, as 
 two to thirty-eight, that is as the weight lost in the fluid is the 
 whole weight. 
 
 " And so, if a piece of gold, and a piece of copper, are equipon- 
 derant in air, yet in water the gold will outweigh the copper ; 
 because their bulks, though of equal weight, are inversely as their 
 specific gravities, that is, the gold must be as much less than the 
 copper, as the specific gravity of gold is greater than that of cop- 
 per : and as they must both lose weight in proportion to bulk in 
 water, therefore the gold, the lesser of the two, loses less of its 
 weight than the copper does, and consequently, out-weighs the 
 copper in water. I hope this is clear. The case is the same, in 
 proportion, in pure gold, and gold mixed with other metals. 
 The bulk of the pure gold must be less than that of alloyed gold, 
 and its weight greater in water ; though both equiponderate, a 
 pound suppose, in air." 
 
 " It is very plain, sir, and I request you will proceed. You 
 give me valuable information, and oblige me very much." This 
 pleased the Chemist, and the ingenious little Ribble went 
 on. 
 
 " As to the simphcity of gold, we mean, by simple body, that 
 whose minutest part has all the physical properties of the whole 
 mass. Now dissolve a grain of gold in aqua regia, and from a 
 single drop of the solution, a particle of gold may be separated, 
 and have all the characters of gold, except those of magnitude, 
 though the separated particle of gold shall only be the millionth 
 part of the grain. Or, fuse a single grain of gold mth a mass of 
 silver, and mix the whole together, so that the gold shall be 
 equally distributed : then take a particle thereof, and you w^l 
 
JOHN BVNCLE, ESQ. 379 
 
 have a particle of perfect gold ; for dissolve the least part of the 
 mixture in aqua fortis, and a quantity of gold wiU precipitate to 
 the bottom. It will bear the same proportion to the grain, that 
 the part dissolved did to the whole mass. 
 
 " Having mentioned aqua regia and aqua fortis, I must, to be 
 intelligible, say two or three words in relation to them. Aqua 
 regia is an extract by fire from sea-salt and spirit of nitre. The 
 acid Uquor that comes over from them into the receiver, is aqua 
 regis. Aqua fortis, or spirit of nitre, is a nitrous acid separated 
 from its basis, nitre, by the vitriohc acid. Aqua regis only will 
 dissolve gold. Silver is not soluable by aqua regis ; its proper 
 solvent is the acid of nitre or aqua fortis. But if you want to 
 separate a mass of gold and silver, either wiU do. You may dis- 
 solve the gold by aqua regia, and let the silver remain pure ; or, 
 dissolve the silver by aqua fortis, and let the gold remain pure. 
 Only note in this case of a mixed lump of gold and silver the 
 operation by aqua fortis is preferable, for this reason ; that aqua 
 regis in dissolving the gold, takes up Ukewise a Uttie silver ; but 
 aqua fortis hath not the least effect on gold ; and note further, 
 that if there be equal parts of gold and silver in the mixture, they 
 cannot be parted by aqua fortis. It ha.s not then the least effect 
 on the silver, which is very strange. To make aqua fortis act 
 duly on silver mixed with gold, the silver must be at- least in a 
 triple proportion to that of the gold. The reason of the singular 
 effect is, that when the gold exceeds, or the parts of both are equal 
 in quantity, then, as both are intimate, united in the mass, the 
 parts or minims of the gold coat over the parts of the silver, and 
 defend them from the action of the aqua fortis. In this case, 
 aqua regia must be used to dissolve the gold, and leave the silver 
 pure : or, as aqua regia takes up a littie of the silver, when it dis- 
 solves the gold, melt the metaUine mass, and add as much silver 
 as will make it a triple proportion to the gold. Then you may 
 by aqua fortis take up all your silver in the dissolution, and leave 
 all the pure gold. 
 
 " But as to the third criterion of gold, its being the most fixed 
 of all bodies, this is evident from the violence of fire having no 
 effect on it. An ounce of it exposed for the space of two months, 
 in the eye of a glass furnace, does not lose half a grain. It may 
 from thence be said to be incorruptible. 
 
 " As to gold's resisting antimony, and not turning into scoriae 
 by its force, it is most certain from hence, that if you take a mass 
 consisting of gold, silver, copper, the other metals, with stones, 
 &c., and fuse it with antimony, the bodies will flow on the surface, 
 and be easily blown off by the bellows : the antimony aU evapo- 
 rates, and leaves the gold alone. This is called the last test of 
 gold, to try the purity of it. If the remaining gold have lost nothing 
 of its weight, it is allowed perfectiy pure, and called gold of twenty- 
 
38o THE LIFE OF 
 
 four carats ; or if it be found one twenty-fourth lighter, it is said 
 to be twenty-three carats fine. 
 
 " But as to the ductility of gold, this is the most extraordinary 
 property of it. The arts of gold-beating and wire-drawing, show 
 ' us things quite amazing. In leaf-gold, a grain and a quarter of the 
 metal, may be made to cover an area of fifty square inches ; and 
 if the leaf be divided by parallel Unes a hundredth part of an inch, a 
 grain of gold will be divided into five hundred thousand minute 
 squares, all discernible by the eye : yet this is not the most can 
 be done by the hammer. A single grain of gold may be stretched 
 into a leai that will cover a house, and yet the leaf remain so 
 compact, as not to transmit the rays of Ught, nor ever admit spirit 
 of wine to transude. This however is nothing to the effects of 
 wire-drawing. 
 
 " A gold wire is only a silver one gilt, and if you coat a silver 
 cylinder of forty-eight ounces weight, with one ounce of gold, 
 which is sufficient, this cyUnder may be drawn out into a wire 
 so very fine, that two yards thereof shall weigh only one grain, and 
 ninety-eight yards only forty-nine grains, so that one grain of 
 gold gilds ninety-eight yards ; and of course the ten thousandth 
 part of a grain, is above one- third part of an inch long. And since 
 the third part of an inch is yet capable of being divided into ten 
 lesser parts visible to the eye, it is evident that the hundred 
 thousandth part of a grain of gold, may be seen without the help 
 of a microscope. And yet so intimately do its parts cohere, that 
 though the gold wherewith the wire is coated, be stretched to such 
 a degree, there is not any appearance of the colour of silver under- 
 neath. Nor is this all. 
 
 " In supergildings, that is, to make the richest lace, they employ 
 but six ounces of gold, to cover or gild forty-five marks of silver, 
 that is, twenty-two pounds and a half avoirdupoise weight, 
 rounded into the form of a cyUnder or roller, which hath fifteen 
 lines in diameter, and twenty-two inches in length ; and here the 
 stratum of gold which envelops the ingot that is to be drawn into 
 wire, hath no more thickness than the fifteenth part of a Une, 
 which is extremely thin ; as a line is the twelfth part of an inch. 
 
 " But to make the common gold-thread, they do not use more 
 than two ounces of gold, and sometimes not more than one, to 
 gild or cover the ingot I have mentioned, and then the enveloping 
 stratum is not more in thickness, if two ounces be employed, 
 than the forty-fifth part of a Une ; and if one ounce be used, but 
 the ninetieth part of a line. Two ounces of gold are generally 
 used, in gilding or covering the ingot I have mentioned, and vastly 
 thinner must the stratum be, when the ingot is drawn till it sur- 
 passes the fineness of a hair, and the diameter is nine thousand 
 times smaller than what it had in the mass. By weighing out 
 half a dram of this thread or wire, it is found by measuring the 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 381 
 
 length of the half dram, that the ingot of twenty-two pounds and 
 a half, and twenty- two inches long, is changed into a length of one 
 hundred and sixteen millions three thousand five hundred and 
 twenty feet, that is, ninety-six leagues and one hundred and 
 ninety-six fathoms ; for the half dram of wire or thread measures 
 two hundred and two feet ; by consequence, an ounce of it, three 
 thousand two hundred and thirty-two feet ; a mark of it, or 
 eight ounces, twenty-five thousand eight hundred and fifty-six 
 feet. And yet, astonishing as this length is, for two ounces of 
 gold to be drawn to, the gold which covers the silver never ceases 
 to^ld it. The gold stiU keeps pace with the wire, stretch it to 
 what length the drawers can, through the wire-drawing irons, and 
 holes much smaller one than another. The silver never appears. 
 
 " It does not however rest there. Before the thread or wire 
 is wound on silk, and before they spin it, it must be flatted by 
 passing it between steel wheels extremely well polished, and this 
 flatting increases its length to more than a seventh part. One 
 ingot, therefore, of eight marks, or twenty-two and a half pounds, 
 and twenty-two inches long, by this increase of a seventh part, 
 is brought to the length of a hundred and eleven leagues, that 
 is, about three hundred English miles. 
 
 " But amazing as this extent is, it is not the utmost bounds to 
 which the ductihty of gold may be carried. One ounce only of 
 gold is sometimes used to cover one ingot, and drawn to the 
 length I have mentioned, and by the time it has passed the flatting 
 wheels, the gold that covers the silver laminae, must have its 
 thickness reduced to less than the milUonth part of a Une ; that 
 is, a twelve milUonth of an inch. This is beyond the reach 
 of our conception. Imagination cannot plumb her Une so low. ' ' 
 
 " But, sir," said I, " may not the gold be divided into small 
 grains separate one from another, but yet near enough to give 
 their colour to the silver ? Though we may not be able to see 
 the thing, yet I think it may be imagined ; the gold on the 
 laminae doth not form a continued leaf." 
 
 k " Experience, good sir, demonstrates the contrary, that every 
 point of silver hath its cover of gold. Put a piece of this gilt 
 wire in aqua fortis, the silver wiU be dissolved, and the gold left 
 a perfect, continuous tube. It is an amazing thing I and shews 
 the astonishing power of the first cause ! As to the reason of this 
 ductiUty, and why gold in such a manner adheres to silver, so as 
 never to part from it, if the twenty-two and a half pounds of 
 silver gilded with one ounce of gold could be extended by art for 
 ever, this is past our finding out. It is a secret of nature we can- 
 not form any idea of — 
 
 Caiignosa node premit Deus." 
 RiBBLE went on. " These are the things most remarkable in 
 relation to gold ; and I have only to add, that as to the manner 
 
382 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of getting it, it is found sometimes in glebes or clods, consisting 
 of gold alone ; sometimes in a powdery form, and then called 
 gold-dust, or sand-gold, in the sands and mud of rivers and 
 brooks ; but most commonly in whitish clods, dug out of mines 
 of vast depth, and intermixed with silver and various fossils. This 
 they reduce by fire to a mass of metal, and by aqua regia or aqua 
 f ortis, the gold is easily taken out of the ore. 
 
 " As to gold's being so yielding and ductile by human art, it is 
 to be observed, that in return it exerts a greater power on the 
 human mind. Passive it is in its ductihty, but more active in its 
 influence on man. It is a greater tyrant than a slave. It drives 
 repeated millions of the human race to death and hell. King of 
 metals as it is, bright and glorious to behold, and what procures 
 innumerable blessings to mankind ; yet, without the grace of 
 God, to moderate the passion for it, and to direct the mind in a 
 true use of it, it is more dangerous to beings on a trial in a first 
 state, than even poverty can be in this lower hemisphere. What 
 villainies are daily committed to get it ! What iniquities daily 
 perpetrated by those who have plenty of it ! Lead us not into 
 temptation, should relate as well to too much of it, as to a total 
 want of it ; and it is well prayed. In all time of our wealth, good 
 Lord deUver us. 
 
 " In my opinion, neither poverty nor riches, but a middle state, 
 is the thing we should desire. It is in this condition, we can best 
 live soberly, or with a sound mind, and conduct ourselves as those 
 who have an intelUgent spirit to preside in body. Too much gold 
 most commonly inverts this order, and produces an apostasy 
 that sets the inferior powers in the throne, and enslaves the mind 
 to the body. It gives the passions the commanding influence, 
 and makes reason receive law from appetite. 
 
 " If we look into the world, we find too often, in this case, that 
 wealth is big with innumerable sins. The rich are filled with wine, 
 wherein is excess, and shew an unbridled dissoluteness of manners. 
 Their eyes behold strange women, and their hearts utter perverse 
 things. Instead of regarding the common good, they commit the 
 most extravagant injuries. Of such a hardening nature is too 
 much gold, that it tends to make conscience insensible and stupid, 
 and renders it for ever unapt for impression. Then whoredom 
 and wine, and new wine, take away the heart, and men are made 
 to forget the law of God. 
 
 " But having neither poverty nor riches, in the calm middle 
 state, having all reasonable conveniences, we can fairly come by ; 
 a vast variety of creatures for our food, and wine in its season, to 
 make glad the heart ; we may then partake of the bounties of 
 Providence, with a sober freedom, and at the same time, can best 
 lay up for ourselves a good foundation, or security for the time to 
 come, that we may lay hold of eternal life. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 383 
 
 " Though it is with a prospect of difficulties, that all must enter 
 upon religion, and with labour and difficulty, maintain our ground, 
 and acquit ourselves like Christians, that is, resist the devil in all 
 his assaults, overcome the world in its ensnaring influence, and 
 mortify the irregular inclinations of nature ; yet in the happy 
 middle state, where there is no poverty nor riches, that is, great 
 wealth, we can make everlasting glory and felicity our governing 
 aim, and bound our ambition and desires by nothing short of 
 the resurrection of the dead. We may live in a full and ready sub- 
 mission of the soul to the authority of God's word. Things eternal 
 may have the ascendant in our practical judgment, and then with 
 pleasure we become followers of them who through faith and 
 patience inherit the promises. 
 
 " Good sir, this is all our sowing time, and whatsover a man 
 soweth, that shall he also reap. He that soweth to his flesh, 
 shall of his flesh reap corruption ; but he that soweth to the spirit, 
 shall of the spirit reap everlasting Ufe. And therefore, whether 
 your lot be CEist in the middling state, or you were born to thou- 
 sands a year, let wisdom be your rule, and prefer that happiness 
 which has everlasting duration, in the realms of light above, to 
 any present good that can come in competition with it. Do not 
 spend money for that which is not bread — and your labour for that 
 which satisfieth not. Do not employ your pains for that which 
 hath vanity written upon it, by the word of God, by the testimony 
 of the wisest men, and by frequent experience : but let your 
 principal regard be for your immortal soul, when nothing can be 
 given in exchange for the soul. Implore the light and grace of 
 the good spirit, and by the quickening influences of the Father 
 of the universe, aiid the exertion of your whole strength, let it be 
 the principal labour of your every day, to make advances in the 
 divine life, and be a blessing to society wherever you come. In 
 virtue and charity may you excel. 
 
 " You win pardon old Ribble, I hope, good sir, and excuse his 
 addressing himself to you in this manner. It is an odd con- 
 clusion, I own, to a discourse on metals and semi-metals ; but it 
 is from an extreme regard I have conceived for you, that I talk 
 as I do, and presume to call upon you, (as you are a young man of 
 fortune, I suppose) to consider seriously of that decree, which is 
 the result of unerring wisdom, and the will of the Rector of the 
 universe, to wit, that we are all under the law of death, and through 
 that gate must pass, perhaps at a day's, an hour's waxning, to the 
 resurrection of the dead, to be adjudged to happiness or misery, 
 as time has been employed, and life spent here. This is the decree 
 of the Most High God, and of consequence, it is incumbent on us, 
 to prepare for the awful hereafter, and endeavour by good action, 
 and a virtuous mind, by purity^of 'conscience, and an exalted 
 
384 THE LIFE OF 
 
 piety, to come off well in judgment. Happy, thrice happy they 
 that do so." 
 
 Here little Ribble the Chemist had done, and I had reason to 
 return him my very hearty thanks for the favour of his whole 
 discourse. I was vastly obliged to him for the. knowledge he had 
 given me, in relation to the philosophy of metals, and taking him 
 by the hand, promised him, that I would ever gratefully remember 
 his moral conclusion. This pleased the old gentleman, and at 
 four in the afternoon we parted. 
 
 Reflecting on the wonders of the metals, which I had heard old 
 Ribble so well discourse of, and being more intent on what had 
 been told me of these things, that I might never forget such useful 
 learning, I trotted on for several hours without minding the road, 
 and arrived as the sun was setting in a deep and melancholy vale, 
 through which a pleasant river ran, that by the murmur of its 
 streams, seemed to be marked out for the rendezvous of the 
 thoughtful, who love the deep recesses, and embowering woods, 
 with the soft thrillings of gliding streams, as much as the sprightly 
 court the gayest scenes. In this sweet spot, I found a pretty 
 country house, and not knowing where I was, rode up to the door, 
 to enquire my way. A gentleman, who seemed to be about forty, 
 immediately appeared, let me know I was at a considerable dis- 
 tance from any town, and as it was near ten, told me I had best 
 rest with him that night, and I was most heartily welcome. This 
 was humane and civil. I accepted the kind invitation, and im- 
 mediately went in with him. He brought me into a decent room, 
 and gave me a handsome meal. We had a couple of bottles after 
 supper, talked of a thousand things, and then withdrew to wind 
 up the machines. He would not let me stir the next morning, and 
 after dinner we became well acquainted. Six days this gentle- 
 man prevailed with me to stay at his house, and then I left him 
 with regret. He was so generous, so civil, and in every thing so 
 agreeable, that I could not avoid admiring him, and regarding 
 him to an extreme degree. His name was Moncton. 
 
 Avery Moncton had seen the world, when he was a young 
 man, and by reading much, and thinking a great deal, had ac- 
 quired an extensive knowledge, and a deep penetration : in him 
 the gentleman and the scholar were visible. He seemed superior 
 to f oUy, and his philosophy appeared to be an assiduous examina- 
 tion of his ideas, fancies, and opinions, in order to render them 
 true and just. His religion consisted in a cheerful submission to 
 the divine pleasure, with respect to all things independent of 
 us, or absolutely external to us ; and in a continued exertion of 
 benevolence, in doing all the good he could. What the theology 
 of sects was, and the notions of divines, he never minded. It was 
 his opinion, that an active charity is the only thing that can liken 
 and approve us to the original benevolent mind : and that it is 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 385 
 
 reasonable to submit to all his dispensations, since the provi- 
 dence of an infinitely perfect Being, must do all for the best in the 
 whole. This was Avery Moncton, Esq. In his person he was 
 tall, and very thin. 
 
 This gentleman told me the following remarkable story relating 
 to himself, on my asking him, if he had ever been married ? . " Yes, 
 sir," he replied. " When I was about five and twenty, a young 
 lady came in my way, who had all the external charms that ever 
 adorned a woman, and I thought, her mind as perfect in goodness 
 of every kind, as minds can be on this earth. I made my ad- 
 dresses to her, and with some difficulty persuaded her to accept of 
 a good jointure, and be a wife ; for she had got it into her head, 
 that Christian perfection consisted in a virgin-Ufe. I loved her to 
 an extreme degree, and fancied myself beyond mortals happy, as 
 her fondness seemed equal to my passion, and she expressed it in 
 a most transporting way. Three months passed on in this de- 
 lightful manner, and I should have thought an age but minutes, 
 if the scene was to have no change. But every thing must have 
 an end in this poor state. Business called me one morning early 
 into the city, and till it was late at night, I thought not to return ; 
 back however I was compelled to go for some papers, I had forgot, 
 and designing to surprise my wife agreeably, came in by a key I 
 had, at the wash-house door, and unseen went softly up to my 
 chamber, where I expected to find my beloved in a sweet sleep. 
 Gently I touched the lock, and intended as my charmer slumbered, 
 to give this idol of my heart a kiss. But, as I opened the door 
 without being heard, I saw a man by my bedside, and my fond 
 faithful wife, buttoning up his breeches. Amazement seized me, 
 but I was not in a rage. I only said ' Is that Louisa I see ? ' 
 and shut the door. Down stairs I went immediately, and out 
 again the same way I came in. I was done with love for ever, 
 and from that time never saw my wife more. A ship being to 
 sail the next day for Constantinople, I went a passenger in it, and 
 resolved to live abroad some years. 
 
 •' Six years I resided in Greece, and visited every curious place. 
 Four I spent in Asia Minor, and two in Italy and France. I 
 diverted myself with noting down the extraordinary things I saw, 
 and I purchased several fine antiquities by the way. When done, 
 I came back to my country again, and this little seat I now live 
 at, being to be sold, I bought it immediately, and have resided here 
 ever since. My study, my garden, and my horse, divert me fully 
 and finely every day. I have aU I desire in this world, and reign 
 more happily over my few subjects, in this airy, silent, secret spot, 
 than the greatest monarch can do on a throne. My people are 
 only one young man, who is my gardener, my footman, and my 
 groom, and two old women, my maids. These are ever attentive 
 to my will, and by their good behaviour and management, make 
 
386 THE LIFE OF 
 
 my lodge as agreeable, and life as pleasing, as can be expected in 
 this system of things." 
 
 Moncton's story pleased me much, and I wondered greatly at 
 his happy temper, when he saw his beloved wife buttoning up 
 the breeches of the man. " But did you ever hear what became 
 of her after ? Faulty as she was, may there not be found an 
 honest charming woman, to render your hours more deUghtful 
 than study and contrivance can make them, without a soft part- 
 ner through Ufa ? Come into the world with me, sir, and I will 
 engage to find out for you a primitive Christian of a woman, with 
 all the beauties of body that Lucian gives his images." 
 
 " You are very good, sir," replied Moncton " in offering to 
 look out for another wife for me, and I thank you very heartily, 
 for your well-meant kindness ; but as I never inquired what be- 
 came of my first wife, from the morning I left her, and know only 
 that she is dead, as her jointure has not been demanded for several 
 years past ; "so shall I never be concerned with a second. Per- 
 haps there are some honest women in the world, I hope so ; but 
 I have had enough of marriage. Beside, I think it time now to 
 turn my thoughts a better way. In the forty-fifth year of my 
 age, it cannot be weak, to begin to consider the great change 
 before me, and fix my hopes on a good remove into some better and 
 happier region. If I was unfortunate with a wife when a young 
 man, I have Uttle reason to expect better days with one, as age 
 comes on. I might find myself again most sadly mistaken. 
 But there can be no disappointment in making it the principal 
 work of life, to prepare, in such a retirement as this, for that ap- 
 proaching hour, when we must submit to the power and tjrranny 
 of death and corruption. By this means, the greatest happiness 
 may be secured. In everything else, there is uncertainty and 
 vanity. I speak principally in respect of my time of life, who 
 am hastening fast to fifty ; but at every time, it is my opinion, 
 that men, as rationals, and beings who take on themselves the 
 honourable profession of the Christian reUgion, should not comply 
 with the criminal Uberties allowed in the world, and give into the 
 illicit usages and customs of place and company, for fear of ridicule, 
 or to avoid giving ofience ; but keep strictly to the will and laws 
 of their higher country, and in all things have a special regard to 
 holiness, truth, and purity. 
 
 " I do not say this by way of preaching, but that you may 
 thereby have a truer idea of the man you chanced to find in a 
 lone house on the vast common. Seven years have I now lived 
 here, and in all that time, have not been once in London : but 
 sometimes I ride to a neighbouring village, and if on the road, or 
 at an inn, I can pick up a sensible agreeable man, I love to dine 
 with him, and drink a pint of wine. Such a man I frequently ride 
 in quest of, and if he be entirely to my mind, which is very rarely 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 387 
 
 the case, I invite him home with me, to pass at my lodge two or 
 three days. Far then am I from being unsocial, though I live in 
 sohtude ; I left the world, because I was Ul-used in it, and happen 
 to think very differently from the generality of men." Here 
 MoNCTON ended his story, and a Uttle after we parted. 
 
 I rode on for six hours without meeting with any thing remark- 
 able, but as I baited about three o'clock at a lone inn, the situa- 
 tion of which was so fine in forest and water, that I determined 
 to go no farther that day, there arrived a little after, a young 
 lady, her maid, and two men servants. They were all well- 
 mounted, and the lady's beast in particiilar, as great a beauty of its 
 kind, as its mistress was among women. I thought I had seen 
 the face before, and had been somewhere or other in her com- 
 pany ; but as it must have been several years ago, her face and 
 person were a little altered, and I could not immediately recollect 
 her ; but Fin, my lad, coming up to me, asked me, if I did not 
 remember Miss Turner of Skelsmore-vale ? " Miss Turner," 
 said I, "to be sure, now I think, it is she ; but this lady just ar- 
 rived here is much fatter, and, if it be possible, something hand- 
 somer." " It is her, believe me," quoth Fin, " and you ought to 
 wait upon her instantly." I went. It was Miss Turner, one of 
 the beauties that adorn a gallery of pictures in the North ; and 
 who is with great truth in the following lines described, in a Poem 
 written on this collection of paintings. 
 
 " But see ! Emilia rises to the sight 
 
 In every virtue, in every beauty bright ! 
 
 See those victorious eyes, that heavenly mien ! 
 
 Behold her shine like Love's resistless Queen 1 
 
 Thou fairest wonder of thy fairest kind 1 
 
 By heav'n some image of itself design'd ! 
 
 As if in thee it took peculiar care. 
 
 And form'd thee like some fav'rite seraph there. 
 
 But tho' thy beauty strikes the ravish'd sight. 
 
 Thy virtues shine distinguishingly bright ! 
 
 And all the graces of thy form combin'd. 
 
 Yield to the charms of thy unblemish'd mind; 
 
 Where all is spotless, gentle, and serene. 
 
 One calm of life untouch'd by guilt or pain ' 
 
 Could I in equal lays thy worth design, 
 
 Or paint exalted merit such as thine ! 
 
 To latest ages should thy name survive. 
 
 And in my verse EmiUa ever live ; 
 
 Th' admiring world should listen to thy praise. 
 
 And the fair portrait charm succeeding days." 
 
 This lady knew me at once, on my entering the room where she 
 was, and we dined together. She told me, her brother, my friend, 
 died in Italy, on his return home ; and Miss Jaquelot, her cousin 
 and companion, was happily married ; and that being thus left 
 alone, by these two accidents, she was going up to London, to 
 reside in the world. 
 
3«8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " Miss Turner," said I, "as you are now your own mistress, 
 I may with justice tender you my addresses, and tell you, that 
 from the first hour I saw you, I was in love with you, and am so 
 still ; that if you wiU do me the honour to be my wife, I will make 
 the best of husbands. I have now some fortune, and if you will 
 allow, that an honest man is the best companion for an honest 
 woman, let us marry in the country, and instead of going up to 
 that noisy tumultuous place London, retire to some still delight- 
 ful retreat, and there live, content with each other, as happy as it 
 is possible for two young mortals to be in this lower hemisphere. 
 What do you say. Miss Turner ? " 
 
 " You shall have my answer, sir, in a few days ; but as to going 
 up to London, I think I had best see it, sinc^ I am come so far. 
 It may give me a new reUsh for still life, and make the country 
 seem more charming than I thought it before. On the other 
 hand, it may perhaps make me in love with the town, and put me 
 out of conceit with the country. In short, on second thoughts, I 
 will not go up to the capital. I will return to Skelsmore-vale. I 
 think so now ; but how I may think in the morning, at present 
 I do not know. In the mean time," she continued, " ring, if you 
 please, for a pack of cards, and let us pass the evening in play. 
 The cards were brought in, the game began, and before we had 
 played many hours, I saw this dear charming creature was all 
 my own. She sat before me, like blushing beauty in the picture 
 in the gallery of Venus, enriched with thought, warm with desire, 
 and with delicate sensations covered over : I could not help wish- 
 ing for father Fleming, my friend, to qualify us for the implanted 
 impulse, and sanctify the call. Early the next morning I sent 
 Fm for him, and he was with me in a few days. The evening he 
 arrived we were married. Man and wife we sat down to supper. 
 
