THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNCLE,
Esq
CONTAINING Various OBSERVATIONS and REFLECTIONS, Made in several Parts of the WORLD; AND Many extraordinary RELATIONS.
Foelix ille animi, Divisque simillimus ipsis,
Quem non mendaci resplendens gloria fuco
Sollicitat, non fastosi mala gaudia luxus.
Sed tacitos sinit ire dies, et paupere cultu
Exigit innocuae tranquilla silentia vitae.
VOLUSENUS.
LONDON:
Printed for J. NOON, at the
White Hart
in
Cheapside,
near the
Poultry.
MDCCLVI.
TO THE CRITICKS, THIS JOURNAL Is most humbly DEDICATED, BY Their most humble Servant,
The AUTHOR.
A PREFACE By WAY of DEDICATION.
GENTLEMEN,
THIS book is not addressed to you, in order to ask your protection for its faults; or in hopes, that such valuable names at the head of it, may preserve it. Things in print must stand by their own worth. But it is offered to you, to let the world see I had that confidence in the goodness of my design in writing it, as to submit it to such great and impartial judges; and that I believe you will report your opinion in such a manner, as to procure me the esteem of the virtuous; when you find that my principal intention in this piece, is to serve the interests of truth, liberty, and religion, and to advance useful learning, to the best of my abilities: — that I have the happiness of mankind at heart, and attempt, in a historical manner, to encrease their knowledge in general; and in particular, to lead them to a pious contemplation and acknowledgment of God's unspeakable wisdom and goodness manifested in the works of the creation; — shew them the truth of the testimony of
Jesus Christ
concerning a divine providence, immortality, and a future state; and that as virtue advances and improves, human felicity augments, and becomes a sure prognostick of that fulness of bliss, which men of goodness and integrity are to enjoy, without interruption, frailty, and infirmity, in an unchangeable and everlasting life. This was my scheme. These things I had principally in view, when, to vindicate my character from misrepresentation and idle stories, and to illustrate my
memoirs of several ladies of Great-Britain,
I sat down to write a true history of my life and notions. You will see at once, gentlemen, that this is the labored part of my work. Were I able to write so as to persuade even a few to alter their way of living, and employ their time for the future, in forming and training up their moral powers to perfection, I should think myself more fortunate and glorious than the greatest genius in the temple of Fame. Indeed, gentlemen, fame or name, in this world, is not the thing I think of.
Non est mortale quod opto,
I can say with
Lactantius:
and were it within my power to choose, sure I am, that I would be for ever unknown. But that was impossible. In justice to myself, as before observed, and that tradition might not hand me down, when I am gone, in that variety of bad and foolish characters, which a malice, that knows nothing of me, whispers while I am living; it was necessary I should tell my own story. The relation was likewise requisite, to render the memoirs before mentioned intelligible. The volumes of that work, which are to be published, would be quite dark, and not so grateful as intended, without a previous account of the author's life.
This, gentlemen, is the truth of the case, and as I say as little of myself, in my relation, as I can; and as much for true religion and useful learning, as I was able, I hope, from your rectitude and judgment, that you will get me a fair hearing; and I call upon you as my patrons, and the friends to learning and truth, for your approbation of my good and pious intentions, tho' you should not be able to say one word of any excellencies in my writings. This is all I ask. As I wish well to your cause, the cause of virtue and letters, and have chiefly endeavoured, according to my abilities, to make my readers acquainted with the
majesty of the Deity, and his kingdom,
and
the greatness of his excellency,
before whom all the inhabitants of the earth, all powers and principalities, are as nothing; I hope you will, in return, favour me with your best wishes.
As to some strange things you will find in the following journal; and a life, in various particulars, quite contrary to the common course of action, I can assure you, gentlemen, in respect of the strange things, that however wonderful they may appear to you, yet they are; exclusive of a few decorations and figures, (necessary in all works), strictly true: and as to the difference of my life, from that of the generality of men, let it only be considered, that I was born in London, and carried an infant to Ireland, where I learned the Irish language, and became intimately acquainted with its original inhabitants: — that I was not only a lover of books from the time I could spell them to this hour; but read with an extraordinary pleasure, before I was twenty, the works of several of the fathers, and all the old romances; which tinged my ideas with a certain piety and extravagance, that rendered my virtues as well as my imperfections particularly mine: — that by hard measure, I was compelled to be an adventurer, when very young, and had not a friend in the universe but what I could make by good fortune, and my own address: — that my wandering life, wrong conduct, and the iniquity of my kind, with a passion for extraordinary things and places, brought me into several great distresses; and that I had quicker and more wonderful deliverances from them than people in tribulation generally receive: — that the dull, the formal, and the visionary, the hard-honest man, and the poor-liver, are a people I have had no connexion with; but have always kept company with the polite, the generous, the lively, the rational, and the brightest freethinkers of this age: — that beside all this, I was in the days of my youth, one of the most active men in the world, at every exercise; and to a degree of rashness, often venturous, when there was no necessity for running any hazards: in diebus illis, I have descended head-foremost from a high cliff into the ocean, to swim, when I could, and ought, to have gone off a rock not a yard from the surface of the deep. — I have swam near a mile and a half out in the sea, to a ship that lay off, went on board, got clothes from the mate of the vessel, and proceeded with them to the next port; while my companion I left on the beach concluded me drowned, and related my sad fate in the town.—I have taken a cool thrust over a bottle, without the least animosity on either side; but both of us depending on our skill in the small sword, for preservation from mischief. — Such things as these I now call wrong, and mention them only as samples of a rashness I was once subject to, as an opportunity happened to come in the way. Let all these things be taken into the account, and I imagine, gentlemen, that what may at first sight seem strange, and next to incredible, will, on considering these particulars, not long remain so, in your opinion; though you may think the relator an odd man. As to that, I have nothing to say. And if oddness consists in spirit, freedom of thought, and a zeal for the divine unity; in a taste for what is natural, antique, romantic, and wild; in honouring women, who are admirable for goodness, letters, and arts; and in thinking, after all the scenes I have gone through, that every thing here is vanity; except that
virtue
and
charity,
which gives us a right to
expect beyond the grave;
and procures us, in this world, the direction of infinite wisdom, the protection of infinite power, and the friendship of infinite goodness; — then, may it be written on my stone,—
Here lies an odd man.
Thus much, gentlemen, I thought proper to say to you, that by being acquainted with the particulars relative to the complexion, and design of the author, you might the easier and the better comprehend the various things you will find in the work he dedicates to you.
I have only to add, that I wish you all happiness; that your heads may lack no ointment, and your garments be always white and odoriferous: but especially, may you press on, like true critics, towards perfection; and may bliss, glory, and honour, be your reward and your Portion.
Barbican,
Aug.
1. 1756.
CONTENTS.
N. B.
What refers to the Notes is distinguished thus
( ).
1 INtroduction — Page 1
2 A reflection on the author's situation and temper Page 2
3 A college life — and course of reading Page 3
4 The advantages derived from natural and moral phiphilosophy — Page 6
5 The superior excellence of revelations Page 11
6 A reflexion on true and false religion — Page 14
7 A method of reading history — Page 16
8 A reflexion on history — Page 18
9 A reflexion on government and religion Page 22
10 (1. Nothing to be received as points of faith, but what is recorded in the sacred records) Page 28
11 The history of Miss Noel — Page 28
12 A conversation in relation to the primevity of Hebrew tongue — Page 36
13 (2. Time of the Jewish captivity) — Page 38
14 (3. Account of Shinaar) — Page 39
15 (4. Of the longevity of the Antediluvians) Page 41
16 A description of Miss Noel's grotto — Page 43
17 (5. Of Mrs. OHara's and Mrs. Crafton's grottos)
18 An image of Epictetus in this grotto, and the philosophers account of the master science Page 54
19 Old Mr. Noel's character — Page 56
20 A conversation relating to the miracle at Babel Page 60
21 (6. Of the words,
barbarous, balderdash,
and the Welch baldwridd) — Page 63
22 Miss Noel's notion of Hutchinson's cherubim — the Deity — and the preservation of the Hebrew tongue — Page 67
23 (7. An account of Samuel Bochart, and his writings) Page 69
24 A song, in imitation of the 19th ode of the first book of Horace — Page 71
25 (8. Mr. Francis's translation of this ode) — Page 73
26 A song, called the Solitude — Page 75
27 The death and character of Miss Noel — Page 78
28 A reflexion on the death of Miss Noel — Page 79
29 The author leaves the university, and goes to see his father in the country, but has a miserable reception by means of a step-mother, and on account of a religious difference — Page 82
30 The author leaves his father's house, and returns to Dublin, in order to go to England — Page 86
31 (9. A summary of the author's notion of God and Christ) — Page 86
32 (10. An account of a little public house, called the Conniving-house, on the side of the bay of Dublin; where the author rested three days before he sailed for England) — Page 87
33 The author departs from Ring's-End, and is in a tempest at sea — Page 88
34 Four remarkable things, while the storm lasted Page 89
35 The passengers land at Whitehaven, and divide — The story of Whitwell, the mate of the ship Page 92
36 An extraordinary scene — Page 95
37 Miss Melmoth's character — Page 97
38 The author parts with Miss Melmoth at the Bell, on Stanemore, and promises to see her again as soon as possible — Page 98
39 A journey over that part of Stanemore Mountains which belong to Westmorland — Page 99
40 The author arrives by chance at the house of his friend and school-fellow, Jack Price Page 102
41 The story of Jack Price — Page 104
42 A conversation between Jack Price and the author Page 112
43 An account of Mrs. Price of Stanemore, and a conversation the author had with her, concerning the nature of the christian religion Page 119
44 (11, 12, 13. A passage in the prophet Jeremiah explained) — Page 145
45 The author leaves his friend Price, and proceeds up Westmorland-Stanemore — Page 163
46 A reflexion on the margin of a fine lake among the fells of Westmorland — Page 166
47 An extraordinary effusion of water from the inside of a mountain — Page 168
48 The cause of this eruption of water, and its sudden increase — Page 169
49 The origin of earthquakes— Of the abyss, etc. Page 170
50 A reflexion on second causes; — and the reason of tides — Page 173
51 An account of muscular motion — Page 180
52 (14. Of spontaneous motion) — Page 186
53 (15. Of the organization of dead matter) Page 188
54 An extraordinary loch on the top of a high mountain — Page 191
55 Remarks on the deluge — Page 192
55 (16. An account of Eldine-hole in Derbyshire) Page 195
56 Account of an assemblage of columnar marble near a river among the fells of Westmorland Page 198
57 Account of a burning spring — Page 202
58 Account of a swallow, and another unfathomable loch — Page 205
59 An amazing arch through a mountain — Page 206
60 A reflexion on the completion of every wish the moment it is formed — Page 209
61 (17. A passage relative to wishing in the second volume of familiar letters) — Page 211
62 A description of a natural grotto in one of the mountains of Westmorland-Stanemore — Page 214
63 The history of Azora Burcot — her notions, and account of christianity — Page 215
64 (19. Sacrifice of the Massilienses) — Page 234
65 The gardens of Burcot-Lodge — Page 244
66 Account of a pike-pond — Page 246
67 An account of the public worship at Burcot-Lodge Page 247
68 A further account of Azora — and the history of Mr. Burcot, her father — Page 261
69 (20. A way to make gold.) — Page 262
70 An account of ten extraordinary country girls Page 270
71 An observation on the understanding of women Page 273
72 (21. An account of Mrs. Antonia Fletcher, and her colony:—the death of Mrs. Burcot.—Of Stanemore and its villages) — Page 277
73 The author's departure from Burcot-Hamlet — and arrival at a burning fountain — Page 278
74 An acount of an extraordinary water-fall among the fells of Westmorland — Page 286
75 An acount of great deliverances — Page 287
76 (22. An account of some Irish kings and knights) Page 288
77 (23. An account of Cormac Maccuillenan, king of Munster, and archbishop of Cashel — The psalter of Tarah, and the psalter of Cashel) Page 290
78 The case of John Orton — Page 294
79 A reflexion on the bones of John Orton Page 304
80 (24. An explanation of the author's expression — Partaker of the divine nature by impressions from it) — Page 308
81 A meditation in a closet — Page 311
82 An inventory of the goods the author found at Mr. Orton's Lodge — Page 312
83 The pismires the best preparers of a skeleton Page 314
84 The author's scheme of a life to be passed at Orton-Lodge — Page 315
85 A description of an extraordinary cave in one of the northern fells of Westmorland — Page 319
86 (25. A description of the cave near Cape-Bonn; which was the grot that Dido and Aeneas sheltered themselves in: — and St. Donat's-Cave in Glamorganshire) — Page 320
87 A description of a fine seat in Yorkshire-Stanemore Page 324
88 An account of the owners of this seat — Page 327
89 A rule to determine the tangents of curve lines Page 333
90 Microscopical observations on plants, insects, etc. Page 334
91 A reflexion on the works of nature as seen in the microscope — Page 342
92 An account of the library at Ulubrae — Page 343
93 An account of the book called Vindiciae contra Tyrannos, — and who was the author of it Page 344
94 (29. Some remarks on Charles I.—and account of two sermons preached at his martyrdom) Page 345
95 (30. Accounts of Du Plessis Mornay — Cardinal Perron — Paul V. — Cardinal d'Ossat — Cardinal Baronius — Isaac Casaubon — Centuriators of Magdebourg— Cardinal Bellarmine — The edict of Nantz — Theodore Agrippa Aubigne — Page 350
96 Account of the author of a book De libertate ecclesiastica — Page 358
97 (32. An account of the writings of the two Scaligers, and of Lewis Cappel — Page 359
98 An account of some subterraneous chambers in one of the mountains of Yorkshire-Stanemore Page 362
99 (33. Account of Penpark-hole in Gloucestershire) Page 363
100 (34. Os Pool's-hole in Derbyshire) — Page 367
101 The author's dangerous descent from the top of the mountain he arrived on, to the valley where Mr. Harcourt-lived — and his kind reception by that gentleman — Page 369
102 The author's discourse with Miss Harcourt, in relation to his religion — Page 376
103 (35. Of Dr. Joseph Smith's book, sect. 3.) Page 378
103 Mr. Harconrt's observation on the discourse I had with his daughter, and his generous offer Page 385
104 An account of Harriot Eusebia Harcourt, (the lady mentioned in the first volume of my memoirs of several ladies of Great-Britain, p. 324.) — and her paintings — Page 388
105 (37. What a moral Shechinah is) — Page 393
106 A description of a fine chamber in a mountain, and a descent from the chamber to a valley, where the author found his friend Turner's house Page 402
107 Characters of Miss Turner and Miss Jaquelot Page 415
108 The author departs from Skelsmore-Vale, and on the side of a mountain, makes a morning reflexion on the rising sun — Page 418
109 (39. The weakness of tradition) — Page 421
110 A fine landscape from the top of a mountain — and the author's arrival at the seat of Mr. Berrisfort; a gentleman who came with him from Ireland in the ship he had his passage in Page 432
111 A passage in a Greek author: and some reflexions Page 435
112 The kind reception the author had from Mr. Berrisfort — Page 438
113 Manner of living at Mr. Berrisfort's house — His character — and the characters of Miss Berrisfort and Miss Fox — Page 440
114 The daring spirit of Miss Berrisfort in hunting Page 441
115 An account of two sad falls in the field in a morning hunt — Page 442
116 A religious conversation between Mr. Berrisfort and the author — Page 444
117 (40. Accounts of Erasmus, Grotius, Limborch, Baxter, Dodwell, and their writings, and of Dr. Sykes—Courcelles—and Polienbourg Page 453
118 (40. A remark on our little Vaux-halls; — and a word of advice to the rich and gay, who frequent Ranelagh and Vaux-hall) — Page 460
119 (41. Of Simon of the Oratory — Du Pin; and their writings: and of Le Clerc's Sentimens de quelques theologiens) — Page 470
120 (42. Of Mr. Macknight's harmony) Page 479
120 (43. Of Jones's method of settling the canonical authority of the books of the New Testament— the sacred classics — Dr. Lardner's credibility of the gospel history; particularly his admirable supplement to the first book of the second part; and Mr. Jacob Ilive's letter to the bishop of London) — Page 485
121 (44. The case of prophecy — and of Jerom, Ambrose, and the first St. Gregory) Page 450
122 The author departs from Yeoverin-Green, and arrives at a shaking-bog — the nature of this kind of bog — Page 496
123 A continuation of the journey from the shakingbog— to Mr. Fleming's house — and the history of Mr. Fleming and his two brothers Page 498
124 The author arrives at last at Ulubrae, to the great joy of the gentlemen, his friends; and from thence proceeds the next day to Eggleston — the day after to other places, to enquire for Miss Melmoth, but cannot find her — Page 502
125 By chance however he met with her at Gretabridge, and from that place they set out for Orton-Lodge, where they were married Page 506
ERRATA.
— Page 5. line 16.
after the words
my private tutor,
add
Mr. John Bruce, who was a bright and excellent man: you will find a large account of him in the first volume of my memoirs of several ladies, p. 7.—P. 6. l. 8.
after
else,
insert
till. p. 19. l. 4. gluto
read
glutto. p. 87. note 10.
penult.
delightful,
read
charming,
and in the last line
delightful,
read
happy. P. 88 note 10. l. 6. them,
read
men, l. 2. extreme,
read
extremely. p. 156. l. 2. dispenation,
read
dispensation. p. 160. l. 6.
dele
and. p. 165. l. 9.
after
subjacent,
read
clouds. p. 186. note 14. l. 12. sponteneity,
read
spontaneity. p. 227.
last line,
part,
read
past. p. 229. l. 18.
after
must,
insert
have. p. 230. l. 1. h,
read
a, p. 231. l. 11.
after
more,
insert
to. p. 232. l. 11.
after
beauty,
insert
and. p. 233. l. 1.
after
principle,
put
a comma. Ib. l. 14. oblotion,
read
oblation. p. 234. l. 11. with him,
read
within us. p. 238. l. 23. thro'
read
the. p. 239. l. 2.
after
which,
insert
he. p. 239. l. 22. derived,
read
doubted. Ib. 24. one,
read
our. p. 241. l. 28. eve,
read
ever. p. 242. l. 21. trial,
read
trials. p. 264.
in the note
5. innovation,
read
invention. p. 281.
in the note, line last,
Stanemore,
read
Boulness. p. 287. l. 13. July,
read
June, p. 290.
in the note
1, Cuillenau,
read
Mac Cuillenan. p. 319. l. 14. after
read
during. p. 344. l. 19. marionalotry,
read
marianolatry. p. 344. l. 20. demonalatry,
read
domonolatry. p. 359.
in the note
6. his,
read
the. p. 401. l. 17.
after the word
resurrection,
insert
in the first volume of my memoirs of several ladies, p. 324. you will find a further account of Mrs. Harcourt. p. 405. l. 12.
after
no,
insert
other. p. 512.
after
No. 5.
in the advertisement at the end of the life,
(relative to an appendix)
add
No. 6. Strictures on Mr. Jacob Ilive's letter to the bishop of London. No. 7. Continuation of Mrs. Harcourt's paintings of the visions in the revelations of St. John.
THE LIFE OF
John Buncle,
Esq
Nec Vixit Male, qui Natus Moriensque fefellit.
THAT the Transactions of my Life, and the observations and reflections I have made on men and things, by sea and land, in various parts of the world, might not be buried in oblivion, 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 publish them. Some pleasing, and some surprizing 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, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report.
1. A Reflection.
About fifty years ago the Midwife wheeled me in, and much sooner than half a Century hence, in all human probability, Death will wheel me out. When Heaven pleases, I am satisfied. Life and death are equally welcome, because equally parts of my way to Eternity. My lot has been a swarthy one in this first State, and I am in hopes I shall exchange worlds to advantage. As God, without all peradventure, brought his moral creatures into being, in order to increase their Virtue, and provide suitable happiness for the Worthy, the most unfortunate here may expect immutable felicity at last, if they have endeavoured, in proportion to what power they had, to render themselves useful and valuable, by a sincerity and benevolence of temper, a disinterestedness, a communicativeness, and the practice of those duties, to which we are obliged by the frame of our Nature, and by the Relations we bear to God, and to the subjects of his government.
For my part, I confess that, many have been the failings of my Life, and great the defects of my obedience. But in the midst of all my failings and imperfections, my Soul hath always sympathised with the afflicted, and my heart hath ever aked for the miseries of others. My hand has often relieved, when I wanted the shilling to comfort my self, and when it hath not been in my power to relieve, I have grieved for the scanty Accommodations of others. Many troublesome and expensive offices I have 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 felicitates my every day, let what will happen from without. This supports me under every Affliction, and enables me to mentain a habit of satisfaction and joy in the general course of my Life.
2. Went to the University in 1720
The things of my Childhood are not worth setting down, and therefore I commence my Life from the first month of the seventeenth year of my Age, when I was sent to the University, and entred a pensioner, tho' I had a larger yearly allowance than any fellow-commoner of my College. I was 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 privilege 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, tho' 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.
3. A College-Life.
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 little intercourse with the living. So totally had letters engaged my mind, that I was but little affected towards most other things. Walking and Musick were my favorite recreations, and almost the only ones I delighted in. I had hardly a thought at that time of the foolish choises and pursuits of men; those fatal choices and pursuits, which are owing to false judgments, and to a habit of acting precipitantly, without examining the fancies and appetites; and therefore, very rarely went into the pleasures and diversions which men of fortune in a University too commonly indulge in. My relaxation, after study, was my german-flute, and the conversation of some ingenious, sober friend; generally, my private tutor, who was a bright and excellent man; and 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
Harriot Noel
you shall have by and by.
4. A Course of Reading in a College.
At present, my scheme requires me to set down the method I pursued in my Readings, and let my Reader know the issue of my studies. — My time I devoted to Philosophy, Cosmography, Mathematicks, and the Languages, for four years, and the fifth I gave to History.
Of Mr. Locke's Essay.
The first book I took into my hand, after receiving my note of admission, was the essay of that fine Genius, Mr.
Locke,
and I was so pleased with this clear and accurate writer, that I looked into nothing else, by 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 shewed me how greatly true knowledge depended on a right meaning of words, and a just significancy of expression. In sum, from the Essay my Understanding received very great benefits, and to it I owe what 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 and truth of understanding, which is the great perfection of rational Beings.
5. Natural Philosophy.
When I had done, for a time, with this admirable Essay, I then began to study the first principles of things, the structure of 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 productions. 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 likewise led me to the great first Cause, and in repeated views of harmony, wisdom and goodness in all the works of nature, rivited upon my mind a fixed conviction, that all is under the administration of a general Mind, as far remote from all malice as from all weakness, whether in respect of understanding or of power. This gave me a due affection towards the infinitely perfect Parent of Nature, and as I contemplated his glorious Works, I was obliged in transports to 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 a 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.
6. Moral Philosophy.
But upon Ethicks or Moral Philosophy I dwelt the longest. This is the proper food of the Soul, and what perfects her in all the virtues and qualifications of a gentleman. This Science I collected in the first place from the antient sages and philosophers, and studied all the moral writers of Greece and Rome. With great pleasure I saw, that these immortal authors had delineated as far as human reason can go, that course of life which is most according to the intention of nature, and most happy; had shewn that this universe, and human nature in 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, compleat in all possible perfection, 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 liberal 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, justice and benevolence are prescribed; and aids and an intercourse of mutual offices required, not only to secure our pleasure and happiness, but to preserve ourselves in safety and in life: that the law of nature, or natural right, forbids every instance of injustice, a violation of life, liberty, health, property; and the exercise of our honourable, kind powers, are not only a spring of vigorous efforts to do good to others, and thereby 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 abilities and opportunities in improving our minds to an extensive knowledge of nature in the sciences; and by diligent meditation and observation, acquire that prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude, which should constantly govern our lives: — That solid prudence, which abhors rashness, inconsiderateness, a foolish self-confidence, and craft, and under a high sense of moral excellence, considers and does what is really advantageous in life: — That justice, which constantly regards the common interest, and in subserviency to it, gives to each one whatever is due to him upon any natural claim: — That temperance, which restrains and regulates the lower 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 life, and no advantages can be compared in point of happiness with the approbation of God, and of our own hearts.
That if in this manner we live prepared for any honourable services to God, our fellows, and ourselves, and practice
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 all who exert their utmost endeavours in the pursuits of virtue: And since the perfection of virtue must constitute the supreme felicity of man, our efforts to attain it, must be effectual in obtaining compleat felicity, or at least some lower degree of it.
7. Of Revealed Religion.
This beautiful, moral Philosophy I found scattered in the wtitings 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 inferior to revelation. Every Sunday I appropriated to the study of reveled Religion, and perceived as I read the sacred records, that the Works of Plato, and Cicero, and Epictetus, and all the uninspired sages of antiquity, were but weak rules in respect of the divine oracles. It is the mercy and power of God in the triumphs of grace, that restores mankind from the bondage and ignorance of idolatry. To this the sinner owes the conversion of his soul. It is the statutes of the Lord that rejoyce the heart, and enlighten the eyes. What are all the reasonings of the philosophers to the melody of that heavenly voice which crys continually,
Come unto me all ye that travel 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 religion, 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 sollicitudes which attend upon large possessions, and give us a mind capable of relishing the good things before us; to make us easy and satisfied as to the present, and render us secure and void of fear as to the future. These things we learn from revelation, and are informed by the sacred records only, that if we are placed here in the midst of many fears and sorrows, and are often perplexed with evils in this world; yet they are so many warnings not to set up our rest here, but to keep a stedfast 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 immortality, 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 reveled religion, in the beginning of my rational life. The morality of the antient philosophers I admired. With delight I studied their writings, and received, I gratefully confess, much improvement from them. But the religion 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 turning every one of you from your iniquities. And would men but hear and obey this life-giving Redeemer, his Gospel would restore reason and religion to their rightful authority over mankind; and make all virtue, and true goodness, flourish in the earth.