 Here the morose, the visionary, and the dunce, will again fall 
 upon me, for man:ying a fifth wife, so quickly after the decease 
 of the fourth, who had not been three months in her grave ; but 
 my answer is, that a dead woman is no wife, and marriage is 
 ever glorious. It is the institution of heaven, a blessing to society, 
 and therefore hated by the devil and mass-priests. Satan by 
 opposing it, promotes fornication and perdition. The priests by 
 preaching against it, drive the human race into cloisters ; destroy 
 every thing gentle, generous, and social ; and rob the people of 
 their property. Cehbacy is popery and hell in perfection. It is 
 the doctrine of devils, and a war with the Almighty, It is against 
 the institutions of nature and providence j and therefore, for 
 ever execrable be the memory of the mass-priests, who dare to 
 call it perfection. 
 
 1^ My dear Reader, if you are unmarried, and healthy, get a wife 
 as soon as possible, some charming girl, or pretty widow, adorned 
 with modesty, robed with meekness, and who has the grace to 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 389 
 
 attract the soul, and heighten every joy continually ; take her 
 to thy breast, and bravely, in holy wedlock, propagate. Despise 
 and hiss the mass-priests, and every visionary, who preaches the 
 contrary doctrine. They are foes to heaven and mankind, and 
 ought to be drummed out of society. 
 
 For six weeks after our marriage, we resided at the inn, on 
 account of the charms of the ground, and seemed to be in posses- 
 sion of a lasting happiness it is impossible for words to describe. 
 Every thing was so smooth and so round, that we thought pros- 
 perity must be our own for many years to come, and were quite 
 secure from the flames of destruction ; but calamity laid hold of 
 us, when we had not the least reason to expect it, and from a ful- 
 ness of peace and feUcity, we sunk at once into an abyss of afilic- 
 tions. Instead of going back to Skelsmore-vale, as we had re- 
 solved, my wife would go up to London, and pass a few weeks 
 there, and thereabout, before she retired to the mountains. I was 
 against it, but her will was my law. We set out for the capital, 
 and the first day's journey was delightful : but her fine beast 
 having met with an accident in the night, by a rope in the stable, 
 which got about its foot, cut it deep, and rendered it unable to 
 travel ; we took a chariot and four to finish our way, but on 
 driving by the side of a steep hiU, the horses took fright, ran it 
 down, overcame the carriage, and my charmer was killed. This 
 was a dismal scene. She lived about an hour, and repeated the 
 following fine lines from Boissard, when she saw me weeping as I 
 kneeled on the ground by her. 
 
 Nil prosunt lacrumse, nee possunt fata moveri : 
 
 Nee pro me queror ; hoc morte mihi est tristius ipsa, 
 
 Moeror Atimeti conjugis ille mihi.* 
 
 * These lines from the AnHquities oj Boissard, are a real mscrlption on a tomb in Italy, 
 which this antiquary found in his travels, and copied it as a curiosity to the world. 
 Homonoea was a great beaut^r at the court of the Emperor Honorius, and married to 
 Atimetus, a courtier and favourite, who preferred her to the most illustrious of ladies of that 
 time, on account of her extraordinary charms, and uncommon perfections ; but she did not long 
 enjoy the honour and happiness she was married into. Before she was twenty, death snatched 
 her away, in the year of the reign of Honorius, a.d. 4.0X, and the following beautiful epitaph 
 was cut on her monument, and remains to this day ; 1 place it here for the entertainment 
 of my readers, and likewise La Fontaine's elegant translation of it. 
 
 hokoncea's epitaph. 
 
 Si pensare animas sinerent cmdelia fata, 
 Et posset redimi morte aliena salus : 
 Quantulacunque mese debentur tempora vita 
 Pensarem pro te, cara Homoncea, Ubens. 
 At nunc quod possum, fugiam lucemque deosque, 
 Ut te matura per stuga morte sequar. 
 (Atimetus the husiand, <s the speaker of these six lines.) 
 
 Farce tuam conjuz fietu quassare juventam. 
 Fataque merendo sollicitare mea. 
 Nil prosunt lacrums, nee possunt fata moveri. 
 Vizimus : hie omnes ezitus unus habet. 
 
390 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Just IS she expired, she took me by the hand, and with the 
 spirit o an old Roman, bid me adieu. 
 
 Parce, ita non unquam. similem experiare dolorem. 
 Et faveant votis numina cuncta tuis ! 
 Quodque mihi eripuit mors inunatura juventae. 
 Hoc tibi victuro proroget ulterius. 
 
 (Homoncea is supposed to speak these eight lines, io her husband : and then relates her case 
 to the traveller, who is passing by.) 
 
 Tu qui secura procedis mente parumper 
 Siste gradum quseso, verbaque pauca lege. 
 Ilia ego qucB daris fueram prselata puellis, 
 Hoc Homoncea brevi condita sum timiulo, 
 Cui fonnam paphia, et charites, tribuere aecorem, 
 Quam Pallas cuactis artibus eruduit. 
 Nondum bis denos aetas compleverat aimos, 
 lajecere manus invida fata mihi. 
 Nee pro me queror ; hoc morte mihi est tristius ipsa, 
 Moeror Atimeti conjugis ille mihi. 
 Sit tibi terra levis, mulier dignissima vita 
 Quffique tuis olim perfruerere bonis. 
 
 {These two lines may be the words of the Public, or of whoever erected the mormment to the memory 
 of Homoncea.) 
 
 Now see how finely La Fontaine has done this inscription into verse. 
 
 Si Ton pouvoit donner ses jours pour ceux d*un autre 
 Et que par cet ^change on contentat le sort. 
 Quels que soint les momens qui me restent encore 
 Mon ame, avec plaisir, radieteroit la votre. 
 Mais le destln Tayant autrement arr6t6, 
 Je ne sgaurois qui fuir les dieux et la clart^, 
 Pour vous suivre aux enfers d'une mort avanc6e. 
 Quittez, 6 chere epouz, cette triste pens6e, 
 Vous alterez en vain les plus beaux de vos ans : 
 Cessez de fatiguer par de oris impuissans. 
 La parque et le destin, deitez inflexibles. 
 Mettez fin eL des pleurs qui ne le touchent point ; 
 Je ne suis plus: tout tent a ce supreme poinct. 
 Ainsi Qul accident, par des coups si sensibles 
 Ne vienne k I'avenir traverser vos plaisirs I 
 Ainsi rolimpe entier s'accorde a vos desirs ! 
 Veiiille enfin atropos, au cours de votre vie 
 Ajodter I'etendue k la mienne ravire ! 
 Et toy, passEint tranquille, apprens quels sont nos maux, 
 Daigne icy t'arrdter un moment a les lire, 
 Celle qui preferee aux partis les plus hauts, 
 Sur le ceur d'Atimete acquir un doux empire; 
 Qui tenoit de Venus la beauts de ses traits, 
 De Pallas son s^avoir, des graces- ses attxaits. 
 Gist sous ce peu d'espace en la tombe enserree, 
 Vingt soleils n'avoient pas ma carriere 6clair6s, 
 Le sort jetta sur mois ses envleuses mains : 
 C'est Atimete seul qui fait que je m'en plains. 
 Ma mort m'afSige moins que sa douleur amere. 
 O femme, que la terre & tes os soit legere ? 
 Femme digne de vivre ; et bientdt pusses tu 
 Recommencer de voir les traits de la lumieres, 
 Et recouvrer le bien que ton ceuif a perdu. 
 
 Or iJKts in prose. 
 
 S'il suffisoit aux destins qu'on donit sa vie pour ceUe d'un autre, et qu'il fflt possible de 
 racheter ainsi ce que Ton ayme, quelque soit le nombre d'ann6es que les parques m'ont 
 accord^, je le donnerois avec plaisir pour vous tirer de tombeau, ma chere Homon^ ; mais 
 celane sepouvant, ce que je puis faire est de fuIr le jour et la presence de dieux, pour aller 
 bientdt vous suivre le long du Styx. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 39i 
 
 Can you form any idea, Reader, of the distress I was then in ? 
 It is not possible I think unless you have been exactly in the same 
 situation ; unless you loved like me, and have been as miserably 
 separated from as charming a woman. But it was in vain for me 
 to continue lamenting. She was gone for ever, and lay as the clod 
 of the valley before me. Her body I deposited in the next church- 
 yard, and immediately after, rode as fast as I could to London, to 
 lose thought in dissipation, and resign the better to the decree. 
 For some days I lived at the inn I set up at, but as soon as I could, 
 went into a lodging, and it happened to be at the house of the 
 famous Edmund Curll the bookseller ; a man well known in 
 Pope's Dunciadj and his Letters to his Friends, on account of 
 
 O mon chere £poux, cessez de vous affliger ; ne corrompez plus le fleurs de vos ans ; ne 
 fatiguez plus ma destiii6e par de plaintes continufiUes toutes les lannes sont icy vaines ; 
 on ne sauroit 6mouvoir la parque : me voila morte, chacun arrive k ce terme la. Cessez 
 done encore un fois: ainsi puissiez-vous ne sentir jamais une semblable douleur ! /Vinsi 
 tous les dieux soient favorable a vos souhaits ! Et veiiille la parque ajodter a vdtre vie ce 
 qu'elle a ravi k la mienne. 
 
 Et toy qui passes tranquillement, arrets icy je te prie un moment ou deux, afin de lire 
 ce peu de mots. 
 
 Moy, cette Homon^e que preferra Atimete a de filles considerables ; moy a qui Venus 
 donna la beauts, les graces et les agr^mens ; que Pallas enfin avoit instruite dans tous les 
 arts, me voili icy renferm6e dans un moniunent de peu d'espace. Je n'avois pas encore 
 vingt ans quand le sort jetta ses mains envieuses sur ma personne. Ce n'est pas pour moy 
 que je m'en plains, c'est pour mon mari, de qui la douleur m'est difficile k supporter que 
 ma propre mort. 
 
 Que la terre te soit legere, 6 fepouse digne de retoumer k la vie, et de recouvrer un jour 
 qu« tu a perdu 1 
 
 The legend on the monument of Homoncea, translated into English. 
 
 AHmf$us, 
 
 If it was allowed to lay down one's life for anoth^, and possible by such means, to save 
 what we loved from the grave, whatever length of days was allotted me, I would with pleasure 
 ofEer up my life, to get Homoncea from the tomb ; but as this cannot be done, what is in 
 my power I will do, fly from the light of heaven, and follow you to the realms of lasting 
 night. 
 
 Homoncea. 
 
 My dearest Atimetus, cease to torment your unhappy mind, nor let grief thus feed on your 
 youtii, and make life bitterness itself. I am gone in the way appointed for all the mortal 
 race : all must be numbered with the dead. And since fate is inexorable, and tears are in 
 vain, weep not for me, once more I conjure you. But may you be ever happy, may Providence 
 preserve you, and add to your life those years which have been taken from mine. 
 
 The person who erected the monument to the memory of 
 Homonoea. 
 
 Stop, traveller, for a few minutes, and ponder on these lines. 
 
 Here lies Homoncea, whom Atimetus preferred to the greatest and most illustrious women 
 of his time. She had the form of Venus, the charms of the graces ; and an understanding 
 and sensibility, which demonstrated that wisdom had given to an angel's form, a mind 
 more lovely. Before she was twenty, she was dissolved. And as she had practised righteous- 
 ness, by carrying it well to those about her, and to all that were specially related, she parted 
 with them, as she had lived with 'them, in justice and charity, in modesty and submission, 
 in thankfulness and peace. Filled with divine thoughts, inured to contemplate the perfec- 
 tions of God, and to acknowledge his providence in all events, she died with the humblest 
 resignation to the divine will, and was only troubled that she left her husband a mourner. 
 Excellent Homoncea. 
 
 May the earth lie light upon thee, and in the morning of the resurrection, may you awake 
 again to life, and rise to that immortality, and glory, which God, the righteous Judge; will 
 give to true worth and dignit)^ ; as rewards to a hfe adorned with all virtues and excellencies, 
 tiie dihaiomataf that is, the righteous acts of the Saints. 
 
392 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Curll's frauds in purchasing and printing stolen copies of Pope's 
 Works. It is in relation to these triclra, that Pope mentions 
 CuRLL in his Dunciad and Letters. A succinct history of him I 
 shall here give : but had I compUed with his requests, it would 
 have been a long relation, to the advantage and glory of this 
 extraordinary man : for he came one morning into my closet, with 
 an apron full of papers ; being letters, memorandums, parodies, 
 and notes, written by or concerning himself ; and requested I 
 would, on a good consideration, write his Ufe, to his profit, and 
 honour, and make it a five shiUing book. That I said was not then 
 in my power to do ; but I would, one time or another, give the 
 pubhc a true account of him, and make it conclude I hoped to the 
 glory of his character. Here it is. 
 
 Edmund Curll was in person very tail and thin, an ungainly, 
 awkward, white-faced man. His eyes were a hght-grey, large, 
 projecting, goggle, and pur-bhnd. He was splay-footed, and 
 baker-kneed. 
 
 He had a good natural understanding, and was well acquainted 
 with more than the title pages of books. He talked well on some 
 subjects. He was not an infidel as Mrs. Rowe represents him in 
 one of her letters to lady Hartford, afterwards Dutchess of Somer- 
 set. He told me, it was quite evident to him, that the scriptures 
 of the Old and New Testament contained a real revelation. There 
 is for it a rational, a natural, a traditionary, and a supematursil 
 testimony ; which rendered it quite certain to him. He said, he 
 no more doubted the truth of the Christian religion, than he did 
 the existence of an independent supreme Creator ; but he did not 
 believe the expositions given by the divines. So far Curll was 
 right enough. His fault was, that with such a belief, he took no 
 pains with his heart. Trusting entirely to the merits of the 
 Saviour, hke too many other mistaken Christians, he had no notion 
 of rehgion as an invisible thing within us, called the kingdom of 
 God : he did not even consider it as a good outside thing, that 
 recommends a man to his fellow-creatures. He was a debauchee 
 to the last degree, and so injurious to society, that by filling his 
 translations with wretched notes, forged letters, and bad pictures, 
 he raised the price of a four shilling book to ten. Thus, in par- 
 ticular, he managed Burnet's Archesology : and when I told 
 him he was very culpable in this, and other articles he sold, his 
 answer was. What would I have him do ? He was a bookseller. 
 His translators in pay, lay three in a bed, at the Pewter-Platter Inn 
 in Holborn, and he and they were for ever at work, to deceive the 
 Public. He likewise printed the lewdest things. He lost his ears 
 for The Nun in her Smock, and another thing. As to drink, he 
 was too fond of money, to spend any in making himself happy 
 that way ; but at another's expence, he would drink every day 
 till he was quite bUnd, and as incapable of self-motion as a block. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 393 
 
 This was Edmund Currl, but he died at last, as great a penitent, 
 as ever expired. I think in 1748, I mention this to his glory. 
 
 As CuRLL knew the world well, and was acquainted with several 
 extraordinary characters, he, was of great use to me at my first 
 coming to town, as I knew nobody, nor any place. He gave me 
 the true characters of many I saw, told me whom I should avoid, 
 and with whom I might be free. He conducted me to the play- 
 houses, and gave me a judicious account of every actor. He 
 understood those things well. No man could talk better on 
 theatrical subjects. He took me likewise to Sadler's Wells, to 
 the night-cellars, and to Tom King's, the famous night-house in 
 Covent Garden. As he was very knowing, and weU-known at such 
 places, he soon made me as wise as himself in these branches of 
 learning ; and, in short, in the space of a month, I was as well 
 acquainted in London, as if I had been there for years. My kind 
 preceptor spared no pains in lecturing. 
 
 ButVhat of all things I thought most wonderful was the com- 
 pany I saw at the Sieur Curll's. As he was intimate with all the 
 high whores in town, many of them frequented his shop, to buy his 
 dialogues, and other lively books. Some of these girls he often 
 asked to dine with him, and then I was sure to be a guest. Many 
 very fine women I thereby saw, but none worth mentioning, till 
 Carola Bennet arrived, and surprised me exceedingly. Her 
 mind and body were very wonderful, and I imagine a description 
 of her, and her story afterward will not be ungrateful to my 
 readers. 
 
 'f: Carola Bennet was at this time in the two and twentieth year 
 of her age, a dazzling beauty in the height of life and vigour. Her 
 eyes were black and amazingly fine, her mouth charming, her neck 
 and breast very beautiful, and her stature was just what it ought 
 to be. She had a glow of health, a luscious air, and a bewitching 
 vivacity : her manners were wonderfully winning, and the tone 
 of her voice so sweet and insinuating, that her words and 
 looks went directly to the heart. She had read many books 
 of gaiety, wit, and humour, especially the French ; and talked 
 delightfully on such subjects. She sang to perfection, but her 
 conversation was too free, and she seemed to have no sense of any 
 religion. It was a fine entertainment to be in her company, as I 
 often was, yet I could not help sighing, to see so many perfections 
 on the brink of everlasting destruction. This young lady all of 
 a sudden disappeared, Curll knew not what was become of her ; 
 but as I rode ten years after through Devonshire, in the finest 
 part of that romantic county, I saw her one morning, as I stopped 
 to water my horse in a brook that ran from a park, sitting on a 
 seat, under a vast beautiful cedar tree, with a book in her hand. 
 I thought I was no stranger to the fine face, and as I was pretty 
 near to her, I called out, and asked, if she was not Miss Bennet ? 
 
394 THE LIFE OF 
 
 She knew me at once, and pointing to a gate that was only latched 
 desired I would come to her. I went and found she was the 
 mistress of the fine seat at a small distance off. She brought me 
 into the house, would not suffer me to stir that day, and told me 
 the story of her life. I think it worth placing here. 
 
 Carola Bennet was the daughter of John Bennet, Esq. a 
 Yorkshire gentleman, who died when she was in her 19th year, 
 and left her in the care of her aunt, an old lady who was outwardly 
 all saint, and within a devil. This Carola knew well, and 
 requested her father to get another guardian for her, or leave her 
 to manage herself ; for Mrs. Hunfleet, her aunt, was far from 
 being that primitive Christian he took her for, and so great a miser, 
 that exclusive of all her other vices, her avarice alone was enough 
 to ruin her niece. She would sacrifice the whole human race for 
 half a thousand pounds. But all his daughter said was in vain. 
 He believed his sister was godliness itself, in its utmost latitude 
 and extent ; that she lived a continued opposition to our mortal 
 enemies, the world, sin, and the devil ; and that her heart was 
 a mere magazine of universal honesty, probity of manners, and 
 goodness of Ufe and conversation. Integrity and rectitude, and 
 benevolence, as he thought, were the bright criterions of her soiil. 
 She will teach you, Carola, to fast and pray, and make you like 
 herself, a perfect saint. 
 
 It wcis to no pvurpose then for the daughter to remonstrate, she 
 could only weep, as her father was positive, and after his death 
 was obliged to go home with Mrs. Hunfleet. There, as she ex- 
 pected, she had too much of the outward bodily exercise of 
 religion, every thing that can be named within the circle of ex- 
 ternal worship ; such as public and private services, fastings, 
 macerations, bowings, expanded hands and lifted eyes, which 
 Lord Halifax in 'hK Advice to a Daughter, calls " the holy goggle ; " 
 but that all this accompanied the internal acts of the old woman's 
 mind, and went along with her heart and soul, Carola had reason 
 to doubt. She saw it was but outward profession, all hypocrisy, 
 that her life belied her creed, and that her practice was a renun- 
 ciation of the Christian reUgion. This appeared to be the case 
 very quickly. The aunt sold her to one Cantalupe for five 
 hundred pounds. Under pretence of taking her to visit a friend, 
 she brought her to a private bagnio, or one of those houses called 
 convents. 
 
 In describing a London convent, it is but proper to observe 
 that such houses stand in back courts, narrow lanes, or in the 
 most private places, and seem to be uninhabited, a& the front 
 windows are seldom opened, or like some little friary, where a 
 company of visionaries reside ; but within are elegantly furnished, 
 and remarkable for the best wines. The woman who keep the 
 house is the only person to be seen in them, unless it be sometimes, 
 
JOHN BUNCLEi ESQ. 39S 
 
 that a high-priced whore, who passes for the gentlewoman's 
 daughter, by accident appears. 
 
 In these brothels the Sieur Curll was well known, and as the 
 wine in them is always excellent, but a shilUng a bottle dearer 
 than at the tavern, and one sits without hearing the least noise, 
 or being seen by any one, I have often gone with this ingenious 
 man to such places, on account of the purity of the wine, and the 
 stillness of the house ; as there are no waiters there, nor any well- 
 drest hussies to come in the way. You are as silent as in a cave ; 
 nor does a woman appear, except as before excepted, unless it be 
 by appointment at this kind of meeting-house, as such places may 
 well be called ; for there not seldom does many a married woman 
 meet her gallant. One evening that I was there with Curll, 
 there came in the wife of a very eminent merchant, a lady of as 
 excellent a character as any in the world ; who was never as 
 much as suspected by any of her acquaintance, but allowed by 
 every body to be a woman of pure morals and unspotted chastity. 
 She came in first with a black mask on her face, from her chair, and 
 was by the woman of the house shewn into' a chamber up stairs ; 
 half an hour after, there was another soft tap at the door, and a 
 gentleman was let in, who was shewed up to the chamber the 
 lady was in. As the door of the room Curll and I were sitting in, 
 happened to be open as this adventurer passed by, I knew the 
 man. He was an Irish gentleman of large fortune, with whom I 
 was well acquainted. He was ever engaged in amours, and was 
 some years after this hanged at Cork, for ravishing Sally Squibb, 
 the quaker. His name then can be no secret, but as to the lady's 
 name, I shall never tell it, as she left several children, who are now 
 living in reputation ; but only observe, that there are, to my 
 knowledge, many women of such strict xdrtue in the world. If 
 you ask me reader, how I came to know who she was ? I will tell 
 you. As she came down stairs in a mask at ten at night, in the 
 manner she went up, I concluded she w^ a married woman of 
 distinction, and followed her chair, when it went off. She changed 
 at Temple Bar, and then took a hackney coach, which drove 
 beyond the Royal Exchange ; I followed till it stopped at a grand 
 house, into which she went without a mask, and had a fuU view 
 of her fine face. I enquired next day who Hved in the house I 
 saw her go into, and was told it was Mrs.*****, a merchant of the 
 greatest repute. Often did I see this lady after this, was several 
 times in her company, and if I had not known what I did, should 
 have thought her a woman of as great virtue as ever hved. There 
 was not the least appearance of levity or indecency in her. To 
 aU outward appearance, she was chastity and discretion in flesh 
 and blood. But as to Carola Bennet. 
 
 Soon after her aunt and she arrived at Mrs, Bedewell's, in came 
 Cantalupe as a visitor, and after tea, they went to cards. Then 
 
396 THE LIFE OF 
 
 followed a supper, and when that was over, they gave the innocent 
 Miss Bennet a dose, which deprived her of her senses, put her to 
 bed, and in the morning she found herself ruined in the arms of 
 that villain Cantalupe. Distraction almost seized her, but he 
 would not let her stir. She called, but no one came near to her 
 relief. He swore a million of oaths, that it was pure love made 
 him buy her of her aunt, as he heard she was going to marry 
 another man, and if she would but share with him in his great 
 fortune, since the thing was done, he would, by every sacred 
 power he vowed, marry her that evening or the next, the first time 
 they went out, and be the most true and tender husband that ever 
 yet appeared in the world. This, and the situation she was in, 
 naked and clasped in his strong arms, without a friend to aid her, 
 within doors or without, made her sensible her resentments were 
 in vain, and that she had better acquiesce, and make the man her 
 husband, if she could, since it was her hard fate, and that in all 
 probabihty she might conceive from the transactions of the night. 
 This made her have done. She lay as he requested till noon, and 
 hoped he would prove as faithful as he had solemnly swore to her. 
 
 But when the night came, an indisposition he feigned, made him 
 unable to stir out that evening, and he requested the idol of his 
 heart, whom he loved more than Ufe, to give him leave to defer 
 it till the next. For six days he put it ofi in the same manner, 
 during which time, they never stirred out of the bagnio, and the 
 seventh day he left her fast asleep in bed. A billet-doux on the 
 dressing-table informed her, that he was obUged to set out that 
 morning for France, and as he intended to be back in a few months, 
 he hoped she would not think him faithless at once. He left her 
 a hundred pound bank note, which was all he had then to spare, 
 as he had paid to her aunt five hundred pounds a few days before. 
 
 Thus fell the beautiful Miss Bennet by the treachery of her 
 ever-cursed aunt, and was made a whore very much against her 
 will. The aunt, in the mean time, had shut up her house, and was 
 gone no one knew where. She took several jewels with her, and a 
 large sum of money, both the property of her niece. She left her 
 but little of her fortune, and reported every where, that Carola 
 was gone into keeping with a great man, and had before been 
 debauched by her footman. In short, all that could be done 
 this woman did, to impoverish and defame her niece, and as she 
 had passed upon the world for a praying, virtuous old piece, 
 her reports were thought so true, that all the female acquaintance 
 Miss Bennet had, laughed at the story she told, and shunned 
 her as a foul fiend. She was banished from all modest company. 
 They considered her as the most detestable prostitute, for excusing 
 herself, they said, by blackening the character of so pious and 
 upright a woman as Mrs. Hunfleet, her aunt, was. 
 
 Thus did iniquity ruin and triumph over innocence, in the 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 397 
 
 mask of religion, and a thousand times, to my own knowledge, 
 it has done the same thing. I have often known wretches 
 pretend to seek the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, 
 in the first place, and by believing all the monks have invented, 
 by constantly attending public worship, and an unnatural kind 
 of sobriety, pass for people that were ready and willing to 
 suffer every thing the cause of God and truth can require 
 from rationals ; yet these holy mortals could make the service 
 of God not only stand with unwiUing infirmities, the common 
 case of the best humanity, but consist with wilful and pre- 
 sumptuous sinning, and a malevolence as great as the devil 
 had against our first parents. A minister of the gospel, who 
 passed for an admirable man, did his best to ruin my character 
 for ever with my father. One of the holiest men in the world, 
 cheated me of a thousand pounds, left in his hands for my use, 
 for fear I should spend it myself. And a rich man, commonly 
 called piety and goodness, from the seeming simplicity of his 
 manners, the softness of his temper, and the holy goggle of. his 
 eyes in his pubhc devotion, arrested me on a note of hand, one- 
 third of which was interest thrown into the principal, and made 
 me pay interest upon interest, without mercy, or waiting as I 
 intreated, till it was more convenient. Many more such pra3?ing, 
 sanctified villains I could mention, in respect of whom Edmund 
 CuRLL was a cherubim, fond as he was of a girl and a flask. Curll 
 owned he was a sinner, and that he was led by thirst and repletion 
 to indulge ; but the hypocrites with professions -of esteem for the 
 pearl of great price, and that they have parted with their Herodias, 
 for the sake of eternal life ; yet wilfully disobey from a passion 
 for substance, and the shrine of bright Mammon in this world 
 has a greater influence on their souls than all the joys of an ever- 
 lasting heaven to come. What they do is a farce. Upon what 
 they have, they rest their all. 
 
 But as to Miss Bennet, in this sad condition, she secreted 
 herself for some months from the world, and notwithstanding her 
 constitution and taste, intended to retire among the mountains 
 of Wales, and live upon the little she had left ; but unfortunately 
 for so good a design, the matchless Sir Frederic Dancer came 
 in her way, and by money, and the force of love, persuaded her 
 to be his companion while he lived, which was but for a short time. 
 A young nobleman prevailed on her next, by high rewards, to be 
 the delight of his Ufe for a time ; and at his death, she went to the 
 arms of an Irish peer. She had what money she pleased from 
 these great men, and being now very rich, she determined, on the 
 marriage of her last Lord, to go into keeping no more, but to live 
 a gay life among the agreeable and grand. She had lost all her 
 notions of a weeping and gnashing of teeth to come, in the con- 
 versation of these atheistical men, and on account of her living 
 
398 THE LIFE OF 
 
 as happily as she could in this world. What religion she had 
 remaining, was placed in giving money to the sick and poor, 
 which she did with a liberal hand ; and her charity, in all its 
 charms, she often shewed to the most deserving men. Those who 
 had much of this world's goods paid dear, but she had compassion 
 on the worthy, though they could not drive in a chariot to her 
 door. This was the case of Carola, when I saw her at Curll's. 
 
 But all of a sudden she disappeared, and no one could tell what 
 was become of her ; that I, however, learned from herself, when I 
 chanced to see her under the cedar tree, in the park, as before 
 related. 
 
 A young clergyman, one Tench, an Irishman, of the county of 
 Galway, who was very rich, and had a fine seat in Devonslure, 
 saw her at the opera, and fell in love with her. He soon found 
 out who she was, waited upon her, and offered to marry her, 
 if she would reform. At first, she shewed very little incUnation 
 to a virtuous course, and, as her manner was, ridiculed the interest 
 of another life. The blessedness of heaven she laughed at, and made 
 a jest of riches, honours, and pleasures to be found on the other side 
 the grave. This did not however dishearten Tench. He was a 
 scholar and a man of sense, and as he loved her most passionately, 
 and saw she had a fine capacity, he was resolved, if possible, to 
 reclaim her, by an appeal to her bright understanding. 
 
 He observed to her, in the first place, as she informed me, that, 
 exclusive of future happiness, godliness was profitable in all 
 things, that is, even in this Ufe, in prosperity and adversity, in 
 plenty and in want, in peace and in war, in confusion and security, 
 in health, in honour and disgrace, in life and in death, and in what 
 condition soever we may be. This he proved to her satisfaction, 
 and made it plain to her conception, that by it only we can 
 acquire a right judgment of persons and things, and have a just 
 and due estimate of ourselves ; that unless held in by reason and 
 religion, pleasure, though innocent of itself, becomes a thing of 
 deadly consequence to mortals ; and if we do not use it in due 
 time, place, circumstance, measure and limits, it necessarily 
 involves us in difficulties and troubles, pain and infamy ; if we 
 stifle the grand leading principles, reason and rehgion, by sin and 
 vice, and let desire and incUnation range beyond bounds, we 
 must not only plunge into various woes in this world, but as 
 creatures degenerated below the beast, become the contempt 
 and abhorrence of the wise and honest. To this sad condition 
 must be annexed a reflective misery, as we have conscience or 
 reason, that will examine, now and then, the whole procedure of 
 Ufe, do all we can to prevent it, and the remorse that must ensue, 
 on account of our wretched and ridiculous conduct, is too bitter 
 a thing for a reasonable creature to acquire, for the sake of illicit 
 gratification only ; and this becomes the more grievous in re- 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 399 
 
 flection, as pleasures are not forbidden by religion, but allowed 
 to the most upright, and ordained for the holy service of God to 
 recruit nature, and enliven the spirits ; to propagate the human 
 species, and preserve the flame of love in the married state. If 
 there was then no other life but this, it is most certainly our 
 interest in regard to fame and advantage, to be governed by 
 reason and religion. 
 
 And if we are not to be annihilated with the beast, but are to 
 answer hereafter for what we have done, whether it be good or 
 bad, surely the main business of life should be to govern ourselves 
 by godliness, that is to be Christians in our principles, holy in our 
 conversation, and upright in our behaviour. If the gospel be true, 
 as has been proved a thousand and a thousand times, by the 
 wisest men in the world, to the confusion and silence of infideUty, 
 and the Son of God came into the world, not to make Judea the 
 seat of absolute and universal empire, and establish a temporal 
 dominion in all possible pomp and magnificence, as the Jews most 
 erroneously and ridiculously fancied, and to this day believe, 
 but to prepare greater things for us ; to relieve us from the power 
 of sin, and the endless and unspeakable miseries of the hfe which 
 is to come ; to propose a prize far more worthy of our expectations 
 than the glories of civil power, and to secure to us the happiness 
 both of soul and body to all eternity, in the kingdom of God ; 
 then certainly, in regard to ourselves, we ought to attend to his 
 heavenly lessons, and turn from the unlawful enjoyments of this 
 hfe, to the endless and solid happiness of a future state. As this 
 is the case, we should cherish and improve a faith of invisible 
 things, by serious and impartial consideration. We should attend 
 to the evidence which God has given us for the truth of Christianity, 
 evidence very cogent and sufficient ; and then shew our faith by 
 works suited to the doctrine of Christ ; that is, by recommending, 
 the practice of virtue, and the worship of one God, the Creator 
 of the Universe. 
 
 " Consider then. Miss Bennet," said he, " that you stand on 
 the brink of death, resurrection, and judgment ; and it is time 
 to begin by serious and humble enquiry to arrive at a faith of 
 strength, and activity ; that by your eminence in aU virtue and 
 holiness, you may make the glorious attempt to be greatest in 
 the kingdom of heaven. This will be a work worthy of an im- 
 mortal Soul. Nor will it hinder you from enjoying as much 
 happiness in this lower hemisphere, as reason can desire. For 
 godliness is profitable unto aU things, having promise of the hfe 
 that now is, and of that which is to come." 
 
 " Thus," continued Miss Bennet that was, " did this excellent 
 young clerg5rman talk to me, and by argument and reasoning 
 in. the gentiest manner, by good sense and good manners, made 
 me a convert to Christianity and goodness. He snatched me 
 
40O THE LIFE OF 
 
 from the gulph. of eternal perdition, and from the realms of dark- 
 ness, and the society of devils, brought me into the kingdom of 
 the Messiah. To make me as happy as it weis possible even in 
 this world, he married me, and landed me in this charming spot 
 you found me in. For seven years, we lived in great happiness, 
 without ever stirring from this fine solitude, and since his death, 
 I have had no incUnation to return to the world ; I have one lady 
 for my companion, an agreeable sensible woman, a near relation 
 of Mr. Tench's, and with her, and some good books, and three or 
 four agreeable neighbours, have all the felicity I care for in this 
 world. When you saw me at Currl's, I had no taste for any thing 
 but the comedy, the opera, and a tale of La Fontaine ; but you 
 found me with a volume of Tillotson in my hand, under that 
 aged and beautiful cedar, near the road ; and in those sermons 
 I now find more deUght, in the solemn shade of one of those fine 
 trees, than ever I enjoyed in the gayest scenes of the world. 
 In these sweet silent walks I am really happy. Riches and honour 
 are with me, yea durable riches and righteousness. To the 
 blessings of time, I can here add the riches of expectation and 
 comfort, the riches of future glory and happiness. This makes 
 me fond of this fine retreat. In contentment, peace, and comfort 
 of mind, I now live ; and by hearkening to the commandments, 
 my peace is a river." 
 
 f- Here Mrs. Tench had done, and I was amazed beyond ex- 
 pression. This charming Ubertine was quite changed. It was 
 formerly her wont, when I have sat an evening with her at Curll's, 
 to make a jest of the Christian scheme, to laugh at the '.devil and 
 his flames ; her life was all pleasure, and her soul all whim, but 
 when I saw her last, she w£is serious, and seemed to enjoy as happy 
 a serenity and composure of mind, as ever mortal was blessed 
 with. Even her eyes had acquired a more sober Ught, and in the 
 place of a wild and luscious air, a beautiful modesty appeared. 
 And now to what shall I ascribe this astonishing alteration ? 
 Shall I say with our methodists and other visionaries, that it must 
 be owing to immediate impulse, and proceeded from inward im- 
 pression of the Spirit ? No, this will not do. It weis owing 
 clearly to the word, not in-spoken, but taught by Christ in bis 
 gospel. When her friend Tench opened the New Testament to 
 her, her good understanding incUned her to hearken. She began 
 to consider, she pondered, and had a regard to the gospel, now 
 laid before her, by that sensible and excellent young clergyman. 
 She became a believer. And as the Apostle sa3rs. We can do all 
 things through Christ who strengthens us ; that is, says Dr. Hunt, 
 in one of his first sermons, through the directions of Christ, and 
 through the arguments and motives of the Christian doctrine. 
 Well said, Hunt. It must be our own choice, to be sure, to be good 
 and virtuous. So far as men are passive, and are acted upon. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 401 
 
 they are not agents. Without power to do good or evil, men 
 cannot be moral or accountable beings, and be brought into 
 judgment, or receive according to their works. 
 
 Dr. Lardner, in his excellent Sermon on the Power and Efficacy 
 of Christ's Doctrine, has a fine observation ; would any say, that 
 the necessity of immediate and particular influences from Christ 
 himself, is imphed in this context, where he says that he is a vine, 
 and his disciples branches, and that their bearing fruit depends as 
 much upon influences from him, as the life and vigour~of branches 
 do upon the sap derived from the root of the tree? It would be easy 
 to answer, that the argument in the text is a simiUtude, not literal 
 truth. Neither is Christ literally a vine, nor are his disciples, 
 strictly speaking, branches. Men have a reasonable, intellectual 
 nature, above animals and vegetables. They are not governed 
 by irresistible, and necessary, or mechanical powers. But it is 
 sound doctrine, and right principles, particularly the words of 
 Christ, which are the words of God, that are their hfe, and may, 
 and will, if attended to, powerfully enable them to promote good 
 works, and to excel and persevere therein." 
 
 But it is time to return to my own story. While I lodged' at 
 Curll's two Irish gentlemen came to see me, Jemmy King an 
 attorney, and that famous master in chancery, who debauched 
 Nelly Hayden the beauty, and kept her several years. I knew 
 these men were as great rakes as ever hved, and had no notion 
 of religion ; that they were devoted to pleasure, and chased away 
 every sober thought and apprehension by company, and by empty, 
 vicious, and unmanly pleasures. The voice of the monitor was 
 lost, in the confused noise and tumult of the passions, but I 
 thought they had honour at the bottom, according to the common 
 notion of it. I never imagined they were sharpers, nor knew, 
 that being ruined in Ireland, they came over to live by a gaming 
 table. The Doctor especially, I thought, was above ever becoming 
 that kind of man, as he had a large estate, and the best education ; 
 always kept good company ; and to appearance, was as fine a 
 gentleman as ever was seen in the world. With these two I 
 dined, and after dinner, they brought me, as it were, out of 
 curiosity, to a gaming table, they had by accident discovered, 
 where there was a bank kept by men of the greatest honour, 
 who played quite fair, and by hazarding a few guineas, I might 
 perhaps, as they did, come off with some hundreds. 
 
 On entering the room, I saw about twenty well-drest men sitting 
 round a table, on which lay a vast heap of gold. We all began to 
 play, and for two or three hours, I did win some hundreds of 
 pounds ; the Doctor and the other cheat, his friend, seemed to 
 lose a large sum ; but before morning they won all back from me, 
 with much more : and I not only lost what I had then, but the 
 thousands I had gained by my several wives ; and excepting a 
 
402 THE LIFE OF 
 
 few pounds, all I was worth in the world. I had sold my wives' 
 estates, and lodged the money in my banker's hands. The villains 
 round this table got it all, and my two Irishmen were not to be 
 seen. They disappeared, and left me madly plajdng away my 
 all. I heard no more of them, till I was told several years after, 
 that they were in the Isle of Man, among other outlawed, aban- 
 doned, wicked men, where they drank night and day, according 
 to the custom of the place, and Uved in defiance of God and man. 
 There these two advocates of impiety dwelt for some time, and 
 died as they had lived ; enemies to all good principles, and friends 
 to a general corruption. 
 
 As to the weU-drest company round the table, they went ofi 
 one by one, and left me alone to the bitter thought, which led 
 me to reflect on what I was some hours before, by what I then 
 found myself to be. I was almost distracted. What had I to 
 do with play ? I wanted nothing. And now by villains, with 
 a set of dice that would deceive the devil, I am undone. By 
 sharpers and false dice I have sat to be ruined. The reflection 
 numbed my senses for some time : and then I started, became 
 wild, and raved. 
 
 This transaction made me very thoughtful, and I sat within 
 for several days, thinking which way to turn. CuRLLsawI was 
 perplexed, and on his asking me if I had met with any misfortune, 
 I told him the whole case ; that I had but one hundred pounds 
 left, and requested he would advise me what I had best do. TcJ do 
 justice to everyone, Curll seemed deeply concerned, and after 
 some silence, we sat over a bottle at a Cofiee-house, he bid me take 
 notice of an old gentleman, who was not far from us. " That is 
 Dunk the miser, who Uves in a wood about twenty miles off. He 
 has one daughter, the finest creature in the universe, and who is to 
 succeed to his great estate, whether he will or not, it being so settled 
 at his marriage ; but he confines her so much in the country, and 
 uses her so cruelly every way, that I beheve she would run away 
 with any honest young fellow, who could find means to address 
 her. Know then," continued CuRLL,"that I serve Mr. Dunk with 
 paper, pens, ink, wax, pamphlets, and every thing he wants in my 
 way. Once a quarter of a year, I generally go to his country- 
 house with such things, as he is glad to see me sometimes ; or if I 
 cannot go myself, I send them by some other hand. Next week I 
 am to forward some things to him, and if you will take them, I will 
 write a line by you to Miss his daughter, recommend you to her for 
 a husband, as one she may depend on for honour and truth. She 
 knows I am her friend, and who can tell, but she may go off with 
 you. She will have a thousand a year, when the wretch her father 
 dies, if he should leave his personal estate another way." 
 
 This thought pleased me much, and at the appointed time, away 
 I went to Mr. Dunk's country-house with a wallet full of things, 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 403 
 
 and delivered Curll's letter to Miss. As soon as she had read it, I 
 began my address, and in the best manner I could, made her an 
 offer of my service, to deliver her from the tyrant her father. I 
 gave her an account of a little farm I had on the borders of Cum- 
 berland, a purchase I had made, on account of the charms of the 
 ground, and a small pretty lodge which stood in the middle of it, 
 by a clump of old trees, near a murmuring stream ; that if she 
 pleased, I would take her to that sweet, silent spot, and enable her 
 to live in peace, with contentment and tranquilUty of mind ; 
 though far away from the splendours and honours of the world, 
 and considering, that a Christian is not to conform to the world, or 
 to the pomps and vanities of it ; its grand customs and usages ; 
 its dress and entries ; its stage representations and masquerades, 
 as they minister to vice, and tend to debauch the manners ; but 
 are to look upon ourselves as beings of another world, and to form 
 our minds with these spiritual principles ; it follows then, I think, 
 that a pleasing country situation for a happy pair must be grateful 
 enough. There peace and love and modesty may be best pre- 
 served ; the truth and gravity of our reUgion be strictly main- 
 tained, and every lawful and innocent enjoyment be for ever the 
 deUghts of Ufe. Away from the idle modes of the world, perpetual 
 love and unmixed joys may be our portion, through the whole of 
 our existence here ; and the inward principles of the heart be ever 
 laudable and pure. So will our happiness as mortals be stable, 
 subject to no mixture or change ; and when called away from this 
 lower hemisphere, have nothing to fear, as we used this world, as 
 though we used it not ; as we knew no gratifications and liberties 
 but what our reUgion allows us, as our enjoyments wiU be but the 
 necessary convenience and accommodation, for passing from this 
 world to the realms of eternal happiness. Follow me then. Miss 
 DuNK'; I will convey you to a scene of still life and fehcity, great 
 and lasting as the heart of woman can wish for. 
 
 The charming Agnes seemed not a httle surprised at what I had 
 said, and after looking at me very earnestly for a minute or two, 
 told me, she would give me an answer to Mr. Curll's letter in less 
 than half an hour, which was all she could say at present, and with 
 it I returned to give him an account of the reception I had. 
 " It will do," said he, after he had read the letter I brought 
 him from Miss Dunk, but you must be my young man for a week or 
 two more, and take some more things to the same place. He then 
 shewed me the letter, and I read the following Hnes : — 
 " Sir, 
 
 " I am extremely obliged to you for your concern about my 
 hfippiness and liberty, and will own to you, that in my dismal 
 situation, I would take the friend you recommend, for a guide 
 through the wilderness, if I could think his heart was as sound as 
 his head. If his intentions were as upright as his words are fluent 
 
404 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and good, I need not be long in pondering on the scheme he pro- 
 posed. But can we believe him true as Lucinda says in the play ? 
 
 The sunny hill, the flowr'y vale. 
 The garden and the grove, 
 
 Have echo'd to his ardent tale. 
 And vows of endless love. 
 
 The conquest gain'd, he left his prize. 
 He left her to complain. 
 
 To talk of joy with weeping eyes. 
 And measiure time by pain. 
 
 To this CURLL replied in a circumstantial manner, and vouched 
 very largely for me. I delivered his letter the next morning,, when 
 I went with some acts of parliament to old Dunk and I found the 
 beauty, his daughter, in a rosy bower ; Simplex munditiis, neat and 
 clean as possible in the most genteel undress ; and her person so 
 vastly fine, her face so vastly charming ; that I could not but 
 repeat the lines of Otway : — 
 
 Man when created first wander'd up and down. 
 Forlorn and silent as his vassal brutes ; 
 But when a heav'n-born maid, like you appear'd. 
 Strange pleasures fiU'd his soul, unloos'd his tongue. 
 And his first talk was love. 
 
 I said much upon the occasion, we became well acquainted that 
 day, as her father had got a disorder that obliged him to keep his 
 bed, and by the time I had visited her a month longer, under 
 various pretences of business invented by the ingenious Curll, 
 Agnes agreed to go off with me, and commit herself entirely to my 
 care and protection. But before I relate this transaction, I think it 
 proper to give my readers the picture of this lady ; and then an 
 apology for her flying away with me, with whom she was but a 
 month acquainted. 
 
 Agnes in her person was neither tall nor thin, but almost both, 
 young and lovely, graceful and commanding ; she inspired a res- 
 pect, and compelled the beholder.to admire, to love and reverence 
 her. Her voice was melodious ; her words quite charming ; and 
 every look and motion to her advantage. Taste was the character- 
 istic of her understanding, her sentiments were refined, and a 
 sensibihty appeared in every feature of her face. She could talk 
 on various subjects, and comprehended them, which is what few 
 speakers do ; but with the finest discernment she was timid, and 
 so dif&dent of her opinion, that she often concealed the finest 
 thoughts under a seeming simplicity of sovl. This was visible to a 
 hearer, and the decency of ignorance added a new beauty to her 
 character. In short, possessed of excellence, she appeared uncon- 
 scious of it, and never discovered the least pride or precipitancy 
 in her conversation. Her manner was perfectly pohte, and mixed 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 405 
 
 with a gaiety that charmed, because it was as free from restraint as 
 from boldness. 
 
 In sum, exclusive of her fine understanding, in her dress, and in 
 her behaviour, she was so extremely pleasing, so vastly agreeable 
 and delightful, that she ever brought to my remembrance, when I 
 beheld her, the Corinna described in the beautiful lines of 
 Tibullus :— 
 
 Illam quioquid agit, qnoquo vestigia flectit, 
 Componit furtim subsequiturque decor ; 
 Seu solvit crines, f usis decet esse capillis ; 
 Seu compsit comptis est veneranda comis. 
 Urit seu tyria voluit procedere puUa ; 
 Urit seu nivea Candida veste venit. 
 Talis in Eeterno felix Vertumnus Olympo 
 Mille habet omatus, mille decenter habet. 
 
 When love would set the gods on fire, he flies 
 ». To light his torches at her sparkling eyes. 
 
 Whate'er Corinna does, where'er she goes. 
 The graces all her motions still compose. 
 How her hair charms us, when it loosely falls, 
 Com'd back and ty'd, our veneration calls ! 
 If she comes out in scarlet, then she turns 
 Us aU to ashes, — though in white she burns. 
 Vertumnus so a thousand dresses wears, 
 So in a thousand, ever grace appears. 
 
 Such was the beautiful Agnes, who went off with me, and in 
 doing so acted well and wisely, I affirm, on her taking me only for 
 an honest man ; for there is no more obedience due from a 
 daughter to her father, when he becomes an unrelenting oppressor, 
 than there is from a subject to an Enghsh king, when the monarch 
 acts contrary to the constitution. Passive obedience is as much 
 nonsense in a private family, as in the government of the prince. 
 The parent, like the king, must be a nursing father, a rational 
 humane sovereign, and so long all service and obedience are due. 
 But if, hke the prince, he becomes a tyrant, deprives his daughter 
 of her natural rights and hberties ; will not allow her the blessings 
 of Ufe, but keep her in chains and misery ; self-preservation, and 
 her just claim to the comforts of existence and a rational freedom, 
 give her a right to change her situation, and better her condition. 
 If she can have bread, serenity, and freedom, peace and Uttle, with 
 an honest man, she is just to herself in going off with such a 
 deUverer. Reason and revelation will acquit her. 
 
 Thus justly thought Miss Dunk, and therefore with me she fled 
 at midnight. We met within half a mile of her father's house, by 
 the side of an ancient wood, and a running stream, which had a 
 pleasing effect, as it happened to be a bright moonshine. With 
 her foot in my hand, I lifted her into her saddle, and as our horses 
 were excellent, we rode many miles in a few hours. By eight in 
 
406 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the morning, we were out of the reach of old Dunk, and at the sign 
 of the Pilgrim, a lone house in Esur-vale, in Hertfordshire, we 
 breakfasted very joyfully. The charming Agnes seemed well 
 pleased with the expedition, and said a thousand things that ren- 
 dered the journey delightful. Twelve days we travelled in a ful- 
 ness of deUghts, happy beyond description, and the thirteenth 
 arrived at a village not far from my httle habitation. Here we 
 designed to be married two days after, when we had rested, as 
 there was a church and a parson in the town, and then ride on to 
 Foley- farm in Cumberland, as my small spot was called, and there 
 sit down in peace and happiness. 
 
 But the second day, instead of rising to the nuptial ceremony, 
 to crown my Ufe with unutterable bliss, and make me beyond aU 
 mankind happy, the lovely Agnes fell ill of a fever. A sense of 
 weight and oppression discovered the inflammation within, and 
 was attended with sharp and pungent pains. The blood could 
 not pass off as it ought in the course of circulation, and the whole 
 mass was in a violent fluctuation and motion. In a word, she died 
 in a few days, and as she had requested, if it came to that, I laid 
 her out, and put her into the cofiin myself. I kept her seven days, 
 according to the custom of the old Romans, and then in the dress of 
 sorrow, followed her to the grave. Thus was my plan of happiness 
 broken to pieces. I had given a roundness to a system of feUcity, 
 and in the place of it saw death and horror, and disappointment 
 before me. 
 
 What to do next I could not tell. One question was, should I 
 return to Orton-lodge, to my two young heiresses ? No, they 
 wanted two years of being at age. Then, shall I stay at Foley- 
 farm where I was, and turn hermit ? No : I had no incUnation 
 yet to become a father of the deserts. Will you return to London 
 then, and see if fortune has any thing more in reserve for you ? 
 This I Uked best, and after six months' deUberation left my farm in 
 the care of an old woman, and set out in the beginning of January. 
 
 It was as fine a winter's morning as I had seen, which encouraged 
 me to venture among the Fells of Westmoreland ; but at noon the 
 weather changed, and an evening very terrible came on. A httle 
 after three, it began to blow, rain, and snow very hard, and it was 
 not long before it was very dark. We lost the way quite, and for 
 three hours wandered about in as dismal a night as ever poor 
 travellers had. The storm rattled, the tempest howled ; we could 
 not see our horses' heads, and were almost dead with cold. We 
 had nothing to expect but death, as we knew not which way to 
 turn to any house, and it was impossible to remain aUve till the 
 day appeared. It was a dismal scene. But my time wsis not yet 
 come, and when we had no reason to expect dehverance, the beasts 
 of a sudden stopt, and Soto found we were at the gate of a walled 
 yard. There he immediately made all the noise he could, and it 
 
JOHN S UNCLE, ESQ. 407 
 
 was not long before a servant with a lantern came. He related 
 our case within, and had orders to admit us. He brought me into 
 a common parlour, where there was a good fire, and I got dry 
 things. The man brought me half a pint of hot aUcant, and in about 
 half an hour I was alive and. well again. On enquiring where I 
 was, the footman told me, it was Doctor Stanvil's house ; that 
 his master and lady were above in the dining-room, with some 
 company, and he had directions to light me up, when I had changed 
 my clothes, and had recovered. Upon this I told him I was ready, 
 and followed him. 
 
 On the servant's opening a door, I entered a handsome apart- 
 ment, well lighted with wax, and which had a glorious fire blazing 
 in it. The doctor received me with great poUteness, and said many 
 civil things upon fortune's conducting me to his house. The con- 
 versation naturally fell upon the horrors of the night, as it still 
 continued to rain, hail and blow, beyond what any of tlje company 
 had ever heard ; and one of the ladies said, she believed the winter 
 was always far more boisterous and cold among the FeUs of West- 
 moreland, than in any other part of England, for which she gave 
 several good reasons. The solemn mountains ; the beautiful 
 valleys, the falling streams constitute to form this one otthe most 
 charming countries in the world in summer-time ; but in winter, it 
 is surely the most dreadful spot on earth. 
 
 The voice of the lady who talked in this manner, I thought I was 
 well acquainted with, but by the position of the candles, and the 
 angle of a screen in which she sat, I could not very well see her face. 
 Amazement however began to seize me, and as an elegant supper 
 was soon after brought in, I had an opportunity of seeing that Miss 
 Dunk whom I had buried, was now before my eyes in the charac- 
 ter of Dr. Stanvil's wife ; or, at least , it was one so like her, it was 
 not possible for me to distinguish the figures : there was the same 
 bright victorious eyes and chestnut hair ; the complexion like a 
 blush, and a mouth where all the little loves for ever dwelt ; there 
 was the fugitive dimple, the enchanting laugh, the rosy fingers, the 
 fine height, and the mien more striking than Calypso's. O 
 heavens ! said I to myself, on sitting down to supper, what is this 
 I see ! But as she did not seem to be at all affected, or shewed the 
 least sign of her having ever seen me before that time, I remained 
 silent, and only continued to look with admiration at her, unmind- 
 ful of the many excellent things before me. In a minute or two, 
 however, I recovered myself. I ate my supper, and joined in the 
 festivity of the night. We had music, and several songs. We 
 were easy, free, and happy as well-bred people could be. 
 
 At midnight we parted, and finding an easy-chair by the side of 
 my bed, I threw myself into it, and began to reflect on what I had 
 seen ; Fin standing [before me with his arms folded, and looking 
 very seriously at me. This lasted for about a quarter of an hour 
 
408 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and then the honest fellow spoke in the following manner. " I 
 beg leave, Sir, to imagine you are perplexing yourself about the 
 lady of this house, whom I suppose you take for Miss Dunk, we 
 brought from the other side of England, half a year ago, and buried 
 in the next church-yard to Blenkem. This, if I may be so free, is 
 Ukewise my opinion. I would take my oath of it in a court of 
 justice, if there was occasion for that. However she got out of the 
 grave, and by whatever casualty she came to be Mrs. Stanvil, 
 and mistress of this fine house ; yet I could swear to her being the 
 lady who travelled with us from the west to Cumberland. But 
 then, it seems very wonderful and strange, that she should forego 
 you. Sir, so soon, or be able to act a part so amazing, as to seem 
 not to have ever seen you before this night. This has astonished 
 me, as I stood behind your chair at supper, looking full at her ; 
 and I observed she looked at me once or twice. What to say to all 
 this, I know not ; but I will make all the inquiry I can among the 
 servants, as to the time and manner of her coming here, and let you 
 know to-morrow, what I have been able to collect in relation to her. 
 In the mean time, be advised by me. Sir, though I am but a poor 
 fellow, and think no more about the matter to the loss of your 
 night's rest. We have had a wonderful deUverance from death 
 by getting into this house, I am sure, and we ought to he down with 
 thankfulness and joy, without fretting ourselves awake for a 
 woman, or any trifling incident that could befaU. Beside, she is 
 now another man's property, however it came to pass, and it 
 would be inconsistent with your character to think any more of 
 her. This may be too free, but I hope. Sir, you wiU excuse it in a 
 servant who has your interest and welfare at heart." Here the 
 sage O'FiN had done. He withdrew, and I dosed into sleep. 
 