8. Of false religion.
But I must observe that, by the religion of the New Testament, I do not mean any of those modern schemes of religion, which discover the evident marks 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 beared 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 amendment of life. 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; — supplies the defects of nature, but never attempts to overthrow the established principles of it; —casts new light upon the dictates of reason, but never overthrows them.
Pure theism,
and
Christ
the
appointed Mediator, Advocate,
and
Judge,
by a commission from God the Father, to me appeared to be the Gospel;— and the directions of the holy Spirit, to 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.
9. Cosmography and Mathematicks.
The manner of my studying Cosmography and Mathematicks 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 republicks comprized therein, and to be able to discourse upon them: — And in the other, I went no further than to make myself a master of vulgar and decimal arithmetick, the doctrine of infinite series, and the application 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 an evening to the clamorous pleasures; or, at least, not be uneasy for being alone now and then, since their algebra was with them.
10. Method of reading History.
In reading history, (my last years 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, common-wealths; their progress, revolutions, changes and declensions; the number, order, and qualities of the Princes, that have reigned over those states and kingdoms, their actions military and civil; the characters and actions of the great men that flourished under them; and the laws, the arts, learning and manners, I carefully marked down, and observed not only how the first governments were 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, and Spain, and Italy, and Germany, and many more, then I turned to Great-Britain, and in the first place took a view of the English constitution and government, in the antient books of the common law, and some more modern 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 shewed 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 intelligence, 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 did likewise know enough of the law for an English gentleman, tho' quite ignorant of the chicane, or wrangling and captious part of the law, and was well acquainted with the true measure of right and wrong. The arts how to avoid doing right, and to secure one's self in doing wrong, I never looked into.
11. A reflection on History.
Thus did I read History, and many noble lessons I learned from it; just notions of true worth, true greatness, and solid happiness. It taught me to place merit where it only lies, not in birth, not in beauty, not in riches, not in external shew and magnificence, not in voluptuousness; but, in a firm adherence to truth and rectitude; in an untainted heart, that would not pollute or prostitute its 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.
Es Modicus Voti, presso lare, dulcis Amicis;
Jam nunc astringas; jam nunc granaria laxes;
Inque luto fixum possis transcendere Nummum;
Nec gluto sorbere Salivam Mercurialem?
Haec mea sunt, teneo, cum vere dixeris: Esto
Liberque ac Sapiens, Praetoribus ac Jove dextro.
Sin tu, cum fueris Nostrae paulò ante farinae,
Pelliculam veterem retines, et fronte politus
Astutam Vapido servas sub pectore Vulpem;
Quae dederam suprà, Repeto, funemque Reduco.
Nil tibi concessit Ratio: digitum exere peccas,
Et quid tam parvum est? Sed nullo thure litabis,
Haereat in Stultis brevis ut semuncia Recti.
Haec miscere Nefas: —
Are you moderate in your desires, frugal, and obliging to your friends? Do you know when to spare, and when to be liberal, as occasion requires? And can you give a check to your avarice, in spight of all temptations which are laid in your way? Can you refrain from being too greedy in your pursuits after riches? When you can sincerely affirm that you are master of your self, and of all these good qualities, then you are free 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 qualities, 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 transgress, tho' the thing be of so trifling a nature. All the sacrifices you can offer will never pass for a dram of rectitude, while your conduct is faulty. Wisdom is incompatible with folly.
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 undesiring eyes;
When thou canst 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 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 proportion to the improvements it makes, far beyond all that mere sense can yield, in the most advantageous circumstances of outward enjoyment; so in a state to come, it shall be so placed as its improvements require, that is, be placed in 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 wretchedness which many have fallen into by departing from reason or virtue: — And in others, we meet with such virtuous characters and actions, as set forth the charms 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!
Would mankind but hearken to its voice, and obey its dictates, there would be no such Beings as
Invaders, Delinquents,
and
Traitors,
in this lower world. The social inclinations and dispositions would for ever prevail over the selfish appetites and passions. The law of benevolence would be the rule of life. The advancement of the common good would be the work of every man.
12. A Reflection on Government and Religion.
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
Religion,
and so have three conducible means to social happiness. These three are necessary to the being of a publick, and of them, religion 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 happines of mankind in particular cases: but
Religion,
rightly understood, and fixed upon its true and proper foundation, might do the work, in conjunction with the other two principles, and secure the happiness of Society. If mankind were brought to the
belief
and
worship
of
one only true God,
and to a
sincere obedience to his Will,
as we have it discovered in
Revelation,
I think, appetite and passion would cease to invade by violence or fraud, or set up for private interest in opposition to the publick stock or common good. But, alas! 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 every thing, and nothing, while they are screaming or forcing the people into their several factions. This destroys the moment of Religion, and the multitude are thereby wandered into endless mazes and perplexities, and rendered a hairing, staring, wrathful rabble; instead of being transformed into such christians as filled the first church at
Jerusalem;
christians who acknowledged and worshipped God the Father Almighty, in the name of Christ, that is, under a belief of that
authority
and
power
which the Father of the Universe has, for the
good
of mankind, conferred upon him; and in
humility
and
meekness,
in
mortification
and
self-denial,
in a
renunciation of the spirit, wisdom,
and
honours of this world,
in a
love of God,
and
desire of doing God's will,
and
seeking only his honour,
were by the Gospel made
like unto Christ. Golden Religion! Golden Age!
The
Doctrine
of Christianity was then a
Restoration
of
true Religion:
the
practice
of Christianity, a
Restoration of human Nature.
But now, alas! too many explainers are employed in darkening and making doubtful the reveled Will of God, and by paraphrases, expositions, commentaries, notes, and glosses, have almost rendered revelation useless. What do we see in the vast territories of Popery, but a perfect
Diabolism
in the place of the religion of our Lord; doctrines the most impious and absurd, the most inconsistent and contradictory in themselves, the most hurtful and mischievous in their consequences; the whole supported by persecution, by the sophistry of learned knaves, and the tricks of jugling priests? And if we turn our eyes from these regions of
imposture
and
cruelty,
to the realms of
protestants,
do we not find some learned christian crities and expositors reducing the inspired writings to a dark science? without regard to the nature and intrinsick character of their doctrines, do they not advance notions as true and divine, which have not one appearance of divine Authority; but, on the contrary, mililitate 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 pretended 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 Christianity 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 explications; 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
Religion
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 obligation to find
that
to be
truth
which is taught by these Leaders. In truth, we should be unhappy men, with a revelation in our churches and our closets, if the leaders had a right to make their
own faith
pass for the
faith
of the
Apostles;
or, if we refused it, might lance the weapons of this world at their people. What must we do then as true Christians? I think for my self, that we ought to form our judgment, in matters of faith, upon a strict, serious and impartial examination of the Holy Scriptures, without any regard to the judgment of others, or human authority whatever: that we ought to open the sacred records, without minding any systems, and from the reveled word of God learn that, Christianity does not consist in a jingle of unintelligible sounds, and new fundamentals, hewn out by craft, 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 studying to imitate God, who is the most perfect understanding nature, in all his moral perfections; in becoming the
Children of God
by being (according to our capacity)
perfect as he is perfect,
and
holy
as he is
holy,
and
merciful
as he is
merciful;
and in our whole
moral
behaviour as
like
to
him
as possible.
In a word, to flee
injustice, oppression, intemperance, impurity, pride, unmercifulness, revenge:
— to practise
justice, piety, temperance, chastity, humility, beneficence, placability
— to turn from our iniquities to the practice of all virtue: and through the
alone mediation
of the
only-begotten Son of God, believe
in and
worship
the
eternal mind,
the
one supreme Spirit,
in
hope
of a
glorious immortality,
through the sanctification of the Holy Ghost: — These are the things the Lord came down to teach mankind. For the
New Testament
itself then we must 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 enquiry is, that every thing
necessary to be believed
by a
Christian,
is in those Books not left to be gathered by
consequences,
or
implications;
but the things
necessary
to obtain the favor 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
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 church; 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 loose 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 mean 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 shew the respect of a due examination of what they affirm; yet we must not yield the submission due only to
infallibility.
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
near eighteen hundred years ago, is to take the
original
faith from the
Councils
and
Fathers,
grave and good men, who met and writ for the settling of the
faith.
— And to this we answer, that these wise and good men cannot give so good an account of the
faith
contained in the
original books
as the
books themselves
which contain it.
To give an example to the purpose. If we would know the doctrine of the Church of England at the reformation, it is not the writings of any 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 stile 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 the doctrines delivered by them. It follows then, that nothing but what is recorded in the
first original
books themselves can be firm and stable to us in points of
faith.
In the
original books
only we can find the
faith,
without that
confusion
and
darkness,
which human explications and additions have brought in by way of
light.
.
13. The story of Harriot Noel.
But it is time to tell my reader the story of the beautiful
Harriot Noel,
which I promised in my third memorandum. — 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 encreased; and when the whole flood of day descended, the
imbellished early scene
was a fine entertainment. Delighted with the beauties of this morning, I climbed up the mountains, and travelled 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 habitation to my purpose, when I observed in a valley, at some distance, something that looked like a mansion. That way therefore I moved, and with no little difficulty, as I had a precipice to descend, or must go a mile round, to arrive at the place I wanted: down therefore I marched, got a fall by the way that had like to have destroyed me, and after all, found it to be a shed for 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,
Laevum discedens curru fugiente vaporet.
A pretty brook here likewise babbles along, and even
Hebrus
strays not round
Thrace
with a purer and cooler stream.
Fons etiam rivo dare nomen idoneus, ut nec Frigidior Thracam nec purior ambiat Hebrus.
A Country Seat.
In this sweet and delicious solitude, I crept on for some time, by the side of the murmuring stream, and followed as it winded through the vale, till I came to a little harmonick 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 entred immediately, and to screen my self from the scorching beams of the sun, got into an imbowered way, that led me to a large fountain, in a ring or circular opening, and from thence, by a gradual, easy, shady ascent, to a semicircular amphitheatre of ever-greens, 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 Ionick 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 library, filled with the finest books, and a vast variety of mathematical instruments. Here I saw Miss
Noel
sitting, and so intent at writing, that she did not take any notice of me, as I stood at the window, in astonishment looking at the things before me, and especially at the amazing beauties of her face, and the splendor of her eyes; as she raised them now and then from the paper she writ 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 reality of what my eyes beheld; till Miss
Noel,
by accident, looked full at me, and then came forward to the open window, to know who I wanted.
Before I could answer, I found a venerable old gentleman standing by my side, and he seemed much more surprized at the sight of me than his daughter was; for, as this young lady told me afterward, she guessed at once the whole affair; seeing me with my gun and dog, in a shooting dress; and knew it was a natural curiosity brought me into the garden, and stoped me at the window, when I saw her in such an attitude, and in such a place. — This I assured them was the truth of my case, with this small addition however, that I was ready to perish for want of something to eat; having been from four in the morning at hard exercise, and had not yet broke my fast.— If this be the case, says the good old man, you are welcome, Sir, to Eden-Park, and you shall soon have the best breakfast our house affords.
Upon this Mr.
Noel
brought me into his house, and the lovely
Harriot
made tea for me, and had such plenty of fine cream, and extraordinary bread and butter set before me, that I breakfasted with uncommon pleasure. The honour and happiness of her company rendered the repast quite delightful. There was a civility so very great in her manner, and a social goodness so charming in her talk and temper, that it was unspeakable delight to sit at table with her. She asked me a number of questions relating to things and books, and people, and there was so much good sense in every inquiry, so much good humour in her reflections and replications, that I was intirely charmed with her mind; and lost in admiration, when I contemplated the wonders of her face, and the beauties of her person.
When breakfast was over, it was time for me to depart, and I made half a dozen 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 stiffened by inchantment in the apartment of the Princess
Phedima,
as we read in
Amadis de Gaul.
This Miss
Noel
saw very plain, and in compassion to my misfortune, generously threw in a hint now and then, for a little farther 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 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 (Mr.
Noel
continued) you will excuse me, Sir, as business engages me till we dine: but my daughter will chat the hours away with you, and shew you the curiosities of her library and grott.
Harriot
will supply my place.
This was a delightful invitation indeed, and after returning my hearty thanks to the old gentleman for the favour he did me, I addressed my self to Miss
Noel,
when her father was gone, and we were walking back to the library in the garden, and told her ingenuously, that tho' I could not be positive as to the situation of my soul, whether I was in love with her or not, as I never had experienced the passion before, nor knew what it was to admire a woman; having lived till that morning in a state of indifference to her sex; yet, I found very strange 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.
A Conversation with Miss Noel, in relation to the Language of Adam, and the Primaevity of the Hebrew Tongue.
Sir, (this inimitable maid replied) you are an intire stranger to me, and to declare a passion on a few hours acquaintance, must be either to try my weakness, or because you think a young woman is incapable of 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 favor, to give me your opinion on some articles in this
Hebrew Bible
you see lying open on the table in this room. My father, Sir, among other things he has taken great pains to instruct me in, for several years that I have lived with him in a kind of solitary state, since the death of my mother, whom I lost when I was very young, has taught me to read and understand this inspired
Hebrew
book; and says we must ascribe
primaevity
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 understanding 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, tho' I have learned to read and understand the Old-Testament in the
Ante-Babel
language.
My opinion on your question is, that the
Biblical Hebrew
was the language of Paradise, and continued to be spoken by all men down to, and at the time of
Moses
writing the pentateuch, and long after.
Abraham,
tho' bred in
Chaldea,
could converse freely with the
Egyptians,
the
Sodomites,
and the King of
Gerar;
nor do we find, that any variety of speech interrupted the commerce of his son
Isaac
with the several nations around, or that it ever stopt
Jacob
in his travels. Nay, the
Israelites,
in their journey through the desarts of
Arabia,
(after they had been some hundred years in
Egypt
) tho' joined by a mixt multitude, and meeting with divers kinds of people, had not 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 universally. 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
The captivity began at
Nebuzaradan
's taking and burning the city and temple of
Jerusalem,
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 the world 3416.
, 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 (Miss
Noel
said) 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 1800 years must have changed the first language very greatly by an increase of words, and new inflections, applications, and constructions of them. The few first 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 obliged to coin new words and technical terms, and by extending and transferring their words to new subjects, and using them figuratively, were forced to multiply the senses of those already in use. The language to be sure was thus gradually cultivated, and every age improved it. All living languages are liable to such change. I therefore conclude, 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, 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 unknown to
Nimrod
and
Heber:
and that the men at
Shinaar
Shinaar
comprehends the plains 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,
1200 miles from
Ararat.
This was in the days of
Peleg,
240 years after the flood, when the eight had encreased to sixty thousand; which made a remove of part of them necessary.
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 alterations in nature and diet, must introduce a multitude of new terms in things of common experience and usage; as, after that amazing revolution in the natural world, not only the clouds and meteors were different, and the souls that were saved had a new and astonishing view of the ruin and repair of the system; but
Noah
did then 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 to be sure with mankind encreased. The
Noachical
language must be quite another thing after the great events of the
flood.
Had
Methuselah,
who conversed many years with
Adam,
who received from his mouth the history of the
creation
and
fall,
and who lived 600 years with
Noah,
to communicate to him all the knowledge he got from
Adam;
had this
Antediluvian
wise man been raised from the dead to converse with the
postdiluvian
fathers, or even with
Noah,
the year he died, that is, 350 years after the
flood;
is it not credible, from what I have said, that he would have heard a language very different from that tongue he used in his conversations with
Adam,
even in the 930th year of the
first man
Longevity of the Antediluvians.
The extraordinary
longevity
of the
Antideluvians
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
Hostiaeus;
and besides these,
Hieronymus
the Egyptian, and those who composed the Phoenician 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 antients lived 1000 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 1000 years.
See a continuation of this 4th note in the appendix.
? I imagine,
Methuselah
would not have been able to have talked with
Noah,
at the time I have mentioned, of the circumstances that then made the case of mankind, and of the things of common experience and usage. He must have been unable to converse at his first appearance.
What you say, Madam, (I replyed) is not only very probable, but affords a satisfaction unexpected in a subject on which we are obliged, for want of
data,
to use conjectures. I offer up to your superior sense the notion, that the Scriptures were wrote in the language of Paradise. Most certain it is, that even in respect of our own language, for example, the subjects of
Henry
the 1st, would find it as much out of their power to understand the
English
of
George
the 1st's reign, were they brought up again, as the ordinary people of our time are at a loss to make any thing of the English written in the 1st
Henry
's reign. But when I have granted this, you will be pleased to inform me, how
Abraham
and his sons conversed and 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 my self you will be the guide and dirigent of all my notions and my days. Yes, charming
Harriot,
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
replyed) and oblige me to call you an odd compound of a man. Pray, Sir, let me have no more of those romantic flights, and I will answer your question as well as I can; but it must be at some other time. There is more to be said on the 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 description of this splendid room.
A Description of Miss Noel's grotto.
In one of the fine rotunda's 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 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.
The Temple of Tranquility and a remarkable Inscription.
At some distance the fine temple looks like a beautiful painted picture, as do the birds, the beasts, the trees, in the fields about it, and the river which murmurs at the bottom of the rising ground; Amnis lucidus & vadosus in quo cernere erat varii generis pisces colludere. So wonderfully did this genius perform the piece, that fishes of many kinds seem to take their passtime in the bright stream. But above all, is the image of the philosopher, at the entrance of the temple, vastly fine. With pebbles and scraps of glass, all the beauties and graces are expressed, which the pencil of an able artist could bestow on the picture of
Democritus.
You see him as
Diogenes Ldertius
has drawn him, with a philosophical joy in his countenance, that shews him superior to all events.
Summum bonorum finem statuit esse laetitiam,
non eam quae sit eadem voluptati, sed
eam per quam animus degit perturbationis expers;
and with a finger, he points to the following golden inscription on the portico of the temple:—
Flagrans sit studium bene merendi de seipso, Et seipsum perficiendi.
That is,
By a rectitude of mind and life, 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 all their species: and of those that live in the fresh streams, from the
suboval limpet
or
umbonated patella
and its species, to the
triangular, and deeply striated cardia.
Even all the land-shells were in this collection, from the
pomatia
to the
round-mouthed turbo.
The most beautiful genera of the sea-shells, 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 alabastritae, and the most elegant and beautiful marcasites, and chrystals, and spars. These filled the greatest part of the walls, and in classes, here and there, were scattered, as foils to raise the lustre of the others, the inferior shells.
Among the simple sea-shells, that is, those of one shell, without a hinge, I saw several rare ones, that were neither in Mrs.
O'Hara
's, nor in Mrs.
Crafton
's grottos in
Fingal,
as I observed to those ladies
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.
Crafton
had the finest shells, but her grott 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 all at last I saw 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 life 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
Damer,
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 distraining, I took my leave of
Fingall.
. The shells I mean are the following ones.
Fine shells.
1. The Sea Trumpet.
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.
2. The Admiral.
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 sells at a great price.
3. The Crown Imperial.
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 an East Indian.
4. The Hebrew Letter.
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.
5. The white Voluta.
The
white voluta,
with brown and blue and purple spots. This very elegant shell, whose ground is a charming white, is found on the coast of Guinea, from five to six inches in length, and its diameter at the head often three inches. It tapers gradually, and at the extremity is a large obtuse. Its variegations in its spots are very beautiful, and its spots are principally disposed in many circles round the shell.
6. The Butterfly.
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 beautifyed all over with small brown spots, in regular and round series. These variegations are exceeding pretty, and as this rare East Indian shell has beside these beauties three charming bands round the body, which are formed of large spots of a deep brown, a pale brown, and white, and resemble the spots on the wings of butterflies, it is a beautiful species indeed. The animal that inhabits this shell is a
limax.
7. The Tulip Cylinder.
The
tulip cylinder
is a very scarce and beautiful native of the East-Indies, and in its state of perfection and brightness of colour, of great value. Its form is cylindric, its length four inches, and its diameter two and a half, at its gratest increase. Its clavicle has many volutions, and terminates in an obtuse point. The ground colour is white, and its variegations blue and brown. They are thrown into irregular clouds in the most beautiful manner, and into some larger and smaller spots. The limax inhabits this fine shell.
I likewise saw in this grotto the finest species of the
purpura,
the
dolia,
and the
porcellana.
There was of the first genus the
thorny woodcock:
— of the second, the
harp shell:
— and of the third, the
argus shell.
8. The thorny Woodcock.
The
thorny woodcock
is ventricose, and approaches to an oval figure. Its length, full grown, is five inches; the clavicle short, but in volutions distinct; and its rostrum from the mouth twice the length of the rest of the shell. This snout and the body have four series of spines, generally an inch and half long pointed at the ends, and somewhat crooked. The spines lie in regular, longitudinal series. The mouth is almost round, but the opening is continued in the form of a slit up the rostrum. The colour of this American, and extremely elegant shell, is a tawny yellow, with a fine mixture of a lively brown, and by bleaching on the coasts, it gets many spots of white.
9. The Harp.
The
beautiful harp
is a Chinese; three inches and half long, and two and a half 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 surprizingly beautiful.
10. The Argus.
The extremely elegant
argus
is from the coast of Africa, and is sometimes found in the East-Indies. Its length, in a state of perfection, is four inches and a half; its 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 these fasciae, are ornamented with multitudes of the most beautiful round spots, which resemble eyes in the wings of the finest butterflies. The
limax
inhabits this charming shell. This creature is the sea-snail.
11. The concha of Venus.
The
concha of Venus
was the next shell in this young lady's collection that 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 lips, 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.
12. The Hammer Oyster.
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 pickax, 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 pickax was seven inches long, and three quarters of an inch in diameter. This head terminates at each end in a narrow obtuse point, is uneven at the edges, irregular in its make, and lies crosswise to the body: yet the valves shut in the closest and most elegant manner. The edges are deeply furrowed and plated, and the lines 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 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
cylindri,
the
murexes,
the
turbines,
the
buccina,
and every species of the finest genera of shells, Miss
Noel
formed a
grotto
that exceeded every thing of the kind I believe in the world; all I am sure that I have seen, 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 grotts within her grotto, and falling waters, and points of view. In one place, was the famous
Atalanta,
and her delightful cave: and in another part, the Goddess and Ulysses's son appeared at the entrance of that grott, which under the appearance of a rural plainness had every thing could charm the eye: the roof was ornamented with shell-work; the tapestry was a tender vine; and limpid fountains sweetly purled round.
An image of Epictetus and a remarkable Legend.
But what above all the finely fancyed works in Miss
Noel
's grotto pleased me, was, a figure of the Philosopher
Epictetus,
in the centre of the grott. He sat at the door of a cave, by the side of a falling water, and held a book of his philosophy in his hand, that was written in the manner of the antients, that is, on parchment rolled up close together. He appeared in deep meditation, and as part of the book had been unwrapped 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 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
masterscience
of
what
he is,
where
he is, and the
end
to which he is destined. He is directed by the
cannon
of
reason
to reverence the dignity of his own superior character, and never wretchedly degrade himself into natures 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 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 life. 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 his mind; that piety, that love, that justice, that veracity, that gratitude, that benevolence; which are the glory of human kind. Whatever is fated in that order of incontroulable 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 endurings; a justice in distributions; a prudence in moral offices; 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.
Old Mr. Noel's character.
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 Gentleman. We sat down immediately to two very good dishes, and when that was over, Mr.
Noel
and I drank a bottle of old Alicant. Tho' this Gentleman was upwards of eighty, yet years had not deprived him of reason and 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 Aera 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 all these great characters. We went into the the gallery of
Verres.
We looked over the antient theatres. Several of the most beautiful passages in the Roman poets this fine 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, cives, quaerenda pecunia primum,
Virtus post nummos.—
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 Senium Severiorum,
Omnes unius aestimemus assis.
Soles occidere et redire possunt,
Nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux,
Nox est perpetua una dormiendo.
Haec discunt omnes ante Alpha & Beta puellae.
The girls all learns this lesson before their A. B. C: And as to the opinion of the poet, it shews how sadly the
Augustan
age, with all its learning, and polite advantages, was corrupted: and as
Virgil
makes a jest of his own fine description of a paradise or the Elysian fields; as is evident from his dismissing his hero out of the ivory gate; which shews he was of the school of
Epicurus;
it is from these things manifest, that we can never be thankful enough for the principles and dictates of reveled religion: we can never sufficiently adore the goodness of the most glorious Eternal for the gospel of Jesus Christ; which opens 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 encreases virtue—And brings us to the realms of perfect reason and excellent glory.
But (continued this fine old Gentleman)
Tibulius
has ever pleased me in the description of his mistress:
Illam quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit.
Componit
furtim subsequiturque decor;
Seu solvit crines, fusis decet esse capillis;
Seu compsit comptis est veneranda comis.
Urit seu Tyria voluit procedere pulla;
Urit seu nivea candida veste venit.
Talis in aeterno felix Vertumnus Olympo
Mille habet ornatus, mille decenter habet.
These elegant lines contain an inimitably beautiful description of outward grace, and its charming effects upon all who see it. Such a grace, without thinking of it, every one should strive to have, whatever they are doing. They should make it habitual to them.
Quintilian
seems to have had these fine lines in view, in his description of outward behaviour: Neque enim gestum componi ad similitudinem saltationis volo, sed subesse aliquid, 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.
Harriot,
make tea for the Gentleman. I am your servant, sir; and he withdrew. To
Harriot
then, my life 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 felicity 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 encrease every time I behold the harmony of your face; and by the powers divine, I swear to love you, so long as Heaven shall permit me to breath the vital air. Bid me then either live or die, and while I do live, be assured, that my life will be devoted to you only.—But in vain was all this warmth. Miss
Noel
sat as unmoved as
Erycina
on a monument, and only answered, with a smile, Since your days, sir, are in my disposal, I desire you will change to some other subject, and some article that is rational and useful: otherwise, I must leave the room.
A second conversation with Miss Noel; relating to the Miracle at Babel, and the Confusion of tongues.