 Betimes the next morning O'Fin was with me, and on my ask- 
 ing what news, he said, he had heard something from all the ser- 
 vants, and more particularly had got the following account from 
 the doctor's own man : that Dr. Stanvil had a small lodge within 
 three miles of the house we were in, and retired there sometimes to 
 be more alone, than he could be in the residence where we were at ; 
 that this lodge was a mere repository of curiosities, in the middle 
 of a garden full of all the herbs and plants that grew in every 
 country of the world, and in one chamber of this house was a great 
 number of skeletons, which the doctor had made himself ; for it 
 was his wont to procure bodies from the surrounding church-yards, 
 by men he kept in pay for the purpose, and cut them up himself at 
 this lodge : that some of these dead were brought to him in ham- 
 pers, and some in their cof&ns on Ught railed cars, as the case 
 required : that near six monthe ago, the last time the doctor was 
 at this lodge, there was brought to him by his men the body of a 
 young woman in her cof&n, in order to a <fissection as usual, and 
 the bones being wired ; but as it lay on the back, on the great table 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 409 
 
 he cuts up on, and the point of his knife at the pit of the stomach, 
 to open the breast, he perceived a kind of motion in the subject, 
 heard a sigh soon after, and looking up to the head saw the eyes 
 open and shut again ; that upon this, he laid down his knife, 
 which had but just scratched the body, at the beginning of the 
 linea alba, as my informer called it, and helped himself to put it 
 into a warm bed : that he took all possible pains, by administering 
 every thing he could think useful, to restore Ufe, and was so fortun- 
 ate as to set one of the finest women in the world on her feet again. 
 As she had no raiment but the shroud which had been on her in the 
 coffin, he got every thing belonging to dress that a woman of 
 distinction could have occasion for, and in a few days' time, she 
 sparkled before her preserver in the brightness of an Eastern 
 princess. He was quite charmed with the beauties of her person, 
 and could not enough admire her uncommon understanding ; 
 he therefore offered to marry her, to settle largely on her, and as 
 she was a single woman, she could not in gratitude refuse the 
 request of so generous a benefactor. My informer further related, 
 that they have both lived in the greatest happiness ever since ; 
 and the doctor, who is one of the best of men, is continually study- 
 ing how to add to her felicities, that he offered to take her up to 
 London to pass the winters there, but this .she refused, and 
 desired she might remain where she was in the country, as it was 
 really most agreeable to her, and as he preferred it to the town. 
 
 This account made the thing quite plain to me. And to judge 
 impartially, considering the whole case, I could neither blame the 
 lovely Agnes for marrying the doctor, nor condemn her for pre- 
 tending to be a stranger to me. She was fairly dead and 
 buried, and all connexion between us was at an end of 
 course, as there had been no marriage, nor contract of marriage. 
 And as to reviving the affair, and renewing the tenderness 
 which had existed, it could answer no other end than produc- 
 ing unhappiness, as she was then Mrs. Stanvil, in a decent and 
 happy situation. And further, in respect of her marrying the 
 doctor, so soon after her separation from me, it was certainly the 
 wisest thing she could do, as she had been so entirely at his disposal, 
 was without a stitch to cover her, and I in all probabiUty, after 
 burying her, being gone up to London, or in some place, where she 
 could never hear of me more ; I might hkewise have been married, 
 if anything advantageous had offered after laying her in the church- 
 yard. And beside, she neither knew the place she fell sick in, nor 
 the country the doctor removed her to, as soon as he could get her 
 clothes to put on.__So that, naked and friendless as she was, with- 
 out any money, and ignorant of what became of me, without a 
 possibility of informing herself, I could not but acquit her. I even 
 admired her conduct, and resolved so far to imitate her, in regard 
 to the general happiness, that nothing should appear in my be- 
 
410 THE LIFE OF 
 
 haviour, which could incline any one to think I had ever seen her 
 before the night the tempest drove me to her house. I was vexed, 
 I own, to lose her ; but that could be no reason for making a 
 senseless uproar, that could do nothing but mischief. 
 
 As composed then as I could be, I went down to breakfast, on a 
 servant's letting me know they waited for me, and found the same 
 company, who had so lately parted to slumber, all quite aUve and 
 cheerful, easy and happy as mortals could be. At the request of 
 Dr. St ANVIL, who was extremely civil, I staid with them two months 
 and passed the time in a delightful conversation, intermixed with 
 music, cards, and feasting. With sadness I left them all, but 
 especially on account of parting for ever with the late Miss Dunk. 
 It was indeed for the pleasure of looking at her, that I staid so long 
 as I did at Dr. Stanvil's ; and when it came to an eternal 
 separation, I felt on the morning of my departure an inward 
 distress it is impossible to give an idea of to another. It had some 
 resemblance, I imagine, of what the visionaries caU dereliction, 
 when they sink from ecstacy to the black void of horror, by the 
 strength of fancy, and the unaccountable operation of the animal 
 spirits. 
 
 Here, before I proceed, I think I ought to remove some objec- 
 tions that maybe made against my relation of Mrs. Stanvil's 
 coming to life again, and her being brought from the couch of last- 
 ing night to a bridal bed. It is not easy to believe, that after I 
 seemed certain she was dead, and kept her the proper number of 
 days before interment ; saw her lie the cold wan subject for a 
 considerable time, and then let down into the grave ; yet from 
 thence she should come forth, and now be the desire of a husband's 
 eyes. This is a hard account sure. But nevertheless, it is a fact. 
 As to my being mistaken, no less a man than Dr. Cheyne thought 
 Colonel Townsend dead ; See his Nervous Cases. And that several 
 have hved for many years, after they had been laid in the tomb, is 
 a thing too certain, and well-known, to be denied. In Bayle's 
 Dictionary, there is the history of a lady of quality, belonging to 
 the court of Catharine de Medicis,who was brought from the church 
 vault, where she had been forty-eight hours, and afterwards became 
 the mother of several children, on her marriage with the Marquis 
 D'Auvergne. The learned Dr. Connor, in his History of Poland, 
 gives us a very wonderful relation of a gentleman's reviving in that 
 country, after he had been seemingly dead for near a fortnight ; 
 and adds a very curious dissertation on the nature of such recov- 
 eries. The case of Dun Scotus, who was found out of his coflEin, 
 on the steps going down to the vault he was deposited in, and lean- 
 ing on his elbow, is full to my purpose. And I can af&rm from my 
 own knowledge, that a gentleman of my acquaintance, a worthy 
 excellent man, was buried alive, and found not only much bruised 
 and torn, on opening his co£&n, but turned on one side. This 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 41 1 
 
 many still living can attest as well as I. The reason of opening 
 the grave again, was his dying of a high fever in the absence of his 
 lady, who was in a distant county from him ; and on her return, 
 three days after he was buried, would have a sight of him, as she 
 had been extremely fond of him. His face was sadly broke, and 
 his hands hurt in striving to force up the lid of the cof&n. The 
 lady was so affected with the dismal sight, that she never held up 
 her head after, and died in a few weeks. I could likewise add 
 another extraordinary case of a man who was hanged, and to all 
 appearance was quite dead, yet three days after his execution 
 recovered as they were going to cut him up. How these things 
 happen, it is not easy to explain or account for ; but they do 
 happen sometimes. And this case of Mrs. Stanvil, may be 
 depended on as a fact. 
 
 Opinion's foot is never, never found 
 Where knowledge dwells, 'tis interdicted ground i 
 At wisdom's gate opinions must resign 
 Their charge, those limits their ehiploy confine. 
 Thus trading barks, skill'd in the wat'ry road. 
 To distant climes convey their precious load. 
 Then turn their prow, light bounding o'er the main. 
 And with new traffic store their keels again. 
 Thus far is clear. But yet untold remains. 
 What the good genius to the crowd ordains. 
 Just on the verge of life. 
 
 He bids them hold 
 A spirit with erected courage bold. 
 Never, he calls, on fortune's faith rely, 
 Nor grasp her dubious gift as property. 
 Let not her smile transport, her frown dismay. 
 Nor praise, nor blame, nor wonder at her sway. 
 Which reason never guides : 'tis fortune still. 
 Capricious chance, and arbitrary will. 
 Bad bankers, vain of treasure not their own. 
 With foolish rapture hug the trusted loan. 
 Impatient, when the pow'rful bond demands 
 Its unremember'd cov'nant from their hand? 
 Unlike to such, without a sigh restore 
 What fortune lends : anon she'll lavish more. 
 Repenting of her bounty, snatch away. 
 Yea, seize your patrimonial fund for prey. 
 Embrace her proffer'd boon, but instant rise, 
 Spring upward, and secure a lasting prize. 
 The gift which wisdom to her sons divides ; 
 Knowledge, whose beam the doubting judgment guides, 
 Scatters the sensual fog, and clear to view 
 Distinguishes false int'rest from the true. 
 Flee, flee to this, with unabating pace. 
 Nor parley for a moment at the place, 
 Where pleasure and her harlots tempt, nor rest, 
 But at false wisdom's inn, a transient guest : 
 For short refection, at her table sit. 
 And take what science may yoiu: palate hit : 
 Then wing your journey forward, till you reach 
 True wisdom, and imbibe the truth she'll teach. 
 
412 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Such is the advice the friendly genius gives. 
 He perishes who scorns, who follows lives. 
 
 Scott's Cebes.* 
 
 With this advice of the genius in my head, which by chance I 
 had read the morning I took my leave of Dr. St anvil, I set out, as I 
 had resolved, for York, and designed to go from thence to London ; 
 hoping to meet with something good, and purposing, if it was pos- 
 sible, to be no longer the rover, but turn to something useful, and 
 fix. I had lost almost all at the gaming-table, as related, and had 
 not thirty pounds of my last hundred remaining ; this, with a few 
 sheep, cows, and horses at Orton-lodge, and a very small stock at 
 my Uttle farm, on the borders of Cumberland, was all I had left. 
 It made me very serious,and brought some dismal apprehensions 
 in view : but I did not despair. As my heart was honest, I still 
 trusted in the Providence of God and His administration of things 
 in this world. As the infinite power and wisdom of the Creator 
 was evident, from a survey of this magnificent and glorious scene ; 
 as his care and Providence over each particular, in the adminis- 
 tration of the great scheme was conspicuous ; can man, the 
 favourite of heaven, have reason to hft up his voice to complain if 
 he calls ofE his affections from folly, and by natural and super- 
 natural force, by reason and revelation, overbears the prejudices 
 of flesh and blood : if he ponders the hopes and fears of rehgion, 
 and gives a just allowance to a future interest ? " Hearken to the 
 commandments," saith the Lord, " and your peace shall be as a 
 river." 
 
 On then I trotted, brave as the man of wood, we read of in an 
 excellent French writer, f and hoped at the end of every mile to 
 meet with something fortunate ; but nothing extraordinary 
 occurred till the second evening, when I arrived at a little lone 
 public-house, on the side of a great heath, by the entrance of a 
 wood. For an hour before I came to this resting-place, I had rid 
 in a tempest of wind, rain, lightning, and thunder, so very violent, 
 that it brought to my remembrance Hesiod's description of a 
 storm. 
 
 * As the TMe ot Cebes does best in prose, and Jeremy Collier the Nonjuror's translation 
 of this fine mythological picture is not good, the reader will find another version of Cebes* 
 Table, as an appendix at the end of this volume. I made it at the request of a young lady, 
 who did not like Collier's version. The fine picture in his English, looks more like a work 
 in the 'cant language of L'Estrange, or Tom Brown, than the antient and charming painting 
 of Cebes the Theban philosopher. It is fitter to make the learned men of a beer-house laugh, 
 than to delight and improve people of breeding and understanding. 
 
 t In Claude's reply to Amaud, the French papist, we are told it was the humour of the 
 Prince of Condd, to have a man of wood on horse-back, drest like a field-officer, with a lifted 
 broad sword in his hand; which figure was fastened in the great saddle, and the horse it was 
 on always kept by the great Condi's side, when he travelled or engaged in the bloody field. 
 Fearless the man of wood appeared in many a well-fought day ; but as they pursued the 
 enemy one afternoon through a forest, inridiughard, a bough knocked off the wooden warrior's 
 bead; yet still he galloped on after flying foes, to the amazement of the enemy, who saw 
 a hero pursuing without a head. Claude applies this image to popery. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 413 
 
 Then Jove omnipotent display'd the god. 
 
 And all Olympus trembled as he trod : 
 
 He grasps ten thousand thunders in his hand. 
 
 Bares his red arm, and wields the forky brand ; 
 
 Then aims the bolts, and bids his light'nings play. 
 
 They flash, and rend through heav'n their flaming way : 
 
 Redoubling blow on blow, in wrath he moves, 
 
 The singed earth groans, and biurns with all her groves: 
 
 A night of clouds blots out the golden day. 
 
 Full in their eyes the writhen lightnings play : 
 
 Nor slept the wind ; the wind new horror forms, 
 
 Clouds dash on clouds before th' outragious storms ; 
 
 WhUe tearing up the sands, in drifts they rise. 
 
 And half the deserts mount th' encumber'd skies : 
 
 At once the tempest bellows, light'nings fly. 
 
 The thunders roar, and clouds involve the sky. 
 
 It was a dreadful evening upon a heath, and so much as a bush 
 was not to be met vdth for shelter : but at last we came to the 
 thatched habitation of a publican, and I thought it a very com- 
 fortable place. We had bread and bacon, and good ale for supper, 
 and in our circumstances, it seemed a dehcious meal. 
 
 This man informed me, that about a mile from his habitation, 
 in the middle of the wood, there dwelt an old physician, one Dr. 
 FiTZGiBBONS, an Irish gentleman, who had one very pretty 
 daughter, a sensible woman, to whom he was able to give a good 
 fortune, if a man to both their hking appeared ; but as no such one 
 had as yet come in their way, my landlord advised me to try the 
 adventure, and he would furnish me with an excuse for going to 
 the doctor's house. This set me a thinking. Dr. Fitzgibbons, an 
 Irish gentleman, said I, I know the man. I saved his son's Ufe 
 in Ireland, when he was upon the brink of destruction, and the old 
 gentleman was not only then as thankful as it was possible for a 
 man to be, in return for the good I had done him, at the hazard 
 of my own Ufe, but assured me, a thousand times over, that if 
 ever it was in his power to return my kindness, he would be my 
 friend to the utmost of his abiUty. He must ever remember, with 
 the greatest gratitude, the benefit I had so generously conferred 
 on him and his. All this came full into my mind, and I deter- 
 mined to visit the old gentleman in the morning. 
 
 Next day, as I had resolved, I went to pay my respects to Dr. 
 Fitzgibbons, who remembered me perfectly well, was most heartily 
 glad to see me, and received me in the most afiectionate manner. 
 He immediately began to repeat his obligations to me, for the 
 dehverance I had given his son,"" and that if it was in his power to 
 
 * The case was Uhs,— As I was returning one summer's evening from Tallow-Hills, where 
 I had been to see a young lady mentioned in the begiimng of my first volume, I saw in a deep 
 glen before me two men engaged ; a black of an enormous size, who fought with one of those 
 large broadswords which they call in Ireland, an Andrew Ferraro; and a little thin man 
 with a drawn rapier. The white man Iperceived was no match for tlie black, and must have 
 perished very soon, as he had received several wounds, if 1 had not hast'ned up to his relief. 
 1 knew him to be my acquaintance, young Fitzgibbons, my neighbour in the same square 
 
414 THE LIFE OF 
 
 be of service to me in England, he would leave nothing undone 
 that was possible for him to do, to befriend me He told me, that 
 darUng son of his, whose Ufe I had saved, was an eminent physician 
 at the court of Russia, where he lived in the greatest opulence and 
 reputation, and as he owed his existence as such to me, his father 
 could never be grateful enough in return. " Can I any way serve 
 you. Sir ? Have you been fortunate or unfortunate, since your 
 living in England ? Are you married or unmarried ? I have a 
 daughter by a second wife, and if you are not yet engaged, wiU 
 give her to you, with a good fortune, and in two years time, if you 
 will study physic here, under my direction, will enable you to begin 
 to practice, and get money as I have done in this country. I have 
 so true a sense of that generous act you did to save my son, that I 
 will with pleasure do any thing in my power that can contribute to 
 your happiness." 
 
 To this I replied, by thanking the doctor for his friendly offers 
 and letting him know, that since my coming to England several 
 years ago, which was occasioned by a difference between my father 
 and me, I had met with several turns of fortune, good and bad, 
 and was at present but in a very middling way, having only a Uttle 
 spot among the mountains of Richmondshire, with a cottage and 
 garden on it, and three or four beasts, which I found by accident 
 without an owner, as I travelled through that uninhabited land ; 
 and a small farm of fifty acres with some stock, on the borders of 
 Cumberland, which I got by a deceased wife. This, with about 
 thirty guineas in my purse, was my all at present ; and I was going 
 up to London, to try if I could meet with any thing fortunate in 
 that place ; but that, since he was pleased to make me such 
 generous offers, I would stop, study physic as he proposed, and 
 accept the great honour he did me in offering me his daughter for a 
 wife. I told him likewise very fairly and honestly, that I had 
 been rich by three or four marriages since my being in this country; 
 but that I was unfortunately taken in at a gaming-table, by the 
 means of two Irish gentlemen he knew very well, and there lost all; 
 which vexed me the more, as I really do not love play ; that as to 
 my father, I had Uttle to expect from him, though he had a great 
 estate, as our difference was about religion ; which kind of dis- 
 putes have always the most cruel tendency ; and the wife he had, 
 
 of the college that I lived in ; and immediately drawing an excellent Spanish tuck I always 
 lyore, took the Moor to myself, Fitzgibbons not being able to stand any longer, and a glorious 
 battle ensued. As I was a master of the small sword in those days, I had the advantage 
 of the black by my weapon, as the broad sword is but a poor defence against a rapier, and gave 
 him three wounds for every slight one I received : but at last he cut me quite through the 
 left collar-bone and in return, I was in his vast body a moment after. This dropt the 
 robber, who had been a trumpeter to a regiment of hoise ; and Fitzgibbons and I were 
 brought, by some people passing that way to his father's house at Dolfin's-bam, a village 
 about a mile from the spot where this anair happened. A surgeon was sent for, and we 
 recovered in a few weeks time ; but my collar-bone was much more troublesome to me, 
 than the wounds Fitzgibbons had were to him, though he lost much more blood. This 
 was the ground of the obligation the doctor mentioned, in his conversation with me. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 415 
 
 a low cunning woman, did all she could to maintain the variance, 
 and keep up his anger to me, that her nephew might do the better 
 on my ruin. That I had not written to him since my being in 
 England ; nor had I met with any one who could give me any 
 account of the family. 
 
 " And what," said Dr. Fitzgibbons, " is this fine religious dis- 
 pute, which has made your father fall out with a son he was once 
 so proud of ? " "It was about Trinity in Unity, Sir ; a thing I 
 have often heard your son argue against by lessons he had from 
 you, as he informed me. My father is as orthodox as Gregory 
 Nazienzen, among the ancient fathers, or Trapp and Potter, 
 Webster and Waterland, among the modern doctors ; and when 
 he found out that I was become an unitarian, and renounced his 
 reUgion of three Gods, the horrible creed of Athanasius, and 
 all the despicable explications of his admired divines, on that 
 subject ; that I insisted ; that notwithstanding all the subtle in- 
 ventions of learned men, through the whole Christian world, yet 
 God Almighty hath not appointed himself to be worshipped by 
 precept or example in any one instance in his holy word, under 
 the character of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ; that the worship of 
 three persons and one God is expressly contrary to the solemn 
 determination of Christ and his Apostles ; and in numbers of in- 
 stances in the New Testament it is declared, that the one God and 
 Father of all is the only supreme object, to whom aU religious 
 worship should be directed : that for these reasons I renounced the 
 received doctrine of a co-equal trinity, and believed our great and 
 learned divines, who laboured to prevent people from seeing the 
 truth as it is in Jesus, would be in some tribulation at Christ's 
 tribunal ; where they are to appear stripped of all worldly 
 honours, dignities, and preferments, poor, naked, wretched mortals 
 and to answer for their supplement to the gospel, in an invented 
 heresy of three Gods. When my father heard these things, and 
 saw the religious case of his son, his passion was very great. He 
 forbid me his table, and ordered me to shift for myself. He re- 
 nounced me, as I had done the triune God." 
 
 The doctor wondered not a little at the account I had given him, 
 as my father was reckoned a man of great abilities, and taking me 
 by the hand, said, I had acted most gloriously ; that what lost me 
 my father's affection, was the very thing that ought to have in- 
 duced him to erect a statue to my honour in his garden — that since 
 I was pleased to accept of his offer, his friendship I might depend 
 on — that if I would, I should begin the next day the study of 
 physic under his direction, and at the end of two years, he would 
 give me his daughter, who was not yet quite twenty. 
 
 Just as he had said this. Miss Fitzgibbons entered the room, and 
 her father introduced me to her. The sight of her astonished me, 
 though I had before seen so many fine women, I could not help 
 
4i6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 looking with wonder at her. She appeared one of those finished 
 creatures, whom we cannot enough admire, and upon acquaintance 
 with her, became much more glorious. 
 
 What a vast variety of beauty do we see in the infinity of nature. 
 Among the sex, we may find a thousand and a thousand 
 perfect images and characters ; all equally striking, and yet as 
 difierent as the pictures of the greatest masters in Italy. What 
 amazing charms and perfections have I beheld in women as I have 
 journeyed through hfe. When I have parted from one ; well I 
 said, I shall never meet another hke this inimitable maid ; and 
 yet after all, Julia appeared divinely fair, and happy in every 
 excellence that can adorn the female mind. Without that exact 
 regularity of beauty, and elegant softness of propriety, which 
 rendered Miss Dunk, whom I have described in these Memoirs, a 
 very divinity, Julia charmed with a graceful negUgence, and 
 enchanted with a face that glowed with youthful wonders, beau- 
 ties that art could not adorn but always diminished. The choice 
 of dress was no part of Julia's care, but by the neglect of it she 
 became irresistible. In her countenance there ever appeared a 
 bewitching mixture of sensibiUty and gaiety, and in her soul,by 
 converse was discovered that generosity and tenderness were the 
 first principles of her mind. To truth and virtue she was inwardly 
 devoted, and at the bottom of her heart, though hard to discover 
 it, her main business to serve God, and fit herself for eternity. In 
 sum, she was one of the finest originals that ever appeared among 
 womankind, pecuhar in perfections which cannot be described ; 
 and so inexpressibly charming in an attractive sweetness, a natural 
 gaiety, and a striking neghgence, a fine understanding, and 
 the most humane heart ; that I found it impossible to know 
 her without being in love with her : her power to please 
 was extensive indeed. In her, one had the loveliest idea of 
 woman. 
 
 To this fine creature I was married at the end of two years from 
 my first acquaintance with her ; that is, after I had studied 
 physic so long, under the care and instruction of her excellent 
 father, who died a few weeks after the wedding, which was in 
 the beginning of the year 1734, and the 29th of my age. Ds^ing, 
 he left me a handsome fortune, his Ubrary, and house ; and I 
 imagined I should have lived many happy years with his admirable 
 daughter, who obUged me by every endearing means, to be ex- 
 cessively fond of her. I began to practise upon the old gentleman's 
 death, and had learned so much in the two years I had studied 
 under him, from his lecturing and my own hard reading, that I 
 was able to get some money among the opulent round me ; not 
 by art and coUusion, the case of too many doctors in town and 
 country, but by practising upon consistent principles. The method 
 of my reading, by Dr. Fitzgibbon's directions, was as follows ; 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 417 
 
 and I set it down here for the benefit of such gentlemen, as chuse 
 to study in the private manner I did. 
 
 A method of studying Physic in a private manner ■ by which means 
 a gentleman, with the purchase of a Diploma, may turn out 
 a Doctor, as well as if he went to Padua, to hear Morganni, 
 
 The first books I got upon my table, were the Lexicons of 
 Castellus and Quincy ; one for the explication of ancient terms ; 
 and the other of modern. These, as Dictionaries, lay at hand for 
 use, when wanted. 
 
 I then opened the last edition of Herman Conringius's Intro- 
 ductio in Universam Artem Medicam, singulasque ejus partis ; I 
 say the last edition of 1726, because that has an excellent preface 
 by Hoffmann. This book, which comes down to the beginning 
 of the seventeenth century, I read with great care ; especially 
 Gonthier Christopher Schelhammer's notes, and additions, which 
 have enriched the work very much. By the way, they were both 
 very great men, and bright ornaments to their profession. They 
 wrote an amazing number of books on medicine. Conringius died 
 December, 1681, aged 75 ; and Schelhammer, in January, 1716, 
 in the 67th year of his age. 
 
 The next introductory book to the art, was Lindenius Renovatus 
 de Scriptis Medicis, quibus pramittitur Manuductio ad Medicinam. 
 This book was first called Libro duo de Scripturis, Syc. and written 
 by John Antonides Vander Linden, a famous professor at Leyden, 
 who published it in 1637, in a small octavo. It was again printed 
 in the same form, in 1651 and 1662, at Amsterdam; but the 
 most valuable edition is that printed at Nuremburg in 1686, 
 edited by George Abraham MerkHnus, who made very many and 
 excellent additions to this fourth edition, and called it Lindenius 
 Renovatus, as he had augmented it to a thick quarto. Vander 
 Linden died in March, 1664, aged 55 ; and Merklinus in April, 
 1702, in the 58th year of his age. They have both written many 
 books on physic, but there have been such improvements made 
 by the dihgence and success of modern physicians, that it would 
 be only loss of time to read over all their works, or all the authors 
 of the seventeenth century. 
 
 The next books I opened, were the learned Daniel Le Clerc's 
 History of Physiq, which commences with the world, and ends at 
 the time of Galen ; and the great Dr. Friend's History, in two 
 vols, octavo, which is a continuation of Le Clerc, down to Linacre, 
 the founder of the College of Physicians, in the reign of Henry VIII. 
 These books shewed me the origin and revolutions of physic, and 
 the ancient writers and their works on this subject. Daniel Le 
 Clerc die^ in June, 1728, aged 76, and some months. 
 
4i8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 When I had read these things,* I turned next to botany, and 
 read Rail Methodus Plantarum Emendata, 1703. Rail Synopsis 
 Methodica Stirpium, third edition ; and Toumefort's InsHtutiones 
 Rei Herbaria. These books, with a few observations of my own, 
 as I walked in the gardens, in the fields, and on the plains, 
 furnished me with sufficient knowledge of this kind for the present. 
 The vast foUos on this subject are not for beginners. 
 
 Chemistry was the next thing my director bid me look into, 
 and to this purpose I perused Boerhaave's Elementa Chemice. 
 and Hoffman's Observationes Physico-ChemitB. These afiord as 
 much chemistry as a young physician need set out with ; but 
 as books alone give but an imperfect conception, I performed most 
 of the common operations in Beecher's portable furnace. | 
 
 The Materia Medica in the next place had my attention, that 
 is, those animal, vegetable, and fossil substances, which are used 
 to prevent, cure, or palliate diseases. And in order to know the 
 names of all the drugs, their history, the adulterations they are 
 subject to, their virtues, their dose, their manner of using them, 
 and the cautions which they require, to get a sufficient knowledge 
 of this kind, I looked into Geof&rey's Materia Medica, and made 
 a collection of the Materia at the same time, that I might con- 
 ceive and remember, what I read. 
 