To leave me, I replied, would be insupportable, and therefore, at once I have done. If you please then, Madam, we will consider the
miracle
at
Babel,
and enquire into the language of the world at that time. Allowing, as you have proved in our late conversation, that the language after the
flood
was quite another thing from that used in Paradise, and of consequence, that
Moses
did not write in that tongue which
Adam
and
Eve
conversed in; nor is
Hebrew
of that
primevity
which some great men affirm; yet, if there was a confusion of tongues at
Babel,
and many languages were spoken in the earth in the days of
Abraham,
then, how did he and his sons converse so easily with the various nations they passed through, and had occasional connexions with? For my part, I think with Mr.
Hutchinson,
that the divine 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
lip,
and to differ about the words of their atheistical confession.
As to a
confusion
of
confessions
(Miss
Noel
replyed), it appears to me to be a notion without any foundation to rest on. The argument of
Hutchinson
that the word
Shephah,
the name for a
lip,
when used for the
voice
or
speech,
is never once in the Bible used in any other sense than for
confession,
is not good; because tho'
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, pronunciations, dialects.
St.
Paul,
1. Cor. 14.21.22. applys
Shephah
to
language
or
dialect
in his quotation from the prophet
Isaiah,
ch. 28. ver. 11.12.—He says, in the
law
it is written,
With
The words
men of
are not in the Greek.
MEN OF
other tongues and other lips will I speak unto this 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 be speak to this people.
It is evident from this, that the
Hebrew
word
Shephah
here signifies
tongues
or
languages,
and not
confessions
or
discourse:
So the
apostle
applies it, and explains the
prophet:
and by
stammering lips Isaiah
means the
uncouth 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
Babelconfusion;
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 measure affect the saints, in respect of pronunciation, as the
miracle of Babel
did the people of that place.
To this stammering or uncouth pronunciation of barbarous dialects the prophet
Ezekiel
refers, 36.3.
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
babling nations
where ye are in
captivity.
—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 l 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 & insuavis, literasque male exprimens, blaesorum balborumque more: which was hitting upon the truth as to part of the original
manner
of the
confusion.
Indeed
Bloesus
and
Balbus,
in Latin, are both derived, in like manner from
Bal,
and,
Balbel.
—The
Welsh
has preserved a noble word for this
barbarism
of
confused language
in their compounded term
Baldwridd;
which is a plain compound of the
Hebrew Bal,
and
Dahar;
without any other deflection from the original
Hebrew,
than that of changing the
b
in the latter member of the word
(Dabar)
into the
Welch w,
a letter of the same organ. Moreover from their said
Baldwridd,
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,
originally gendered at
Babel.
See
Letter and Spirit
(ch. 11.) by Mr.
Holloway,
a
Hutchinsonian.
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: p. 115. Therefore,
Hutchinson not infallible: 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 and character against Mr. Holloway.—His two discourses on Elohim, and defence.—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.
Nor is this the only place in
scripture
where
Shephah, lip,
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 bear, Heb.) of a stammering or ridiculous tongue,
that thou canst not understand. This is enough in answer to Mr.
Hutchinson
and his fautors, in respect of what they say on the confusion at
Babel.
This proves that the word
Shephah, lip,
signifies
language, utterance, dialect,
as well as
confession
or
discourse:
and therefore,
Moses,
in his account of the
miracle
at
Babel,
might have meant a
confusion of languages.
That he did mean this, is plane not only from a
tradition
gone out into all the earth, which is a matter of greater regard than Mr.
Hutchinson
's fancy; but because the
sacred oracles
allude to this event. Beside St.
Paul
aforementioned; the
royal prophet
in Psalm 55. ver. 9. refers to the
means
of the
division
of
tongues,
and denounces a
curse
in terms taken from that inflicted at
Babel. Swallow up, O Lord, and divide their tongues.
This seems to describe the
manner
of that
confusion;
— that the
substance
of the
one language
was sunk or swallowed up in a vast chaos of universal
babble:
and that out of that jargon, it was again (by another act)
divided
or broken into many particular dissonant
dialects,
or
tongues.
All this (I said) is very just, and gives me delight and satisfaction. I am now 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 Mr.
Hutchinson
affirms. Inform me however, if you please, what you mean by that
tradition
you mentioned, which declared the
miracle
of
Babel
was a confusion of
languages.
The
Jews
tradition (replied Miss
Noel
) is preserved in their
Targum,
and tells us, that the whole earth after the flood was of one
speech,
or
sort of words,
and when at their first remove from
Ararat,
they came to
Shinar,
they consulted to build them a
city,
and a
tower for an 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
reveled
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 fellow said: and they slew one another, and ceased from building the city. Therefore he called the name of it
Babel;
because there the Lord mingled together the tongues of all the inhabitants of the other. This you read in the
Targum
that was written before the days of
Jesus Christ,
as the
Jews
affirm: or, if not so early, yet it is a very antient book, and the
doctor
who composed it must certainly know the meaning of the word
Shephah
better than Mr.
Hutchinson.
It appears upon the whole, that the 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
writ in was preserved. Illuminate me in these things,
illustrious Harriot,
and from your fine understanding, let me have the honour and happiness of receiving true
Hebrew
lessons. Proceed I beseech you, and stop not till you have expounded to my understanding the true nature of
Cherubim?
What do you think of Mr.
Hutchinson
's
Rub
and
Rubbim,
and of his notions of Ezekiel's
cherubic form.
To talk of
Cherubim
and
Elohim
(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
lyon,
and the
eagle,
mentioned in the
prophet,
requires more knowledge 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 fancys upon these grand subjects, and why I cannot accord with Mr.
Hutchinson
and my father, in their notion of the
Cherubim
's signifying the unity of the essence, the distinction of the Persons, and man's being taken into the essence by his personal union with the second person, whose constant emblem was the lyon. This I 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 all the earth. In that day there shall be
ONE LORD,
and his name
ONE; says the prophet
Zechariah,
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 Mr.
Hutchinson,
and will not bear any contradiction: but my private judgment is, that Mr.
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 prevailing language
before the
miracle
at
Babel,
(which one language was afterwards called
Hebrew)
tho'
divided
and
swallowed
as it were at the
Tower,
was kept without change in the line of
Shem,
and continued their tongue. This cannot be disputed, I believe. I likewise imagine, it must be allowed, that this
Hebrew
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 200 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 200 years? No, Sir. We cannot justly suppose such a thing. The language of the old
Canaanites
could not be a different one from the
Hebrew.
If you will look into
Bochart
The great
Samuel Bochart
was born at
Rouen
in 1599, and died suddenly in the academy at
Caen,
Monday the 16th of May 1667, aged 68. He was the minister of the reformed church in that town. — His principal works are his
Phaleg
and
Canaan;
works that shew an amazing erudition, and ought to be well read by every gentleman: you should likewise have his
Hierozoïcon,
or history of animals mentioned in the sacred books. It is a good supplement to his scripture geography. His sermons and dissertations are also very valuable.
Brieux
writ the following fine epitaph on him:
Scilicet haec cuique est data sors aequissima, talis
Ut sit mors, qualis vita peracta fuit.
Musarum in gremio teneris qui vixit ab annis.
Musarum in gremio debuit ille mori.
, 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 particular.
This being the case: the
Phenician
or
Canaanitish
tongue, being the same language that the line of
Heber
spoke, with this only difference, that by the latter it was retained in greater purity, being in the mouths of a few, and transmitted by instruction; it 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
Aramitish
dialect as well as
Laban
his brother. The
Aramitish
was the customary language of the line of
Shem.
It was their vulgar tongue. The
language
of the
old world,
that was spoken immediately before the
confusion,
and was called
Hebrew
from
Heber,
they reserved for
sacred uses.
Here Miss
Noel
ended, and my amazement was so great, and my passion had risen so high for such uncommon female intelligence, that I could not help snatching this beauty to my arms, and without thinking of what I did, impressed on her balmy mouth half a dozen kisses. This was wrong, and gave very great offence: but she was too 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 my self, she was reconciled, and asked me, if I would play a game of cards? With delight I replyed, and immediately a pack was brought in. We sat down to cribbage, and had played a few games, when by accident Miss
Noel
saw the head of my german flute, which I always brought out with me in my walks, and carried in a long pocket within side my coat. You play, Sir, I suppose, on that instrument, this lady said, and as of all sorts of musick this pleases me most, I request you will oblige me with any thing 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 Lulli's airs, and instantly began to breathe the softest harmony I could make —
A
SONG.
I.
ALmighty love's resistless rage,
No force can quell, no art asswage:
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.
II.
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.
III.
Bright Venus!
Offspring of the sea!
Thy sovereign dictates I obey;
I own submiss 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.
IV.
Come, my
Boy,
the altar place,
Add the blooming garland's grace;
Gently pour the sacred wine,
Hear me,
Venus!
Power divine!
Grant the only boon I crave,
Hear me,
Venus!
Hear thy slave!
Bless my fond soul with beauty's charms,
And give me
Flavia
to my arms
As this song is a short imitation of the 19th Ode of the first book of
Horace,
it is worth your while, Reader, to see how Mr.
Francis
has done the whole. I will here set down a few lines:
Urit me Glycerae nitor
Splendentis pario marmore purius:
Urit grata protervitas,
Et vultus nimium 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 burn,
And all my long forgotten flames return.
As Parian marble pure and bright,
The shining maid my bosom warms;
Her face too dazling for the sight,
Her sweet coquetting — how it charms!
In me tota ruens Venus
Cyprum deseruit —
Of which the third verse of the song is an imitation: — Mr.
Francis
translates in the following manner—
Whole Venus rushing through my veins,
No longer in her favourite Cyprus reigns.
And —
Hic vivum mihi cespitem, hic
Verbenas, pueri, ponite thuraque
Bimi cum patera meri:
Mactatâ veniet laenior hostiâ:
Which lines are imitated in the fourth verse of the song — Mr.
Francis
translates as follows —
Here let the living altar rise,
Adorn'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.
You see in this the difference between a translation and an imitation.
.
Just as I was finishing this piece of musick, old Mr.
Noel
came into the parlour, in his wonted good humour, and seemed very greatly pleased with me 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 musick — vocal or instrumental — as you will, for I suppose you sing as well as you play. Both you shall have, Sir, (I replied), to the best of my abilities, and by way of change, I will give you first a song, called the
Solitude.
A
SONG
called the
Solitude.
I.
YE lofty mountains, whose eternal snows
Like Atlas seem to prop the distant skies;
While shelter'd 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 ratling tempests reign.
II.
Here, when
Aurora
with her chearful beam
And rosy blushes marks approaching day;
Oft do I walk along the purling stream,
And see the bleating flocks around me stray:
The woods, the rocks, each charm that strikes my sight,
Fills my whole breast with innocent delight.
III.
Here gaily dancing on the flow'ry ground
The chearful
shepherds
join their flute and voice;
While thro' the groves the woodland songs resound,
And fill th' untroubled mind with peaceful joys.
Musick and love inspire the vocal plain,
Alone the turtle tunes her plaintive strain.
IV.
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.
V.
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 pow'r:
Here call the actions of past ages o'er,
Or truth's immortal source alone explore.
VI.
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.
Fortune
and
Fame!
Deceitful forms! Adieu!
The world's a trifle far beneath my view.
This song delighted the old gentleman to a great degree. He told me, he was charmed with it, not only for the fine musick I made of it, but the morality of it, and liked me so much, that I was most heartily 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 intirely 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, tho' my father should refuse to settle any thing on me, or Miss
Noel,
my wife. This was generous and charming as my heart could desire. I thought my self the happiest of men. Every week I went to Eden-Park, one time or other, to see my dear Miss
Noel,
and pay my respects to her worthy father. We were while I stayed a most happy family, and enjoyed such satisfactions as few I believe have experienced in this tempestuous hemisphere. Mr.
Noel
was passionately fond of his daughter, and he could not regard me more if I had been his own son. I loved my
Harriot
with a fondness beyond description, and that glorious girl had all the esteem I could wish she had for me. Our mutual felicity could rise no higher till we gave our hands, as we had already plighted our hearts.
This world is a series of visionary scenes, and contains so little solid, lasting felicity, as I have found it, that I cannot call
life
more than a
deception;
and, as
Swift
says it, he is the happiest man, who is best deceived. When I thought myself within a fortnight of being married to Miss
Noel,
and thereby made as compleatly happy in every respect as it was possible for a mortal man to be, the small pox steps in, and in seven days time, reduced the finest human frame in the universe to the most hideous and offensive block. The most amiable of human creatures mortifyed all over, and became a spectacle the most hideous and unbearable.—This broke her father's heart in a month's time, and the paradice I had in view, sunk into everlasting night.
Miss Noel's character.
My heart, upon this sad accident, bled and mourned to an extreme degree. All the tender passions were up in my soul, and with great difficulty could I keep my ruffled spirits in tolerable 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 shined with a bright lustre in her whole deportment, and rendered her beloved, and the delight of all that knew her. Sense and genius were in her united, and by study, reflexion, 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, her understanding, was inexpressibly charming. Miss
Noel
died in the 24th year of her age, the 29th of December, in the year 1724.
A reflexion on the death of Miss Noel.
This dismal occurrence sat powerfully on my spirits for some time, and for near two months, I scarcely spoke a word to any one. I was silent, but not sullen. As my tears and lamentations could not save her, so I knew they could not fetch her back again. Death and the grave have neither eyes nor ears. The thing to be done upon so melancholly an occasion, is to adore the Lord of infinite wisdom, as he has a right to strike our comforts dead, and so improve the awful event, by labouring to render our whole temper and deportment christian and divine, that we may able to live, while we do live, superior to the strokes of fortune, and the calamities of human life; and when God bids us die, (in whatever manner, and at whatever time it may be) have nothing to do but to die, and so go enter into our 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 sublime excellencies of our holy religion, proceed to the abodes of immortality and immutable felicity.
I wish I could persuade you, reader, to resolve in the same manner. If you are young, and have not yet experienced life, believe me, all is
vanity,
disappointment, weariness, and dissatisfaction, and in the midst of troubles and uncertainties, we are hastening on to an unknown world, from whence we shall never return again. 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,
tho' a man live many years, and rejoice in them all,
(which is the case of very few),
yet let him remember the days of darkness.
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! 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 case, 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
solitary retreat;
to proceed from thence to judgment. Language cannot paint the horrors of such a condition. 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 all 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 been our practice in this world; or if, in the neglect of the distressed and hungry, we have given up ourselves to chambering and wantonness, to gluttony and volutuousness? It is
virtue
and
obedience, acts of goodness and mercy,
that only can deliver 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 our Lord will pronounce us the
blessed of his Father.
If we
do evil,
we shall
come forth
unto the
resurrection of damnation.
— This merits your attention, reader, and I hope you will immediately begin to ponder, what it is to have a place assigned in inconceivable happiness or misery for ever.
14. Left the University, and went down to see my father in the country, and had a very miserable reception.
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 gratifyed all his desires. Whatever this little brute (the son of a drunken beggar, who had been a journey-man glover) was pleased, in wantonness, to call for, and that his years, then sixteen, could require, my father's fortune in an instant produced; while scarcely one of my rational demands could be answered. Money, cloaths, servants, horses, dogs, and all things he could fansy, were given him in abundance; and to please the basest of women, and the most cruel step-mother that ever the Devil inspired to make the son of another woman miserable, I was denied almost every thing. The fine allowance I had at the University was taken from me. Even a horse to ride out to the neighbouring gentlemen, was refused me, tho' my father had three stables of extraordinary cattle; and till I purchased one, was forced to walk it, where-ever I had a mind to visit. What is still more incredible (if any thing 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, tho' 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 measure 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 little despicable dunce a scholar. All this was more than I could bear. My life became insupportable, and I resolved to range even the wilds of
Africa,
if nothing better offered, rather than live a miserable slave under the cruel tyranny of those unrelenting oppressors.
My father however, by the way, was as fine a gentleman as ever lived, a man of extraordinary understanding, and a scholar; likewise remarkably just and good to all the world, except my self, 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 ascendant was, which my mother-in-law had over him, and as much as he was henpecked by that low woman, who had been his servant maid, yet it was not to her only that my sufferings were owing. Religion had a hand in my misery. False religion was the spring of that paternal resentment I suffered under.
15. A religious dispute with my Father.
It was my father's wont to have prayers read every night and morning in his family, and the office was the litany of the common-prayer book. This work, on my coming home, was transferred from my sister to me, and for about one week I 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 conceived. My father at this was very highly enraged, and his passion arose to so great a height, upon my defending my confession, and refusing to read the established form, that he called me the most impious and execrable of wretches, and with violence drove me from his presence. Soon after however he sent me
Lord Nottingham's Letter to Mr. Whiston,
and desired I would come to him when I had carefully read it over. I did so, and he asked me what I thought of the book. I answered, that I thought it a weak piece, and if he would hear me with patience, in relation to that in particular, and to the case in general, perhaps he might think my religion a little better than at present he supposed it to be. I will hear you, he said: proceed. — Then I immediately began, and for a full hour repeated an apology I had prepared
The Reader will find this apology in the appendix to this life. 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 such a manner, that his infinity is an
infinity
of
fulness
as well as
immensity;
and must be not only without limits, but also without
diversity,
defect or interruption: and of consequence, his
Unity
so
true
and
real,
that it will admit of
no diversity
or
distinction of persons:
— that as to the Lord
Jesus Christ,
he was the
servant chosen
of this tremendous God, to redeem mankind; but his holy soul
so far in perfection above
Adam or any of his posterity, and possessed so much a greater share of the indwelling of the divine life and nature than any other creature, that he might, compared to us, with a just figure of speech, be called God.
. He did not interrupt me once, and when I had done, all he replyed was, I see you are to be placed among the incurables. Be gone, he said, with stern disdain; and I resolved to obey. Indeed it was impossible for me to stay for my father took no farther notice of me, and my mother-in-law and the boy, did all they could invent to render my life miserable.
15. May 1, 1725. I left my father's house.
On the first day of May then, early in the morning, as the clock struck one, I mounted my excellent mare, and with my boy, O'Fin, began to journey as I had projected, on seeing how things went. I did not communicate my design to a soul, nor take my leave of any one, but in the true spirit of adventure, abandoned my father's dwelling, and set out to try what fortune would produce in my favor. I had the world before me, and Providence my guide. As to my substance, it consisted of a purse of gold, that 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; and it was all she had of her own to leave to any one. With this I set forward, and in five days time arrived from the Western extremity of Ireland at a village called Rings-end, that lies on the Bay of Dublin. Three days I rested there, and at the
Conniving-House
The
Conniving-House,
(as the gentlemen of Trinity called it in my time, and long after) was a little public house, kept by
Jack Macklean,
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 delightful place of a summer's evening. Many a delightful evening have I passed in this pretty thatched house with the famous
Larrey Grogan,
who played on the bag-pipes extreme well; dear
Jack Lattin,
matchless on the fiddle, and the most agreeable of companions; that ever charming young fellow,
Jack Wall,
the most worthy, the most ingenious, the most engaging of them, the son of councellor
Maurice Wall;
and many other delightful fellows; who went in the days of their youth to the shades of eternity. When I think of them and their evening songs —
We will go to Johnny Macklean
's —
to try if his ale be good or not,
etc. and that years and infirmities begin to oppress me—What is life!
, 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.
16. My departure from Rings end, and what happened at sea.
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 passengers, their cries were terrible, and affected me more than the flashing fires and the winds. For my part, I was well reconciled to the great change, but I confess that nature shrunk at the frightful manner of my going off, which I expected every moment the second night. At last however, we got into
Whitehaven.
It pleased the great King of all the earth to bid the storm,
Have done.
Four remarkable things I noticed while the tempest lasted.
The case of Dean Whaley.
One was, that the
Dean
of
Derry,
Dr.
Whaley,
whom we had on board, (who had nineteen hundred a year from the church, for teaching the people to be Christians) was vastly more afraid than one young lady of the company, who appeared quite serene. The Dean, tho' a fine Orator at land, was ridiculous in his fears at sea. He screamed as loud as any of the people: But this young lady behaved, like an angel in a storm. She was calm and resigned, and sat with the mate and me, the second night, discoursing of the divine power, and the laws of nature, in such 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 Case of Miss Melnoth.
The second remarkable thing is, that as this young lady went into naked bed in her cabbin, the first night, before the tempest began to stir, it was not many hours till a sea struck us upon the quarter, and drove in one of our quarter, and one of our stern dead lights, where we shipped great quantities of water, that put us under great apprehensions of foundering, and filled so suddenly the close wooden bed in which Miss
Melmoth
lay, that had not I chanced to be then leaning against the partition, and snatched her out, the moment I found my self all over wet, and half covered with the breaking sea, she must inevitably have perished. I ran up on deck 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 birth, which I gave her, and got her dry cloaths from her trunk, and made her drink a large glass of brandy, which saved her life. She got no cold, which I thought very strange, but was hurt a little in the remove. When all was over, she protested she would never go into naked bed, on board ship, again.
The case of some officers in the storm.
The third particular is, that there were some officers on board, most monstrously wicked men, and when we were given over by the captain, and no hope he thought of being saved, these warriors lamented like young children, and were the most dismal, disturbing howlers on board: yet, when we got on land, they had done with
O Lord, O Lord,
and began again their obscene talk, and to damn themselves at every word to the center of hell.
The cases of Gavan and Henley.
The fourth thing was this. There was on board with us a young gentleman of my acquaintance, one
Pierce Gavan,
who had been a fellow-commoner in my time of Trinity, Dublin. 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's character.
Henley
was not only a man of sense and prudence, who had an honest mind, and a cultivated understanding, but by search and enquiries into the doctrines, institutions and motives of reveled religion, had the highest regard for the truths of genuine Christianity, and chose the best means in his power to make himself acceptable to God.
Gavan's character.
Gavan,
on the contrary, had no sense of religion, nor did he ever think of the power and goodness of God. He was a most prophane swearer, drank excessively, and had the heart to debauch every pretty woman he saw, if it had been possible for him to do so much mischief. — Yet this man, who never reformed that I heard, and whose impieties have shocked even young fellows who were no saints, was astonishingly preserved; and
Henley,
who had the justest natural notions, and listened to Revelation, perished 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, tho' 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 difference as to time and manner, signifies very little, 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.
17. The passengers land, and divide into several companies, May 10, 1725.
When we had obtained the wished for shore, the passengers all divided. The Dean and his lady, and some other ladies, went one way, to an inn recommended to them by a gentleman on board; the 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 lodging, tho' the smallest inn of the town. This mate, Mr.
Whitwell,
deserves to be particularly mentioned, as he was remarkable for good breeding, good sense, and a considerable share of learning, tho' a sailor; as remarkable this way, as the captain of the ship was the other way, that is, for being the roughest and most brutal old tar that ever commanded a vessel.
18. The story of Whitwell, the mate of the Skinner and Jenkins.
Whitwell
the mate, about thirty-six years of age at this time, told me, he was the son of a man who once had a great fortune, and gave him a university education, but left an estate so encumbered with debts, and ruined with mortgages, that its income was almost nothing, and therefore the son sold the remains of it, and went to sea with an East-India captain, in the 22d year of his age, and was so fortunate abroad, that he not only acquired riches, in four years time that he trafficked about, between Batavia and the Gulph of Persia, but married a young Indian Lady, (the daughter of a Rajah, or petty Prince in the Mogul Empire) who was rich, wise, and beautiful, and made his life so very happy, for three years that she lived, that his state was a mere Paradise, and he seemed a little sovereign. But this fleeting scene was soon over, and on his 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 two years and upwards. That he escaped from them to the tawny generation of Arabs, who lived on the mountains, the other side of this African island, and used him with great humanity; their chief being very fond of him, and entertaining him in his mud-wall palace: he married there a pretty little yellow creature, niece to the poor ruler, and for twelve months was very far from being miserable with this partner, as they had a handsome cottage and some cattle, and this wife was good-humour itself, very sensible, and a religious woman; her religion being half Mahometanism and half Judaism. But she died at the years end, and her uncle, the Chief, not living a month after her,
Whitwell
came down from the mountains to the next sea coast under the conduct of one of the Arabians, his friend, and meeting with a European ship there, got at last to London. A little money he had left behind him in England, by way of reserve, in case of accidents, if he ever should return to his own country, and with this he drest himself, got into business, and came at last to be mate of the Skinner and Jenkins. His destiny, he added, was untoward, but as he had thought, and read, and seen enough in his wide travels, to be convinced, the world, and every being, and every atom of it, were directed and governed by unerring wisdom, he derived hopes and comforts from a due acknowledgment of God. There are more 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.
19. An uncommon scene of life.
Miss
Melmoth
and I continued at the Talbot for three weeks, and during that time, breakfasted, dined, and supped together. Except the hours of sleep, we were rarely from each other. We walked out together every day, for hours conversed, sometimes went to cards, and often she sung, 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 others company, as great as lovers generally experience: yet so much as one syllable of the passion was no mentioned: not the least hint of love on either side was given, while we stayed at Whitehaven; and I believe, neither of us had a thought of it. It was a friendship the most pure and exalted, that commenced at my saving her life, in the manner I have related, and by some strange kind of magic, our notions and inclinations, tempers and sentiments, had acquired such a sameness in a few days, that we seemed as two spiritual Socias, or duplicates of each others mind.
Body
was quite out of the case, tho' this lady had an extravagance of beauty. My sole delight was that fine percepient, which shed a lustre on her outward charms. How long this state would have lasted, had we 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, intirely at their own disposal, and as to fortune, having abundantly enough between them both for a comfortable life; and yet, never utter one word, nor give a look, that could be construed a declaration of the passion, or a tendency towards a more intimate union; — to compleat that connexion which nature and providence requires of beings circumstanced as we were; — this was very odd. Till the clock struck twelve every night we sat up, and talked of a vast variety of things, from the Bible down to the clouds of Aristophanes, and from the comedies and tragedies of Greece and Rome to the Minerva of Sanctius, and Hickes's northern Thesaurus. Instead of Venus or any of her court, our conversation would often be on the morals of Cicero, his academicks, and de finibus; on the English or the Roman history; Shakespear's scenes of nature, or maps of life; whether the OEdipus or the Electra of Sophocles was the best tragedy; and the scenes in which Plautus and Terence most excelled. Like two criticks, or two grammarians, antiquarians, historians, or philosophers, would we pass the evening with the greatest chearfulness and delight.