 Pharmacy, or the art of preparing and compounding medicines, 
 was the next thing I endeavoured to be a master of. And that I 
 might know how to exalt their virtues, to obviate their ill 
 qualities, and to make them less nauseous, I read to this purpose 
 Quincy's Pharmaceutical Lectures and Dispensatory, and took 
 care to be well versed in all the Pharmacopoeia' s, those of London, 
 Edinburgh, Paris, Boerhaave, Bate, and FuUer. And I read 
 very carefully Gaubin's Methodus Proescribendi. This gave me 
 the materials, and taught me the form of prescribing. 
 
 Anatomy I studied next, that is, the art of dividing the several 
 parts of a body, so as to know their size, figure, situation, 
 connexions, and make. I began with Drake and Kdl, and then 
 read over Winslow. I had likewise open before me at the same 
 time, at my entrance upon this study, a good set of plates, the 
 tables of Eustachius and Cooper, and turned them carefully over 
 as I read. The doctor then showed me how to dissect, but 
 chiefly by the direction of a book entitled Culler Anatomicus : 
 on Methode Courte, Facile, et Claire de Dissequer les Corps Humaines. 
 I was soon able to perform myself. It was the thurd edition of 
 the above book, by Lyserus, in 1679 ; which has many curious 
 anatomical observations added to it by Caspar Bartholin, the 
 son of the celebrated Thomas Bartholin, professor at Copen- 
 hagen. Michel Lysdre was the disciple of the great Thomas 
 
 * If Mangetus bad published his BibUolheca Scrttiltrum Mtdkorum, a vols, folio, at the 
 time I am speaking of, the Doctor, mf friend, would have recommended it to a beginner. 
 
JOHN B UNCLE. ESQ. 419 
 
 Bartholin, who died in December, 1680, in his 64th year. Michel 
 died early in life, in 1656, a very young man, " regrette a cause 
 de son merite." I had also Nichol's Compendium, and Hunter's 
 Compendium. By these means, and by reading the authors who 
 have written upon some one part only ; such as Peyerus de 
 Glandulis Iniestinus. Experimenta circa Pancras. De Graaf 
 de Organis Generationis. Gasp. Bartholin de Diaphragm. 
 Malpigius de Pulmonibus, de Venibus, de Liene, et de Cornuum 
 Vegetatione. Lower de Corde, de Ventriculo, et de Cerebri Anat. 
 Willis de Respiratione. Ghsson de HepatcB. Casserius de Vocis 
 Auditusque Organis. Walsalou de Aure. Havers on the Bones. 
 Munro on the Bones. Douglas on the Muscles. Morgagni 
 Adversaria. Ruyshii Opera. Nuck's Adenographia. Wharton's 
 Adenographia. Ridley's Anatomy of the Brain. Santorini 
 Observationes. Soneti. Sepulchrum Anatomicum. Blasu. Anatomia 
 Animalium. Tyson's Anatomy of the Oran-Outang. By these 
 means, I cut up the body of a young woman I had from a neigh- 
 bouring churchyard, and acquired knowledge enough of anatomy. 
 
 N.B. — If all the pieces written upon some one part of the body 
 are not to be had single, the reader inchned to the delightful 
 study of physic will find them in the Bibliotheca Anatomica, 
 2 vols. foUo. 
 
 Here, before I proceed, I will mention a very curious case, 
 which occurred in my dissecting the body I have spoken of. It 
 was as remarkable an example of preternatural structure as 
 ever appeared. Ih cutting her up, there was found two vaginas, 
 and a right and left uterus. Each uterus had its corresponding 
 vagina, and the uteri and the vaginae lay parallel to each other ; 
 there was only one ovarium ; but two perfect hymens. The 
 labia stretched so as to take in the anus, terminating beyond it ; 
 and as they were in large ridges, and well armed, the whole had 
 a formidable appearance. If it should be asked. Could a perfect 
 superfcetation take place in such a person ? Most certainly 
 there' might be one conception upon the back of another at 
 different times ; therefore, I should not chuse to marry a woman 
 with two vaginas, if it was possible to know it before wedlock. 
 
 But to proceed. The next things I read, were the institutes 
 of medicine, that is, such books as treat of the economy and con- 
 trivance of nature in adapting the parts to their several uses. 
 The books purely physiological are Keil's Tentamia. Sanctorii 
 Aphorismi. Bellini de Pulsibus et Urina. Borellus de Motu 
 Animalium, both admirable pieces. Friend's Emmenologia. 
 Simpson's System of the Womb. And Pitcairn's Tracts. These 
 are the best things relating to physiology, which may be called 
 the first part of the Institutions of Physic. 
 
 The second part of the Institutes is the Art of preserving such 
 a system as the body, in an order fit for the exercise of its functions 
 
4*o THE LIFE OF 
 
 as long as possible. The third part is pathology, which teaches 
 the different manners in which diseases happen ; and the various 
 causes of these disorders, with their attendants and consequences. 
 The fourth part is the doctrine of signs, by which a judgment is 
 formed of the sound or bad state of the animal. And the fifth is 
 Therapeutica, that is, the means and method of restoring sanity 
 to a distempered body. Treatises on aU these matters are what 
 we call institutions of physic, and in relation to the four last 
 mentioned, the best books are Hoffman's Sy sterna Medicince 
 Rationalis, and Boerhaave's Institutions, with his lectures upon 
 them. These books I read with great attention, and found them 
 sufficient. 
 
 Being instituted in this manner, I turned next to the practical 
 writers, and read the history of diseases and their cure from 
 observations of nature. This is called pathologia particularis, 
 and is the great business of a physician. All that has been said 
 is only preparatory to this study. Here then I first very care- 
 fully read the authors who have written a system of all diseases ; 
 and then, such writers as have considered particular cases. The 
 best system writers are Boerhaave's Aphorisms and Comment. 
 Hoffman's Pathologia Particularis ; being the last part of his 
 Systema Medicinal. Jumher's Conspectus Medicince. Allen's 
 Synopsis. Shaw's Practice of Physic ; and Lomnii Opusoulum 
 Aureum. 
 
 The writers on a few and particular distempers are Sydenham 
 Opera. Moreton's Puretologia. Bellini de Morbis Capites et Pec- 
 toris. Raxanzzim. de Morbis Artificium. WepsemMs de Apoplexia. 
 Hoyes on Asthma. Astruc de Lue Venerea. Turner's 
 Synopsis, and of the Skin. Musgrave de Arthritide. High- 
 more de Passione Hysterica et Hypocondria. GUsson de Rachi- 
 tide. Clericus de Lumbrico Lato. Daventer Ars Obstetricandi. 
 Mauriceau des Femmes Grosses. Harris de Morbis Infan- 
 tium. Turner's Letter to a Young Physician. All these 
 books I read very carefuUy, and to your reading add the 
 best observations you can any where get, or make yourself. I 
 wrote down in the shortest manner, abstracts of the most curious 
 and useful things, especially the representations of nature ; 
 and refreshed my memory by often looking into my note-book. 
 Every thing taken from nature is valuable. H3rpothesis is enter- 
 taining rather than useful. 
 
 And when I was reading the history of diseases in the authors 
 I have just mentioned, I looked into the ancient Greek and Latin 
 medical writers ; for all their merit Ues in this kind of history. 
 Their pharmacy and anatomy is good for nothing. They scarce 
 knew any thing of the human bodies, but from the dissections 
 of other animals, took their descriptions. The great Vesalius 
 in the beginning of the sixteenth century, was the first that taught 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 421 
 
 physicians to study nature in dissecting human bodies ; which 
 was then considered by the church as a Mnd of sacrilege.* As to 
 chemistry, they had no notion of it. It was not heard of till 
 some hundred years after the latest of them. In botany they 
 had made little progress, in short, as they knew little of botany, 
 and nothing of chemistry ; as their systems of natural philosophy 
 and anatomy were false and unnatural, and it is upon anatomy and 
 natural philosophy that physiology or the use of the parts is 
 founded.we can expect nothing from the ancients upon these heads, 
 but mere imaginations, or notions unsupported by observation 
 or matter of fact. It is their history of diseases that supports 
 their character. Hippocrates, in particular, excels all others on 
 this head ; but this great man was not perfect even in this. 
 Knowledge in nature is the daughter of time and experience. 
 Many notions of the animal economy were then absurd, and if 
 Hippocrates was too wise to act always up to his theory, yet he 
 could not be entirely free from its influence. 
 
 The names of the ancient original Greek medical writers are 
 Hippocrates, Dioscorides, Aiitaeus, Galen, and Alexander. The 
 Latin writers of physic are Celsus, Scribonius Largus, Caslius 
 AureUanus, Marcellus Empericus, Theodorus Priscianus, and 
 Sextus Placitus. We have besides several collectors, as Oribasius, 
 Aetius, Paulus .ffiginita, etc. Nicander, the medical poet ; 
 and the fragments of Soranus, Rufus Ephesius, Zonorates, 
 Vindicianus, Diodes Carystius, Cassius, and a few others ; but 
 all these may be looked into afterwards. The original authors 
 are sufl5.cient in the noviciate. 
 
 As to the Latin medical writers, Celsus, and Caelius Aurelianus 
 only, are worth reading. Celsus lived in the latter end of the 
 reign of Augustus, and is admirable for the purity of his Latin, 
 and the elegance of his sense. You must have him night and 
 morning in your hands, till you are a master of the terms and 
 expressions pecuhar to physic, which occur in him. The style 
 of CseUus is very bad, and his cavils tedious ; but his description 
 of diseases is full and accurate. In this respect he is a very 
 
 * When Vesalius began to dissect human bodies, he was considered by the people as an 
 impious cruel man, and before he could practice publicly, was obliged to get a decision in 
 his favour from the Salamanca divines. "C'est ce qui engagd Charles V. de faire ime con- 
 sultation aux theologiens de Salamanque, poiu: savou" si en conscience on pouvoit dissequer 
 im corps humain, pour en connoltre la structure." Memoirs de Niceron. They would not 
 let him settle in France, but the republic of Venice gave him a professor's chair at Padua, 
 where he dissected publicly, and taught anatomy seven years. He was but eighteen, when 
 he published his famous book, La Fabrique du Corps Humain, which was the admiration 
 of all men of science ; and a little after, he made a present of the first skeleton the world 
 ever saw, to the university of Basle ; where it is still to be seen. This great man, Andrew 
 Vesal, was bom the last of April, 1512 ; and in the 38th year of his age, October 15, 1564, 
 he was shipwrecked on the isle of Zante, and in the deserts there was famished to death. 
 His body was foimd by a goldsmith of his acquaintance, who happened to land there not long 
 after, and by this man buried. Vesal's works were published by Herman Boerhaave, in 
 two volumes, folio, in 1725. Every physician ought to have them. 
 
42a THE LIFE OF 
 
 valuable writer. He lived in the second century, as did Galen 
 likewise. 
 
 As to Hippocrates, who was contemporary with Socrates, 
 he was born in the first years of the 8oth Olympiad, 460 before 
 Christ, Rene Chartier's edition printed at Paris, 1639, is the most 
 pompous : but Vander Linden's, printed at Leyden in 1668, 
 two vols. Svo., is the best. When I read Hippocrates, I also 
 looked into Prosper Alpini's good book de Presagienda Vita et 
 Morte Mgrotantium, in which he has with great care collected 
 and methodized all the scattered observations of Hippocrates, 
 relating to the dangerous or salutary appearances in diseases. 
 At the same time, I likewise read this great man's Medicina 
 Methodica. Alpinus, born in November, 1553, died professor 
 of botany at Padua, February, 1617, ^t. 64. The best com- 
 mentators on Hippocrates, whose names you will find in Con- 
 ringius's Introduction, are also worthy of reference. 
 
 "The best edition of Dioscorides' Materia Medica, is that of 
 Frankfort, 1598, folio. The best edition of Aritaeus, who lived 
 before Julius Caesar's time, as Dioscorides did, a.d. 46, is Boer- 
 haave's, 1731, folio. The best editions of Galen's works are those 
 of Basle, 1538, in 5 vols, and of Venice, 1625, in 7 vols., folio. 
 Alexander of TraUes flourished in the sixth century, under 
 Justinian the Great, and left the following works. TherapeiAtica, 
 Lib. xii. De Singularum Corporis Partium Vitiis, Mgritudinibus, 
 et Injuriis, Lib. v. Epist. de Lumbricis. Tractatus de Puerorum 
 Morbis. Liber de Febribus. The best Greek copy is that of 
 Stephens, Paris, 1548, foho. In Greek and Latin, Basil, 1658. 
 But in neither of these editions is to be found the Epistle de 
 Lumbricis. You must look for that in the izth volume of 
 Fabricius's Bibliotheca Grceca. 
 
 In the last place, besides all the authors I have mentioned, 
 I likewise looked into the original observation writers and mis- 
 cellaneous books relating to physic. They afiord excellent 
 knowledge, where the authors are faithful and judicious. Such 
 are the Observationes Medicce of Nicolaus Tulpius, a curious 
 book ; and the dedication of it to his son Peter, a student in 
 Physic, good advice. The second edition of 1652 is the best, 
 being a fourth part larger than the first which came out in 1641. 
 The Observationes et Curationes Medicinales of Petrus Forestus, 
 Lib. xxii. The Observationes Medicce of Joannes Theodorus 
 Schenkius, and the various Journals and Transactions of learned 
 Societies, which are repositories in which the physician finds 
 much rare and valuable knowledge. And as a physician ought 
 to have a little acquaintance with the modern practice of surgery 
 I concluded with Heister's, Turner's, and Sharp's Surgery. 
 
 By this method of studying physic in the middle of a wood, 
 and employing my time and pains in reading the ancients, and 
 
JOHN BVNCLE. ESQ. 423 
 
 considering their plain and natural account of diseases, I became 
 a Doctor, as well as if I had been a regular collegiate. But it is 
 time to think of my various story. Having married the illustrious 
 Julia, as related in a preceding page, and by the death of her 
 father soon after the wedding, acquired a handsome settlement, 
 a considerable sum of money, and a valuable collection of books, 
 I thought myself so happily situated in the midst of flourishing 
 mercies, and so well secured from adversity, that it was hardly 
 possible for the flame of destruction to reach me. But when I 
 had not the least reason to imagine calamity was near me, and 
 fondly imagined prosperity was my own, infelicity came stalking 
 on unseen : and from a fulness of peace, plunged us at once into 
 an abyss of woe. It was our wont, when the evenings were fine, 
 to take a boat at the bottom of a meadow, at the end of our garden, 
 and in the middle of a deep river, pass an hour or two in fishing); 
 but at last, by some accident or other, a slip of the foot, or the 
 boat's being got a little too far from the bank's side, Julia was 
 drowned. This happened in the tenth month of our marriage. 
 The loss of this charming angel in such a manner sat powerfully 
 on my spirits for some time, and the remembrance of her perfec- 
 tions, and the delights I enjoyed while she lived, made me wish 
 I had never seen her. To be so vastly happy as I was, and be 
 deprived of her in a moment, in so shocking a way, was an afflic- 
 tion I was hardly able to bear. It struck me to the heart. I 
 sat with my eyes shut ten days. 
 
 But losses and pains I considered were the portion of mortals 
 in this trying state, and from thence we ought to learn to give up 
 our own wills ; and to get rid of all eager wishes, and violent 
 affection, that we may take up our rest wholly in that which 
 pleaseth God. Carrying our submission to Him so far, as to 
 bless His correcting hand, and kiss that rod that cures our 
 passionate eagerness, perverseness, and folly. 
 
 We ought Ukewise to learn from such things, to look upon the 
 sad accidents of life, as not worthy to be compared with what 
 Christ underwent for our sakes, who, though he was a Son, yet 
 He learned obedience by the things that He suffered ; and with 
 Christian resignation live in a quiet expectance of a future 
 happy state, after our patience has had its perfect work. Con- 
 sidering that these light and momentary afflictions are not worthy 
 to be compared with the glory that Christ hath purchased for 
 us ; and if we are faithful to death, hath promised to bestow 
 upon us. 
 
 In all these things resigning to the wisdom of God, and not 
 merely to His will and authority, believing His disposal to be 
 wisest and best; and that His declarations and promises are 
 true, though we cannot in some cases discern the reason of such 
 an end, and such means being connected, nor can imagine how 
 
434 THE LIFE OF 
 
 some promises can be made good. Patience, I said, my soul ! 
 Patience, and what thou knowest not now, thou shalt know in a 
 little time. Thus I reasoned, as I sat with my eyes shut, and 
 Juvenal's observation recurred to my recollection — 
 
 Omnibus in terrls quie sunt a Gadibus usque 
 Auroran et Gangen, pauci dinoscere possunt 
 Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remota 
 Erroris nebula : quid enim ratione timemus 
 Aut cupimus ? Quid tarn dextro pede concipls, ut te 
 Conatus non pceniteat, votique peracti ? 
 
 Having thus given vent to reflection, I called to Soto O'Einn, 
 my man, to bring the horses out immediately, and I would go 
 some way or other to see new scenes, and if I could, get another 
 wife ; as I was bom with the disease of repletion, and had made 
 a resolution not to fornicate, it was incumbent on me to have a 
 sister and companion, with whom I might lawfully carry on the 
 succession. As a friend to society, and passively obedient to 
 the laws of my higher country, a wife for ever, I declared ; for, 
 if on losing one, we can still be so fortunate as to get another, 
 who is pretty without pride ; witty without affectation ; to 
 virtue only and her friends a friend — 
 
 Whose sense is great, and great her skill. 
 For reason always guides her will ; 
 Civil to all to all she's just. 
 And faithful to her friend and trust : 
 Whose character, in short, is such. 
 That none can love or praise too much. 
 
 If such a charmer should again appear, and ten thousand such 
 there ever are among the sex, silly and base though the 
 majority may be ; what man could say he had had enough of 
 wedlock, because he had buried seven such wives ? I am sure 
 I could not. And if, like the men who were but stripUngs at 
 fourscore, in the beginning of this world, I was to live for ages, 
 and by accidents lost such partners as I have described ; I would 
 with rapture take hundreds of them to my breast, one after 
 another, and piously propagate the kind. The most despicable 
 
 of all creatures is a w . An abomination to heaven : and 
 
 if God was a mere fanciful fear ; yet such a wretch the prostitute 
 is, that neither honour nor honesty can ever be expected from 
 her. But, in defiance to divine and human laws, she lives a foe 
 to mankind ; to ruin the fortune, disease the body, and for ever 
 damn the soul of the miserable man, who is dunce enough to 
 become a Limberham to the execrable wretch. The misfortunes 
 I have known happen to gentlemen of my acquaintance by street- 
 
 w , chamber-w — -~, and kept-w — , would make a volume 
 
 as large as this I am writing, and leave another world quite out 
 of the history. I have seen gentlemen of the best fortunes and 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 4i? 
 
 education, become worn-out beggars in the streets of London, 
 without anything hardly to cover them, by the means of these 
 execrable harlots ; some have become bullies to brothels ; and 
 many I have beheld going to the gallows by maintaining the 
 falsest and least-engaging of women ; but take a modest sensible 
 woman to your heart, who has the fear of the great God before 
 her eyes, and a regard to the laws of her country, share your 
 fortune generously with her, that she may have her innocent 
 amusements and dress, be for ever good-humoured, be true to 
 her bed, and every feUcity you may taste that it is possible 
 to enjoy in this lower hemisphere. Let a wife be our choice, as 
 we are rationals. 
 
 With these notions in my head, I mounted my horse ; and 
 determined, in the first place, to pay a visit to my two beauties 
 at Orton-lodge, who were by this time at age, and see what opinions 
 they had acquired, and if they had any commands for me. But 
 when I arrived at my romantic spot, I found the ladies were gone, 
 all places shut up, and no soul there ; the key of the house-door 
 was left for me, and a note fastened to it, to inform me how the 
 affair was. 
 
 " Sir, 
 " Not having had the favour of hearing from you for almost 
 three years, and despairing of that honour and happiness any 
 more, we have left your fine soUtude, to look after our fortunes, 
 as we are of age ; and on enquiry have found that old Cock, 
 our cruel guardian, is dead and gone. We are under infinite 
 obligations to you, have an extreme sense of your goodness, 
 and hope, if you are yet in the land of the living, that we shall 
 soon be so happy as to get some account of you, to the end we 
 may return the weighty balance due from. 
 Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged, 
 
 and ever humble servants." 
 
 From the date of this letter it appeared that they were not a 
 month gone before my arrival ; but to what place they said not, 
 and it was in vain for me to enquire. I found every thing in 
 good order, and all the goods safe ; the garden full of fruits and 
 vegetables, and plenty of various eatables in the house, pickled, 
 potted, and preserved. As it was in the month of June, the 
 solitude looked vastly charming in its vales and forest, its rocks 
 and waters ; and for a month I strove to amuse myself there in 
 fishing, shooting, and improving the ground ; but it was so 
 dull, so sad a scene, when I missed the bright companions I had 
 with me in former days, who used to wander with me in the valleys, 
 up the hills, by the streams, and make the whole a paradise all 
 
496 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the day long, that I could not bear it longer than four weeks, 
 and rode from thence to Dr. Stanvil's seat, to ask him how he 
 did, and look once more at that fine curiosity. Miss Dunk that 
 was, but at the time I am speaking of, his wife. However, before 
 I left my lodge, I made a discovery one day, ss I was exploring 
 the wild country, round my little house, that was entertaining 
 enough, and to this day, in remembrance, seems to me so agree- 
 able, that I imagine a relation of this matter may be grateful to 
 my Readers. It contains the story of a lady, who cannot be 
 enough admired, can never be sufficiently praised. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE BEAUTIFUL LEONORA. 
 
 As I rambled one summer's morning, with my gun and my 
 dog, over the vast mountains which surrounded me at Orton- 
 lodge, I came as the sun was rising to a valley about four miles 
 from my house, which I had not seen before, as the way to it, 
 over the Fells, was a dangerous road. It was green and flowery, 
 had clumps of oaks in several spots, and from the hovering top of 
 a precipice at the end of the glen, a river falls engulphed in 
 rifted rocks. It is a fine rural scene. 
 
 Here I sat down to rest myself, and was admiring the natural 
 beauties of the place, when I saw three females turn into the vale, 
 and walk towards the water-fall. One of them, who appeared 
 to be the mistress had an extravagance of beauty in her face and 
 a form such as I had not often seen. The others were pretty 
 women drest Uke quakers and very clean. They came very 
 near the water where I was, but did not see me, as I was behind 
 two rocks which almost joined : and after they had looked awhile 
 at the headlong river, they went back, and entering a narrow-way 
 between two hills disappeared. I was greatly surprised at what 
 I had seen, not imagining I had such a neighbour in Richmond- 
 shire, and resolved to know who this beauty was. The wonders 
 of her face, her figure, and her mien, were striking to the last 
 degree. 
 
 Arising then as soon as they were out of sight, I walked on to 
 the turning I saw them enter ; and in half an hour's time came 
 to a plain, through which several brooks wandered, and on the 
 margin of one of them, was a grove and a mansion. It was a 
 sweet habitation, at the entrance of the little wood ; and before 
 the door, on banks of flowers, sat the illustrious owner of this 
 retreat, and her two maids. In such a place, in such a manner, 
 so unexpectedly to find so charming a woman, seemed to me as 
 pleasing an incident as could be met in traveUing over the world. 
 
 At my coming near this lady she appeared to be astonished, 
 and to wonder much at seeing such an inhabitant in that part 
 of the world : but on pulling off my hat, and telling her I came 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 437 
 
 to visit her as her neighbour ; to pay my humble respects to her, 
 and beg the honour of her acquaintance ; she asked me, from 
 what vale or mountain I came, and how long I had been a resident 
 in that wild part of the world ? This produced a compend of 
 some part of my story, and when I had done, she desired me to 
 walk in. Coffee and hot rolls were soon brought, and we break- 
 fasted cheerfully together. I took my leave soon after, having 
 made her a present of some black cocks and a hare I had shot 
 that morning ; and hoped, if it was possible to find an easy way 
 to my lodge, which I dad not yet know, that I should some time 
 or other be honoured with her presence at my little house ; which 
 was worth her seeing, as it was situated in the most delightful 
 part of this romantic silent place, and had many curiosities near 
 it ; that in the mean time, if it was agreeable, I would wait upon 
 her again, before I left Richmondshire, which would be soon : 
 for I only came to see how things were, and was obUged to hasten 
 another way. This beauty repUed, that it would give her 
 pleasure to see me when I had a few hours to spare. From this 
 invitation I went three times more within a short-space, we 
 became well acquainted, and after dinner one day, she gave me 
 the following relation. 
 
 " My name was Leonora Sarsfield before I married an 
 Irishman, one Burke, whom I met at Avignon in France. He 
 is one of the handsomest men of the age, though his hopes were 
 all his fortune ■ but he has proved himself a villain as great as 
 ever disgraced mankind. His breeding and his eloquence, added 
 to his fine figure, induced me to fancy him an angel of a man, and 
 to imagine I had well bestowed a hundred thousand pounds, to 
 make him great, and as happy as the day is long. For three 
 months he played the god, and I fondly thought there was not 
 such another happy woman as myself in all the world, but I was 
 mistaken. Burke found out by some means or other, that I 
 concealed five thousand pounds of my fortune from his know- 
 ledge ; and that I was in my heart so good a protestant, that it 
 was impossible to bring me over to popery, or ever get me to be 
 an idolater at the mass, before the tiny god of dough : that I 
 could never be brought to look upon the invented superstitions, 
 and horrible corruptions of the church of Rome, as the true reUg- 
 ion ; nor be ever persuaded to assist at the Latin service in that 
 communion, as it must be an abomination tp Christ and to God, 
 if the gospel may be depended upon as the rule of faith. When 
 Burke perceived these things, he threw off the disguise, and 
 appeared a monster instead of a man, a bigot of the first order, 
 as he was a furious papist, which I did not know, when we were 
 married ; and as he was by nature as cruel, as he was avaricious 
 by principle, he began to use me in the vilest manner, and by 
 words and deeds, did ail he could to make my life a burden to 
 
4a8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 me. He was for ever abusing me in the vilest language ; cursing 
 me for a heretic for ever damned ; and by blows compelling me 
 to inform him where my money was ; he has left me covered with 
 my own blood very often, and when he found I still held out, and 
 would not discover to him what remained of my fortune, nor 
 violate my reUgion, which I valued much more than my money ; 
 by renouncing the customs and practice of the reformed church, 
 and joining in the sinful worship of the mass ; he came to me one 
 night with a smaU oak saphng, and beat me in such a manner as 
 left me almost dead. He then went out of the house, told me he 
 would return by twelve, and make me comply, or he would break 
 every bone in my body. This happened at a country-seat ot 
 mine in the shire ; all the servants being obUged to lie every 
 night in an out-house, that he might have the more power over 
 me. His excessive avarice was but one cause of this inhuman 
 behaviour : it was the zeal of this raging bigot for his ever-cursed 
 popery, that made him act the unrelenting inquisitor. 
 