Miss Melmoth's character.
Miss
Melmoth
had a memory astonishing, and talked on every subject extremely well. She remembred all she had read. Her judgment was strong, and her reflections ever 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
Melmoth,
instead of going into the world, continued to live at her country seat, and diverted herself with teaching her daughter the languages of Greece and Rome, and in educating her heart and mind. This made this young lady a master of the Latin tongue and Greek, and enable her to acquire a knowledge so various and fine, that it was surprizing to hear her expatiate and explain. She talked with so much ease and good humour, and had a manner so chearful and polite, that her discourse was always entertaining, even tho' the subject happened to be, as it was one evening, the paulo paulo post futurum of a Greek verb. These things however were not the only admirable ones in this character. So happily had her good mother formed and instructed her mind, that it appeared full of all the principles of rational honour, and devoted to that truly God-like religion, which exalts the soul to an affection rather than dread of the supreme Lord of all things, and to a conviction that his laws lead us both to happiness here and hereafter. She thorowly understood the use and excellence of Revelation, and had extracted from the inspired volumes everlasting comfort and security under the apprehensions of the divine Power and Majesty: but she told me, she could not think rites and outward performances were essential to real religion. She considered what was just and beautiful in these things as useful and assisting only to the devout mind.—In a word, this young lady was wise and good, humble and charitable. I have seen but one of her sex superior to her, in the powers of mind, and the beauties of body: that was Miss
Noel.
Very few have I know that were equal.
20. Miss Melmoth and part, June 2, 1725.
The 2d day of June Miss
Melmoth
and I left
Whitehaven,
and proceeded from thence to
Westmoreland.
We travelled for five days together, till we came to
Brugh
under
Stainmore,
where we stayed a night at
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 Mr.
Charles Turner,
who had been my near friend in the University, and lived in some part of the north-east extremity of
Westmoreland,
or
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 glin, 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 chearful 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
Melmoth,
I said — what makes this amazing change? I will tell you, Sir, this beauty replyed. To you I owe my life, and for three weeks past have lived with you in so very happy a way, that the end of such a scene, and the probability of my never seeing you L ore, is too much for me. Miss
Melmoth,
(I answered) you do me more honor than I deserve in shedding tears for me, and since you can think me worth seeing again, I promise you upon my sacred word, that as soon as I have found a beloved friend of mine I am going up the hills to look for, and have paid my respects to him for a while, if he is to be found in this 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 bid her
adieu.
21. A journey among the hills, in that part of Stainmore, which belongs to Westmorland. 1725, June 8.
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 Apennines. 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 finest in the world. Not a man or house could I see in eight hours time, but towards five in the afternoon, there appeared at the foot of a hill a sweetly situated cottage, that was half covered with trees, and stood by the side of a large falling stream: a vale extended to the south from the door, that was 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 sheep added to the beauties of the scene.
To this house I sent my boy, to enquire who lived there, and to know, if for the night I could be entertained, as I knew not where else to go.
O' Fin
very quickly returned, and informed me, that one farmer
Price
was the owner of the place, but had gone in the morning to the next town, and that his wife said, I was welcome to what her house afforded. In then I went, and was most civilly received by an exceeding pretty woman, who told me her husband would soon be at home, and be glad she was sure to see me at their lone place; for he was no stranger to gentlemen and the world, tho' at present he rarely conversed with any one. She told me, their own supper would be ready an hour hence, and in mean time would have me take a can of fine ale and a bit of bread. She brought me a cup of extraordinary mault-drink and a crust, and while I was eating my bread, in came Mr.
Price.
22. A surprizing meeting
The man seemed very greatly astonished at entering the room, and after he had looked with great earnestness at me for a little while, he cryed out, Good Heaven! What do I see!
Falstaff,
my class-fellow, and my second self. My dear friend you are welcome, thrice welcome to this part of the world. All this surprized me not a little, for I could not recollect at once a face that had been greatly altered by the small-pox: And it was not till I reflected on the name
Price
that I knew I was then in the house of one of my school-fellows, with whom I had been most intimate, and had played the part of
Plump Jack
in
Henry the fourth,
when he did
Prince Henry.
This was an unexpected meeting indeed: and considering the place, and all the circumstances belonging to the scene, a thing more strange and affecting never came in my way. Our pleasure at this meeting was very great, and when the most affectionate salutations were over, my friend
Price
proceeded in the following manner.
Often have I remembered you since we parted, and exclusive of the Greek and English plays we have acted together at
Sheridan
's school, in which you acquired no small applause, I have frequently thought of our frolicksome rambles in vacation time, and the merry dancings we had at Mother Red-Cap's in Back-Lane; the hurling matches we have played at Dolphin's-Barn, and the cakes and ale we used to have at the Organ-house on Arbor-Hill. These things have often occurred to my mind: but little did I think we should ever meet again on
Stainmore-hills.
What strange things does time produce! It has taken me from a town life to live on the most solitary part of the globe:— And it has brought you to journey where never man I believe ever thought of travelling before. So it is, (I replyed), and stranger things, dear
Jack,
may happen yet before our eyes are closed: why I journey this untravelled way, I will inform you by and by; when you have told me by what strange means you came to dwell in this remote and silent vale. That you shall know, (Mr.
Price
said) very soon, as soon as we have eaten a morsel of something or other which my dear
Martha
has prepared against my return. Here it comes, a fowl, bacon and greens, and as fine I will answer as London market could yield. Let us sit down, my friend, and God bless us and our meat.
Down then we sat immediatly to our dish, and most excellent every thing was. 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 (he said) to my story, and then I will hearken to yours.
23. The story of Jack Price.
When I left you at
Sheridan
's school, my remove was from
Ireland
to
Barbadoes,
to become a rich uncle's heir, and I got by my Indian airing a hundred thousand pounds. There I left the bones of my mother's brother, after I had lived 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 hast to the French metropolis. There I lived at a grand rate, and took from the French Opera-house another where. The
Gaul
and the
Briton
were both extreme fine girls, and agreed so well together, that I kept them both in one house. I thought my self superlatively happy in having such a brace of females, and spared no cost in procuring them all the finery and pleasures that
Paris
and
London
could yield. I had a furnished house in both these cities, 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 my self in very midling circumstances, and had not six hundred pounds left in the fourth year from my uncle's death. How to dispose of this and my self was now the question. What shall I do, (was my deliberation) to secure bread and quiet? Many a thoughtful hour this gave me, and at length I determined to purchase a little annuity. But before this could be effected, I went down to
Westmoreland,
on an information I had received, that my two ladies were at
Appleby
with other names, and on my money appeared as women of 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 mentioning: but her house was pretty and comfortable, and her land had grain and cattle; and as I threw into her lap my five hundred pounds, a little before we were married, to be by her disposed of and managed, according to her pleasure, she soon made some good improvements and additions, and by her fine understanding, sweet temper, and every Christian virtue, continues to render my life so compleatly happy; so joyous and delightful; that I would not change my partner and condition, for one of the first quality and greatest fortune. In her I have every thing I could wish for in a wife and a woman, and she makes it the sole study and pleasure of her life to crown my every day with the highest satisfactions and comforts. Two years have I lived with her on these wild mountains, and in that time I have not had one dull or painful minute, but in thinking that I may lose her, and be the wretched survivor. That thought does sometimes wound me. — In sum, my friend, we are the happiest of wedded mortals, and on this small, remote farm, live in a state of bliss to be envyed. 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 mountains a Paradice to mortals, in
peace and little.
But it is not only happiness in this world that I have acquired by this admirable woman, but life eternal. You remember, my friend, what a wild and wicked one I was when a school-boy, and as
Barbadoes
of all parts of the globe is no place to improve a man's morals in, I returned from thence to
Europe
as debauched a scelerate as ever offended Heaven by blasphemy and illegal gratifications. Even my losses and approaching poverty were not capable of making any great change in me. When I was courting my wife, she soon discerned my impiety, and perceived that I had very little notion of hell and heaven, death and judgment. This she made a principal objection against being concerned with me, and told me, she could not venture into a married connexion with a man, who had no regard to the divine laws, and therefore, if she could not make me a Christian, in the true sense of the word, she would never be Mrs.
Price.
This from a plain, country girl, surprized me not a little, and my astonishment arose very high, when I heard her talk of religion, and the great end of both, a blessed life after this. She soon convinced me, that religion was the only means by which we can arrive at true happiness, by which we can attain to the last perfection and dignity of our nature, and that the authority and word of God is the surest foundation of religion. The substance of what she said is as follows. I shall never forget the lesson.
The plain
declarations
of our
Master
in the
Gospel
restore the dictates of
uncorrupted reason
to their force and authority, and give us just notions of God and of our selves. They instruct us in the nature of the Deity, discover to us his unity, holiness, and purity, and afford certain means of obtaining eternal life. Revelation commands us to worship
One Supreme God,
the
Supreme Father
of all things; and to do his will, by imitating his perfections, and practising every thing recommended by that
Law
of
Reason,
which he sent the Messiah to revive and enforce: that by repentance, and righteousness, and acts of devotion, we may obtain the Divine favor, and share in the glories of futurity: for, the
Supreme Director,
whose
goodness
gives counsel to his
power,
commanded us into existence to conduct us to everlasting happiness, and therefore, teaches us by his Son to pray, to praise, and to repent, that we may be entitled to a nobler inheritance than this world knows, and obtain life and immortality, and all the joys and blessings of the heavenly Canaan. This was the
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, and stationed us in this part of his creation, had no glory of his own in view, but what was perfectly consistent with a just regard to the felicity of his rational subjects.
It was this made the
Apostle
shew
Felix
the unalterable obligations to
justice
and
equity;
to
temperance,
or, a command over the appetites; and then, by displaying the great and awful judgment to come, urge him to the practice of these, and all the other branches of morality; that by using the means prescribed by God, and acting up to the conditions of salvation, he might escape that dreadful punishment, which, in the reason and nature of things, is connected with vice, and which the good government of the rational world requires should be inflicted on the wicked; and might, on the contrary, by that mercy offered to the world thro'
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 reveling the
wrath
of God against all
immorality;
and as joining with reason and uncorrupted nature, enforcing the practice of every moral and social duty.
What effect this discourse had on
Felix
(
Martha
continued) in producing
faith,
that is,
morality
in an
intelligent agent,
we are told by the
Apostle.
He
trembled:
but 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
life
and
salvation,
if they will but take notice of it; and if they will not walk in the light of God's law, this
Gospel
must be their
judgment
and
condemnation.
Say then, Sir, (
Martha
proceeded) can you be prevailed on to think of religion in its native purity and simplicity, and by the
power
of the
Gospel,
so act with regard to virtue and piety, that when
Christ
shall come not only in the power, but in the wisdom and the justice of God, to judge the world, you may be secured from that misery and distress, which is prepared for iniquity; and enjoy that eternal life, which is to be the portion of the righteous?
In this extraordinary manner did Martha Harrington discourse me, and the effect of it was (Jack Price continued), that I became a thorow reform from that hour. My rational life from that happy day commenced, and I entred seriously into my own breast, to think in earnest of that
solemn judgment
to come. What
Martha
said was so clear and strong, that I had not a thought of replying, but truth at once intirely 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 every thing is contemptible that is inconsistent with duty and morality. This renders even my pleasures more agreeable. This gives eternal peace to my mind.
24. A conversation.
Here
Price
ended his remarkable story, and according to our agreement, I began to relate what happened to me from the time we parted at school, and concluded with informing him, that I was going in search of
Charles Turner,
my near friend, when fortune brought me to his house: that this gentleman lived somewhere towards the confines of Cumberland and the North-riding of Yorkshire, but where the spot was I could not tell, nor did I know well how to go on, as the country before me seemed unpassable, on account of its mountains, precipices, and floods: I must try however what can be done; not only in regard to this gentleman; but, because I have 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 replyed, that I was most heartily welcome to him as long as I pleased to stay, and that tho' he was far from being a rich man, yet he had every day enough for himself and one more; and his
Martha
he was sure would be as well pleased with my 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 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 believe, upon my recommendation, give you his girl, and a sum of money, to sit down on those hills.—This is vastly kind,
Jack,
I answering, said, 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 sweetly 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 favor 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 friend
Price
replyed: and for the present, let us be gay. Here comes my beloved, with a little bowl of punch, and as she sings extremely well, and you have not forgot I fansy our old song, we will have it over our nectar. You shall represent
Janus
and
Momus,
and I will be
Chronos
and
Mars,
and my wife
Diana
and
Venus.
Let us take a glass first — the
liberties of the world
—and then do you begin. We drank, and in the following manner I went on.
25. A SONG.
Chronos, Chronos,
mend thy pace,
An hundred times the rowling sun,
Around the radiant belt has run,
In his revolving race.
Behold, behold the goal in sight,
Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight.
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.
Ha! 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,
And since neither
Janus,
nor
Chronos,
nor I,
Can hinder the crimes,
Or mend the bad times,
'Tis better to laugh than to cry.
'Tis better to laugh than to cry.
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;
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 buskin'd soon,
And tye to my forehead a wexing 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 thro' the sky:
And eccho turns hunter, and doubles the cry.
With shouting and hooting we pierce thro' the sky,
And eccho turns hunter, and doubles the cry.
Then our age was in its prime,
Free from rage,
—And free from crime.
A very merry, dancing, drinking,
Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.
Then our age was in its prime,
Free from rage, and free from crime.
A very merry, dancing, drinking,
Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.
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 lookt the sky to red;
And peace, the lazy good, is fled.
Plenty, peace, and pleasure fly;
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
Tyrian
dye.
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.
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.
pointing to Diana.
All, all, of a piece throughout;
The chace had a beast in view;
to Mars.
Thy wars brought nothing about;
to Venus.
Thy lovers were all untrue,
to Janus.
'Tis well an old age is out,
And time to begin a new.
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.
26. An account of Mrs. Price of Stanemore.
In this happy manner did we pass the night in this wild and frightful part of the world, and for three succeeding evenings and days, enjoyed as much true satisfaction as it was possible for mortals to feel.
Price
was an ingenious, chearful, 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. Tho' she was no woman of letters, nor had any books in her house except the
Bible, Barrow
's and
Wichcott
's sermons,
Howell
's
History of the World,
and the
History of England,
yet from these few, a great memory, and an extraordinary conception of things, had collected a valuable knowledge, and she talked with an ease and perspicuity that was wonderful. On religious subjects she astonished me.
The nature, end, and design of christianity, considered in a conversation.
As Sunday was one of the days I stayed there, and
Price
was obliged in the afternoon to be from home, I passed it in conversation with his wife. The day introduced religion, and among other things, I asked her, which she thought the best evidences of christianity? The
prophecies
or the
miracles?
Neither: (Mrs.
Price
replyed). The
prophecies
of the
Messiah
recorded in the old testament are a good proof of the christian religion, as it is plane from many instances in the new testament, that the
Jewish converts
of that generation understood them to relate to our Lord; which is a sufficient reason for our believing them. Since they knew the true intent and meaning 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 favor of
Christ Jesus.
—Then as to
miracles,
they are to be sure a means of proving and spreading the christian religion, as they shew the
divine mission
of the
Messiah,
and rouze the mind to attend to the power by which these mighty works were wrought. Thus
miracle
and
prophecy
shew the
teacher came from God.
They contribute to the establishment of his kingdom, and have a tendency to produce that faith which 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 light and good spirit. This exceeds the other evidences, if the heart be honest. The
Gospel
is irresistible, when the
spirit of God moves
upon the minds of christians. When the
divine power,
dispensed
through Christ,
assists and strengthens us to do good, and to eschew evil, then christianity appears a religion worthy of God, and in itself the most reasonable. The compleat salvation deserves our ready acceptation. That religion must charm a reasonable world, which not only restores the worship of the
one true God,
and exhibits, in a perfect plan, those rules of moral rectitude, whereby the conduct of men should be governed, and their future happiness secured; but, by its
blessed spirit,
informs our judgments, influences our wills, rectifies and subdues our passions, turns the biass of our minds from the 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,
(I said) 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 chusing or refusing, of doing or avoiding, either
good
or
evil,
can there be any human virtue? Can we in such case
approve
or
disapprove
ourselves to God. To me it seems that man was created to perform things
natural, rational,
and
spiritual,
and has an ability 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 revelation 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 consistent 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.
To this Mrs.
Price
answered, that as she was sensible of the shortness of her own understanding, and believed 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 a man, depends intirely on God. Where in the nature of things can we fix a standard of certainty in understanding, and stability in practice, but in the fountain of truth, and all perfection?
But to our better comprehending this 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 condition 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 thro' faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God.
We find, then, that there are two parts in the Christian religion: one,
external and historical;
the other,
internal
and
experimental.
The first comprehends what is no more to be repeated, tho' 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 a
divine help,
which converts and supports a spiritual life: It is true, both the parts have a near relation, and in conjunction produce the good ends of religion. The second is the effect of the first. Redemption from the power of sin, 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 unto themselves, but unto him that died for them and rose again.
But, it is in the second part, that the excellence of our holy religion consists. We have no ability of ourselves to take off our minds from the things that are evil, and engage them in the work of religion and godliness. 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 replyed) is the perfection of all religions, is granted, but that we have no ability to save our souls without a
supernatural operation
on them, this is what I still have some doubt of. A careful 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 effect of the
human composition,
or the effect of the agency of the
serpent.
If the former, it is chargeable upon the author of the composition; —if the latter, upon the agent which acts upon it. Man could not be culpable, I think, for a bad life, in either case. —If my nature be weakness itself—or the serpent is superior to me—what good can be required of me? can the supreme reason call for
brick,
where there are no materials to make it with? will you say, yes; because he gives
supernatural ability
to perform. But then, can this be called man's action? It is the action of the author by his miserable creature, man: and in such case, may we not say, that tho'
commands
are given to
man
to obey revealed laws, yet the
obedience
is performed by
God?
In the next place, as man in his
natural capacity,
and all his
natural powers,
are the work of God, and as
truly derived
from him as any
supernatural powers
can be, it follows, I imagine, that a
voluntary agent
's making a right use of the
powers of his nature,
is as
valuable
as his being
compelled
to act well and wisely by a supernatural power. To assert, then, such
experiences
or
operations,
to me seems to
misrepresent
the nature of a being excellently constituted to answer the good purposes he was created for. I am likewise, at present, of opinion, that
depretiating our natural abilities,
does not give so much glory to God as you imagine.
To this Mrs.
Price
replyed, that by the
operation
of the
spirit,
she did not mean that man was purely passive, and had no part in the working out his salvation, but that God
co-operates
with
man,
and without destroying the faculty of reason, improves it by convincing and enlightning the understanding, and by moving and inclining the will towards such objects as are acceptable to himself, and from those that are contrary to his gospel. The mind in this manner enlightned and affected, begins to act, and as the spirit moves upon the soul, the quickened man, under the divine direction, does all the good the scripture commands him to do, and eschews the evil he is ordered to avoid. By God thro' Christ, he practices the excellent virtues recommended in the holy books, and for this reason, the righteousness which christians bring forth, is called in scripture, the righteousness of Christ, the righteousness of God, and the righteousness of faith. Christ is the efficient. We thro' him are made able to act. Notwithstanding the weakness and incapacity of our nature, yet
thro' faith in the power of God,
which is given to all who believe in him, we are enabled to flee immorality and vice, and by a life of virtue and piety, to enjoy the pleasure of a sweet reflexion, and the praises of unpolluted reason.
That this is the case of man, the sacred writings declare in a thousand places, and set forth the exceeding greatness of God's power in this respect. The ministry of the gospel appears to have been ordained for this end, and the perfection of the christian religion, to rest on this particular thing.
The Lord died for our sins, and rose again for our justification, that we through power received from him, (the power of his resurrection) might be made righteous.
And the apostle adds,
I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation, to every one that believeth, to the Jew first, and also to the Greek, for therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith.
And that the promise of the Holy Ghost had reference not only to the great effusion of the Spirit at
Pentecost,
which was a solemn confirmation of the new and spiritual dispensation of the 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 comforter to his disciples and followers to the end of time— to enlighten and incline their minds to piety and virtue—to enable them to do all things appertaining to life and godliness, and to have a faith in God's power and all-sufficiency. This is the glorious specific difference of Christianity from all other religions. We have an inward instructor and supporter always 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 and attentive to that purity and uprightness in which he at first created man? Glorious dispensation! Here is a compleat 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 religion. 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 literal, historical, and formal profession of christianity! This will never do the work. The
outward appearance
of the
Son of God
only puts us in a
capacity of salvation:
it is the
inward appearance
by the power and virtue of the spirit that must
save
us. The
end
of the
gospel
is
repentance, forgiveness of sins,
and
amendment of manners;
and the
means
of obtaining that end, is
christianity in the life, spirit and power of it.
You talk extremely well, madam, (I said) upon this subject, and have almost made me a convert to the notion of an
inward 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 explication 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 him a better man? Can such
co-operation
add any thing to my virtue, if my goodness is to be rated in proportion to the exertion of my own will and agency. If I am not able to save a man from drowning, tho' I pity him, and do my best to preserve his life; but God gives me strength, or co-operates with me, and so the man is saved; can this add any thing to my virtue or goodness? It would be indeed an instance of God's goodness to the man; but as to myself, I did no more with the 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 ability. To this we reply, that if by
disposition
is meant
a given power to distinguish betwixt motive and motive,
and
so to judge of moral fitness and unfitness;
or,
a power to act from right motives, when such are present to the mind;
—these cannot be given, because they are the powers which constitute a man a
moral agent,
and render him accountable for his actions. Without them he could not be a subject of moral government.
And if you mean by the term disposition, God's
presenting such motives to the mind, as are necessary to excite to right action;
the answer is, that tho' God may kindly interpose, and in many instances, by
supernatural operation,
present such motives to the mind, yet such operation cannot be always necessary, in order to our doing good.—In many cases we see at once what good ought to be done, and we do it instantly of ourselves, unless the natural faculties be perverted by false principles. If our fellow-creature falls into the fire, or has a fit, while we are near him, the fitness of relieving him, and the natural compassion essential to our 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 liberty, act an unsocial part in the creation, and do great dishonour to his Maker, by the evil imaginations of his heart, and the violence his hand commits. This hath been the state of human nature from the
fall
to the flood, and from the flood to our time. The human race have a natural ability for good or evil, and are at liberty for the choice of either of these.
If thou doest well, Cain,
who hast
power,
and is at
liberty
to do evil, thou shalt be accepted.
And if thou doest not well,
who hast
power,
and is at
liberty
to
do good, sin lieth at the door.
If this had not been the case of
Cain,
(and of others since his days), it seems to me at present, that God would act an
unequal
part with his creatures. Can
happiness
or
misery
be called
reward
or
punishment,
unless the creature can
voluntarily
chuse or avoid the thing which renders him the object of infliction or glory? I think not.
For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.
The
agency
of a
serpent
will be no plea then, for a
Cain,
I suppose: nor will
Abel
's title to an inheritance depend only on the good brought forth in him by the Lord.—And as to a
self-sufficiency
or
independency
in all this, as often charged, I can see none, for the reason already given, to wit, that my
natural powers
are as much the gift of God to me as
supernatural powers
can be, and render me as
dependent
a being. They are
derived
from him: It is
his given powers
I use, and if I make a right use of them, to answer the great and wise purpose I was created for, the
good application
must be as
valuable
as if I had applied supernatural powers to the same purpose.
What you say, sir, (Mrs.
Price
answered) has reason in it, to be sure: but it seems inconsistent with the language of the Bible, and takes away the
Grace of God
intirely, and the principal evidence of the Christian religion: As to the
necessary guilt
of mankind,
Moses
says;—
and God saw, that the wickedness of man was great in the earth; and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart, was only evil continually: and it repented the Lord, that he had made man on the earth, etc.
And again;—
The earth also was corrupt before God, and the earth was filled with violence: and God looked upon the earth, and behold it was corrupt, for all flesh had corrupted his way on the earth. And God said unto Noah, the end of all flesh is come before me, for the earth is filled with violence thro' them; and behold, I will destroy them with the earth. But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.
—The prophet Jeremiah does likewise affirm,
The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.
And St.
Paul
declares from Psalm 14 and 53.
There is none righteous, no not one; there is none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh after God. They are all gone out of the way, they are altogether become unprofitable; there is none that doth good, no not one. Their throat is an open sepulchre; with their tongues have they used deceit; the poison of asps is under their lips: whose mouth is full of cursing and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood. Destruction and misery are in their ways. And the way of peace have they not known.
Then as to
grace,
or the
operation of the Spirit,
to cure this
miserable condition of mankind, Peter said unto them, repent, and be baptized every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ, for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, for the promise is unto you and your children, and to all that are afar off.
This is a very extensive declaration both as to time and place. After
Peter
had told the people,
the God of our fathers raised up Jesus whom ye slew, and hanged on a tree, him hath God exalted with his right hand, to be a prince and a Saviour, for to give repentance unto Israel, and forgiveness of sins, and we are his witnesses of these things, and so also is the Holy Ghost, whom God hath given to them that obey him:
the apostle adds,
then they, (the Gentiles) were filled with the Holy Ghost.
All who obeyed, without distinction, had the Holy Ghost given them, and it was a witness to them of the truth of Christ's divine mission, and the good effects of it, according to the promise of the Lord, to wit,
he shall testify of me.
St.
Paul
likewise tells us,
if any man have not the spirit of Christ, he is none of his. And if Christ be in you, the body is dead because of sin, but the spirit is life, because of righteousness; but if the spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead, dwell in you, he that raised up Christ from the dead, shall also quicken your mortal bodies by his spirit that dwelleth in you. Therefore brethren, we are debtors, not to the flesh to live after the flesh, for if ye live after the flesh ye shall die; but if ye thro' the spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live. For as many as are led by the spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear, but ye have received the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry Abba Father, the spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.