 " I asked you, Sir, before I began my story, if you were a 
 cathoUc, and as you assured me you were the very reverse, I 
 may indulge myself a little in expressing my resentments against 
 that religion of Satan, which the Popish doctors drew out of the 
 bottomless pit. It is a religion formed in hell by devils, and from 
 them brought by those arch-poUticians, the mass-priests, to make 
 the world their slaves, or rack the human race to death, by 
 torments that would perhaps melt even devils. O bloody and 
 infernal scheme of worship I Surely there is some chosen curse, 
 some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, red with just wrath 
 to blast the men, who owe their greatness to their apostasy from 
 the religion of Christ Jesus : and to the woes and pains they lay 
 on mankind. By the religion of modern Rome, you see in me 
 a wife almost tortured to extinction by a holy Roman catholic 
 husband : nor am I the only married protestant woman, who 
 has felt the stripes and bruises of a merciless popish companion. 
 Thousands to be sure have suffered as well as I upon the same 
 account, though none in so miserable a manner. Even fathers 
 have lost all bowels for their children, and become the most 
 violent persecutors, when the blessed religion of popery has been 
 in dispute. Children, for its sake, have destroyed their parents, 
 and the world has been turned into a field of blood, to feed and 
 support those dreadful slaughterers, the mass-priests ; and gratify 
 the blind and impious rehgious fancies of their well-taught 
 religionists, commonly called catholics. What I have suffered 
 g^ves me a true sense of popery. It has made me consider its 
 errors and iniquities with double attention. I tremble at the 
 thoughts of its prevaiUng in this land. How direful is popery, 
 whether we consider it in a religious view, or regard it as a political 
 contrivance, to gratify the avarice and ambition of the clergy, 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 429 
 
 it appears the just object of our contempt, as well as of our abhor- 
 rence. It not only makes its priests the slaughterers of man- 
 kind ; witness the inquisition, the Morisco's, Thorn,* England, 
 Ireland, France, the Low Countries, Hungary, and other theatres 
 of barbarity, the most shocking and inhuman ; but it causes 
 even husbands to become mere devils to wives who are angels 
 of women in mind and body, and can only be charged with their 
 being protestants. Could that reUgion come down from heaven, 
 which claims a right not only to persecute single persons, but to 
 devote whole nations to detruction by the blackest treachery, 
 and most inhuman massacres ; and which teaches such absur- 
 dities as transubstantiation, masses, purgatory, penances, indul- 
 gences, and attrition ; absurdities that dissipate the poor Romans 
 of those guilty fears, which natural conscience might otherwise 
 keep ahve in men. Such things, without mentioning the ador- 
 ation of the cross and other images, and the increasing multitude 
 of imaginary mediators, entirely destroy the credibility of any 
 system with which they are connected. God cannot be the author 
 of a scheme which weakens and corrupts the law of nature.. 
 
 "But as to my tragical relation," continued Leonora, "being 
 thus left by Burke in this sad situation, bleeding, and miserable 
 with pains, but stiU in dread of worse usage on his return, I crawled 
 down stairs, to a small door in a black place, which opened to a 
 private way out of the house. This was known only to myself, as it 
 was a passage my father had made, in case of thieves, or any vil- 
 lains, from a Uttle unfrequented cellar, by a narrow ascending arch, 
 to a thicket in the corner of a shrubby field, at a small distance 
 from the house. To a labyrinth made in this small grove I made 
 what haste I could, and had not been long there, before I per- 
 ceived through the trees my inhuman husband ; and as he came 
 near me, heard him say, ' she shall tell me where my money is, 
 for aU she has is mine ; and worship our lady and the host, or I 
 will burn her flesh off her bones, and make her feel as many 
 torments here, as the heretics are tortured with in everlasting 
 pain.' The sight of the monster made me tremble to so violent 
 a degree, that I was scarcely able to proceed to the cottage of a 
 poor woman, my sure friend, about two miles from the place I 
 was hid'in ; but I did my best to creep through crossways, and 
 after many difiiculties, and suffering much by going over ditches, 
 I got to my resting-place. The old woman, my nurse, screeched 
 at the sight of me, as I was sadly torn, and all over gore. Such 
 a spectacle as I presented has been seldom seen. But by peace 
 and proper things, I got well again in two months, and removed 
 to this lone house, which my father had built in this spot for his 
 
 • The Morisco's were expelled Spain in the year 149s ; the inquisition was erected four 
 years after, and the doings at Thorn, by which the quantity of blood formerly spilt on the 
 ground by ever-cursed popery was increased, in the year 1724. 
 
430 THE LIFE OF 
 
 occasional retirement. Here I have been for two years past, 
 and am as happy as I desire to be : nay vastly so, as I .am now 
 free and deUvered from a monster, whose avarice and cruelty 
 made me a spectacle to angels and men : because, Sir, I would 
 not reduce myself to the state of a beggar, to satisfy his insatiable 
 love of money : nor worship his dead woman, and bit of bread ; 
 his rabble of saints, images, relics, and that (sovereign cheat, the 
 Pope ; because I would not give up all I had, and become an 
 idolator, as far more despicable and sinful than the antient Pagans ; 
 as the Romish ritual and devotions are more stupid and abomin- 
 able than the Heathen reUgion ; for disobedience in these respects, 
 pains and penalties without ceasing were my appointment, and 
 I was for some months as miserable as the damned. 
 
 " Such, Sir, was my fatal marriage, which I thought would 
 be a stock of such fehcities, that time only by many years could 
 reduce to an evanescent state, and deprive me of. As Venus was 
 at the bridal with her whole retinue ; the ardent amorous boy, 
 the sister-graces in their loose attire ; Aglaia, Thalia, and 
 Euphrosme, bright, blooming, and gay ; and was attended by 
 Youth, that wajrward thing without her ; was conducted by 
 Mercury, the god of eloquence, and by Pitho, the goddess of 
 persuasion ; as all seemed pleasurable and enchanting, my young 
 imagination formed golden scenes, and painted a happiness quite 
 glorious and secure. But how precarious and perishing is what 
 we mortals call fehcity ! Love and his mother disappeared very 
 soon, as I have related ; and to them succeeded impetuous 
 passion, intense, raging, and terrible, with aU the furies in the train. 
 The masked hero I had married was a Phalaris, a miser, -a papist ; 
 a wretch who had no taste for love, no conception of virtue, no 
 sense of charms ; but to gold and popery would sacrifice every 
 thing that is fair and laudable. Le Diable a quatre he shined in as 
 a player, and was the Devil himself in flesh and blood. ' Where 
 
 is the rest of your gold, you b ? ' with uphfted arm, was the 
 
 cry thundered in my ears. ' You shall be cathoUc, d you, 
 
 or I will pinch off the flesh from your bones.' " 
 
 Here the beautiful Leonora had done, and I wondered very 
 greatly at her relation, nor was her action in speaking it, and 
 the spirit with which she talked, less surprising. With admiration 
 I beheld her, and was not a little pleased, that I had found in my 
 neighbourhood so extraordinary a person, and so very fine an 
 original. This lady had some reason to abhor the word cathohc, 
 and might well be angry with popery, though she carried resent- 
 ment a httle too far ; but had the Reader seen her attitude, her 
 energies, and the faces she made, when she mentioned the cor- 
 ruptions of popery, or the word husband, sure I am, it would be 
 thought much more striking than Garrick in Richard, or Shute, 
 in his exhibition of Old Philpot. I was greatly delighted with 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 431 
 
 her, and as she was very agreeable in every thing, I generally went 
 every second day to visit her during the short time I continued 
 in Richmondshire. 
 
 Bear me, ye friendly powers, to gentler scenes. 
 To shady bow'rs, and never-fading greens ; 
 To flow'ry meads, the vales, and mazy woods. 
 Some sweet soft seat, adorn'd with springs and floods : 
 Where with the muses, I may spend my days. 
 And steal myself from life by slow decays. 
 With age unlmown to pain or sorrow blest. 
 To the dark grave retiring as to rest ; 
 While gently with one sigh this mortal frame. 
 Dissolving turns to ashes whence it came ; 
 And my free'd soul departs without a groan. 
 In transport wings her flight to worlds unknown. 
 
 July 2, 1734, I journeyed from Orton-lodge, to Bassora, to pay 
 my respects to Dr. Stanvil and his charming consort, and was 
 received by them both with the greatest goodness and civihty ; 
 but as before, this lady did not seem to have had any former 
 acquaintance, one might well think from the part she acted, 
 that she had never seen me, till the accident I have related brought 
 me to her husband's house. I did not however even hint any 
 tiling to the contrary, but turning to the Doctor a Uttle after 
 my arrival, began to ask him some questions. 
 
 As he had an Essay on Fevers in his hand, when I entered the 
 room, I requested to know how he accounted for the effects of 
 Cantharides, in raising and strengthening a low trembhng pulse, 
 and driving the natural heat and efiflatus of the blood outward, 
 in giving rehef in deUrious ravings, stupors, and loss of reason, in 
 reducing continual fevers to distinct remissions, and in cleansing 
 and opening the obstructed glands and lymphatics, so as to bring 
 on the critical sweats, let loose the sahva and glandular secre- 
 tions, and bring down the thick soluble urine ? How does bhster- 
 ing, so happily brought in by the physical buUy of this age. Dr. 
 RadcUfEe, so wonderfully cool and dilute the blood ? It seems 
 to me somewhat strange. 
 
 "It is easily accounted for," replied Dr. Stanvil. " The 
 Spanish fly, an extremely hot and perfectly caustic insect, is 
 stocked with a subtile, active, and extremely pungent salt, 
 which enters the blood upon the appUcation of the blister, and 
 passes with it through the several glandular strainers and secre- 
 tory ducts. This stimulating force of the fly's salt, occasions 
 the pain felt in making the water with a bUster, which may be 
 taken off by a thin emulsion made with the pulp of roasted apples 
 in milk and water, and causes the hberaJ, foul, and stinking 
 sweats, while the Epispastic is on. 
 
 " This being evident, it is plain from thence, that the pene- 
 trating salts of the fly, that is, the volatile pungent parts of the 
 
432 THE LIFE OF 
 
 cantharides, act in the blood by dissolving, attenuating, and 
 rarifying the viscid cohesions of the lymph and serum ; by stimu- 
 lating the nervous coats of the vessels, throw off their stagnating 
 viscidities, and by cleansing the glands, and forcing out the 
 coagulated serum, restore the circulation and freedom of lymph 
 from the arteries to the veins ; opening, scouring and cleansing 
 at the same time, the expurgatory glands. 
 
 In short, as common cathartics purge the guts, and cleanse 
 and throw off their clammy, stagnating, and obstructing con- 
 tents, by rarifying and dissolving the viscid cohesions of the 
 fluids, and by stimulating the solids ; so do the active salts of the 
 fly penetrate the whole animal machine, become a glandular 
 lymphatic purge, and perform the same thing in all the small 
 straining conveying pipes, that common purgatives effect in the 
 intestines : and as by this means, all the sluices and outlets of 
 the glandular secretions are opened, the cantharides must be 
 cooling, diluting, and refrigerating in their effects to the greatest 
 degree, though so very hot, caustic, and pungent in themselves. 
 So wonderfully has the great Creator provided for his creature, 
 man ; in giving him not only a variety of the most pleasing food, 
 but so fine a medicine, among a thousand others, as the Spanish 
 fly, to save him from the destroying fever, and restore him to 
 health again. It is not by a discharge of serum, as too many 
 doctors imagine, that a bhster reUeves, for five times the quantity 
 may be brought off by bleeding, vomiting, or purging ; but the 
 benefit is entirely owing to that heating, attenuating, and pun- 
 gent salt of this fly, and this fly only, which the divine power 
 and goodness has made a lymphatic purgative, or glandular 
 cathartic for the rehef of man, in this fatal and tormenting malady. 
 Vast is our obhgation to God for all his providential blessings. 
 Great are the wonders that he doth for the children of men." 
 
 Here the Doctor dropt off his chair, just as he had pronounced 
 the word men, and in a moment became a hfeless sordid body. 
 His death was occasioned by the blowing up of his stomach, as I 
 found upon opening his body, at the request of his lady. When 
 the blood which is confined within the vessels of the human 
 body, is agitated with a due motion, it maintains hfe ; but if 
 there be a stagnation of it in an artery, it makes an aneurism ; 
 in a vein, a varix ; under the skin, a bruise ; in the nose, it may 
 excite an haemorrhage ; in the vessels of the brain, an apoplexy ; 
 in the lungs, an haemoptoe ; in the cavity of the thorax, an em- 
 pyema ; and when it perfectly stagnates there, immediate death. 
 
 An animal, observe me. Reader, must live so long as this fluid 
 circulates through the conical pipes in his body, from the lesser 
 base in the centre, the heart, to the greater in the extreme parts ; 
 and from the capillary evanescent arteries, by the nascent return- 
 ing veins to the heart again ; but when this fluid ceases to flow 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 433 
 
 through the incurved canals, and the velocities are no longer 
 in the inverse dupUcate ratio of the inflated pipes, then it dies. 
 The animal has done for ever with food and sex ; the two great 
 principles which move this world, and produce not only so much 
 honest industry, but so many wars and fightings, such cruel 
 oppressions, and that variety of woes we read of in the tragical 
 history of the world. Even one of them does wonders. Cunnus 
 teterrima beUi causa. And when united, the force is irresistible. 
 
 But as I was sajring, when this fluid ceases to flow, the man 
 has done with lust and hunger. The pope, the warrior, and the 
 maid, are still. The machine is at absolute rest, that is, in 
 perfect insensibihty ; and the soul of it is removed to the vesti- 
 bulum or porch of the highest holy place ; in a vehicle, says 
 WoUciston, and Burnet of the Charter-house, as needful to our 
 contact with the material system, as it must exist with a spiritual 
 body, says the Rev. Caleb Fleming, in his Survey of the Search 
 after Souls, because of its being present with its Saviour, behold- 
 ing his glory, who is in human form and figure, which requires 
 some simiUtude in the vehicle, in order to the more easy and 
 famihar society and enjoyment. Or, as the learned Master of 
 Peter-house, Dr. Edmund Law, and Dr. Sherlock, bishop of 
 London inform us, it remains insensible for ages, till the con- 
 summation of all things ; from the dissolution of the body, is 
 stupid, senseless, and dead asleep till the resurrection. 
 
 Such was the case of my friend, Dr. Stanvil ; he dropt down 
 dead at once. A rarefaction in his stomach, by the heat and 
 fermentation of what he had taken the night before at supper, 
 destroyed him. That concave viscus, or bowel, which is seated 
 in the abdomen below the diaphragm, I mean the stomach, was 
 inflamed, and as the descending trunk of the aorta passes down 
 between it and the spine, that is, between the stomach and back 
 part of the ribs, the inflation and distention of the bowel com- 
 pressed and constringed the transverse section of the artery aorta 
 in its descending branch, and by lessening it, impeded the de- 
 scent of the blood from the heart, and obliged it to ascend in a 
 greater quantity than usual to the head. By this means, the parts 
 of the head were distended and stretched with blood, which brought 
 on an apoplexy, and the operation upward being violent, the 
 equihbrium was entirely broken, and the vital tide could flow no 
 more. This I found on opening the body. I likewise observed 
 that, exclusive of the compressure of the descending trunk of the 
 artery aorta, the muscular coats of the stomach were 
 stretched, inflated, and distended ; and of consequence, the 
 blood-vessels which enter into the constitution of those muscles, 
 were stretched, dilated, and turgid with blood, and therefore 
 the blood could not be driven forward in the course of its circu- 
 lation with its natural and due velocity, but must prove an 
 
434 THE LIFE OF 
 
 obstacle to the descent of the blood from the heart, and oblige 
 almost the whole tide to move upwards. This, and the con- 
 stringing the aorta, at its orifice or transverse section, between 
 the costae and the bowel called the stomach, is enough, I assure 
 you. Reader, to knock up the head of a giant, and put a stop to 
 all the operations of nature. Thus fell this gentleman in the 
 thirty-second year of his age. 
 
 Whether the learned Dr. Edmund Law,* and the great Dr. 
 Sherlock ■\ bishop of Lxjndon, be right, in asserting, the human 
 soul sleeps Uke a bat or a swallow, in some cavern for a period, 
 tiU the last trumpet awakens Lewis XIV. the hero of Voltaire 
 and Henault ; to answer for his treachery, falsehood, and cruelty ; 
 or, whether that excellent divine Mr. Fleming has declared the 
 truth, in maintaining in his late Survey, that the conscious scheme 
 was the doctrine of Christ and his apostles ; this however is 
 certain, that my friend Stanvil is either now present with his 
 Saviour, beholding his glory, in a vehicle resembUng the body 
 of our Lord ; as the dissenter just mentioned teaches ; or if, 
 according to Archdeacon Law, the author of Considerations on 
 the State of the World, and my Lord of London, in his Sermons, 
 the scriptures take no account of an intermediate state in death, 
 and we shall not awake or be made alive until the day of judg- 
 ment ; then will my friend have eternal Ufe at the resurrection ; 
 he was as worthy a man as ever hved ; an upright Christian 
 deist, whose hfe was one unmixed scene of virtue and charity. 
 He did not believe a tittle of our priestly mysteries, or regard 
 that reUgion which skulks behind the enormous columns of conse- 
 crated opinions ; but, as Christianity was revealed from heaven, 
 to bring mankind to the worship of the one supreme God and 
 governor of the world, and lead them into the paths of humanity, 
 he rejected the superstition of Monks and their disciples, and 
 in regard to the voice of reason, and the words of the gospel, 
 adored only the supreme Being, manifested his love of God by 
 keeping the commandments, and his love of his neighbour, by 
 doing all the good in his power. Such a man was Dr. John 
 Stanvil. If men of fortune would form their manners on such 
 
 * Notwithstanding all the fine learning o{ Dr. Law, I thinl: he is mistaken in many of 
 his notions, and especially in his Notes on Archbishop King's Origin of Evil ; as I intend 
 to Shew in my Notes aforementioned. His TrWuism likewise requires a few anunadversions ; 
 which I shall humbly offer with plainness, fairness, and freedom. 
 
 t Dr. Sherlock, bishop of London, died atFulham, after a long and lingering illness, Satur- 
 day, July i8, 1761, three months after the great and excellent bishop Hoadley, who departed 
 this life at Chelsea, April 20, 1761. Sherlock and Hoadley never agreed ; and which of 
 them was right I attempt to shew in my Notes on Men and Things and Books. Which will 
 be published as soon as possible. Why I think Hoadley's Sermons far preferable to Sherlock's, 
 vastly beautiful though some things are in the Discourses of the latter ; and that my Lord 
 of Winchester's Plain Account of the Supper is a most rational and fine performance ; as 
 gold to earth in respect of all that has been written against this book. Why, I say, all 
 Hoadley's Tracts are matchless and invulnerable, and that he was victor in the Bangorian 
 controversy, the Reader will find in many considerations on these subjects in the book 
 called Nous, &c. aforementioned. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE, ESQ. 435 
 
 a model, virtue by degrees would spread through the inferior 
 world, and we should soon be free from superstition. 
 
 Having mentioned the sleeping and the conscious schemes, I 
 would here examine these opinions, and shew why I cannot think 
 a dead inconscious silence is to be our case tiU the consummation 
 of the ages ; as a happiness so remote would weaken I believe 
 the energy and influence of our conceptions and apprehensions, 
 in: respect of faith, hope, and expectations. To curb, desire, or 
 suffer severely here, for the sake of truth and virtue, and then 
 cease to be, perhaps for ten thousand years to come, or much 
 longer ; (for there is not any thing in revelation, or an appearance 
 out of it, that can inchne a rational man to think he is near the 
 day of judgment or general resurrection ;) this seems to be an 
 obstacle in the progress of the pilgrim. And therefore, why 
 I rather think, we step immediately from the dark experiences 
 of this first state, to a bhssf ul consciousness in the regions of day, 
 and by death are fixed in an eternal connexion with the wise, the 
 virtuous, and the holy ; this, I say, I would in the next place 
 proceed to treat of, by considering what the scriptures reveal 
 in relation to death, and what is most probable in reason ; but 
 that it is necessary to proceed in my story. 
 
 When the beautiful Mrs. Stanvil saw her husband was really 
 dead, and had paid that decent tribute of tears to his memory, 
 which was due to a man, who left her in his will all his estates, 
 real and personal, to be by her disposed of as she pleased, she 
 sent for me to her chamber the next morning, and after a long 
 conversation with her, told me, she could now own who she was, 
 and instead of acting any longer by the directions of her head, 
 let me know from her heart, that she had still the same regard 
 for me, as when we travelled away together from her father's 
 house in the West, to the North of England ; and if I would stay 
 at Bassora where I was, but for three months she must be away, 
 she would then return, and her fortune and hand I might com- 
 mand. This I readily consented to, and when the funeral was 
 over she departed. For the time agreed on, I continued in the 
 house, and to a day she was punctual in her return. We were 
 married the week after, and I was even happier than I had ever 
 been before, which must amount to a felicity inconceivably 
 great indeed. Six months we resided at her seat, and then 
 thought it best to pay a visit to my father in Ireland. We ar- 
 rived at Bagatrogh Castle in the western extremity of that island, 
 in the spring of the year 1735, and were most kindly received. 
 
 My father longed to see me, and was very greatly rejoiced at 
 my coming ; but I found him in a dying way, paralytic all over, 
 and scarcely able to speak. To my amazement, he was become 
 as strict a unitarian as myself, and talked with abhorrence of 
 Athanasian religion. This was owing, he said, to my manu- 
 
43<5 THE LIFE OF 
 
 script Remarks which I left with him on Lord Nottingham's 
 Answer to Whiston's Letter to his Lordship ; which manuscript 
 of mine he -had often read over when I was gone, and thereby 
 was thoroughly con\dnced, on considering my reasoning, that 
 Christians are expressly commanded, upon pain of God's dis- 
 pleasure, to worship one supreme God, and him only, in the name 
 and through the mediation of Jesus Christ. Upon this religious 
 practice as a fundamental rule he had at last fixed. He saw it 
 was the safe way, and would never depart from it. He told 
 me, the parson of his parish, a right orthodox divine, who had 
 been his chum in the university, and very intimate with him, 
 was greatly troubled at this change in his sentiments, and said 
 many severe things ; but he no more minded the Athanasians 
 now, than he did the idolatrous papists. This gave me great 
 pleasure, and recompensed me for what I had suffered on a 
 religious account. I gave thanks to God that truth through my 
 means had prevailed. 
 
 And now my candid Reader, to take my leave of you at this 
 time, I have only to observe, that as this volume is fuU large, 
 I can only say in a short summary, that soon after my arrival 
 at Bagatrogh Castle, my father's seat on ,Mall-Bay, on the coast 
 of Galway in Ireland, the old gentleman died, and as in a passion, 
 he had irrevocably settled the greatest part of his large estate 
 on a near relation of mine, and had it not in his power to leave 
 me more than a hundred a year, a little ready money, and a 
 small ship, which lay before his door in the Bay, he descended 
 to the grave in great trouble, with many tears. Like old Isaac 
 over Esau, he wept bitterly, and wished in vain, that it was in 
 his power to undo what he had done. 
 
 As soon as my father was buried, I returned to England with 
 my wife, in the little vessel, now my own, which lay in the Bay, 
 and immediately after landing, and laying up my ship in a safe 
 place, we went to Bassora again, there lived for one year as 
 happy as two mortals could be ; but in the beginning of the year 
 1736, she died of the small pox, and to divert my mind, it came 
 into my head to go to sea, and make some voyages in my own 
 little ship, which was an excellent one for strength and sailing, 
 though but a sloop of twenty-five tons. I went captain myself, 
 and had an ingenious young gentleman, one Jackman, for my 
 mate, who had been in the East Indies several times, six good 
 hands, and two cabin-bo}^. Every thing necessary, convenient, 
 and fit, books, mathematical instruments, &c. we took on board, 
 and weighed anchor the 5th of July, 1736. 
 
 We went on shore at the Canary Islands, the Cape de Verd Islands, 
 and other places. We passed the Sun in 1 5 degrees North latitude, 
 and from that time standing South, crossed the Line ; the heats 
 intolerable, and the musquitoes and bugs insufferable. We soon 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 437 
 
 lost sight of the Northern star, and had the Crosiers and Magella 
 clouds in view. In three months time we anchored at St. 
 Catharine's on the coast of Brazil. The secondof December we 
 saw the Streights la Maine, that run betwixt Terra del Fuego and 
 Staten, and is the boundary between the Atlantic and Pacific 
 oceans ; but instead of venturing into them, and hazarding our lives 
 among the impetuous blasts and waves which sweep round Cape 
 Horn, as Admiral Anson did on the 7th of March ,1741, two months 
 too late, by the fault of the ministry, in his way to the South Seas ; 
 we kept out at sea to the East of Staten-land, and ran to the 
 latitude 64, before we stood to the Westward. The weather 
 was fine, as it was then the height of summer, to wit, in December 
 and January. All the occurrences in this course, the discovery 
 we made in the latitude above-mentioned of an inhabited island, 
 governed by a young Queen, and what appeared and happened 
 there, and in our run from thence to Borneo and Asia, round the 
 globe ; and from China to Europe, on our return home ; with 
 the events we afterwards met with, and the observations I made 
 in other places, the Reader will find in a book called, The Voyages 
 and Travels of Dr. Larimer. 
 
 Nine years of my life were spent in travelling and sailing about, 
 and at last I returned to rest and reflect, and in rational amuse- 
 ments pass the remainder of my time away. I retired to a little 
 flowery retreat I had purchased within a few miles of London, 
 that I might easily know what was doing in this hemisphere, 
 while I belong to it ; and in the midst of groves and streams, 
 fields and lawns, have lived as happily ever since, as a mortal 
 can do on this Planet. 
 
 Dr. Cheyne by the way, I observe, calls it a ruined Planet, in 
 his wild posthumous book ;* a notion he had from enthusiastic 
 Law,t his master, but from what I have seen on three continents, 
 
 • It is a question with some, if this book was not written by the Doctor's visionary daughter 
 or by her and theJRev. Athanasian Bigot, her brother. But as I knew the Doctor after he 
 was a little cracked with imaginary reUgion, and have heard him talk as in this book, I am 
 positive it is his. 
 
 t William Law, the father of our Methodists, and the disciple of Jacob Behmen the the- 
 osopher, died at King's Cliff near Nottingham, April 13, 1761, seven days before bishop Hoad- 
 ley, against whom he was a bitter ^Titer in the Bangorian controversy. I knew this famous 
 visionary very well, and shall remark largely on his writings in my Notes relating to Men 
 and Things and Boohs. 
 
 Law was the most amazing compound 1 have ever seen. He was a man of sense, a fine 
 writer, and a fine gentleman ; and yet the wildest enthusiast that ever appeared among men. 
 His temper was charming, sweet, and delightful ; and his manners quite primitive and un- 
 commonly pious : he was all charity and goodness, and so soft and gentle in conversation, 
 that I have thought myself in company with one of the men of the first chiurch at Jerusalem 
 while with him. He had likewise the justest notions of Christian temper and practice, and 
 recommended them in so insinuating a manner, that even a rake would hear him with 
 pleasure. I have not seen any like him among the sons of men in these particulars. It 
 was wrong to put him in the Dunciad, and call him one Law, as Pope does. He was really 
 a very extraordinary man ; and to his honour be it remembered, that he had the great con- 
 cern of human life at heart, took much pains in the pulpit, and from the press, witness his 
 two fine books On a devout Lift : to make men fear God and keep his commandments. He 
 wa< a good man indeed. 
 
438 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and in traversing the ocean round the globe, from West to East, 
 and from the Southern latitude 64, to 66 North ; a Planet in 
 reality so divinely made and perfect, that one can never suffici- 
 ently adore and praise an ia&nitely wise God for such a piece 
 of his handy work. A world so wisely contrived, so accurately 
 made, as to demonstrate the Creator's being and attributes, and 
 cause every rational mortal to acknowledge that Jehovah is our 
 God, and fear and obey so great and tremendous a Being the 
 power and glory of our God. 
 