—Here we see the necessity of having the spirit of Christ, and that those who have it not, do not belong to him. They are none of his. We may likewise observe, that it mortifies the deeds of the body, and quickens the soul to a life of holiness: the passage likewise shews, that the spirit bears witness with our spirits, and by an evidence peculiar to itself, gives us a certain sense, or understanding of it.
In short, Sir, a great number of texts might be produced, to shew not only the
work
and
effect
of the
Divine spirit
upon our minds; but that, it is an
evidence,
the 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 have I written to you, concerning them that seduce you; but the anointing which ye have received of him, abideth in you, and ye need not that any teach you, but as the same anointing teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even as it hath taught you, ye shall abide in it.—Hereby we know that he abideth in us by his spirit, which he hath given us. Hereby we know that we dwell in him, and he in us, because he hath given us of his spirit.
What do you say to all this? do not the sacred passages I have repeated seem to declare in the planest manner the
necessary iniquity
of man; that this is to be cured only, and his nature rectified by the operation of the Divine spirit; and that the
effusion
of the
spirit,
both as to
instruction
and
evidence,
was not 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
efficacy
of the
spiritual principle.
The state of religion from the creation to this time.
What you have said madam, (I replied) seems strong indeed in defence of the
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 I imagine the thing may be explained in a different manner. Let us review our religion, if you please, and perhaps we may find, that another account may be given of sanctification, and the renewing the mind into a state of holiness.
When God called this world into being, his purpose was without all peradventure, that his rational creatures might enjoy the noblest pleasures, and by conforming their conduct to the fitness and relation of things, from a due regard to the authority of the first cause, by whom this fitness and relation were wisely constituted, secure all the blessings of this life, and honour, and glory, and immortality, in some future state of existtence. This I think was the case. True religion was to form and fix every good principle in the human mind, produce all righteousness in the conversation, and thereby render mankind 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 believe in him, and have their trust and dependence always on him; to be pure and peaceable, gentle and full of mercy, without partiality, without hypocrisy, and so devoted to holiness and obedience, to every virtue and every good work which the law of reason can require from men; that after a long life spent in acting a part the most honourable to God, and the most 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 and day, 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 life and religion, perfect as he is perfect. For these reasons did the supreme director, the greatest and the best Being in the universe, command the human race into existence. He gave them faculties to conduct them here through various scenes of happiness to the realms of immortality and immutable felicity. It was a
Godlike
design.
But it was not very long before this 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 light of nature supply, they no longer minded, nor thought of what is fit and reasonable to be done in every case. The passions began to influence and direct their lives: just and pure ideas of the Deity were lost, false ones took place, and the mischief and its fatal consequences became very great. It was a melancholy scene! The exalted notions of
one glorious God,
and of that true religion which subsists in the expectation of a future state, were no longer known, nor did the race ever think of approving themselves in the eye of an
all perfect and holy being.
Superstition and iniquity prevailed, and the spread of evil was wide.
God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth—the thoughts of his heart, evil continually,
&c.
as you have before quoted from the book of
Genesis;
and 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, tho' constituted to
give glory
to their
Maker,
and endued with a
reason and understanding sufficient
to teach them the
rule
of
duty,
and guide their steps in the ways of true religion; but against the light of their own minds, acted the most impious and 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 were a 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 sensuality filled the earth, God destroyed the world by an inundation.
Noah
only, who was a just man, and perfect in his generation, with his family escaped.
This terrible execution of an awful vengeance on the guilty race, demonstrated to the survivors, and to all the ages to come, the great malignity of sin, and the uncontrolable supremacy of the divine government. As the venerable Patriarch and his family failed over the bosom of the boundless ocean of waters, and above the wrecks and ruins of this terrestrial world, they adored to be sure 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 reasonable 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 unchangeable displeasure with them. This truth, which was learnt at first, by the expulsion from
Paradise,
and the sad inheritance 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 be sure to adhere to those excellent principles and practices, which had been, thro' God's goodness, their security in the general desolation, and to flee the contrary malignant ones which had procured that desolation on the rest. In a degree suitable to their nature and ability, they resolved to imitate the perfections of God, and to employ the powers and faculties of reason in 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, tho' the imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth;
because he will not hearken to the voice of reason, and with the greatest ardor and contention of mind, labour to attain a conformity to the divine nature in the moral perfections of it; which is the true dignity of man, and the utmost excellence of human souls.
Neither will I again smite any more every living creature as I have done. While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.
Thus did God enter into a covenant with
Noah,
and his sons, and their seed; and as the late amazing occurrences must incline the spectators of the
flood
to piety and goodness; and the fathers of the postdiluvian world were careful to instruct their children in the several parts of the stupendous fact, and from the whole inculcate the Being and Perfections of God, his universal dominion and actual 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 religion 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 holiness, 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 forgot his Maker and himself. He prostituted the honor 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 praising the Lord of all, he foolishly said, These are thy Gods, O Man! A universal apostacy from the primitive religion prevailed. 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
idolatry,
and
superstition;
even such
superstition,
as nourished under the notion of
Religion,
and pleasing the Gods, the most
bestial
impurities, the most inhuman and unnatural
cruelties,
and the most unmanly and contemptible
follies.
Moral virtue and goodness were totally extinguished. 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 vitious and corrupt in practice; for iniquity flows from corrupt religion, as the waters from the spring. The principles and ceremonies of the established idolatries gave additional strength to mens natural 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 authorised. The
Phalli
Ex ea re tum privatim tum publicè, lignea virilia thyrsis alligata per eam solemnitatem gestabant, fuit enim
Phallus
vocatum, membrum virile. Schaedius de diis. p. 130.
and the
Mylli
Heraclides Syracusius libro de vetustis & sancitis moribus scribit apud Syracusios in perfectis thermophoriis, ex sesamo & melle fingi pudenda muliebria, quae per ludos & spectacula circumferebantur, & vocabantur
Mylli.
Athenaei. Deipnos. l. 14. p. 647.
, rites that modesty forbids to explain, were esteemed principal parts of their
Ritual;
virgins before marriage were to sacrifice their chastity to the honor of Venus;
This is taken notice of by the prophet
Jeremiah.
—
The women also with cords about them,
The ranges in the temple.
sitting in the ways, burn 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 her self, nor her cord broken.
Baruch 6.43.
Herodotus
explanes this passage of the Prophet.
Every woman at Babylon, says the Historian, was obliged, once in her life, to sit down openly in the temple of
Venus,
in order to prostitute her self to some stranger: They enter into the temple, and sit down crowned with garlands, some continually going out, and others coming in: The galleries where they sit are built in a strait line, and open on every side, that all strangers may have a free passage to chuse such women 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 four 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 chariots for the purpose, whilst their servants waited at a distance till they had done.
Herodot. l. 1. c. 196.198. and 199.
Strabo
likewise gives us an account to the same purpose. l. 16. p. 745.—And
Justin
gives this reason for this custom,—
lest Venus alone should appear lascivious.
Ne sola impudica videretur. l. 18. c. 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 pilgr.
l. 1. c. 12. p. 65. confirms this notion; having seen the thing practised in his travels in the east. 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
vinculum,
or a
cord.
As I take it, the case was both as
Hyde
and
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 the 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 wise had a mind to correspond, they always first lit up the suming pan, imagining it improved the passion. So in the
Pharmaceutria
of
Theocritus.
p. 33. we see
Simoetha
is using her
Incantation, nunc furfures sacrificabo,
, the word made use of in
Jeremiah's Epistle.
—And as if all this had not been lust enough in 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 own sons.
In respect of human sacrifices, if you would have a full account of them, consult the following autors, and you will find that the
Canaanites
were far from being the only Pagans who were guilty of this unnatural barbarity—Selden de diis Syris. Segort. 1. c. 6. and all the autors he quotes. Grotius on Deut. 18. Isaac Vos. de orig. Idol. l. 2. c. 5. Dion. Vossius on Maimon de Idol. c. 6. Lud. Vives notes on St. Aug. de Civit. Dei. l. 7. c. 19.—Ouzelius & Elmenhorstius notes on Min. Foelix. Spencer de Leg. Hebr. l. 2. c. 13. And Fabricius, Bibliographia. c. 9.
men were offered upon the Altars for Sacrifices; and children were burnt alive to
Moloch
and
Adramalech.
In a word, the most abominable immoralities universally prevailed; with the encouragements of religion, men were led into intemperance, uncleanness, murders, and many vices, inconsistent with the prosperity and peace of society, as well as with the happiness of private persons; and that such iniquities might have a perpetual source, the most shameful Idolatries were preserved in opposition to the knowledge and 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 year from the flood 428,
After the flood 428. Bef. Chr. 1920.
to provide for the restoration of the true religion, and preserve the knowledge and worship of the One true God on earth, in opposition to the prevailing idolatry, and the gross 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,
Bp. Sherlock on propheey, well observes, that two covenants were given to Abraham, one a temporal covenant, to take place in the land of Canaan —the other, a covenant of better hope, to be performed in a better country. p. 134.
to be instruments in the hands of providence for bringing about great designs in the world—that he and his posterity were to be the Church of God, and depositaries of a hope, that the
Covenant
limited to
Abraham
and his chosen seed, was to grow in the fulness of time into a blessing upon all the nations of the earth.
Abraham
was at this time 75 years old, and God added to the 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
Abraham,
it was found in experience, insufficient to preserve them from the idolatrous customs of their neighbours.—Some new laws, some further constitutions of worship were to be added, or, as the family of
Abraham
were situated in the midst of idolaters and unrighteous ones, it was foreseen they would soon fall from the essentials of religion; and instead of preserving a right knowledge of God, of his Being, Perfections and 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 dangerous immoralities; and therefore, as it was highly
fit
in it self, 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 constituent part of the
hebrew
ritual; being figures of a better shekinah, 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 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 religion, to preserve the knowledge and worship of the One true God.
But as mankind would not follow the
light
of
nature,
which is sufficient, when attended to, for a constant universal practice of piety and morality; so neither would they be engaged by various reveled laws, from time to time given, and by the calls and lessons of many prophets, to the practice of true religion and righteousness; but as the
heart
is the
seat
and
source
of
wickedness
in man, according to the prophet
Jeremiah,
so even the
hearts
of the
Jews
became
deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.
And the
Prophet
goes on to shew, not the
necessary inability
of man
without experiences,
or an
operating spirit within,
(as you suppose, madam); but that, tho' 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, consequently, in the issue, they deceive themselves, seeing God, who knows the deceit which is lodged in their hearts, will render unto them according to their works, and according to the fruit of their doings: so that their hope and 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 xiv. and liii. psalm, there was none righteous, no not one; there is none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh after God; and so on, as you madam, have quoted the verses, in which the
Apostle
did not intend to shew the
necessary pollution
of
man
without the
help
of
grace;
but the
groundlessness
of that opinion which the
Jews
had gone into, that they were the
only people
which pleased God; for they were as guilty as the
Gentiles
were in transgressing the law of nature. Neither of them had any
legal title to justification.
They were all very great transgressors. The
throat
of
Jew and Gentile
and
open sepulchre:
their tongues, deceit: the poison of asps under their lips: their mouths, full of cursing and bitterness: their feet, swift to shed blood. Destruction and misery in their ways: and the way of peace have they not known: Therefore the
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.
Tho'
Jew
and
Gentile
were qualified to
discern
and
do
both
good
and
evil,
and the
Jew
had a written law as a further assistance, but nevertheless they violated the plain dictates of natural reason, and the divine precepts of the law, and by unrighteousness and impurity, rendered themselves objects of judgment and condemnation; yet the father of the universe, in compassion to mankind, sent a divine teacher from heaven,
Christ, the true Prophet that was to come into the world,
and by his divinely reveled testimony and authority, attempts to abolish the superstition of men, reclaim their wickedness, and bring them back to the true spiritual worship of God, and to that holiness of life and manners which is agreeable to the uncorrupted light and dictates of nature. This was love. The blessed God, in compassion to human 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. 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 ungodlyness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world, looking for that blessed hope, and the
glorious appearance of the great God; who will judge the world by that divine person, and great temporary minister, whom he sent before to destroy sin, and the kingdom of Satan; and to bring mankind into a perfect obedience to the will of the
supreme Being.
This renders christianity a heavenly thing. Revelation thus explained is beautiful and useful to an extreme degree. It does not contradict, but strengthens the obligations of natural religion.
Your account, Sir, (Mrs.
Price
answered) of man and religion is different indeed from mine, and I must allow your explications have reason in them: but still they do not satisfy me, nor can I part with my own opinion. Two things in particular to me appear very strange in your scheme. It seems to take away the
necessity
of the christain revelation, if natural religion, duly attended to, was perfect, and sufficient for virtue and holiness, and thereby to gain the favor of God. If reason alone can do the work, if men please, then what need of the gospel?—If men will consider, (and without consideration no scheme can be of service), they may as well turn their thoughts to the law of nature as to the law of grace, if there is no difference betwixt the rule of nature and the law of Christ, with regard to the 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 thoughts and works, our own reason, in your notion of religion, is sufficient to regulate, and unassisted by the illumination of the holy spirit of God, we may live in an uncorrupted state of piety and morality, and so save our souls, if we please. This is what I cannot believe. The grace of God in the gospel is the glory and comfort of the christian religion. A divine operation that renews and sanctifies the mind is an invaluable blessing, and in a manner inexpressibly charming, satisfies me beyond hesitation, that the christian religion is true, while it puts me in the actual possession of the good effects of it. The spirit of God discovers to me the state of my own mind, in all the circumstances of a christian life, sets my follies, my neglects, and my failings, in order before me, which is the first right step in order to the overcoming them; and then observing the discoveries I was not able to make my self, and having a strong faith 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 dispenation, that I can secure for myself eternal life. The wise and prudent of this world may think as they please of this matter, and produce reasonings against it beyond my power to answer; but for my part, I must consider it as the
principle
of my
salvation,
and think I cannot be thankful enough for the inestimable blessing. It is to me a glorious instance of the great wisdom and goodness of God.
Madam, (I replyed) in relation to your first objection, that I make no difference between reveled 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 reconcilement, in demonstrating the divine wrath against sin, in the method of shewing mercy by the death of God's beloved Son, and the promise of free pardon on the condition of repentance and newness of life. This manner gives unspeakable comfort to repenting sinners. It gives the greatest encouragement to engage them to the love of God and the practice of all his commandments; an encouragement that reason could not discover. To christianity therefore the true preference is due. Tho' philosophy or the doctrine of reason may reform men, yet the christian religion is a clearer and more powerful guide. It improves the light 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 religion.
A Mediator and crucified Redeemer brought into the Christian revelation, has a noble effect on a considering mind, and shews the reasonableness of the gospel-dispensation. The wisest and most rational heathens ever were for sacrifices and mediators, as the greatness of God was thereby declared, and that not only sin deserved punishment, but mens lives to be forfeited by their breach of the divine laws: and when a divine person,
made man, like unto us,
appears instead of all other mediators,
by whom,
as the instrument of the means of salvation, we are to offer up our prayers to the Only true God; and his voluntary dying in testimony of the truth of his mission and doctrine, is appointed to be instead of all other sacrifices, and to remain a memorial that God requires no atonement of us, but
repentance and newness of life;
and the spotless virtues and obedience of this divine Redeemer, are to be a most perfect and moving example for us to imitate;—this renders christianity worthy of God, and makes it the perfection of religion.
Great
then are the
advantages
which the
Revelation
of
Christ Jesus
has
above mere reason,
darkened by the clouds of error and a general corruption. It is the most perfect rule of life. It is the most powerful means to promote a constant uniform 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-sufficient, to whom all the intelligent world are to make their devout applications; 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 labor of their whole lives 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 mechanical powers. The words of Christ, which are the words of God, are, our life, and will, if attended to, and powerfully enable us to practise good works, and to excel, and persevere therein.
I can do all these things, through Christ, who strengtheneth me,
that is, through the written directions of Christ, and through the arguments and motives of the christian doctrine. To say otherwise of the gospel, is, in my opinion, injurious to it.
God may, to be sure, give
special
aids to men, whenever he thinks fit. He may, by an
extraordinary agency,
render our
faculties
more
capable
of
apprehension,
where divine things are concerned:—may awaken
a 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 ability
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 believe 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
communicates
to them
all the knowledge
of every kind which they possess; (in which view
all our knowledge
of every kind may be called
a revelation from God,
and be 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 mens 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 religion: 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 amendment of life;
there being no other name, or way given among men, 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 light
or
operation;
tho' such
operation,
as before observed, there may be. There is not a hint of man's
natural inability.
To the
glorious Gospel
then, the
gospel of our salvation,
the
word of truth,
the
word of life,
let us come, and with diligence and impartiality study it. Let us follow the truth we there find in every page, and it will enable us to triumph over the
temptations
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 life, and glorious and ever blessed in that which is to come. If we obey the
gospel
of the
Son of God,
and hearken to his word, he will take us under his guardian care. He descended from Heaven, to deliver us from everlasting ruin, he purchased us with the price of his own blood, and if we live up to the
word
of truth, he will conduct us safely through life and death, into the abode of holy and happy spirits, and at length raise our bodies from the dust, and fix our compleat persons in a state of immortal glory and felicity.—This is my sense of religion. Where I am wrong, I shall ever be glad to be set right.
Mrs.
Price
made no reply, and so ended this remarkable conversation. On whose side the truth is, the reader is to judge. What she says for
supernatural operation
is strong and pious to be sure: and considering Mrs.
Price
had no learning, and was almost without any reading, I thought it very wonderful to hear her on this, and many other subjects. She was such another genius as
Chubb,
but on the other side of the question; if she had been able to write as sensibly and correctly as she talked on several articles of religion, she would have made a good author. So much goodness and good sense I have not very often found in her kind. They merit a memorial in a journal of the curious things that have occurred to me in my life time.
28. My departure from
Lasco
in Stanemore, a farther description of this wild and solitary part of the world.
The 13th of June 1725, I took my leave of my friend,
John Price,
and his 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 befall
Jack Price,
his wife would be miserable indeed, and I the maker of a breach in the sweetest system of felicity that love and good sense had ever formed. This made me refuse his 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.
With the rising sun then I set out, and was charmed for several hours with the air and views. The mountains, the rocky precipices, the woods and the waters, appeared in various striking situations every mile I travelled on, and formed the most astonishing points of view. Sometimes I was above the clouds, and then crept to inchanting vallies below. Here glins were seen that looked as if the mountains had been rent asunder to form the amazing scenes: and there, forests and falling streams covered the sides of the hills. Rivers in many places, in the most beautiful cascades, were tumbling along; and cataracts from the tops of mountains came roaring down. The whole was grand, wonderful, and fine. On the top of one of the mountains I passed over at noon; the air was piercing cold, on account of its great height, and so subtle, that we breathed with difficulty, and were a little sick. From hence I saw several black subjacent clouds big with thunder, and the lightning within them rolled backwards and forwards, like shining bodies of the brightest lustre. One of them went off in the grandest horrors through the vale below, and had no more to do with the pike I was on than if it had been a summit in another planet. The scene was prodigious fine.
Sub pedibus ventos & rauca tonitrua calcat.
Till the evening, I rid and walked it, and in numberless windings round unpassable hills, and by the sides of rivers it was impossible 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 stillness 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.
29. A reflection.
Had this been possible, I should have avoided many an affliction, and had known but few of those expectations and disappointments, which render life 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 judgment day, and the eternal state of men, require 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 paradice of a place, in the enjoyment of that fine happiness, which easy country business and a studious life afford; and might have made a better preparation for that hour which is to disunite me, and let my invisible spirit depart to the shades of eternity. Happy they, who in some such rural retirement, can employ some useful hours every day in the management of a little comfortable farm, and devote the greater portion of their time to
sacred knowledge, Heavenly piety,
and
angelick 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 live with God and his Christ.
Getting, keeping, multiplying money; dress, pleasure, entry;
are not only
little things
for such beings as we are: they are indeed sad
principal
work for creatures that are
passing away
to an everlasting state; there to lament their lost day, and talents misapplied, in 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 qualities 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 cloathed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day, is laid in a cold and narrow cave. Take my advice then, reader. Be ready. Let us so think and act in this first state, that in the next, we may meet in the regions of purity and righteousness, serenity and joy.
30. An account of an extraordinary effusion of water from a mountain.
The lake I have mentioned was the largest I had seen in this wild part, being above a mile in length, and more than half a mile broad; and the water that filled it, burst with the greatest impetuosity from the inside of a rocky mountain, that is very wonderful to behold. It is a vast craggy precipice, that ascends till it is almost out of sight, and by its gloomy and tremendous air, strikes the mind with a horror that has something pleasing in it. This amazing cliff stands perpendicular at one end of the lake, at the distance of a few yards, and has an opening at the bottom, that is wide enough for two coaches to enter at once, if the place was dry. In the middle of it, there is a deep channel, down which the water rushes with a mighty swiftness and force, and on either side, the stone rises a yard above the impetuous stream. The ascent is easy, flat and plane. How far it goes, I know not, being afraid to ascend more than forty yards; not only on account of the terrors common to the place, from the fall of so much water with a strange kind of roar, and the height of the arch which covers the torrent all the way; but because as I went up, there was of a sudden, an encrease of noise so very 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 filled the whole opening in rushing to the lake. The increase of the water, and the violence of the discharge, were an astonishing sight. I had a great escape.
31. The cause of the eruption of water from the inside of the mountain, and its sudden encrease.
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 an half high from the basis, as I found by ascending it with great toil on the side that was from the water, and the top was a flat dry rock, that had not the least spring, or piece of water on it, how shall we account for the rapid flood that proceeded from its inside? Where did this great water come from?—I answer, might it not flow from the great abyss — and the great encrease of it, and the fearful noise, and the motion of the rock, be owing to some violent commotion in the
abyss,
occasioned by some natural or supernatural cause?
32. The origin of earthquakes.
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
earthquakes;
and not to
vapor,
or
electricity.
As to electricity, which Dr.
Stukeley
makes the cause of the deplorable downfall of
Lisbon
Nov. 1. 1755.
, in his book lately published, (called, The Philosophy of Earthquakes), there are many things to be objected against its being the origin of such calamities:—one objection is, and it is an insuperable one, that 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, tho'
Lisbon
was only overthrown. Such was the case of the city of
Callao,
within two leagues of
Lima.
Tho'
Lima
was only tumbled into ruins, October 28, 1746; yet
Callao
sunk downright, with all its inhabitants, and an unfathomable sea now covers the finest port in
Peru,
as I have seen on the spot.— In the earthquake at
Jamaica,
June 7, 1692, in which several thousands perished, it is certain, that not only many houses, and a great number of people, were intirely swallowed up; but that, at many of the gapings or openings of the earth, torrents 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 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 splitting the earth to great depths, and forcing up torrents of water, where there was no sign of the fluid element before, I question much if the vehemence of the elemental electric fire does this.—Beside, when mountains and cities sink into the earth, and the deepest lakes are now seen to fill all the place where they once stood, as has been the case in many countries, where could these mighty waters come, but from the
abyss?
—The great lake
Oroquantur
in
Pegu,
was once a vast city. In
Jamaica,
there is a large deep lake where once a mountain stood.—In an earthquake in
China,
in the province of
Sanci,
deluges of water burst out of the earth, Feb. 7, 1556, and inundated the country for 180 miles. Many more instances of this kind I might produce, exclusive of
Sodom,
the ground of which was inundated by an irruption of waters from beneath, (which now forms the
dead sea)
after the city was destroyed by fire from above; that the land which had been defiled with the unnatural lusts of the inhabitants might be no more inhabited, but remain a lasting 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 shew, that these mighty waters were from the furious concussion of the abyss that caused the earthquakes. Electricity, I think, can never make seas and vast lakes to be where there were none before.
Locherne,
in the county of Fermanagh, in the province of
Ulster
in
Ireland,
is thirty three miles long, and fourteen broad, and as the old Irish chronicle informs us, was once a place where large and populous towns appeared, till for the great iniquity of the inhabitants, the people and their fair habitations were destroyed in an earthquake, and mighty waters from the earth covered the place, and formed this lake. Could the
electrical stroke
produce this sea that was not to be found there before the destruction? Is it not more reasonable to suppose, that such vast waters have been forced by a supernatural commotion from the great abyss, in the earthquake that destroyed the towns which once stood in this place?
To this then, (till I am better informed), I must ascribe such earthquakes as produce great rivers and lakes: and where no waters appear, I believe the earthquakes are caused by the immediate finger of God; either operating on the abyss, tho' not so as to make the water break out on the earth; or by directing the electrical violence or stroke; or otherwise acting on the ruined cities and shattered places.
33. A reflexion on second causes, and the Deity's being not only at the head of nature, but in every part of it.
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. The government of the universe is given to matter and motion, and under pretence of extolling original contrivance, the execution of all is left to dead substance. It is just and reasonable (even
Newton
and
Maclaurin
say) to suppose that the
whole chain of causes,
or the
several series of them,
should center in him, as their source and fountain; and the whole system appear depending upon him, the only
independent cause.
Now to me this supposition does not appear either just or reasonable. I think the noble
phoenomena
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 universe; I imagine the divine
Newton
would have done better, if, after establishing the true system of 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 center, 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
phoenomena
that might be named. Books I know have been written, and ingenious books they are, to shew the causes of these things, and trace the ways they are performed by the materials themselves: but these explications never satisfied me. I had as many questions to ask, after reading these books, as I had before I looked into them, and could find no operator but
infinite power
conducted by
infinite wisdom.
The periodical motions of the waters of the sea, owing to immaterial power.
As to the
force
of the
moon,
in raising
tides,
and, that
spring tides
are produced by the
sum
of the
actions
of the
two luminaries,
when the
moon
is in
Syzygy,
there is a deal of fine mathematical reasoning to prove it, which the reader may find in Dr.
Halley
's 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 meridian again, is it credible, that from the eastern and southern ocean, round
Good-Hope
and
Cape-Horn,
it should as soon overflow our coasts, as when it is vertical to the shores of
Guinea?