 But as I was saying, after my return, I bought a little spot and 
 country-house, where I might rest from my labours, and easily 
 know what is doing in this hemisphere : how gloriously our most 
 gracious and excellent king endeavours to advance the felicity of 
 his people, and promote the honour and dignity of Great Britain : 
 how indefatigable the present ministry is in pursuing such mea- 
 sures, as demonstrate they have the interest of their country at 
 heart ; as evince how well they supply the deficiencies of their 
 predecessors in of&ce ; and how zealously the combined wisdom 
 of the whole legislature acts for the preservation of the Britannic 
 constitution, and the Uberties and properties of the people ; that 
 the ends of the late war may be answered, and the peace at last 
 give universal satisfaction. 
 
 To hear such news ; and know what France and Spain are do- 
 ing ; and what the renowned Anti-Sejanus, who deserves the 
 curse and hatred of the whole community as an abetter of arbi- 
 trary power, and for attempting to raise the prerogative, is writing ; 
 I purchased a retirement near the capital, a spot surrounded with 
 woods and streams, plants and flowers ; and over which a silence 
 hovers, that gives a relish to still life, and renders it a contrast to 
 the busy, bustling, envious crowds of men. 
 
 Here I sat down at last, and have done with hopes and fears for 
 ever. 
 
 " Here grant me, heav'n, to end my peaceful days, 
 And pass what's left of life in studious ease ; 
 Here court the muses, whilst the sun on high. 
 Flames in the vault of heav'n, and fires the sky j 
 Soon as Aurora from her golden bow'rs. 
 Exhales the fragrance of the balmy flow'rs, 
 Reclin'd in silence on a mossy bed, 
 Consult the learned volumes of the dead ; 
 
 But what strange books did he write His Appeal to the Deity, His Sptrit of Prayer and 
 Lm/e, His Earnest and Serious Ansa'er to Trapp. His notes and Illustrations on Behmen. 
 His Replies to Hoadlcy ; and what is stranger still, his abuse of bishop Hoadley, in his 
 Appeal I have mentioned. 
 
 Here, had I room, 1 would relate a very curious conversation that passed between Dr. 
 Theoplulus Bolton, archbishop of Cashell in Ireland, a most excellent, most sensible, and most 
 learned man, and me, on the third night* s sale of archbishop Hing's library in Dublin, in 
 relation to Mr. Law. It happened on his Lordship's buying Jacob Behmen's works for a 
 pound, and then asking me, who stood by him, if I had read them, and could enable him to 
 understand them ? But this I must place in my Notes aforementioned. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 439 
 
 Fall'n realms and empires in description view. 
 Live o'er past times, and build whole worlds anew ; 
 Oft from the bursting tombs, in fancy rise 
 The sons of Fame, who liv'd in antient days ; 
 Oft listen till the raptur'd soul takes wings. 
 While Plato reasons, or while Homer sings. 
 
 Or when the night's dark wings this globe surround. 
 And the pale moon begins her solemn round ; 
 When night has drawn her curtains o'er the plain. 
 And silence reassumes her awful reign ; 
 Bid my free soul to starry orbs repair. 
 Those radiant orbs that float in ambient air. 
 And with a regular confusion stray. 
 Oblique, direct, along the aerial way : 
 Fountains of day 1 stupendous orbs of light ! 
 Which by their distance lessen to the sight : 
 And if the glass you use, t' improve your eyes 
 Millions beyond the former millions rise. 
 For no end were they made ? Or, but to blaze 
 Through empty space, and useless spend their rays .' 
 Or ought we not with reason to reply, 
 Each lucid point which glows in yonder sky. 
 Informs a system in the boundless space. 
 And fills with glory its appointed place : 
 With beams, unborrow'd, brightens other skies. 
 And worlds, to thee unknown, with heat and life supplies. 
 
 But chiefly, O my soul, apply to loftier themes. 
 The opening heav'ns, and angels robed with flames : 
 Read in the sacred leaves how time began. 
 And the dust mov'd and quicken'd into man ; 
 Here through the flow'ry walks of Eden rove. 
 Court the soft breeze, or range the spicy grove ; 
 There tread on hallow'd ground where angels trod. 
 And rev'rend patriarchs talk'd as friends with God ; 
 Or hear the voice to slumb'ring prophets giv'n. 
 Or gaze on visions from the throne of heav'n. 
 
 Thus lonely, thoughtful, may I run the race 
 Of transient life, in no unuseful ease : 
 Enjoy each hour, nor as it fleets away. 
 Think Ufe too short, and yet too long the day ; 
 Of right observant, while my soul attends 
 Each duty, and makes heav'n and angels friends : 
 Can welcome death with Faith's expecting eye. 
 And mind no pangs, since Hope stands smiling by ; 
 Nor studious how to make a longer stay. 
 Views heav'nly plains and realms of brighter day ; 
 ShsJses off her load, and wing'd with ardent love. 
 Spurns at the earth, and springs her flight above. 
 Soaring through air to realms where angels dwell, ^^ 
 
 Pities the shrieking fiends, and leaves the lessning hell. 
 
440 THE LIFE OP 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 THE 
 
 MYTHOLOGICAL PICTURE OF CEBES 
 
 BY THE REV. AND FAMOUS 
 
 JEREMY COLLIER 
 
 As we were taking a turn in Saturn's temple, we saw a great 
 many consecrated presents, remarkable enough for their curiosity. 
 Amongst the rest, we took particular notice of a picture hung over 
 the door ; the piece we perceived w£is an emblem and mythology ; 
 but then the representation wa.s so singular and out of custom, 
 that we were perfectly at a loss whence it should come, and what 
 was the meaning of it. Upon a strict view, we found it was neither 
 a city, nor a camp, but a sort of court, with two partitions of the 
 same figure within it, though one of them was larger than the 
 other. The first court had a crowd of people at the gate, and 
 within we saw a great company of women. Just at the entrance 
 of the first gate, there stood an old man, who by his gesture and 
 countenance seemed to be busy in giving advice to the crowd as 
 they came in. And being long at a stand about the design of the 
 fable, a grave man somewhat in years, making up, begins to 
 discourse us in this manner. Gentlemen, says he, I understand 
 you are strangers, and therefore it is no wonder the history of this 
 picture should puzzle you ; for there are not many of our own 
 countrymen that can explain it. For you are to observe, this is 
 none of our town manufacture. * But a long while ago, a certain 
 outlandish man-f of great sense and learning, and who by his dis- 
 course and behaviour, seemed to be a disciple of Pythagoras and 
 Parmenides ; this gentleman, I say, happened to travel hither, 
 built this structure, and dedicated both the temple and this piece 
 of painting to Saturn. Sir, said I, had you any acquaintance with 
 this gentleman. Yes, says he, I had the benefit of his conversa- 
 tion, and was one of his admirers a long time. For, to my 
 thinking, though he was but young, he talked at a strange signi- 
 ficant rate . J 
 
 N.B. The remainder of Collier's facetious version is omitted 
 for want of room. 
 
 • The Greek words which Collier renders town-manufacture, are iro\iTtici>v ara^ijiiia. 
 
 t And what he calls outlandish, is afevoc. 
 
 X The Greek l0, SifAeyero voWa. Kat trwovfiata. 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 44' 
 
 THE 
 
 TABLE OF CEBES 
 
 A DIALOGUE 
 
 BETWEEN AN OLD MAN AND A TRAVELLER 
 
 While we were walking in the temple of Saturn, in the city of 
 Thebes, and viewing the votive honours of the God, the various 
 offerings which had been presented to that deity, we observed at 
 the entrance of the Fane, a picture tablet that engaged our 
 attention, as it was a thing entirely new, both with regard to the 
 painting and the design. For some time, we stood considering 
 the device and fable, but still found ourselves unable to guess 
 the meaning. The piece did not seem to be either a city or a 
 camp ; but was a kind of a walled court, that had within it two 
 other inclosures, and one of them was larger than the other. The 
 first court opened at a gate, before which a vast crowd of people 
 appeared, impatient to enter ; and within a group of female figures 
 was represented. Stationed at the porch without, was seen a 
 venerable form, who looked like some great teacher, and seemed 
 to warn the rushing multitude. Long we gazed at this work, but 
 were not able to understand the design, till an old man came up to 
 us, and spoke in the following manner. 
 
 § I. O. It is no wonder strangers, that you cannot compre- 
 hend this picture : for even our inhabitants are not able to give 
 a solution of the allegoric scene. The piece is not an offering 
 of any of our citizens, but the work of a foreigner, a man of great 
 learning and virtue, and a zealous disciple of the Samian or Elean 
 sages, who arrived here many years ago, and by his conversation 
 instructed us in the best learning, which is morality. It was he 
 built and consecrated this temple to Saturn, and placed here this 
 picture you see before you. 
 
 r. And did you know (I said) and converse with this wise man ? 
 
 O. Yes, (he replied) I was long acquainted with him, and as he 
 was but young, and talked with great judgment upon the most 
 
443 THE LIFE OF 
 
 important subjects, with astonishment I have listened to him, and 
 with pleasure heard him explain the moral of this fable. 
 
 T. Expound to us then, (I conjure you) the meaning of the 
 picture, if business does not call you away ; for we long to be 
 instructed in the design of the piece. 
 
 O. I am at leisure, (the old man answered) and willingly consent 
 to your request ; but I must inform you first, there is some danger 
 in what you ask. If you hearken with attention, and by con- 
 sideration understand the precepts, you will become wise, virtuous 
 and blest :* if otherwise, you will be abandoned, blind, and miser- 
 able.! The explanation of the picture resembles the enigma of 
 the Sphinx, which she proposed to every passenger that came that 
 way. If they could expound the riddle they were safe ; but if 
 they failed in the attempt, they were destroyed by the monster. % 
 Folly is as it were a Sphinx to mankind. She asks you. How is 
 good and ill defined ? If you cannot explain the problem, and 
 happen to misjudge, you perish by degrees, and become the victim 
 of her cruelty. You do not die immediately, as the unhappy 
 did by the Theban monster ; but by the force and operation of 
 folly, you will find yourself dying from day to day, your rational 
 part wounded and decayed, every noble power of the soul con- 
 founded, and Uke those given up to punishment for hfe, feel the 
 last of those pangs, which guilt prepares for the stupid ; but if by 
 thinking, you can understand and discern the boundaries of 
 good and ill, then Folly like the Sphinx must perish, and your 
 life will be blest with happiness and serenity. Hear me then 
 with all your attention. 
 
 These things being previously observed by the old man, and we 
 intreating him to begin, he lifted up a wand he held, and pointing 
 to the picture, said, the first inclosure represents human life, and 
 the multitude at the gate, those who are daily entering into the 
 world. That aged person you see on an eminence, directing with 
 one hand, and holding in the other a roll, which is the code of 
 reason, is the genius of mankind ; benevolent, he seems to bend, 
 and teach the people what they ought to do ; shews them as they 
 enter into Ufe the path they ought to take ; the way which leads 
 to danger, and that which bears to safety and happiness. 
 
 T. And which is the way, (I said) and how are they to find it ? 
 
 O. That you shall know hereafter : but at present you must take 
 notice of that painted woman seated on a throne very near the 
 gate. She is called Delusion, and by every art, with fawn and 
 soft infection, presents a bowl of ignorance and error to all that 
 enter into hfe. They take the cup, and in proportion to what 
 
 t a^pofes, xai jcatKofiaijaoi/es, Kal itilfcpoi, Kat o/lAa^eic. 
 
 i This monster, who lived near Thebes, was said- to be the daughter of Typhon and 
 Echidna, and had a head and face like a girl, wings lilce a bird, and in the rest uke a dog. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 443 
 
 they have drank of the intoxicating mixture, are lead away by the 
 women you see, at a Uttle distance from Imposture, to destruction 
 some, and some to safety ; less erring and less blind those being 
 who have but teisted of Delusion's cup. 
 
 These women so variously drest, and so profusely gay, are called 
 the Opinions, Desires, and Pleasures. You observe how they 
 embrace each mortal as he arrives within the gate, promise the 
 greatest blessings, and compel their votaries to wander with them 
 where they please. 
 
 T. But who (I asked) is that woman placed on a globe, who 
 appears not only blind, but seems to be wild and distracted ? 
 Incessantly she walks about, and flings her favours capriciously. 
 From some she snatches their effects and possessions, and be- 
 stows them upon others. 
 
 O. They call her Fortune (replied the old man). Her attitude 
 marks her character. Her gifts are as unstable as her tottering 
 ball ; and aU who depend upon her specious promises, are deceived 
 when most they trust her, and find themselves exposed to the 
 greatest misfortunes. 
 
 T. There is a great crowd I perceive surrounding her, and if 
 too commonly she meditates mischief, whenever she smiles, what 
 is the meaning of their attendance. 
 
 O. These are the inconsiderate, and stand there to catch the 
 ioys she bUndly scatters among them ; (wealth, fame, titles, an 
 offspring, strength or beauty, the victor's laurel and arbitrary 
 power).- Those who rejoice, and are lavish in their praises of 
 this divinity, have received some favours from her, and call her 
 the goddess of good fortune. But those whom you see weeping 
 and wringing their hands, are such whom she has deprived of 
 every good ; they curse her as the goddess of iU-fortune. 
 
 T. But (replied I) as to riches, glory, nobility, a numerous 
 posterity, power, and honour, which you called toys, why are 
 they not real advantages ? 
 
 O. Of these things (our instructor answered) we shall speak 
 hereafter more fully. At present it is better to continue the ex- 
 plication of the picture. 
 
 § 2. Cast your eyes next then on that higher inclosure, (pro- 
 ceeded the old man) and take notice of the women on the outside 
 thereof. You observe how wantonly they are drest. The first 
 of them is Incontinence, loosely zoned, her bosom bare ; and the 
 other three are. Riot, Covetousness, and Flattery. They watch 
 for the favourites of fortune. You see they caress them, and try 
 to bring them to the pleasures of their soft retreat ; where the 
 bowl sparkles, the song resounds, and joys to joys succeed in every 
 jocund hour. But at length Distress appears, and the favourite of 
 a day discovers, that his happiness was merely imaginary — under 
 a delusion ; but the evils that attend his pleasures real. When 
 
444 THE LIFE OF 
 
 he has wasted all he had received from fortune, he is forced to 
 enter himself into the service of those mistresses, and by them 
 compelled to dare the foulest and most desperate deeds ; villain 
 and knave he becomes ; stabs for a purse ; his country sells for 
 gold ; and by deceit and sacrilege, by perjury, treachery, and 
 theft, endeavours for some time to Uve. But shiftless at length, 
 and unable to acquire support by crimes, they axe consigned to the 
 dire gripe of Punishment. 
 
 T. What is she, I beg you will inform us ? 
 
 O. Look beyond those women, called the Opinions, (continued 
 the old man) and you will see a low gate, opening into a dark and 
 narrow cave : you may observe at the entrance of it, three female 
 figures very swarthy and foul, covered with rags and filthiness ; 
 and near them, standing naked by their side, a frightful lean 
 man. * Close to him is another woman, so meagre and ghastly you 
 perceive, that it is not possible for any thing to resemble fiim 
 more. 
 
 T. We see them, and request to be informed who they are ? 
 
 O. The first with a whip in her hand, is Punishment, and next 
 to her sits Sadness, with her head reclining on her knees ; that 
 woman tearing her hair is Trouble ; the naked lean man is Sorrow, 
 and the image by his side wild Despair. You see they are all 
 going to seize the unhappy man of ;^easure, and make him feel 
 the greatest pain and anguish. For they carry him to the house 
 of Misery, and in the pit of Woe he is to pass the remainder of 
 hfe, unless Repentance comes to his relief. 
 
 T. And what then follows, ( I said) if Repentance interposes ? 
 
 0. She rescues him from his tormentors, and gives a new view 
 of things. He has from her some account of true learning, but 
 the hint so short, that it may lead him Ukewise to false learning. 
 If he be so happy as to understand, and chuse right, he is deUvered 
 from prejudice and error, and passes the rest of his days in tran- 
 quUhty and peace : but if he be mistaken, instead of wisdom, he 
 only gains that amusing counterfeit, which turns him from vices 
 to studious folly. 
 
 T. Great (I repUed) are the risks we mortals run. But who 
 is this false learning ? 
 
 § 3. 0. At the entrance of the second inclosure,t you may ob- 
 serve a woman neatly drest, and of a good appearance ; decent 
 the port, — spotless the form. This is the counterfeit, but the 
 vulgar call her true learning. Even the happy few, who succeed 
 in the pursuit of wisdom, are commonly detained too long by this 
 deceiving fair one. Nor is it strange ; for, skilled as she is in all 
 the learning, and in every art can grace the head, you see what 
 
 * This man Collier calls, an ill-looking skeleton of a fellow, with scarce a tatter to his limbs 
 Cant I ITie Greek is, n? 6va-«i5ij5 Aen-roj, xai vv/irof . 
 
 t The three inclosures in Cebcs, allude to the oivision of human life into the sensual, the 
 studious, and the virtuous. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 445 
 
 crowds of admirers she has ; poets, orators, logicians, musicians, 
 arithmeticians, geometricians, astrologers, and critics. 
 
 T. But who, (I asked my instructor) aie those women, so 
 busy on every side, and so earnest in their addresses to this com- 
 pany ? They look hke Incontinence and her companions, and 
 the opinions whom you shewed us in the first court. Do they 
 also frequent the second inclosure ? 
 
 O. Yes, (replied the old man) Incontinence is sometimes seen 
 here. The opinions do hkewise enter ^ for the early portion these 
 men received from Imposture still operates. Ignorance finds a 
 place here ; and even Extravagance and FoUy. They remain 
 under the power of these, tiU having left false learning, they enter 
 upon the path that leads to Wisdom. When they arrive at the 
 enlightened ground of Truth, they get her sovereign remedy,* and 
 are freed from the ill effects of Ignorance and Error. This 
 enables them to throw off the wild hypothesis, the learned 
 romance, and to employ the precious hours of fife in thinking to 
 the wisest purposes. Had they staid with false learning, they 
 never could have delivered themselves from these evils. 
 
 T. Proceed then, I pray you, (said I) and shew us the way that 
 leads to Happiness and Wisdom. 
 
 § 4. O. Do you see (proceeded the venerable man,) that rising 
 ground, which appears so desert and uninhabited. You may 
 observe upon it a little gate, that opens in a narrow and unfre- 
 quented path ; the avenue a rugged rocky way. You perceive 
 a little onward, a steep and craggy mountain with precipices on 
 either side, which sink to a frightful depth. This is the way to 
 Wisdom. 
 
 r. It seems a dreadful way, as painted in this table. 
 
 O. Yet higher still observe that rock, towards the mountain's 
 brow, and take notice of the two figures which sit upon its edge, 
 and appear to be as beautiful and comely as the goddess of health. 
 They are sisters ; Temperance the one. Patience the other. With 
 friendship in their looks, and arms protended over the verge of the 
 cUff, you see them lean, to encourage those who pass this way, and 
 rouze the spirits of the fainting sons of Wisdom, who has stationed 
 these two sisters there. They urge the brave men on ; tell them 
 the hardships wiU lessen by degrees, the passage will become more 
 easy and agreeable as they advance, and offer them their assistance 
 
 * Collier translates it, — they enter into a course of physic. The Greek is, Kat iriwyi 
 71TV KodapTLKtiv fiuojULtv TonTwi'. And what Collier a little before translates, " She opens a 
 vein, and gives them a glass of her constitution : " when they have taken the stirrup cup : brim- 
 mers : the lasses frisk about ; salute with a deal of welcome, and then lug them o£f, some to 
 ruin, and some to the gallows." All this, and much more night-cellar stuff, the Theban philo- 
 sopher had 'not an idea of, as any one may see who can turn to the Greeks. How Collier 
 learned such guard-phrases, and why he used them, seemed for some time very strange to 
 me, tin 1 was informed by one who knew this divine well, that in the days of his youth 
 he kept very low company, and was known at several night-houses. In that period of 
 his life, he translated Cebes. 
 
446 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to ascend the summit, and reach the top of the rock. That 
 being gained, they shew them the easiness and pleasantness of the 
 rest of the way to wisdom : the charming road invites one's eyes : 
 how smooth and flowery, green and deUghtful, does it appear ! 
 
 T. It does indeed. 
 
 ^ S- O. Look next (the excellent old man continued) at that 
 distant blooming wood, and near it you will see a beautiful 
 meadow, on which there seems to fall a light as from a purer 
 heaven, a kind of double day. In this hghtsome field,* you may 
 perceive a gate which opens into another inclosure, which is the 
 abode of the blessed. Here the Virtues dweU with Happiness. 
 In this region of eternal beauty, the righteous rest. 
 
 T. It does appear a charming place. 
 
 O. Observe then near the portal, a beauteous form of a com- 
 posed aspect : She seems mature in Ufe, and her robe is quite 
 plain, without affectation or ornaments. Her eyes are piercing ; 
 her mien sedate : she stands not on a globe, hke Fortune, but upon 
 a cube of marble, fixed as the rock she is on before the gate. You 
 see on either side of her two lovely nymphs, the very copies of her 
 looks and air. This matron in the middle is true learning. 
 Wisdom herself ; and the two young beauties are Truth and 
 Persuasion. Her standing on a square, is an expressive type of 
 certainty in the way to her ;t and denotes the unalterable and 
 permanent nature of the blessings she bestows on those who come 
 to her. From her they receive courage and serenity ; that con- 
 fidence and contempt of fear, which exempts the happy possessors " 
 from any disturbance, by the accidents and calamities of life. 
 
 T. These are valuable gifts. But why without the walls does 
 Wisdom stand ? 
 
 ■f^ O. To present the purifying bowl to those who approach, and 
 restore them to themselves. As a physician by degrees first finds 
 out the cause of a violent disorder, and then removes it, in order to 
 restore the man to health ; so Wisdom, as she knows their malady 
 administers her sovereign medicine, and frees them from aH their 
 evils. She expels the mischiefs they had received from delusion, 
 their ignorance and error, and deUvers them from pride, lust, 
 anger, avarice, and all the other vices they had contracted in 
 the first inclosure. In a word, she restores them to sanity, and 
 then sends them in to Happiness and the Virtues. 
 
 r. Who are they ? (I said). 
 
 § 6. 0. Do you not see within the gate, (my instructor replied) 
 a society of matrons, beautiful and modest, drest, unaffected, 
 and without any thing of the gay excess ? These are Science and 
 her sisters. Fortitude, Justice, and Integrity, Temperance, 
 
 * AtifxtavoeLSri^t Kal i^url iroWd KaraKaiiirdfiivoi, 
 
 t KadetrTijKvia rb irp6(rujrov, constanti vuUu, or constatis vutium. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE. ESQ. 447 
 
 Modesty, Liberality, Continence, Clemency, and Patience. They 
 hail their guests, and the company seem to be in raptures. 
 
 r. But when the friends to virtue are admitted into this charm- 
 ing society, where do they lead them to ? 
 
 O. See you not (resumed the good old man,) the hill beyond the 
 grove ; that eminence which is the highest point of all the inclos- 
 ures, and commands a boundless prospect. There, on a glorious 
 throne, you may observe a majestic person in her bloom, well 
 drest, but without art or lavish cost, and her temples adorned 
 with a beautiful tiar : this is Happiness, the regent of that blessed 
 abode, and as the moral heroes approach her, you may perceive 
 her, with the Virtues who stand assistant round her, going to 
 reward the friends of wisdom with such crowns as are bestowed 
 on conquerors. 
 
 T. Conquerors ! (I said) In what conflicts have these persons 
 been victorious ? 
 
 O. They have, in their way to the realm of Happiness, destroyed 
 the most formidable and dangerous monsters, who would have 
 destroyed them, if they had not been subdued ; these savage 
 beasts at war with man are, ignorance and error ; grief, vexation, 
 avarice, intemperance, and every thing that is evU. These are 
 vanquished and have lost all their power. The moral hero 
 triumphs now, though their slave before. 
 
 T. Great achievements indeed ! A glorious conquest. .But 
 exclusive of the honour of being crowned by Happiness and the 
 Virtues, is there any salutary power in the crown that adorns the 
 hero's head ? 
 
 O. There is, young man. The virtue of it is great. Possessing 
 this, he is happy and blessed. He derives his felicity from no 
 external object, but from himself alone. 
 
 T. O happy victory ! And being thus crowned, what does 
 the hero do, where next his steps ? 
 
 O. Conducted by the Virtues, he goes back to survey his first 
 abode, and see the crowd he left ; how miserably they pass their 
 time ; waste all their hours in crimes, and in the whirl of passions 
 live. Slaves to ambition, pride, incontinence, vanity, and avarice 
 they appear tormented with endless anxiety. They have forgot 
 the instructions the good genius gave them, at their entrance into 
 life, and suffer thus because they cannot find the way to Wisdom. 
 
 T. True : (I said) But I cannot comprehend, why the Virtues 
 should bring the heroes back to the place they came from : why 
 should they return to view a well-known scene ? 
 
 O. The reason (answered my instructor) is, because they had 
 not a true idea what they had seen. Surrounded by a con- 
 fusion of things as they passed on, they could not distinctly 
 perceive what was done. The mists of ignorance and error 
 obscured the prospect as they journeyed on, and by that means. 
 
448 THE LIFE OF 
 
 they were subject to mistakes. They could not always distin- 
 guish between good and evU. But now that they have attained 
 to true learning, with concern they behold the mad world the 
 virtues shew them again, and being enhghtened by wisdom, are 
 perfectly happy in themselves. The misery of the numberless 
 fools they behold now, strikes them very strongly, and gives them 
 a deUghtful reUsh for their present happiness. 
 
 T. It must be so. And when they have seen these things, 
 where do they then go ? 
 
 0. Wherever they please. Safely they may travel where they 
 will : in all times, and in all places they are secure, as their integrity 
 is their defence. Every where they Uve esteemed and beloved 
 by all. The female monsters I have mentioned. Grief, Trouble 
 Lust, Avarice, or Poverty, have now no power to hurt them ; 
 but as if possessed of some virtuous drug, they can grasp the 
 viper, and defy destruction. 
 
 T. What you say is just. But who are all these persons des- 
 cending the hill ? 
 
 O. Those that are crowned (the old man said) are the happy 
 few I have described. You see what joy is in their faces : and 
 those who seem forlorn and desperate, under the command of 
 certain women, are such who by their folly have not found the 
 way to true learning ; or stopping at the rough and narrow 
 ascent you observed, went to look for an easier path, and so quite 
 lost the road. The tormentors who drive them on are. Trouble, 
 Despair, Ignominy, and Ignorance. Wretched you see them 
 return into the first inclosure, to Luxury and Incontinence ; 
 and yet they do not accuse themselves as the authors of their own 
 ruin, which is very strange ; but rail at Wisdom, and revile her 
 ways ; asserting, that the true pleasures of life are only to be 
 found in luxury and riot. Like the brutes, they place the whole 
 satisfaction of man in the gratification of sensual appetite. 
 
 T. But who are those other lovely women, who return down the 
 hill so full of gaiety and mirth ? 
 
 O. They are the Opinions, who having conducted the virtuous 
 to the region of Ught, are coming back to invite and carry others 
 thither, by shewing them the fehcity and success of those they 
 brought to the mansion of Wisdom. 
 
 T. And do the Opinions never enter with those they bring into 
 that happy place, where the virtues and true learning reside ? 
 
 O. No : Opinion can never reach to science ; they only deliver 
 their charge into the hands of Wisdom, and then, Uke ships that 
 give up their lading, in order to sail for a new cargo, they return 
 to bring other Eleves to reason and felicity. 
 
 T. This explanation of the table (I said) is quite satisfactory : 
 but you have not yet informed us, what the good genius bids tiie 
 multitude do, as they appear on the verge of life ? 
 
JOHN B UNCLE, ESQ. 449 
 
 O. He charges them to act with courage and be magnanimous 
 and brave in all events ; a thing I recommend to you, young man ; 
 and that you may have a true idea of tliis, I will tell you what I 
 mean by a bold spirit in passing through this world. 
 
 § 7. O. Then lifting up his arm again, and pointing with his 
 wand to a figure in the picture ; that blind woman standing 
 on a globe, as I told you before, is Fortune. The genius for- 
 bids us to trust her, or imagine her smiles will be lasting happi- 
 ness. Reason is never concerned in what she does. It is Fortune 
 stiU ; without principle she acts, is arbitrary and capricious, and 
 inconsiderately and rashly for ever proceeds. Regard not then 
 her favours, nor mind her frowns : but as she gives and takes 
 away, and often deprives of what we had before, we are neither to 
 esteem or despise her ; but if we should receive from her a gift, take 
 care to employ it immediately to some good purpose, and especially 
 in the acquisition of true science, the most lasting and precious 
 possession. If we act otherwise, in respect of Fortune, we imitate 
 those wretched usurers, who rejoice at the money paid in to them, 
 as if they received it for their own use ; but pay it back with re- 
 gret, forgetting the condition, that it was to be returned to the 
 proprietor on demand. Regardless of Fortune then, and all her 
 changes in this mortal life, the genius advises to pass bravely on, 
 without hearkening to the soUcitations of Incontinence and 
 Luxury in the first inclosure, to reject their temptations, and go 
 on to false learning : with her he would have us make a short 
 stay, to learn what may be of service to us in our journey to 
 wisdom. This is the advice of the genius to those who enter into 
 Ufe. 
 
 T. Here the good old man had done, and I thanked him for his 
 explanation of the picture. Only one thing (I said) there was 
 more, which I must request he would teU me the meaning of. 
 What is it we can get by our stay with false learning ? 
 
 O. Things (he answered) that may be of use to us. The 
 languages and other parts of education, which Plato recommends, 
 may hinder us from being worse employed, and keep us from 
 illicit gratification. They are not absolutely necessary to true 
 happiness ; but they contribute to make us better. Something 
 good and useful they do aSord ; though virtue, which ought to be 
 the principal business in view may be acquired without them. We 
 may become wise without the assistance of the arts, though 
 (as observed before), they are far from being useless : as by 
 a good translation made into our own tongue, We may know 
 what an author means, and yet by taking the pains to become 
 masters of the original language, might gain many advantages, 
 such as entering better into the writer's sense, and discovering 
 some beauties which cannot otherwise be found : so the useful 
 things in the sciences may be very quickly and easily learned, and 
 
450 THE LIFE OF 
 
 though by great labour in becoming ciccurately acquainted with 
 them, we might fill our heads with speculations, yet this cannot 
 make us the wiser and better men. Without being learned, we 
 may be wise and good. 
 
 T. And are the learned then in no better a condition than the 
 people in respect of moral excellence ? (I said). Are the specu- 
 lations of the scholar, and the arts and fine inventions of the 
 schools, of no use in perfecting the moral character ? This to me 
 seems a" little strange. 
 
 O. BUnd as the crowd is the men of letters, in this particular 
 (my instructor replied) : all his studies and curious knowledge 
 have no relation to his living right. With all the tongues, and 
 all the arts, he may be a Ubertine, a sot, a miser, or a knave, 
 a traitor to his country, and have no moral character at all. This 
 we see every day. 
 
 T. But what is the cause of so strange a thing, I requested to 
 know ? I observe that these men of letters seem to sit down 
 contented in the second inclosure, and do not attempt to go on 
 to the third, where Wisdom resides ; though they see continually 
 before their eyes so many passing on from the first court, where they 
 had lived, for some time in lewdness and excess, to the habitation 
 of true learning. 
 
 O. It is their remaining in this second inclosure, that occasions 
 their being inferior in moral things to those who have not had 
 a learned education. Proud and self-sufi5cient on account of their 
 languages, arts, and sciences, they despise what Wisdom could 
 teach them, and will not give themselves the trouble of ascending 
 with difficulty to the mansion of true learning. They have no 
 taste for the lessons of Wisdom ; whUe the humble mount to her 
 exalted dwelling, those scholars, as you see, are satisfied with 
 their speculations and vain conceits. DuU and untractable in the 
 improvement of their hearts, and regardless of that exact recti- 
 tude of mind and hfe, which is only worth a rational' s toiling for 
 (as he is an Eleve for eternity), they never think of true wisdom, 
 nor mind her offered light. Their curious ingenious notions, are 
 what they only have a rehsh for ; the imaginations of those men 
 of letters cannot reach that ineffable peace and contentment, that 
 satisfaction and pleasure, which flow from a virtuous hfe and an 
 honest heart. This is the case of our learned heads, unless re- 
 pentance interferes to make them humble, and scatters ^e vain 
 visions they had from false opinion. 
 
 This, concluded the venerable teacher, is the exphcation of 
 this parable or allegory. May you oft revolve upon these lessons 
 and lend your whole attention to the attainment of true wisdom, 
 that you may not embrace the shadow, the speculations and 
 inventions of the learned, but, by this instruction, acquire the 
 true principles of morality and goodness. 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 451 
 
 This is not all the Table of Cebes. There follows a disputation in the Socratio method 
 concerning the claim of wealth, and other externals, to the title of good things : but it is dry, 
 and no part of the picture or mjrthology. For this reason I stop here. 
 
 As to the picture of Cebes, it is to be sure a fine thing, and greatly to the honour of the 
 Theban philosopher, who was one of the disciples of Socrates ; and about twenty at the time 
 of the death of his master : Socrates died by the executioner, in the 70 year of his age, before 
 our Lord 402. Cebes was about eighty, at the birth of B{>icurus. 
 
 But after all that can be said in praise of this excellent remain of antiquity, still the little 
 system of ethics is but a poor performance, in respect of any section of the gospel of Christ. 
 Cebes says nothing of the Deity : nor does he mention the mischiefs of vice, and the benefits 
 of virtue, as a divine constitution. 
 
 An Apiostle, on the contrary, (to mention only one particular out of a thousand from the 
 Christian books,) calls to the human race in the following manner : " I beseech you, brethren, 
 by the mercies of Almighty God, the Father of the Universe, who hath graciously admitted 
 you to the faith, and revealed the terms of acceptance ; that ye present your bodies now a 
 living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to the Deity, which is the reasonable and spiritual service 
 required of you in the time of the gospel ; and not ofifer th6 bodies of beasts any more as 
 the Heathen world were wont to do. 
 
 " And, as persons now wholly devoted to the Lord of heaven and earth, be not conformed 
 to the fashions and ways of this world ; but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind ; 
 that ye may prove what is the good, the acceptable, and perfect will of God. Abhor that 
 which is evil, in all your dealings : cleave to that which is good : let love be without dis- 
 simtilation ; and be kindly affectioned one to another ; not advancing, but in honour pre- 
 ferring one another. Be not slothful in business, but fervent in spirit ; as serving the Lord 
 Jehovah in your several stations. Rejoice in hope of a refreshment to come, in the realms 
 of bliss : be patient in tribulation, whicii God will reward and continue instant in prayer. 
 
 " In sum, let us follow the steps of Christ, and in imitation of his divine humility, his devo- 
 tion, his love, be for ever meek and forbearmg, gentle and charitable, and live in the spirit of 
 prayer." 
 
 What is there in the Table of Cebes like this spiritual and religious virtue, this love to God, 
 this zeal for his honour and service, and an entire dependence upon him in all conditions of 
 life ? The virtues of the heroes of antiquity are noble and excellent qualities ; their courage, 
 and justice, and temperance, and gratitude, and love to their country are fine things ; but 
 they seem to have been calculated for the civil hfe. Those heroes were virtuous without being 
 pious, and appear rather as self-sufficient independent beings, than as servants and votaries 
 of God Almighty. It is these Chri tian virtues I have mentioned, that adorn and perfect 
 human nature. It is these things that mostly contribute to the happiness of the world, 
 and of every man in it. 
 
 N. B. Scott, at the end of his Notes on Cebes, has the following remark. If this philosopher 
 had represented the effects of virtue and vice as a divine constitution, he would have ennobled 
 his instruction, and done greater service to the interests of morality. But those important 
 interests are effectually provided for by revelation. There the precepts of virtue are the laws 
 of God. There we find a clear and complete system of his will. There our obedience is 
 encouraged by hope in his pardoning mercy and powerful assistance, by the life, death, and 
 resurrection of his own son ; and by promises and threatnings which extend the reward of 
 righteousness, and the punishment of wickedness unto a future state of existence. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 THE TENTH SATIRE * OF JtJVENAL. 
 
 Survey mankind, muster the herd ^ 
 
 From smoothest chin to deepest beard ; 
 Search ev'ry climate, view each nation, 
 From lowest to the highest station ; 
 From Eastern to the Western Indies, 
 From frozen Poles to th' line that singes ; 
 Scarce will you find one mortal wight. 
 Knows good from ill, or wrong from right : 
 'Cause clouds of lust and passion blind, 
 And bribe with interests the mind ; 
 And while they combat in our heart, 
 Our fondness crowns the conqu'ring part. 
 What is the thing under the sun, 
 
 • The design of this fine Satire is to shew, that endowments and blessings of the mind, 
 as wisdom, virtue, justice, and integrity of life are the only things worth praying for. ' 
 
4S2 THE LIFE OF 
 
 That we with reason seek or shun ? 
 
 Or justly by our judgment weigh'd. 
 
 Should make us fond of, or afraid ? 
 
 Whate'er is luckily begun, 
 
 Brings sure repentance at long-run. 
 
 The distant object looming great, 
 
 Possest proves oft an empty cheat ; 
 
 And he who wins the wish'd-for prize, 
 
 A trouble often dearly buys. 
 
 Some for their family importune, 
 
 And beg their ruin for a fortune. 
 
 The courteous gods granting their prayers. 
 
 Have intail'd cin'ses on their heirs. 
 
 Of wizards some inquire their doom. 
 
 Greedy to know events to come. 
 
 And by their over caution run 
 
 Oa the same fate they strove to shun : 
 
 Some have petition' d to be great. 
 
 And eminent in church and state. 
 
 This in the war's a famous leader. 
 
 T'other at bar a cunning pleader. 
 
 The cause on either side insure you. 
 
 By dint of noise stun judge and jury : 
 
 And if business won't bear water, 
 
 Banter and perplex the matter. 
 
 But their obstrep'rous eloquence 
 
 Has fail'd ev'n m their own defence : 
 
 And saving others by harsmguing. 
 
 Have brought themselves at last to hanging. 
 
 Milo presuming on his strength, 
 
 Caus'd his own destiny at length. 
 
 The greedy care of heaping wealth. 
 Damns many a soul and ruins health. 
 And in an apoplectic fit. 
 Sinks them downright into the pit. 
 How many upstarts crept from low 
 Condition, vast possessions show ? 
 Whose estate's audit so immense 
 Exceeds all prodigal expence. 
 With which compare that spot of earth, 
 To which these mushrooms owe their birth : 
 Their manners to dad's cottage show. 
 As Greenland whales to dolphins do. 
 
 In Nero's plotting dismal times. 
 Riches were judg'd sufficient crimes. 
 First swear them traitors to the state. 
 Then for their pains share their estate. 
 Fat forfeitures their toils reward : 
 Poor rogues may pass without regard. 
 Some are hook'd in for sense and wit. 
 And some condemn'd for want of it. 
 The over-rich Longinus dies. 
 His bright heaps dazzled envious eyes 
 Neither could philosophy. 
 Wisdom, desert, or piety. 
 Rich Seneca from his pupil save, 
 'Tis fit he send him to a grave, 
 Vnd then resiune the wealth he gave. 
 
 The guards the palaces beset, 
 for noble game they pitch their net ; 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 453 
 
 While from alarms and pangs of fear. 
 Securely sleeps the cottager. 
 If you by night shall happen late. 
 To travel with a charge of plate ; 
 With watchful eyes and panting heart, 
 Surpriz'd, each object makes you start : 
 While rack'd with doubts, opprest with fear. 
 Each bush does an arm'd thief appear : 
 A shaken reed will terror strike, " 
 Mistaken for a brandish'd pike. 
 Before the thief, the empty clown * 
 Sings unconcern' d and travels on 
 
 With warm petitions most men ply 
 The gods, their bags may multiply ; 
 That riches may grow high and rank, 
 Outswelling others in the bank. 
 But from plain wood and earthen cups. 
 No poison'd draught the peasant sups. 
 Of the gold goblet take thou care. 
 When sparkling wine's spic'd by thy heir : 
 Then who can blame that brace of wise men. 
 That in diff'ring moods despise men : 
 Th' old merry lad saunters the streets 
 And laughs, and drolls at all he meets : 
 For pastime rallies, flouts, and fools 'em. 
 Shams, banters, mimics, ridicules 'em. 
 The other sage in maudling wise. 
 Their errors mourns with weeping eyes. 
 Dull fools with ease can grin and sneer. 
 And buffoons flout with saucy jeer. 
 What source could constant tears supply. 
 To feed the sluices of each eye ; 
 Or t'others merry humour make. 
 His spleen continually to shake ? 
 Could he in sober honest times 
 With sharp conceit tax petty crimes : 
 And every where amongst the rout. 
 Find follies for his wit to flout ; t 
 Which proves that Gotham and gross climes 
 Produce prodigious wits sometimes. 
 The joys and fears of the vain crowd, 
 And whimp'ring^ tears he'd jeer aloud j 
 Wisely secure, fortune deride. 
 By foppish mortals deified ; 
 Bid her be hang'd, and laugh at fate, 
 When threat'ned at the highest rate ; 
 
 • The Latin of these two lines is — 
 
 Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator. 
 Which Dryden translates thus : 
 
 The beggar sings, ev'n when he sees the place 
 Beset with thieves, and never mends his pace. 
 Shadwell, who was Poet Laureate in King William's time, does it thus : 
 While the poor man, void of all precious things, 
 In company of thieves, jogs on and sings. 
 Barton Holiday thus : 
 
 Before the thief, who travels empty, sings. 
 And Stapylton thus : 
 
 The poor wayfaring man, that doth not bring 
 A charge along, before the thief will sing. 
 ■(■ Juvenal here means Democritus, 
 
454 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Whilst fools for vain and hurtful things. 
 Pour out their prayers and offerings, 
 Fast'ning petitions on the knees,* 
 Of their regardless deities. 
 
 For place and power, how many men vie. 
 Procuring mortal hate and envy ; 
 Heralds long-winded titles sound. 
 Which the vain owners oft confound. 
 Down go their statues in disgrace ; 
 The party hangs up in the place. 
 In rage they break chariot triumphant. 
 Because a knave 'fore set his rump on't : 
 Poor horses suffer for no fault. 
 Unless by bungling workmen wrought. 
 The founder's furnace grows red hot, 
 Sejanus' statue goes to pot : 
 That head lately ador'd, and reckon'd 
 In all th' universe the second. 
 Melted, new forms and shapes assumes. 
 Of p — pots, frying-pans, and spoons.f 
 The crowd o'erjoyed that Ccpsar's living, 
 Petition for a new thanksgiving ; 
 How the base rout insult to see 
 Sejanus dragg'd to destiny.t 
 
 Would you on these conditions. Sir, 
 Be favourite and prime minister. 
 As was Sejanus ? Stand possest 
 Of honours, power, and interest ; 
 Dispose supreme commands at will. 
 Promote, disgrace, preserve, or kill ; 
 Have foot and horse-guards, the command 
 Of armies both by sea and land. 
 Had you not better ask in prayer. 
 To be some petty country mayor ; 
 There domineer, and when your pleasiure's 
 
 • The Latin of these two lines is — 
 
 Propter qu<e fas est genua incerare deorum. 
 Which Dryden does not translate at all. His lines are — 
 
 He laughs at all the vulgar cares and fears : 
 At their vain triumphs, and their vainer tears : 
 An equal temper in his mind he found, 
 When Fortune flatter'd him, and when she frown'd ; 
 * Tis plain from hence that what our vows request, 
 Are hurtful things, or useless at the best. 
 
 t Dryden's translation of this passage is thus : 
 
 Sejanus, almost first of Roman names, ' 
 
 The great Sejanus, crackles in the flames : 
 Form'd in the forge, the phant brass is laid 
 On anvils. And of head and limbs are made, 
 Pans, cans, and piss-pots, a whole kitchen trade. 
 The Latin is ; 
 
 Jam strident ignes, jam follibus atque caminis 
 Ardet adoratum populo caput, et crepat ingens 
 Sejanus, Deinde ex facie toto orbe secimda 
 Fiunt urceoU, pelves, sartago, patelke, 
 X Sejanus, the vile minister of Tiberius, was executed by order of the Emperor, a,d, 31, 
 and to prevent his suspecting any such thing, and providing against the calamity, which the 
 favourite might easily have done, as he commanded the Prsetorians, and had all power given 
 him, his master named him his colleague in the consulship ; which of all things Sejanus 
 most desired, and thought the highest mark of his sovereign's affection. So true it is that we 
 know not what we wish for, 
 
JOHN BUNCLE. ESQ. 45 S 
 
 Condemn light weights, break false measures ; 
 
 Though meanly clad in safe estate, 
 
 Than chuse Sejanus' robes and fate ? 
 
 Sejanus then, we must conclude. 
 
 Courting his bane, mistook the good, 
 
 Crassus and Pompey's fate of old. 
 
 The truth of this sure maxim told : 
 
 And his who first bow'd Rome's stiff neck. 
 
 And made the world obey his beck.* 
 
 The novice in his accidence. 
 Dares pray his wit and eloquence 
 May rival Roman Cicero's fame. 
 And Greek Demosthenes' high name : 
 Yet to both these their swelling vein 
 Of wit and fancy prov'd their bane. 
 No pleading dunce's jobbernowl 
 Revenge e'er doom'd to grace a pole. 
 
 The trophies which the vanquish'd field 
 Do to the glorious victors yield. 
 Triumphant conquerors can bless. 
 With more than human happiness : 
 \ This, Roman, Grecian, and barbarian, 
 Spurr'd to acts hazardous and daring ; 
 In sweat and blood spending their days. 
 For empty fame, and fading bays. 
 'Tis the immoderate thirst of fame 
 Much more than virtue does inflame : 
 Which none for worse or better take. 
 But for her dower and trappings' sake. 
 The fond ambition of a few. 
 Many vast empires overthrew ; 
 While their achievements with their dust, 
 They>'vainly to their tombstones trust. 
 For sepulchres like bodies lie, 
 Swallow'd in death's obscurity.t 
 
 Behold how small an urn contains 
 The mighty Hannibal's remains : 
 That hero whose vast swelling mind 
 To Afric could not be confin'd : 
 Nature's impediments he past. 
 And came to Italy at last : 
 There, after towns and battles won, 
 He cries, comrades, there's nothing done. 
 Unless our conqu'ring powers 
 Break down Rome's gates, level her towers, 
 
 • Julius CcBsar, who acquired the sovereign sway by art and slaughter, and when a tyrant 
 fell by his own desires, 
 t The Latin of this passage, which is truly beautiful, is ; 
 Et laudis titulique Cupido 
 
 Hssuri saxis oinerum custodibus: ad quas 
 
 Discutienda valent sterilis mala robora ficus : 
 
 Quandoquidera data sunt ipsis quoque fata sepulchris. 
 "'hich Dryden renders in the following manner : 
 
 This avarice of praise in times to come, 
 
 Those, long inscriptions crowded on the tomb. 
 
 Should some wild fig-tree take her native bent, 
 
 And heave below the gaudy momunent, 
 
 Would crack the marble titles, and disperse 
 
 The characters of all tl!te lying verse. 
 
 For sepulchres themselVSs must crumbling fall 
 
 In time's abyss, the common grave of alL 
 
456 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Root up her posts, and break her chains. 
 And knock out all opposers' brains : 
 Whilst oiu: troops scour the city thorough. 
 And fix our standard in Saburra.* 
 But what catastrophe of fate. 
 His conduct's baffled, army's broke, 
 Carthage puts upon the Roman yoke : 
 Whilst flight and banishment's his fate. 
 His ruin'd country's scorn and hate. 
 Go, madman, act thy frantic part. 
 Climb horrid Alps, with pains and art, 
 Go, madman, to be with mighty reputation. 
 The subject of a declamation.f 
 
 One world's too mean, a trifling thing. 
 For the young Macedonian king ; 
 He raves like one in banishment. 
 In narrow craggy island pent : 
 In one poor globe does sweat and squeeze, 
 Wedg'd in and crampt in little-ease. 
 But he who human race once scorn' d. 
 And said high Jove King Philip hom'd. 
 While manag'd oracles declare 
 The spark great Ammon's son and heir ; 
 At Babylon, for all his huf&ng. 
 Finds ample room in narrow coffin. 
 Man swells with bombast of inventions. 
 When stript, death shews his true dimension^ 
 
 So do we read wild Xerxes rent 
 Mount Athos from the continent. 
 And in a frolic made a shift. 
 To set it in the sea adrift : 
 With ships pav'd o'er the Hellespont, 
 And built a floating bridge upon't : 
 Drove chariots o'er by this device. 
 As coaches ran upon the ice. 
 He led so numberless a rout. 
 As at one meal drank rivers out. 
 This tyrant we in story find. 
 Was us'd to whip and flog the wind ; 
 Their jailor Eolus in prison. 
 Ne'er forc'd them with so little reason : 
 Nor could blue Neptune's godhead save him. 
 But he with fetters must enslave him. 
 Vet after all these roaring freaks. 
 Routed and broke he homeward sneaks : 
 And ferries o'er in fishing-boat 
 Through shoals of carcases afloat j 
 His hopes all vanish'd, bilked of all 
 His gaudy dreams : see pride's just fall. 
 
 The frequent subject of our prayers. 
 Is length of life and many years : 
 But what incessant plagues and ills. 
 
 • The greatest street in Rome, 
 t The Latin is : 
 
 I demens curre per Alpes. 
 Ut pueris placeas, et declamatio fias. 
 Oiyden has given it thus: 
 
 Go, climb the rugged Alps, ambitious fool. 
 To please the boys, and be a theme at sdioo]. 
 
JOHN BUN CLE, ESQ. 457 
 
 The gulph of age with mischief fills ! 
 We can pronounce none happy, none, 
 \ Till the last sand of Ufe be run. 
 
 Marius' long Ufe was th' only reason. 
 
 Of exile and Minturnian prison. 
 
 Kind fate designing to befriend 
 
 Great Pompey, did a fever send. 
 
 That should with favourable doom. 
 
 Prevent his miseries to come : 
 
 But nations for his danger griev'd, 
 
 Make public prayers, and he's repriev'd : 
 
 Fate then that honour'd head did save, 
 
 And to insulting Ciesar gave. 
 
 Tis the fond mother's constant prayer. 
 
 Her children may be passing fair : 
 
 The boon they beg with sighs and groans, 
 
 Incessantly on marrow-bones. 
 
 Yet bright Lucretia's sullen fate. 
 
 Shews fair ones are not fortunate. 
 
 Virginia's chance may well confute you. 
 
 Good luck don't always wait on beauty. 
 
 Let not your wills then once repine, 
 Whate'er the gods for you design. 
 They better know than human wit. 
 What does our exigence befit. 
 Their wise all-seeing eyes discern. 
 And give what best suits our concern. 
 We blindly harmful things implore. 
 Which they refusing, love us more. 
 
 Shall men ask nothing then ? Be wise. 
 And listen well to sound advice. 
 Pray only that in body sound, 
 A firm and constant mind be found : 
 A mind no fear of death can daunt. 
 Nor ejdle, prison, pains nor want ; 
 That justly reckons death to be 
 Kind author of our liberty : 
 Banishing passion from our breast. 
 Resting content with what's possest : 
 That ev'ry honest action loves. 
 And great -Mcides' toil approves, 
 Above the lusts, feasts, and beds of down, 
 Which did Sardanapsilus drown. 
 This mortals to themselves may give ; 
 Virtue's the happy rule to live. 
 Chance bears no sway where wisdom rules. 
 An empty name ador'd by fools. 
 Folly blind Fortune did create, 
 A goddess, and to heaven translate.* 
 
 * As 1 had not room for all the tenth Satire, what is seen here, is rather an abridgment 
 than an entire version. The whole sense of the author, however, is preserved, though several 
 of his examples and illustrations are left out. 
 
 Dr. Burnet, bishop of Salisbury, thought this Satire so excellent a thing, that in his famous 
 Pastoral Letter he recommends it, and the Satires of Persius, to the perusal and practice of the 
 divines in his diocese, as the best common places for their sermons ; and what may be taught 
 with more profit to the audience, than all the new speculations of divinity, and controversies 
 concerning faitti ; which are more for the profit of the shepherd, than for the edification 
 of the flock. In the Satires, nothing is proposed but the quiet and tranquillity of the mind. 
 Virtue is lodged at home, as Dryden expresses it, in his fine dedication to the Earl of Dorset, 
 and diffused to the improvement and good of human bind. Passion, interest, ambition 
 
458 THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNGLE, ESQ. 
 
 mystery, fury, and every cruel consequence, are banished from the doctrine of these stoics 
 and only the moral virtues inculcated for the perfection of mankind. 
 
 But so unreasonable and infatuated are our shepherds, too many of them I mean, that a 
 ration^ Christian cannot go to church without being shocked at the absurd and impious 
 work of their pulpits. In town and country, almost every Sunday, those bright theolpgers 
 are for ever on the glories of trinity in unity, and teaching their poor people that God Almighty 
 came down from heaven to take flesh upon him, and make infinite satisfaction to himself. 
 This is the cream of Christianity, in the account of those teachers. The moral virtues are 
 nothing, compared to a man or a woman's swallowing the divine mystery of an incarnate 
 God Ahnighty. Over and over have I heard a thousand of them on this holy topic, sweating 
 and drivelling at each comer of their mouths with eagerness to convert the world to their 
 mysteries. The adorable mystery ! says one little priest, in my neighbourhood in West- 
 mmster. The more incomprehensible and absurd it appears to human reason, the greater 
 honour you do to Heaven in believing it, says another wise man in the country. But tell 
 me, ye excellent divines, tell me in print if you please, if it would not be doing more honour 
 to the law of Heaven, to inform the people, that the true Christian profession is, to pray to 
 God our Father for grace, mercy, and peace, through the Lord Jesus Christ ; without ever 
 mentioning the Athanasian scheme, or trinity in unity : which you know no more of than 
 so many pigs do, because it is mere invention, and not to be found in the Bible. And 
 in the next place, to tell your flocks in serious and practical address, that their main business 
 is, as the dfeciples of the holy Jesus, a good life : to strive against sin continually, and be 
 virtuous and useful to the utmost of our power ; to imitate the purity and goodness of their 
 great master the Author of eternal salvation to all them that obey him, and by repentance 
 and holiness of heart, in a patient continuance in well-doing, make it the laboiu* of their 
 every day, to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world : you must become 
 partakers of a divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through 
 lust, and by acquiring the true principles of Christian perfection, render yourselves fit for the 
 heavenly bliss : This, my dearly beloved brethren, is the great design of Christ and his 
 gospel. You must receive Jesus Christ as your Saviour and Mediator, you must be exercised 
 unto godliness, and have the ways of God in yotir hearts. By a coiurse of obedience and 
 patience, you must follow the captain of oiu: salvation to his glory. 
 
 To this purpose, I say, our clergy ought to preach ; and if in so saying, they think me 
 wrong, I call upon them to tell me so in print, by argument ; that I may either publicly 
 acknowledge a mistaken judgment ; or prove, that too many ministers mislead Christian 
 people in the article of faith and practice. By the strict rules of Christian simplicity and 
 integrity, I shall ever act. 
 
 The End. 
 
 Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 3315.A45L7 1904 
 The life and opinions of John Bund^^^^^^