— If the
moon
(in conjunction with the sun) by
pression
and
attraction,
was the principal cause of
flux
and
reflux,
why is there no established tide on the
Mediterranean-Sea,
though of a vast breadth, and two thousand miles in length from the
Streights
of
Gibraltar
to the coasts of
Syria
and
Palestine;
but only some
irregular and unaccountable swellings and falls
in a few places of this sea, to wit, at
Tunis, Messina, Venice,
and
Negropont;
and these
swellings,
as I have seen,
flowing
sometimes 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 times in 24 hours; in the most irregular manner; against the fixed laws of
pression
and
attraction,
ascribed to the
moon
and
sun,
on a supposition of their causing the tides? — If
pression,
and the
strong attractive power
of the
moon,
and the
weaker influence
of the
sun,
forces the 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, reregular or irregular, excepting that sometimes, in the space of 16 years, and never sooner, it rises many fathoms, and drowns the adjacent country; to the almostruin, sometimes, of
Astracan
in
Asiatick Russia;
as happened when I was there to embark for
Persia?
— If it be said, that this is properly a lake, having no communication with the ocean; yet, I answer, that it is in every quality of saltness,
etc.
as much a sea as any other sea; and large enough for the luminaries
attraction
and
pression;
being 500 miles from north to south, and near 400 miles in breadth from east to west: I say, large enough to avoid continuing
necessarily in equilibrio,
as Dr.
Rutherforth
says must be the case, on account of the small extent of this sea. 500 by 400 miles of sea does not require that such a sea should press equally, or that the gravity of its water should be equally diminished in every part of it, and so out of the powers,
addititious
and
ablatitious,
of the luminary; that is, the force, with which the moon encreases the waters gravity, and the force, with which the moon diminishes the waters gravity. If the
moon
in
zenith
or
nadir
did the work, the
equilibrium
of the the
Caspian
might be
destroyed,
as well as any other equilibrium of water, by force,
addititious
or
ablatitious,
or by the sum of these forces: therefore, there might, by this theory, be tides in the
Caspian sea,
tho' 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 motion. A tide of less motion may be in such an extent of sea as the
Caspian.
In the last place, how does the theory of tides account for the regular peculiarity of the flux and reflux of the
Atlantic,
different from all other tides; while at
Bathsha
in the kingdom of
Tunquin,
there never is more than one tide in 24 hours; and some days, no tide? — For my part, I resolve the whole into the
immediate power
of the
Deity. This power
is
gravity, attraction, repulse.
The
inactivity
of
matter
requires the
constancy
and
universality
of
divine power
to support the material universe, and move it as occasion requires; that is, as infinite wisdom sees most conducive to the benefit of his creation.
Earthquakes the effect of immaterial causes.
Men of fine imagination may make a wonderful display of mathematical learning in accounts of
gravity, etc. combined with the principles of mechanism;
and
electricity,
which is called the
immediate officer
of God Almighty; but the truth is, a
constant 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 3
and
4
minutes,
and have held to 7
minutes
— and that, besides the swelling and trembling of the earth, it has so opened at those times, as to swallow not only houses and people, but even mountains, and to send forth great rivers and vast waters. And, as
subterranean fire
and
vapor,
I think, can never do such work, for many reasons that may be offered, we must, I think, ascribe the earthquakes to the immediate impression of divine power; by which a city is tumbled into ruins in three or four minutes, in the sad manner
Lisbon
was destroyed the first of
November,
1755. or, the water of the great abyss is with such violence moved, that it shakes the arches of the earth, and where infinite wisdom directs, is enabled by Almighty Power to open the globe with tremendous noises, and pour forth vast torrents of water, to cover a land where once a flourishing city has stood. The 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 fearfully 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 commands
his whole displeasure to arise,
must not this account of an earthquake have the greatest tendency to reform the manners of the surviving people?
An account of muscular motion; and that it is caused by a continued act of the Deity.
As to muscular motion, if it be rightly considered, it appears very plainly to proceed from a
living force,
impressed
ab extra;
that
mechanism does not act as cause
in this affair; but the
divine power acts in the case,
as it does in many different places of the human body at once, and with inexpressible variety.
Various are the accounts that learned men have given of muscular motion, and ingenious are their reasonings on the subject: but they are not satisfactory, nor do they at all explain the thing, and account for it. What is a muscle?
It is to be sure a bundle of small blood vessels, consisting of arteries and their returning veins, laid one upon another in their parallel plates, running thro' 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 alternately in a contrary direction, that is, are contracted by the command of the will, while the others are stretched, and again are extended, while the others are contracted: but the necessary muscles have contracting and extending powers within themselves, and need no antagonists.
This being the true state of the muscles, the question is, what causes that elasticity, spring, or power of contraction and restoration, which their nervous coats and fibres have, to recover themselves against a given weight or force that stretches them? The reply is, that many unanswerable reasons can be given to prove, that this contractive restitutive force does not depend on the mixture, effervescence, or rarefaction of any fluids, humours, or liquors within the body; and there is one convincing experiment that shews it.
Lay open the thorax of a dog, (as I have often done) and take a distinct view of that famous muscle, the heart, in its curious and wonderful motion, while the animal is still alive. In
diastole,
the
muscle
is
very red
and
florid, soft
and
yielding
to the touch, and thro' it the vital fluid glows and shines; it appears in this state fully replenished and distended with blood: but in
systole,
as soon as it begins to contract, and the blood rushes out by the compression of the contracting fibres, the
heart loses its florid colour,
and becomes
pale
and
livid, compact
and
solid,
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
thro' the
coronary veins
into the
auricles,
rushes back into it thro' the
coronary arteries,
restores the glowing florid colour, and inflates the muscle, in order to strain the nerves for the next contraction. It is plain from hence, that the heart has less blood and fluid in time of
contraction,
and that the
contraction
is not caused by the addition 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 shortned:—this is so perplexed and unreasonable an hypothesis, that I am astonished how men of sense ever came to think of such a doctrine. There is no such nervous fluid to be found, to cause this fermentation, rarefaction, etc; and if there was, expansive force must lengthen as well as thicken, and the muscle could not be shortned in length, and swelled in thickness. The natural action of the fluids upon the solids is, to increase 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 rarifying 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 circulating blood.
The
contraction
of the muscle straitens and compresses the bloodvessels, and forces the blood with impetuosity thro' the heart; and this squeezing or propelling force gives the fluid an impetus, that makes it return with violence upon the muscle, 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 contraction from itself. Upon this, the bloodvessels having obtained their due extent and capacity, the distending force of the blood of consequence ceases: but the moment it does, the contractive power of the nerves begins to act again, and restores them to a contracted dense state, by a force exactly equal to that which extended them; till the returning propelled blood re-enters the muscle, and stretches it again, as before described. Such are the two wonderful counter-forces that produce the natural involuntary motion of the heart, and carry on the circulation of the blood. You see with your eyes, in the opened live dog, this
alternate contraction and extension;
and as the
stretching
power is but a consequence of the
contracting
power,
contraction
is the
spring
of this
wonderful action,
in which our will or free agency has no concern. And to what shall we ascribe this astonishing 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 preternaturally 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 extraordinary scene. While you gaze upon this noblest muscle of the dog, you see the Deity at work.
And if we turn our eyes from the muscles of mere natural involuntary motion, (which performs by a contracting power, acting within them), to those muscles which move the bones and members of our bodies, by the command of the will, how adorable is the wisdom and goodness of the Almighty Author of nature, not only in providing the animal machine with
antagonistical muscles,
one of which is contracted, while the other is extended; but for stimulating, contracting, and compressing the nervous elastic cords and blood-vessels, as our minds command or determine! there is no possibility of accounting for the directions at pleasure of the antagonistic muscles, but by resolving them into the
continual presence
and
action
of the first cause. He enforces and executes. It is the
active principle
gives
energy
and
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 religion and philosophy to the same desperate state. It destroys all the principles of reason, as well as of virtue and moral conduct.
To say all that can be said, in as few words as possible, upon this article, it is not only the
muscular motion, necessary
and
spontaneous
That even
spontaneous motion
is performed by the divine power, is proved in the first part of a most excellent book, called,
An Enquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul.
—I shall only observe here, that motion is
spontaneous,
as it is begun and ended by the living 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 sponteneity 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.
, 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; altho' it has no obstacles to encounter, or narrow passages to move through. What then can we think of motion in such narrow twining meanders, as
veins, arteries, intestines,
and
lacteal vessels,
thro' which the fluids of animal bodies are conveyed to parts innumerable? while the
blood, lymph,
and
chyle
creep thro' such narrow winding vessels, the whole motion of those fluids must be consumed every 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
miraculous
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
If it should 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
governing 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.
.
The conclusion of the matter is, that the plain argument for the existence of a Deity, obvious to all, and carrying irresistible conviction 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 like a sensation, and artful reasonings against it may puzzle us, but it is without shaking our belief. No person, for example, who knows the principles of opticks, and the struture of the eye, can believe that it is formed without skill in that science; or that the ear was formed without the knowledge of sounds.—This is a just argument, and forces our assent. But the great
Maclaurin
should not have stopped here. The plain argument for the existence of a Deity grows stronger, when we add to it what is as evident as divine contrivance, to wit, the
constant interposition of God,
to 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 continually performs for our preservation and happiness, the contemplation 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 devoutest 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 of praise and devotion. Indeed the heart must be as hard and cold as marble, that does not glow, nor is inflamed with ravishing love 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 light 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! alass! 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 these 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 make the greatest mental and moral improvement we can in this first state.
34. An extraordinary loch on the top of a high mountain.
Another extraordinary thing I saw in the place I have mentioned, was a water on the top of a hill, which stood at the other end of the lake, and was full as high as the mountain, from the side of which, the 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 mountain's side, and the various shoars and vallies below, afford an uncommon view. It was a fine change of ground, to ascend from the beautiful lake, (encompassed with mountains, and adorned with trees) into which was poured from a gaping precipice, a torrent of streams; and see from the reverse of an opposite hill, an impetuous flood descending from the top to the finest points of view in the wildest glins below.
35. The cause of an unfathomable loch on the top of the mountain.
What line I had with me, for experiments on waters and holes, I applied to this loch, to discover the depth, but with 300 yards of whipcord my lead could reach no ground, and from thence, and the 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 mountains in various parts of the world, and from them, I suppose, the greatest part of that deluge of waters came that drowned the old world. This leads me to say something of the
flood.
36. Remarks on the deluge.
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 mountains 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 150 days, or five months of 30 days each, to over-top the highest mountains by 15 cubits, the height designed. The abyss in strong commotion, or violent uproar, by a power divine, could shake the incumbent globe to pieces in a few minutes, and bury the whole ruins in the deep. To me, then, all the reasoning against the deluge, or for a partial flood, appear sad stuff. Were this one loch in Stanemore to pour out torrents of water, down every side, for five months, by a 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 summits of mountains, the waters in like manner, with the greatest violence, flowed from every side out of the abyss, and that exclusive of the heavy rains, an earthquake should open some parts of the ground to let more water out of the great collection, and the seas and oceans surpass their natural bounds, by the winds forcing them over the earth, then would a universal flood very soon prevail. There is water enough for the purpose, and as to the
supernatural ascent of them, natural
and
supernatural
are nothing at all different with respect to God. They are distinctions merely in our conceptions of things. 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; tho' 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.
The means which drained off the waters of the deluge from the earth.
But how the waters of the deluge were drawn off at the end of the five months, is another question among the learned. The ingenious
Keile,
who writ 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 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 15 cubits above the highest hills.
A
swallow
is such another opening in the ground as
Eldine Hole
in
Derbyshire
Eldine-Hole
in
Derbyshire
is a mile south of
Mamtorr,
and 4 miles east of
Buxton.
It is a perpendicular gulph or chasm, which I tried to fathom more than once, and found it by my line, and by the measure of sound (at the rate of 16 feet one twelfth in one second the measure Dr.
Halley
allows near the earth for the descent of heavy bodies), to be 1266 feet, or 422 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 dreadful gulph, after they had robbed him.
, 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 licked up by the winds; or, except what might be left to encrease the former seas of the antediluvian world into those vast oceans which now encompasses the globe, and partly to form those vast lakes that are in several parts of the World. These things easily account for the removal of that vast mass of waters which covered the earth, and was in a mighty column above the highest hills. Every difficulty 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 ingeniously against one another about the removal of the waters, might have saved themselves a deal of trouble, if they had reduced the operation to three simple things, under the direction of the
First Cause.
The
swallows
especially must do great work in the case, if we take into their number not only very many open gulphs or chasms, the depth of which no line or sound can reach; but likewise the
communications
of very many
parts of the sea,
and of many great
unfathomable lochs,
with the
abyss.
These
absorbers
could easily receive what had before come out of them. The sun by 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 inquire? To be sure, as it did not run off in any streams, nor make the lake rise in the least degree, there must have been a communication in some parts of its bottom, between the water of it and the
abyss.
As the loch on the top of the 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.
Into this sea many rivers pour, and one in particular, the
Volga
I mean, that is more than sufficient, in the quantity of water it turns out in a year, to drown the whole world. Yet the
Caspian
remains in one state, and does not overflow its banks, excepting, as before observed, sometimes, in the space of 16 years. It must by passages communicate with the great deep. It refunds the rivers into the great
abyss.
The case of the
Mediterranean sea
is the same; for, tho' a strong current from the
Atlantic
continually sits through the
Strait
of
Gibraltar,
yet these waters do not make it overflow the country round it, and of consequence, they must be carried off by a subterranean passage, or passages, to the
abyss.
37. The journey in Stanemore continued. An account of an assemblage of black columnar marble.
From the lake I proceeded the next morning,
June
14, 1725, toward the northeast end of
Westmorland,
having passed 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 glin, where a river made a rumbling noise over rocks and inequalities 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 100 feet, in breadth 30 feet, and somewhat resembling the
giant's causeway,
in the county of Antrim, and province of Ulster in Ireland; nine miles north east from the pretty town of
Colerain.
The
giants causeway,
reader, is a prodigious pile of rocks, 80 feet broad, 20 feet above the rest of the strand, and that run from the bottom of a high hill above 200 yards into the ocean.
The assemblage of stones I am speaking of are columns with several corners, that rise three yards above the ground, and are joined as if done by art; the points being 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 two in diameter. They are so nicely joined, that altho' 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 the philosophical transactions, No . 212, speaking of the giants causeway, seems to think these wonderful pillars are composed of the common sort of craggy rock by the sea side: and the authors of the complete system of geography are of opinion, they resemble the
lapis Basaltes;
but some think they are a sort of marble. Now the truth is, the
Basaltes
of the antients is a very elegant and beautiful marble of a fine deep glossy black, like high polished steel, and is always found erect in the form of regular angular columns, composed of a number of joints, fitted together, and making pillars: so that where such pillars are seen, they are undoubtedly the
columnar marble
or
touchstone
of the antients. Dr.
Hill,
in his history of fossils, gives a good account of the nature of this body, and mentions several places it is to be found in; but seems not to have heard there was any of it among the northern mountains of our country.
This marble is one of the noblest 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 supreme mind, must have caused such effects as these astonishing marble pillars; which lie in vast compound perpendicular columns at great depths in the earth, (none in beds of strata, like the other marbles), and rise in such beautiful joints and angles, well fitted together more than six and thirty foot above ground in some places. No other way could those wonderful productions have come into being, but by that
intelligent, active power,
who
speaks intelligibly to every nation by his works.
To talk as some people do, that
necessity,
which destroys the very idea of intelligent and designing activity — or
chance,
which is an utter absurdity — or the
sea,
according to
Telliamed,
generated and formed this genus of marble, and so wonderfully distinguished it from all the other marmora; by making it into pentagon, hexagon, and septagon columns, and rendering the points of the columns convex and concave, and so amazingly joining them together, that the prominent angles of one pillar fall exactly into the hollow left beween two others, and the plain sides exactly answer to one another, as before observed, while all of them stand up perpendicular, contrary to the quality of all other marbles, and some lie in beds of strata — To talk I say of the
sea,
a
chance,
a
necessity,
doing this, or any thing of so wonderful a kind, is to produce schemes founded in ignorance, and eversive of true knowledge, instead of giving a rational, intelligible 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.
38. An account f a burning spring.
Another extraordinary thing I saw in a valley not far from that where the
Basalts
stands. It is a boisterous burning spring. It rises with great noise and vibration, and gushes out with a force sufficient to turn many mills. The water is clear and cold, but to the taste unpleasant, being something like a bad egg. I judged from the nature of its motion, that the water would take fire, and having lit my torch, soon put it in a flame. The fire was fierce, and the water ran down the vale in a blaze. It was a river of fire for a considerable way, till it sunk under ground among some rocks, and thereby disappeared. After it had burnt some time, I took some boughs from a tree, and tying them together, beat the surface of the well for a few minutes, and the burning ceased. The water was not hot, as one might 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 they 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 like 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 of
Cracow
of the lesser
Poland,
mention'd in the
Leipsic acts,
An. 1684. p. 326. And as to the extinguishing this fire by beating it with twigs, it must to be sure be for the reason given by Mr.
Denis,
that as the inflammability 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
Polish
spring, that at one time, when it was kindled by lightning, the people neglected to put it out, and the stream proceeded on fire for 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 existence of the water and sulphur of this spring, must be by the power of the Creator constantly put forth upon it, which causes the parts to be what we call such things; and the motion of both must be an
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 infinite, 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, all we feel, fire and water, the universal variety of inanimate and animate creatures, are only the effects 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 only art
holy.
39. Another loch on the top of a high mountain, and a swallow in the bottom.
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 difficult to descend with them to a deep bottom on the other side of the hill: but with great hazard to ourselves and the beasts, we came down in safety. On the top of this mountain I saw another large
loch
that was black as ink in appearance, tho' bright when taken up in a glass; which, (as before observed) must be owing I suppose to its top communicating with the
abyss
below; and in the bottom we descended to, there was a
swallow
larger than the one I saw before. I could make no discovery as to its depth, either by line or sound; nor did my lead touch any water. On the sloping way from the first chasm in day to the gulph, were several lateral chambers, that descended one yard in six; but tho' the bottom was hard, the horrors of the places hindered me from going far. I went to the end of the first, which was 67 yards, and having looked into the second, to which a narrow short pass leads the inquirer, I made what haste I could back; for the opening discovers a space so vast, dismal, and frightful, that it strikes one to the heart. The bottom, as far as my light could enable me to distinguish, was a continuance of stone; but neither top nor sides were to be seen. It is a horrible place.
40. An amazing arch thro' a mountain in a delightful spot of ground.
Leaving this bottom, we mounted another very high and dangerous hill, and from the top of it descended into twenty acres of as rich and beautiful ground as my eyes had ever seen. It was covered with flowers and aromatic herbs; and had, in the center of it, a little grove of beautiful trees; among which were fruits of several kinds. A flowing spring of the purest water was in the middle of this sweet little wood, and ran in pretty windings over the ground. It refreshed and adorned the field, and it was beautiful to see the deer from the hills, and the goats come down from the cliffs, to drink at these streams. The whole was surrounded with precipices that ascended above the clouds, and through one of these rocky mountains there was an opening that had a stupendous appearance.
It was a vast amazing arch, that had some resemblance of the gothic isle of a large cathedral church, and terminated in a view of rocks hanging over rocks in a manner frightful to behold. It measured an hundred yards in length, 40 in breadth, and I judged it to be fifty yards high. The pending rocks in view inclosed a space of four acres, as it appeared to me, and the bottom was so very deep that it looked like night below. What line I had could not reach it, nor could I make any thing of the depth by sound. It seemed to me to be a vast
swallow
that went down to the
abyss.
The whole was a scene that harrowed the soul with horror.
41. An extraordinary passage thro' the mountains.
By the spring in the little grove I have mentioned, I sat down at 8 in the morning, to breakfast on something that one of my squires produced from his store, while the other was looking for a passage or way 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 unpassable mountains. Here then I thought was my ne plus ultra. As the man affirmed there was no getting beyond the vast inclosing cliffs that walled in this charming spot of earth, I imagined for some time, that I must of necessity return, and give over all thoughts of getting to the borders of
Cumberland
or
Bishoprick
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 my friend lived on; for I had lost his directions, and had only a small remembrance of his dwelling somewhere on the north edge of Westmoreland or Yorkshire, or on the adjoining borders of Cumberland, or the county of Durham. What to do I could not for some time tell: going back I did not at all like, and therefore, to avoid it if possible, resolved to pass the day in trying if I could find any way out, without climbing the mountain again that I had lately come down. Round then I walked, once, and to no manner of purpose, for I did not see any kind of pass; but the second time, as I marched on observing the hill, I took notice of a large clump of great trees in an angle or deep corner, that seemed to stand very oddly, and in the mountain above them there appeared as I thought a distance or space that looked like an opening. I soon found it was so, and that at the back of this little wood, there lay a very narrow way, only broad enough for two horses a-breast: that it extended due west for more than a mile, and then west-north-west for a quarter of a mile, till it terminated in a plain that was several miles in circumference, and intirely surrounded with hills. This I discovered in walking the pass by myself,
1725.
and then returned to bring the horses and men, through this amazing way. It was quite dark, mere night all along; and the bottom very bad. It was likewise every dangerous. It was evident from the ground, that stones had fallen from the tops of the hills; and should any descend from so vast a height on us, tho' even small ones, they would without all peradventure be immediate death.
42. A reflexion on the completion of every wish the moment it is formed.
The plain we came into from the defile, was above a mile over to the opposite hills, and a-cross it was a walk of aged oaks, that seemed, in such a place, as the avenue that leads to the
fairy castle of wishes.
If such beings there are, as Dr.
Fowler,
bishop of
Glocester,
hath in one of his books affirmed, then here, I said, in this fine romantic region, where all the charms of the field, the forest, the water, and the mountains, are united, may be their favorite 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 completion of every desire is granted the moment it is formed. Would not this be compleat happiness? what do you say, reflexion?
No, (reflexion answered, as we rid up this avenue.) Imagination may form fine pictures of felicity from an indulgence in every wish; but, so blind are mankind to their own real happiness, that it is oftner to the gratification than to the disappointment of their wishes that all their misery is owing. We often choose what is not consonant to the welfare of our nature, and strive to avoid those incidents which are fated in the order of incontrolable 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 likely to render humanity as perfect as it can be in this world, rational and godlike, and thereby crown our lives with true happiness. Many a man has pursued a Venus, an estate, an honour, with much toil and wonderful activity, and when possessed of the fancyed blessing, have been made very miserable mortals. The wished for beauty has often made even the husband wretched. An aching scar is often covered with the laurel: and in respect of envied great fortunes, gaudy is the thing without, and within very often is mere bitterness. The wisdom is, as to this world, not to get from the fairies a power of enjoying all that fancy may desire, if that was possible; but, to act well and wisely, in the most reasonable, lovely, and fair manner, and propose nothing of ourselves, but
with a reserve
that
supreme wisdom
permits it; welcoming every event with chearfulness 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
reflexion),
in respect of this life, were there no other, is preferable to the
castle of wishes,
if we could find it at the end of this avenue
In the 2d volume of Familiar Letters between the characters in David Simple, the reader will find an excellent story in relation to
wishing,
which the ingenious female writer calls a fragment of a Fairy Tale. p. 225—275: and concludes it in the following sensible manner.—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 compleated; 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.
.
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 religion, which is a living 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 all 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 established seat of happiness above: but such force hath the objects of sense upon the mind, that it is more than probable they would outweigh the distant hopes of religion, if wishing could bring in even a tenth part of what the vanity of man, and his senses would call for. It would be so far from being an advantage to mankind, if they could wish and have vast fortunes, all the pleasures, the pomps and honours of the world, that they would thereby be deprived of the rational joys of life, and be influenced to think no more of the excellency and beauty of religion, and the good consequences of serving God truly. They would not even divide themselves between this world and the other. The
Idol Gods
of this state would have all their service. The
wish
then should be for
daily bread,
and that
the kingdom of God may come—his will be done in our souls.
In these are comprized the greatest and most valuable blessings, 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 tranquillity of mind here, and hopes full of comfort with respect to hereafter, are the ingredients of our happiness; a happiness the greatest! 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 splendor, which lives in contempt of the prophets, and riots in the heinous pleasures of irreligion.
Let our great
Master's Will
be made the rule of all our actions, and let his interest be regarded, as our interest. Let us consult his honour, as our own honour; and having food and raiment, be content, as we are hasting away with a never ceasing pace, to the realms of eternity and unmixed bliss. This is reason and light. This only deserves our care. There is nothing worth wishing for, but the happiness of God's presence in our hearts; and the more immediate communications of his love and favour in the regions of day.
43. A description of a natural grotto in one of the mountains of Stanemore. June 14, 1725.
Thus did
reflexion
entertain me, as I rid up this grand shady walk, which looked like the avenue I had read of in the
Tales
of the
Fairies,
and brought me to a
natural grotto,
more beautiful than
Aelian
's description of
Atalanta's,
or that in
Homer,
where
Calypsos
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 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 carpet green. The beautiful ground refreshed the sight, and purified the air: and to enhance the beauties of the spot, a clear and cold stream gushed from a neighbouring rock; which watered the trees and plants, and seemed to combat with the earth, whether of them most contributed to their growth and preservation. It was a sweet rural scene. For charms and solitude the place was equally to be admired.
The inside of this
grotto
was a beautiful green marble, extremely bright, and even 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 shew the edges only; but more were to be seen at large, and filled with the purest spar. The whole had a fine effect, and as the cave had been divided by art into six fine apartments, and had doors and chimnies most ingeniously contrived, both the mansion and its situation charmed me in a high degree. It was a beautiful habitation indeed. On 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 history of Azora.
The first human being I beheld, was an old woman, who appeared at the grotto door, and I requested her to inform me, who lived in this delightful place;—and which was my best way to Cumberland or Bishoprick? Sir, (replied the good old woman) you are welcome to
Burcott-Lodge.
Women only are the inhabitants of this spot: and over the hills before you, you must go, to get to the countries you mention. We are an hundred souls in all that live here, and our mistress, superior and head, is a young woman. Her name is
Azora.
Yonder she comes, 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 surprize at what I heard. A little female republic among those hills was news indeed: and when I came near
Azora,
my astonishment encreased.
The picture of Azora.
She was attended by ten young women, straight, clean, handsome girls, and surpassed them in tallness. Her countenance was masculine, but not austere: her fine blue eyes discovered an excellence of temper, while they shewed the penetration of her mind. Her hair was brown, bright and charming; and nature had stamped upon her cheeks 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 drest 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 charming, 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 divinité) seriez-vóus insensible au malheur d'un fils, qui —Whoever you are, a mortal or a goddess, tho' sure your aspect speaks you all divine, can you, unmoved, behold a hapless son, by fate expelled, and urged by unrelenting rage, to wander thro' 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 affords: 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 know not; and as I came from
Brugh under Stanemore,
I judged it the shortest way by a great many miles, and the likeliest to succeed in my enquiry 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 entring the first apartment, I saw another lady, drest 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, tho' inferior to
Azora
in charms: but her mind was equally luminous and good. Neither she nor
Azora
were learned women, that is, they understood no other language than 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, philosophy, and mathematicks, they were excellent, and in the most agreeable manner, discovered in conversation the finest conceptions 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 religion, they not only out-talked me, but out-reasoned me. It is very strange, I confess. It is very true, however.
Azora,
in particular, had an amazing collection of the most rational philosophical ideas, and she delivered them in the most pleasing dress, with as much ease 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
uncorrupted 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 unreasonableness of the men who opposed them, and forced them into the field of disputation, from their holy labour of instructing the people in penitential piety and sanctification: I mean the
infidels
and the
bigots.
What can be more unjust and impious,
(Azora
continued) than for men to declame 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
recommunicating
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 candor, then, those infidels are strangers to. They are not fair reasoners. They are haughty, over-bearing declaimers.
Azora's notion of the incomprehensible, and the law of reason.
Nor can I think much better
(Azora
said) 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 therefore,
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 believe 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 writeing and preaching do intend) that it does, on the contrary, very greatly hurt reveled religion. 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 fall upon the true
gospel.
An unintelligible religion is no religion. It can be of no concern, with regard to rational creatures; and strong minds will laugh at its pieties.
Objections.
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 plane, 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 life. 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.
Continuation of Azora's religious notions.
Azora
to this replied, that
faith in Christ,
and all his
own institutions,
were of high value indeed; and beautiful his religion 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 offices
to be
superior
to any
inward
accomplishment, 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 tryal to be able to discover the fundamental 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 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 plane. The
accidental qualities
of
matter,
called
attraction, repulsion,
and
communication of motion,
evince that
material and vegetable nature,
and
all 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 volition,
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 volition, 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 all 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 shew the unlimited 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 confusion would appear instead of beauty and order.
Continuation of Azora's religious notions.
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 any thing 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
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, remember them, etc: and as to
reflection,
the 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 qualities or faculties;— in the designing quality, the inventing quality, the judging quality, the reasoning quality, the compounding quality, the abstracting quality, the discerning quality, the recollective quality, the retentive quality, the freedom of will, the faculty of volition, and especially the foreseeing faculty: these cannot be the faculties of matter. Such qualities 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
intelligent faculties
which we comprehend under the complex idea of
understanding, spirit
only can be the
performer.
Continuation of Azora's religious philosophy.
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 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 qualities which cannot proceed from body, therefore it must still continue a Spirit, unless annihilated by its Creator, and must, after its separation, be endued with the qualities which are the faculties of soul only. The reason is plain. These qualities cannot be destroyed without a cause, but separation is no cause, as the quality or qualities 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.
Continuation of Azora's discourse.
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 which can acquire large moral dominion, and may, if we oppose not, 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 live 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 lights 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 sufficient 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.
Remarks on Azora's discourse.
Azora
's religious notions amazed me, and the more, as they were uttered with a fluency and ease beyond any thing 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 every thing 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 conception 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 every thing is caused and directed by an
immaterial spirit.
An
immaterial spirit
was her favorite article, and it was to me a fine entertainment to hear her on that subject; from the one supreme Spirit down to the spirit of brute animals. — But to conclude our conversation on religion; I observed to
Azora,
that if things were so, and the law of reason was so perfect and sufficient, then I could not see that there was any want at all of the
religion of favor,
since that of
nature
was enough to confirm us in rectitude and holiness, if we would obey its directions; and to shew us the way to the
mansions
of
angels.
Why the
law of grace
at so great an expence — if the
rule of reason
can make us good here, and for ever happy hereafter?
Azora's notion of the usefulness and excellence of christianity.
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 enthusiasm 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.
Azora's discourse on the usefulness of christianity.
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 intelligible manner, and contains the absolute command of the great God, to renounce vicious habits, impure desires, worldly tempers, and frame our souls 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.
Continuation of Azora's discourse.
Beside, as wilful disobedience strikes at the being and government 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 holiness, 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 righteousness, 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.
Continuation of Azora's discourse on the excellence of christianity.
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 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 assistance of the spirit of God.
The
oblation
of the
Son,
and the
grace
of the
Father,
have effects in religion, in
changing
and
sanctifying,
that reason is an utter stranger to.
Conclusion of Azora's discourse on the excellence of thé christian religion.
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 life 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;)
When a plague afflicted the
Massilienses,
they fed a poor man deliciously, and adorned him with sacred vestments; then led him thro' 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 their 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
Gentiles
had their sacrificed poor man, and other ways.
but, by his being the most precious one in the universe, shewed 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 living 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 holiness, 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 any thing 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 take it, to the
law
of
grace
It is given to those who ask it, not for the sake of, but
through Christ.
Objections to Azora's discourse.
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 darkness sat upon these parts of reveled religion, and have often wished for what I have not yet found, a head capable of giving me intire satisfaction on those 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
(Azora
returned) is no more than a plain understanding, that in this still and peaceful region, has been at liberty 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 it; and in the following manner
Azora
proceeded.
Azora's account of Christ being a sin-offering.
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 between 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 confirmed 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 influence on intelligent beings, and excite them to
practise obedience
to all the commands of God, and perfect resignation to his will in every case; which are some excellent reasons for Christ's dying; 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 anew 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 religion — not my will, but thine be done:
the glorious gospel is thereby confirmed: and our
redemption
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 divine commands; entered this covenant in his book, offered sacrifices of praise and friendship, and then confirmed the covenant 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 pillars, which represented the twelve tribes, and then awfully cried out with a strong voice —
Behold the blood of the covenant Jehovah 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 judgments 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
will 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 delighted 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 demonstrated 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, thro' 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 come to do thy will, O my God,
the Son declares: and the
Blood
he
shed,
the better to bring the human race to wisdom, rectitude and happiness, is appointed by our merciful, good, and gracious Father, to be the seal and ratifcation of a new covenant.
Moloch
might want a 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
Jehovah
and the
people,
that
Jesus
should be considered as
a propitiation for our sins,
and his
death
be an
eternal memorial
of the Almighty's love, and abhorrence of iniquity. There can no objection lie 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 light.
Azora's account of grace.
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 influencing 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, tho' not in so illustrious a manner, still necessary to enable us to perform the conditions of the
gospel.
Tho' 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 consider its promises, threatenings, and rules: but the way this supernatural 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 ourselves 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 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 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 gift
— A gift surmounting our apprehensions as well as it does our merit. The theory of it may be perhaps too excellent for us, and our part 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 freewill, or lessening our own moral agency. That power may extinguish an imagination we strive to get rid of: may remove an impediment 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 powers and dispositions, as will carry them innocently and safely thro' the trial of this first state. On such conditions, God, the Father of spirits, the friend of men, the patron of righteousness and all virtue, will, without all peradventure, distribute his grace to every mortal in proportion to the measures of necessary duty.
A reflection on Azora's discourse.
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 delivery, or the least hesitation for hours, as she could, if she pleased, so long discourse; 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,
Gladuse, the old woman, conducts me to a bed in her cottage.
that if I would follow
Gladuse,
she would light me to bed. 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 shewed 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 believe there are few living 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 twentyfour hours after reading or discoursing. Upon this account, I can say, that I lost very little of all that
Azora
was pleased to let me hear; or, of the discourses I had with her ingenious companion,
Antonia Fletcher.
The gardens of Burcot Lodge.
When I had done writing, I went out to wait upon the ladies, and found them in their fine gardens, busily employed in the useful and innocent diversion which the cultivation of some of the greatest beauties of the creation affords. They had every kind of fruit tree in their ground, every plant and flower that grows, and such a variety of exotic rarities from the hotter climates, as engaged my admiration, and finely entertained me for many an hour, during my stay in this place. They both understood gardening 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 executed. I was astonished and delighted 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 every thing 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 was
near nature,
and beautiful in
grass, gravel,
and variety of
evergreens,
I was led with delight thro' the whole, till I came into the green-house. There I saw
Azora
and
Antonia
at work, and paid them the compliments they deserved.
A further account of Azora.
Immediately after my arrival, breakfast was brought in there, chocolate and toasts, and the ladies were extremely pleasant over it. They asked 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, colliflowers, melons, asparagus, early cabbages, strawberries, rasberries, currants, goosberries, apples, pears, plums, cherries, apricots, etc, and especially, her propagation of mushrooms, champignons, and buttons; this, exclusive of
exotics
and flowers, would make I believe 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.
Azora's fish-pond.
But at last we came to a fish-pond, that was an acre of
water,
and I assure you, reader, that 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 on these subjects in his excellent discourse, printed in 1713; but, mentioned many useful things relative to them, which Mr.
North
was a stranger to. She told me, among other matters, that there was only
pike
and
perch
in her pond, and that the reason of it was, because she loved
pike
above all fish, and as the
jacks
were
fish
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 that 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 neighbouring fen; for of them the
jacks
are most fond. This made the fish extraordinary: and as the water was
current
thro' the pond, and the bottom of
various depths
from one foot, and two feet, 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 (
Azora
continued) 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.
An account of the public worship at Burcot-Lodge.
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 immediately 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:
Morning prayer.
O Christ, our blessed mediator, pray for us that our faith fail not, and thro' 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 a morning sacrifice.
Almighty and everlasting God, thou pure and infinite Spirit, who art the great cause and author of nature, and hast established 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 favor which we have experienced; that we have the use of our reason and understanding, 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 all the necessaries, conveniencies, and comforts, which thy liberal hand hast provided for us, to sweeten human life, 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 glorious and innumerable heavenly host, honour, power, and thanksgiving 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 goodness for so loving the world, as to give thy only begotten Son, to the end, that all who believe in him, should not perish, but have everlasting life; for his humbling 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 Almighty! 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 confess their faults, and restore them that are penitent. We do earnestly repent, and are heartily sorry for all our misdoings. Thro' faith we offer up the Lamb that was slain to the eternal God for the redemption of our souls; believing the worthiness 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 thro' 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 interest of our souls in eternity: that we may shake off this vain world, and breathe after immortality and glory: that we may live in perfect reconciliation with the law of everlasting 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. Relieve and ease our consciences, O blessed God, 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 misfotune 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 every thing 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 contentment and tranquillity.
And when the time of our dissolution cometh, 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 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 immediately 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 any thing 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; concludeing 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 was, 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.
Evening prayer at Burcot Lodge.
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 thro' faith we offer up to thee the Lamb that was slain for the redemption of our souls; believing the worthiness of our Lord Jesus 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.
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 intirely and willingly forgive all, who have, in any instance or in any degree, offended, or injured us, and are truly disposed and ready to make all possible 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 favor. Hear in heaven, thy dwelling 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 partakers of that salvation which thou hast appointed in Christ 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, but 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 transformed by the working of thy grace and spirit into the image of thy Son. Conform us to his likeness, 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 every thing terrible and hurtful. Take us under thy protection the remaining part of this day, and grant us a night of peace, thro' 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 acknowledge
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 princiciple of divine life, under the influence of the gospel, be translated to that eternal world, where God dwells, where Christ lives, 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 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 unblameable. 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 lives shew 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 mayest 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, thro' Jesus Christ our Lord.
A THANKSGIVING.
O God, the author of all good, and fountain of all happiness, 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 conveniencies 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 chearful obedience to thy holy laws.
But especially we offer up the acknowledgements 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 conduct 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 regards 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 obedience, both now, and for ever.
Almighty and everlasting God, who hast promised to hear 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 relief 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 as 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 all 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 Lord Jesus Christ.
A reflection on the religion and piety of the inhabitants of Burcot-Hamlet.
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 like 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, like 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 affections. So much beautiful religion 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.
Continuation of the history of Azora.
Azora Burcot
was the daughter of a gentleman who was one possessed of a very great fortune, but by a fatal passion for the
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 ductility 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, antient art, called
chimistry,
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 spagyrists, 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 labor and operation. The colour of it was a pale brimstone and transparent, and the size that of a small walnut. He affirmed that he had seen a little 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
Alchimy.
Heaps of money he wasted in
operations
of the most noble
elixir
by
mineral
and
salt;
but the
stone
after all he could not find: and then, by the
adept
's advice, he proceeded in a second method, by
maturation,
to subtilize, purify, and digest quicksilver, and thereby convert it into gold
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 proportion to the expence 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, tho' 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 reflexion, that they have been within some minutes of success, when crack! all is gone and vanished on a sudden, and they have nothing before them but
cinders
and
broken crucibles.
It is very strange then, that a man of Dr.
Dickenson
's great veracity and skill in chimistry, should affirm the thing was actually done in his presence by an
adept.
(Epistola ad mundanum de quintessentia philosophorum, etc. Oxon. 1686.) and the more so, as his friend, the great Mr.
Boyle,
told him the thing was an impossibility.
Dickenson
's words are, Nec potui sane quantacunque mihi fuerit opinio de ista re, quin aliquoties animi penderem donec illustris ea demonstratio quam vestra excellentia, biennio jam elapso, coram exhibuit, omnem ansam dubitandi mihi praecidisset—Placuit dominationi vestrae claro experimento ante oculos facto animum meum ad opus accendere etiam quaestionum mearum solutiones (quantum licerat) promittere. — 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
fire, camphire, salt, labour
and
patience:
but
judicial astrology
is no science. It is a mere farce. I must conclude then, that the hands of
Mundanus
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 credulous; — and what
Mundanus
told
Dickinson
of
Sir George Ripley,
canon of
Bridlington,
in Yorkshire, in the reign of Edward the Fourth, and of
Raymund Lully,
was mere innovation. 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
cruisade.
This piece of secret history he assures us he found in an antient manuscript of indisputable authority,
quod inculpatae fidei registris innoteseit:
A M. S. that no one ever saw except
Mundanus. Penes me
indeed. It was to be 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 compound of alchymie contryning twelve gates.
He inscribed the manuscript to
Edward
IV. but the editor of it dedicated it to Q.
Elizabeth,
and says, it contained the right method of making the
philosopher's stone
and
aurum potabile. Lully
was a very learned man for the latter end of the 13th century, and writ several books in Latin; —
Generales artium libri. — Libri logicales, philesophici et metaphisici. — Variarum artium libri. — Libri spirituales praedicabiles
— and the
vade mecum Lulli;
which is a Latin piece on the philosophers stone.
As to the
aurum potabile
mentioned by
Ripley,
which then and long after was 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,
by the
spicula
of
aqua regia,
and these minims thrown into oil of rosemary where they 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 16 ounces of another liquor, and we have
aurum potabile;
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 philosophers stone. The
adepts
however affirm it, and assure us, that
Moses
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 years before
Homer:
200 before
Sanchoniatho;
and 350 before the
Trojan
war, was, as they inform us, an
adept.
This likewise wise came to nothing, and instead of the gold he expected, he had only heaps of
Mercury
fixed with
verdegrease,
(which gives 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 what Dr.
Dickenson
calls them
Enigmatistinubivagi.
Chymistry, reader, is a fine and antient art. The analysing of sensible bodies by fire, to discover their real powers and virtues, is highly praise-worthy, 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
hermetical banquet, Glauber's golden ass,
or the
philosopher's magical gold.
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 lies 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 live as he had done, he laid his melancholy case before his daughter
Azora,
and asked her advice, What he should do? To retire immediately,
(Azora
said) 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 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 tradesmen 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,
(Azora
told her father) we shall live 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 life can require, and live secured from the strokes of fortune, and the world's contempt. Strangers to vanity and the pleasures of high life, in this delightful retreat, we shall pass our happy days as in a region of goodness, knowledge, and joy; and 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 established here, and every thing was settled and ordered in the most advantageous manner. Cattle, instruments, and grain to sow the land were sent in; cloaths and every material the little 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 tranquillity, 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 two first 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 little republic: several women likewise perished; but a hundred souls remained. Ninety-eight women, besides
Antonia
and
Azora.
These loved me too well
(Azora
continued) to abandon me; and as they were happily situated, and many of them had learned their husband's trades, they agreed and swore to spend their lives 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 mortal. We have the best of every thing: all we want, and in reason could wish for.
A farther account of Azora
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 every thing serviceable and ingenious; and she lived before their eyes an example of the greatest industry, and the most exalted piety. They, on the other hand, were as useful 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 disoblige: no intention to offend: but, every one, discreet and calm; good-humoured, and very civil; worthily sustaining their various relations, and each attentive to her own incumbent duty. Their labours were but a diversion to them, and they lived in tranquillity and plenty. Their cloathing 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 chearful service. Most of the conveniences and comforts of life they had within their own little 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 rid 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 little things they fansied.
Ten extraordinary country girls.
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 republic, 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 musick, and the elements of the mathematicks from the ladies. The eldest of these girls was but twenty, and the youngest eighteen, and they all surprized 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 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 ⅔ of it with 4 over, amounted to the same as 7/12 of it with 9 over? She immediately translated the question from common language into algebra 2
x
/3 + 4 = 7
x
/12 + 9: and quickly discovered the unknown quantity
x
to be
x
=60: Then she took it in sinthetically, ⅔ of 60 = 40 + 4 = 44: 7/12 of 60 = 35 + 9 = 44. —
(Sinthetically
is tracing property from number: —
Analetically
is tracing number from property.) This made me wonder very greatly. I asked another of them, if she bought 20 loaves for 16 pence, all of them two-penny, penny, and farthing ones — how many would she have of each? She answered 5 two-penny loaves, 3 penny ones, and 12 farthing loaves; for the equations were
x
+
y
+
z
= 20 and 8
x
+ 4
y
=
z
= 64. From whence by subtraction, 7
x
+ 3
y
= 44, and of consequence, y = 44 − 7
x
/3 = 14 − 2
x
+ 2 − x / 3;
I asked a third, how many ways she could pay 20 l. in pistoles, guineas, and moidores, at 17 s. 21 s, and 27 s. the pistole, the guinea, and the moidore? — She replied in a very little time, 9 ways, to wit, 11 pistoles, 5 guineas, and 4 moidores — 8 pistoles, 1 guinea, 9 moidores— 8 pistoles, 10 guineas, 2 moidores — 17 pistoles, 4 guineas, 1 moidore — 2 pistoles, 2 guineas, 12 moidores — 2 pistoles, 11 guineas, 5 moidores — 5 pistoles, 6 guineas, 7 moidores — 5, 15, 0 — and 14 pistoles, 0 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 a-piece 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
my pistoles, and 21
x
+ 17
y
= 2000, of consequence, x = 2000 − 17
y
/21 = 95 + 5 − 17
y
/21; etc. and quickly discovered, that the first man should have 92 guineas and 4 pistoles: — the second man, 75 guineas and 25 pistoles: — the third, 58 guineas, 46 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 l. in 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 100 l. 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 had 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; tho' I had studied it for a much longer time, and had taken more pains than ever they did. Their fine understandings saw at once the things that had 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 any thing 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 abstruse 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.
An observation relative to the understanding of women.
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 qualities are denoted by letters, but in other fine parts of learning. I have little right to pretend to any thing extraordinary in understanding, as my genius is slow, and such as is common in the lower classes of men of letters; yet, my application 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
Maclaurin, Saunderson,
and
Simpson.
The criticks may laugh at this assertion, 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 notwithstanding. Facts are things too stubborn to be destroyed by laughing and doubting.
As to the ladies I have mentioned, they both did wonders in
specious arithmetick;
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 questions 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 lines. 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 communicating every felicity in her power, to their bodies and minds; and the pure religion of Christ Jesus, which she publickly maintained, in all the beauty of holiness, and in a just fervor 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 usefulness and devotion, seemed an epitome of the first christian church at Jerusalem. Under a just impression of the most heavenly principles they all lived, 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 religion 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 every where present with us; and like the ministers attending on the glorious throne of the Monarch of the world, they would, according to their 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 every thing recommended by the great and universal law of reason, (that law which God sent our Lord 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 the year thirty two, six years after I left them, but
Antonia Fletcher
is still 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 having 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 intend 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 youths 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 encouragement in profitable gardens and houses, grain 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 felicity. In this condition I found them on my second arrival at
Burcot-Hamlet.
They were a flourishing village, and a most happy people. My second visit was fourteen years after the first; and I saw them a third time in the year fifty two. They were then all well, and enjoyed every comfort of life that can proceed from good and useful manners. Mrs.
Fletcher,
tho' 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 with 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 is 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
Richmondshire,
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 tho' not so pretty and happy as
Burcot
in the northern end of the
fells
of
Westmorland;
yet in tolerable condition, and remarkable on account of several things and people; tho' they live intirely on what their spot affords, and have little communication with their countrymen beyond the mountains that separate the inhabitants of
Stanemore
from the rest of England. I took notice, in particular, that altho' 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 any thing incredible in my account of the extraordinary state of
Burcot-Hamlet.
As to the
Stanemore-part
of
Richmondshire, Camden,
and the
authors
of the other
Britannia,
and the
Tourmen,
etc. never so much as saw this country at a diance, I 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 solitary, 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:
This inn
Camden
speaks of, is the
Bell
I mentioned before, where I breakfasted with Miss
Melmoth;
and lies on the left side of a fine turnpike road from
Bows
to
Brugh,
in
Westmorland,
the
high-way
to
Carlisle:
but tho' this road is a part of
Stanemore,
running in a direct line from
Gretabridge
through
Bows
to
Brugh,
18 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 12 miles, from a beautiful ruin of a
roman castle
at the end of the town
By the way, I suspect from Mr.
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;
I mean Mr.
Cay,
who published the late map of
Northumberland,
which Mr.
Horsley
employed him to make. He does not describe the fort and situation, and the adjacent country, as if he had been there himself: nor can I think he ever rid from this
castle
to
Brugh
or
Burgh
under
Stanemore,
or from
Brugh,
the roman
Verterae,
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. I question, likewise, if he ever saw with his own eyes, the eastern and western terminations of the
roman wall.
If he was at
Newcastle,
and really did ride over
Lonsdale marsh
to
Tunnocelum,
(a marsh where I had like to have lost my life), it is surprizing that a man of his understanding, 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
Stanemore.
yet, this is but the southern beginning of
Stanemore:
That vast tract of mountains, glins, and vallies, forest, rock, and water, the most wonderful land in the world, for 40 miles to the end of the country, if it was possible to go straight on, lies on the right hand of this road, as you ride to
Brugh
under
Stanemore;
or, on your left, as you come from
Westmorland
to
Catarracton
or
Catarriek.
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 22 miles, if you come from
Boroughbridge
to go the
north;
or of 15 miles, if from
Gretabridge,
for the
south;
provided you have the
rem;
and if you have not, tho' 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 expensive 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 high-way-men 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 a-head of them for several miles, while, as fast as they could stretch away, they chased me till near the town of
Brugh.
I was all alone, my fellow having received a mischief, and being obliged to stay a day behind; and the rogues did swear and hoot most horribly, and fired three shots at me; but my horse was as good as ever spanked 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 you are. In this manner I did, when I was at
Richmond
last, in the north-riding of Yorkshire: Being in want of money, I asked a gentleman with whom I chanced to dine, how I could supply myself with 20 l. by draft on one in the capital; and he directed me to his neighbour, 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 in this way: and so, in other places of trade.
I hope, reader, you will excuse this little digression, because it is meant well; and for the same reason, I imagine you will pardon me for advising you, in the next place, (should the fates ever bring you to
Catarractonium,
in order to proceed to the northern extremity of our country), to go 4 miles out of your way to see
Richmond
town, before you set out for
Gretabridge,
to
Joseph Marshall
's, the best house of the two inns there. The delightful, romantic situation of
Richmond,
and the fine curiosities about the town, will afford you an agreeable entertainment for a couple of days; and if you like going at night to a club of very worthy, sensible men of this town, who are very civil to strangers, you may pass the evening in a very pleasing way; or if you have a taste for dancing, and prefer the conversation of a fine girl to a pipe and more serious discourse, there is a small polite assembly of as pretty women as ever gladdened the heart of man. My method, while there, was to smoak one night with the club; and the next I devoted to the ladies. We made up ten couple, and had the
hemp-dressers
one night, which is, you know, if you are a dancing reader, the most difficult, and laborious of all the country dances; and no where have I seen the ground more actively beat, or, in juster measure. Life and truth and charms were in perfection in those
Richmond
girls. I was there in 29, 37, and 53, and the sensible club, and bright assembly, were still in being; but no more than three did I see, of men or women, in 37, that was there in 29; and in 52, they were all strangers to me. Some were married away; some had removed; and others were translated to the shades of eternity. This was to me a moral lesson. When I looked round the assembly room the last time I was there, and found every glorious girl of my acquaintance was gone, and that years had rendered me almost unfit to join with the ladies then present, in the dancings of the night, a philosophical sadness came powerfully upon my mind, and I could not help sighing in the midst of harmony, and a blaze of charms. This life, I saw was a fleeting scene indeed.
And now, reader, as to
Stanemore-country,
if it should ever come into your head, to wander over this wild and romantic part of our world, at the hazard of your neck, and the danger of being starved, your
route
is, when you have passed the
turnpike
on Stanemore, in your way to
Brugh,
to turn off to the right, beyond the public-house, and ascend a fine rising valley you will see between two mountains, till you come to the top of the first hills: then proceed, if you can, in the course I have described, and wherever it is in your power, tend to the north east, for that is the way out. This is one way into the heart of
Stanemore
in
Richmondshire,
and will bring you, by the way, among the dreadful northern fells of
Westmorland;
a frightful country, and a fatiguing march.
Another way to the
Stanemore Alps,
is behind
Jack Railton
's, the quaker's house at
Bows.
Hire a guide from him, and his man will bring you as he did me once through a very surprizing way of deep bottoms to a public house at
Eggleston,
on the border of
Richmond-Stanemore.
There rest that night, and early the next morning, proceed due north, when you can, with another guide, and you will come to mountains upon mountains, rapid rivers, and headlong torrents, that form amazing and tremendous scenes. Or, as this way is neither comfortable, nor very safe, it is a better road to the confines, or beginning of
Stanemore,
to ride from
Gretabridge
to
Bernard Castle,
and from
Bernard Castle
to
Eggleston,
about 16 miles, as I judge, for it is not measured, and then set out for the mountains from
Eggleston,
as before directed.—I have been told there is another way into
Stanemore,
through
Bishoprick;
but as I am a stranger to it, I can only say what I have heard, that it is worse than the bottoms I went through from the quaker's house. This is enough, reader, to shew you how to get into
Stanemore,
if you have the curiosity and heart to visit that very wild and wonderful land.
.
45. July 19, 1726. We depart from Burcot-Hamlet, and arrive at a burning valley.
The 18th of June, 1725, I took my leave of Mrs.
Burcot
and Mrs.
Fletcher,
(for so they would be called, as they informed me, after I had once used the word
Miss),
and from this fine place, proceeded on my journey, by a paper of written directions had received from them; as there was a pretty good, tho' 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 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 rid due east for half an hour, and then descended to a sandy valley, where flames were rising from the ground. The fire came up without noise, smoak, or smell, and appeared to me very wonderful: but such things are common in many parts of the world. In the side of one of the
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 vallies, causes it to burn. This crop of bitumen, and accension by the agitation of a 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 Mr.
Moyle
does of the
Aurora Borealis;
—that these uncommon appearances should be looked on with wonder and admiration, and raise in us a due reverence of their great Author, who has shewn his Almighty power and wisdom in forming such an infinite variety of productions in all parts of the universe. Philosophy undertakes to account for every thing. I am sure it is in many cases mistaken.
29. An account of a waterfall at Stanemore.
Having passed the burning valley, we rid over a river, that was up to the horses bellies, very rapid, and a bad bottom, and then proceeded along a steep hill side, the course N. W. till we came to a rich low land, that was covered with flowers and aromatic shrubs, and adorned with several clumps of oak, chesnut, and white walnut trees. This plain is about twenty five acres, surrounded with stony mountains, some of which are very high and steep, and from the top of one of the lowest of them, a cataract descends, like the fall of the river
Niagara
in
Canada,
or
New France,
in
North America.
Swifter than an arrow from a bow the rapid water comes headlong down in a fall of 140 feet, which is 3 feet more than the descent of
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 perpendicular in as surprizing a manner, from as horrible a precipice; and in this very nearly resembles the
Niagara-Fall;
that as you stand below, as near the fall as it is safe to go, you see the river come down a sloping 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.
30. July 19, 1726. A dinner by a cataract, and a wonderful fall of O Fin the boy.
It was 12 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 water-fall, and was going to land from a tree that grew out of the rocky mountain, near the summit of the hill, when his foot slipt, and he came tumbling down in a miserable way. I expected him in pieces on the ground, as I had him full in my view. There seemed no possibility of an escape: and yet he received no harm. In the middle of the descent, he stuck in another projecting thick tree, and from it came safely down. This was a deliverance. Providence often saves us in a wonderful manner, 'till the work appointed to be finished is done, or the limited time of our trial over. In relation to such escapes, I could give myself as an instance many a time, and will here mention one extraordinary case.
31. A great deliverance.
As I travelled once in the county of
Kerry
in
Ireland,
with the
White Knight,
and the
Knight of the Glin
Such
knights
were honourable creations made by the
Irish kings.
We have an account of them in the
psalter of Tarah,
before the reigns of
Conaire
the
Great,
A. M. 3970, ante
Christum
34;
Cormac Ulfadda,
A. D. 230; and the glorious
Brien Boiromhe,
A. D. 1027; the three greatest monarchs that ever
Ireland
had:
Fitzgerald,
the first
knight of Glin,
was so made by the immortal
Brien Boiroimhe,
who fell in the bloody fight, A. D. 1239, that was sought by him with
Maolmorda king
of
Lcimsier,
who joined with the
Danes.
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
Roderick o Connor,
who came to the crown, A. D. 1108. was the
last king
of
Ireland.
Our
Henry the Second,
got the kingdom 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 nobility had by commission resigned it to him, after 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
psalter of Tarah,
who were fair beyond all mortals that ever lived, and wonderful in the extent of their knowledge; to wit,
The princess
Mac Diarmuid.
The princess
Mac Reagien.
The princess
Mac Faolain.
The princess
Mac Kennedy.
The princess
O Heyn.
The princess
O Flaherty.
These six were
Druidesses,
says the
psalter of Tarah.
By the way, reader, let me tell you, that from this same
psalter of Tarah,
I writ out one of the finest and most improving
love stories
that ever I read. It is called
the adventure of Teriagh Mac Shain and the beautiful Gara O Mulduin; which happened in the reign of Cormac Ulfada, king of Ireland, in the year of salvation
213,
that Faon Maccumhail, commonly called Fian Maccul, the mighty champion, beat the Picts, and brought off among other prisoners, the beautiful Ciarnuit, (daughter to the king of the Picts) whom Cormac Ulfada took for his concubine.
This story is likewise more shortly told in the
red book 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.
. We called at
Terelah O Crohanes,
an old Irish gentleman, our common friend, who kept up the hospitality of his ancestors, and shewed how they lived, when
Cormac Mac Cuillenan,
the
Generous,
(from whose house he descended) was king of
Munster
and
Archbishop
of
Cashel,
in the year 913
This
Cormac Cuillenan
writ the famous
psalter
of
Cashel,
a very extraordinary and valuable book, which he composed from antient poems of the bards, who thus writ their history, and from venerable records, as this king and prelate declares in his will. The clause is this —
My psalter, which preserves the antient 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
writ his will the day before he fought the bloody battle of
Maghailbe
with the king of
Leinster,
and therein fell. 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;
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, etc. —
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, etc. —
My golden vestment for most sacred use,
And my royal wardrobe I hereby give
To etc. —
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 was therefore called the king of Ireland, was always a potent prince, and could do great matters, when they were all united. This consideration, I fansy, (and the
address
let me add of
Anselm,
archbishop of Canterbury, and of Lanfranc, archbishop of the same see, to
Mortogh O Brien
king of
Ireland,
and
Terlah O Brien
king of
Ireland, Moriardacho Glorioso
and
Teraeluacho Magnifico,
To the
most magnificent Terlagh O Brien, king of Ireland,
our benediction, etc. as you may read them at large in
Usher's Primordia
These letters were written by the English archbishops to the Irish kings,
Turlogh
and
Murtogh,
in the years 1098 and 1110.
) ought to give some credit to
O Fluherty's Ogygia, Keating's History,
and
Mac Curtius' Annals;
which those writers really took from very antient records, and principally from the very valuable manuscripts, called the
psalters
of
Cashel
and
Tarah.
What the
psalter
of
Cashel
was I have told you, reader; and as to the
psalter
of
Tarah,
the history of it is this. — On a tract of land called
Tarah,
that was taken from the province of
Leimster,
and added to the county of
Meath,
stood the largest of the four vast palaces of the kings 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 antient 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.
There was no end of eating and drinking there, and the famous
Downe Falvey
played on the harp. For a day and a night we sat to it by candle-light, without shirts or cloaths 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 little air, I leaped my horse into a dreadful quarry, and in the descent was thrown into a large deep water that was in a part of the frightful bottom, and by that means saved my life. When I came above water, I swam very easily out of the pit, and walked up the low side of the quarry as sober as if I had not drank a glass. This is a fact, whatever the critics may say of the thing. All I can say to it is, my hour was not come.
49. 1725. June 11. The journey continued.
Having dined, and shot a
bustard
that weighed forty pounds, I went on again, the course north-west for half a mile, and then, to my astonishment, it trended to the south for more than an hour; which was going back again: but at last it turned about, and for half an hour, we went to the northwest 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 alight at many of them, and walk them up and down, which was a delay of many hours: but we did it at last, and came into a large sandy opening, that had a number of rapid streams breaking over it, that fell from the mountains, and with the forest on the surrounding hills, formed a very wild and pleasing scene. Over this we went for half a mile, and then came to a long glin, so very deep and narrow, that it was quite night when we got to the bottom of it, tho' the sun was not yet down; and it brought to my remembrance
Anchises
's son, the wandering prince of
Troy,
when he descended to the shades below. It had the appearance indeed of some such pass, and was a frightful way, as hills, like
Caucasus
and
Atlas,
were close on either hand of us, and a river roared thro' the bottom of the steep descent; which we were obliged to walk down on foot. This could not be the right road I was certain.
Azora
and
Antonia
could never pass this deep and rapid flood. It was too much for any man to venture into, without knowing where the torrent went, or how the channel of the river was form'd.
Up then I came again to the day, and 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 shoars: but how to proceed the next morning I knew not. As my paper of directions did not mention the dark steep descent we had been down, but a little valley that lay due east, through which we were to go: no such vale could we see, and of consequence, in some turning of the road, we had gone wrong.
When I came among the trees, on the side of one of the mountains, I began to look for some convenient resting place, while my two boys were picking the bustard, and preparing a fire to roast it for supper, and wandered a good way till I saw a pretty hermitage in an open plain like a ring, and going up to it, found the skeleton of a man. He lay on a couch in an inward room without any covering, and the bones were as clean and white as if they had come from the surgeons hands. The pismires to be sure had eaten off the flesh. Who the man was, a paper lying on the table in a strong box informed me. It was called the case of
John Orton.
50. The CASE of JOHN ORTON.
I was twenty years old when
Charles the Second
was restored, and being master of large fortunes, and educated in an aversion to puritans and republican principles, went into all the licentiousness 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 wickedness, as to perform the part of the priest in our infernal sodality, and after using the words of consecration over the elements, 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 lived the most execrable slave to the vilest inclinations, 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 diabolical 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; maliciously 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 torments 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
panick fear
that harrowed my soul under a lively sense of eternal vengeance, for the crying enormities and impurities of my life. All my crimson crimes were held as in a mirror before me; the most diabolical 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; and the women I had ruined, not only in this life, but perhaps, for evermore; the miseries I had brought upon families, and the manifold afflictions I had been the author of for years after years, by night and by day;—all these offences I saw like the hand-writing on the wall, and in a horror and consternation of mind, 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 half an hour's rest, and in that slumber imagined, I heard a small voice say,—
As I live, 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. Rent 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 lift 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 all 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 offer 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 sanctifying spirit, bid a final adieu to all ungodliness and iniquity; and consecrate myself intirely to thee, to serve thee with humility, love and devotion, and for the remainder of my life, 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 cryings, 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 life made it necessary that I should live 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 life. I ought to breathe in sighs, and speak in groans. I resolved then to be a
reform
indeed, and in this part of
Stanemore
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 cloaths and linnen, a few books, and other little matters, retired to this spot in the year 1681. 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 convenient as my intended life could require. All this was soon done, and then I was left alone; in the possession of every thing I had a wish for in this world. It is now twenty years since my arrival here, and in all 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 goats milk, and now and then a sea-biscuit; my drink being water, and sometimes a cup of meath of my own making.
When I am weary of working, I sit down to study my
Bible,
and in that most perfect treasure of saving knowledge, I find such joys and satisfactions 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 will be a blessed hour. By the 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!
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, an 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 the 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 the beloved of the Father, and be reinstated in the favor 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 live 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 affrighted 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 everlastingly determined; then will you be placed in that division which will call 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 splendor into the mansions of glory, to live the happy favourites 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 off to the
regions of blackness and darkness for ever,
are inexpressible. 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 your 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 rewards and happiness of heaven, tho' your conduct may be far from meriting the most dreadful inflictions in another world. The
gains of unrighteousness,
or
medling with any forbidden fruit,
is a violation of the laws of God that must ruin you for ever; tho' the punishment for so doing cannot be equal to the torments prepared for the tyrant 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 will, 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
1, 1701.
51. A reflexion on the bones of John Orton.
This extraordinary paper surprized me very greatly, and when from reading it, I turned my eyes to the
bones
of
John Orton,
I could not help breaking out in the following reflection — And is this the once lively, gallant, drinking
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!
Poor skeleton,
what a miserable spectacle art thou! Not the least remain of activity and joy, of that sprightliness and levity of mind, that jocund humour and frolic, which rendered thee the delight of the wild societies of thy youthful time: Grim, stiff, and horrid, is the appearance now: vain mirth and luxury, licentious plays and sports, can have no connection with these dry bones.
O Death,
what a change dost thou make! The bulk of mankind are averse to serious thought, and hearken to the passions more than to the dictates of reason and religion: To kill time, and banish reflection, they 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 follies and trifles: giddy and unthinking, loose and voluptuous, they spend their precious hours in the gay scenes of diversions, pomp and luxury; and as if the grave and a judgment to come, were a romance of former times, or things from which they are secured, never think of these important and momentous subjects: with minds bewitched by exorbitant 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: bu at last, you appear, and in a moment turn delight and admiration, into aversion and horror: strength, wealth, and charms, you instantly reduce to weakness, poverty, and deformity, in the first place; and then, to a skeleton, like the bones before me.
Nor is this the worst of the great 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 ball: as they come near the black valley, they see the realities 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 lies the frame, like the
dry bones
before me; but, the soul is gone to the sessions of righteousness; and perhaps, the dreadful sentence of the divine justice is pronounced on it. This is a tremendous affair, that calls for timely and serious consideration.
Eternity! Eternal misery! They that have done evil, to come forth unto the resurrection of damnation!
I will take thy advice then, thou
glorious penitent, John Orton;
and since it is in my power to come forth unto the resurrection of life, and obtain
immortality, honour,
and
glory,
with the
righteous,
in the
kingdom of their father,
I will open the
reforming gospel
night and morning, and by its heavenly directions 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 — this is the thing to be minded. The brightest scenes of worldly prosperity, and grandeur, are contemptible, when they do not accord with virtue and piety. Death, in a few years, blends the prince and the meanest subject, the conqueror and the slave, the statesman, the warrior, and the most insignificant, in one promiscuous ruin; and the schemes, the 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 will love thee therefore, O Lord, my strength; yea, I will love thee: and it ever shall be my heart's desire, that my soul may behold by faith in its self, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, able and ready to change it into the same image from glory to glory, reflected upon, and conveyed to it by the Spirit of the Lord. May my portion here be this blessed transforming union, that I may be made partaker of the divine nature, by impressions from it
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 soul by the
present Deity;
as he sits
all power, all knowledge,
in the
heart,
and dispenses such rays of wisdom to the pious petitioner, as are sufficient to procure a lasting sense of spiritual heavenly things. God is not only in heaven. He dwelleth indeed in the heaven of heavens after the most glorious manner, as the High and Lofty One, and by some splendid appearance, manifests a presence to the senses of the blessed spirits
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 his essence, which exhibits a
bodily
and
sensible vision
of God.
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
majcstatic
presence is the discovery of his
essential
presence in a determinate place by a
magnificent luminous appearance;
and this the apostle calls the
excellent glory — megaloprepous doxes.
This glory appeared on Mount Sinai six days together. It rested and dwelt in the 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
spirituality
and
incorruption, 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.
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 ravishing and transcendent delight, than all the objects in nature are capable of producing?
There are two ways then, (as an excellent one 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,
theias koinonoi phuseos, partakers of the divine nature.
As we are more obliged, (says the writer I have mentioned) to the
sun
(who is the cheer and vigor of nature, and the very life of all animal and vegetable beings), for his influences than for his sight: — so are the heavenly inhabitants much more obliged to God for their receptions from him as the sountain 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 third way of seeing God, to wit, in the
enjoyment of him;
the
beamings of his favor,
and the
effusions of his love,
passing thro' the whole man, and producing an intimate sensation of him both in body and soul, and filling both with an unconceivable and endless delectation. This is seeing God as he is.
; but as he is an
infinite Spirit, diffused thro' all things, filling as well as containing them, seeing and knowing all even the most secret things;
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 e're 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 altho' he is above all, yet he is
through all,
and
in us
all; within us, as well as without us; and therefore, in the hearts of the faithful, he must be considered, as an
immense, 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.
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.
52. A meditation in a closet.
Such was the
soliloquy
I spoke, as I gazed on the
skeleton
of
John Orton;
and just as I had ended, the boys brought in the wild turkey, which they had very ingeniously roasted, and with some of Mrs.
Burcot
's fine ale and bread, I had an excellent supper. The bones of the
penitent Orton
I removed to a hole I had ordered my lad to dig for them; the skull excepted, which I kept, and still keep on my table, for a
memento mori;
and that I may never forget the good lesson, which the percipient who once 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 smoak a philosophic pipe, with my eyes fastened on it, I learn more from the
solemn object,
than I could from the most philosophical and laboured speculations. What a wild and hot head once: how cold and still now; poor skull, I say: and what was the end of all thy daring frolics and gambols — thy licentiousness and impiety? — A severe and bitter repentance. In
piety
and
goodness John Orton
found at last that happiness the world could not give him. There is no real felicity for man, but in reforming all his errors and vices, and entring upon a strict and constant course of virtue. This only makes life comfortable; renders death serene and peaceful; and secures eternal joy and blessedness hereafter. Such are the lessons I extract from the
skull
of
John Orton.
53. An inventory of the goods of John Orton.
When I had supped, I went about, to see what things Mr.
Orton
had left behind him in his little cottage, and I found a field bed-stead large enough for two, with a mattrass, 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 cloaths and linnen, 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
English
bible,
Thomas a Kempis,
and Sir
Walter Raleigh
's history of the world: under the shelf hung a plain gold watch, and a large ring sun-dial. In a dark closet, I found a box of sea-biskets, many flasks of oil for eating, and jars of it for the lamp; honey, salt, and vinegar; four dozen of quart bottles of meath, and two stone bottles, that held three gallons each, full of brandy: this I suppose was against the days of weakness or sickness. He had not used a pint of this liquor.
Having found these things within doors, I proceeded from the house to the garden, which lay at a small distance from the little thatched mansion, and contained about four acres; it had been very beautifully laid out, and filled with the best fruit-trees, and all the vegetables: but it was run to ruin and high weeds, and shewed that its owner had been long dead. I suppose he died soon after the date of his paper; for, I observed, that many prior dates had been struck out; and had he lived after the year 1701, he would, in all probability, have razed that likewise, and set down 1702. Some sudden sickness must have seized him; and perhaps, when he found himself sinking, he laid 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 experimented.
When I want to make a skeleton of any small animal, I put the dead creature in a box with holes in it among the ants, in their habitations, or nests, or in such parts of the house as a whole tribe will often march to, through several rooms, in one track or certain road, to eat sugar or sweatmeats they have discovered, and then in two or three days, they will perform what the finest knife cannot execute. The big ants which are larger than a common house fly, and are seldom less than six thousand in a nest, will clear the bones of a rat in half a night's time.
There was a pretty little wooden summer-house in the centre of the garden, and in it had been in pots some curious plants and flowers. Here were various tools, and many instruments of gardening. It appeared from them, and the great variety of things in the ground, that Mr.
Orton
must have used himself to hard labour, and found great pleasure in his improvements and productions. There was a deal of art and ingenuity to be traced in the wild wilderness the garden was grown into. It was plain from a book, called the
Carthusian gardener,
which lay on a table in the summer-house, that he had made that business his study. Round this summer-house were the remains of many hives on benches, but the bees were all gone, and the stock ruined.
54. A scheme.
All these things, and the place, set me a thinking, and soon suggested to my fancy, that in my condition, I could not do better than succeed Mr.
Orton
on the premisses; but, without turning hermit. Here is (I said) a pretty small thatched mansion, that might easily be enlarged, if more rooms were wanting; and a garden, which labour would soon restore to its usefulness and 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 Mr.
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 whereever I am; and if I can commence a
matrimonial
relation with some sensible, good-humoured, dear delightful girl of the mountains, and persuade her to be the chearful partner of my still life,
nature
and
reason
will create the highest scenes of felicity, and we shall live as it were in the suburbs of heaven. My lads too may pick up among the hills, upon
scripture principles,
two bouncing females: and a state will in a little time be formed. This is fine. For once in my life I am fortunate. And suppose, this partner I want in my solitude could be Miss
Melmoth,
one of the wisest and most discreet of women; a thinking bloom, and good-humour itself in a human figure; then indeed I must be happy in this silent, romantic station. This spot of earth would then have all the felicities. — Resolved.
Conclusum est contra Manicheos,
said the great
St. Austin,
and with a thump of his fist, he cracked the table.
55. A fine rural scene.
Thus was my head employed, while I smoaked a pipe after supper, and I 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 the horses. Down then again I went to the bottom of the black and narrow glin afore-mentioned, and with lights observed the rumbling deep river. It appeared more frightful than the first time I saw it, and there was no venturing into it. This troubled me not a little, as the water was not above eight yards broad, and there was an ascending glin on the other side of it, that appeared to rise into a fine woody 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 shew, 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 tell what to do, when one of the lads came running to me, to let me know, that as he carefully examined the sides of the glin we came down, he discovered to the left, about fourscore yards above the river, a pass wide enough for one horse to go through, and he believed it was a way out. This was reviving news, and upon going into it, I found that it went straight on among the mountains, like a rent, or open crack, for three hundred yards, and then turned to the left for about fifty more, when it winded a little, and 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 glin, 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 tumbling 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.
56. A description of an extraordinary cave in Stanemore.
There is a
cave
there likewise that adds great beauty to the place, and in charms and wonders, exceeds the
grot
of
Tunis,
(a few miles
east
of
Carthage,
directly under
Cape-Bonn,
formerly called the
promontory of Mercury),
where
Aeneas
sheltered after the storm
Dr.
Shaw,
in his travels, shews that the
cave
near
Cape Bonn
was the
grot
which Virgil describes in the following manner —
Defessi Aeneadae, quae proxima, litora cursu
Contendunt petere, et Lybiae vertuntur ad oras.
Est in secessu longo locus: insula portum
Efficit objectu laterum, quibus omnis ab alto
Frangitur inque sinus scindit sese unda reductos.
Hinc atque hinc vastae rupes, geminique minantur
In coelum scopuli. Quorum sub vertice latè
Aequora tuta silent. Tum sylvis scena coruscis
Desuper, horrentique atrum nemus imminet umbra.
Fronte sub adversa scopulis pendentibus antrum
Intus aquae dulces, vivoque sedilia saxo;
Nympharum domos.—
The weary Trojans ply their shatter'd oars
To nearest land, and make the Lybian shores.
The Trojans, weary'd with the storms explore
The nearest land, and reach the Lybian shore.
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.
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.
Betwixt two rows of rocks, a sylvan scene
Appears above, and groves for ever green.
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.
A grot is form'd beneath, with mossy seats
To rest the
Nereids,
and exclude the heats:
Down thro' the crannies of the living walls
The crystal streams descend in murm'ring falls.
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.
There lies 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 rocks, 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 prospect, 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: —
This grot within a mountain over-shaded with trees, and lying open to the sea, with a cliff on each side, and not far from
Carthage,
answers so well to the
Nympharum domus
of
Virgil
The kingdom of Tunis in the west of Barbary in Asric, was once the celebrated republic of Carthage. The city of Carthage was about 4 miles from the spot the city of Tunis now stands on. Many ruins of it are still remaining. This glorious city, that was 23 miles round, and built near 100 years before Rome, was taken and utterly rased by young Africanus, that is, Scipio Aemilianus, before Christ 146 years. It had disputed with Rome for the empire of the world, for the space of 118 years. The most beautiful village in the world, called Marsa, now stands in the western point of antient Carthage, and from thence it is a fine walk to Dido's Cave under Cape-Bonn.
, that I think we need not doubt of its being the cave into which the gallant
Aeneas
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 36 fathoms under the hill, its arches, and pillars were undoubtedly 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.
; and
St. Donat's Cave
in
Glamorganshire,
which is much more beautiful, than the
African grot
described in the first Aeneid.
St. Donat's Cave,
(by the vulgar called
Reynard's Church
) in Glamorganshire, is 160 feet in length, the breadth 43, and the height 34. 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 falling-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 sail to and from Bristol, is seen, and the mountains of Somersetshire bound the prospect that way. The cliff 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.
The
cave
in
Stanemore
is in the bottom of a perpendicular mountain of a vast height, the east side of the lake, and four yards from the shoar. The entrance is a grand sweep, high and broad as the grot, that is, in breadth 52 feet, in height 59. It is an hundred and forty seven feet long. The stone of it is extremely beautiful; of a yellow and reddish colour, bright and glittering, and beautifully variegated with arched and undulated veins of various tinges. I broke off a piece of it, and found it a congeries of plates of spar, stained with a fine mixture of colours. It is a species of the
alabaster,
called
Marmor Onychites,
on account of its tabulated zones, resembling those of the
Onyx,
and is very little inferior to the
Aegyptian alabaster.
This
Stanemore stone
is far beyond the
Cornish
and
Derbyshire alabaster.
The caverns there are but incrusted with a sparry substance, as I have found upon various examinations; and, as is evident to every eye that sees the workmen making the elegant
vases
and
chimney-columns
we have of the alabaster of those counties: whereas in
Stanemore,
this alabaster consists of
strata
of
sparry substance,
tho' somewhat coarser than this kind of
Aegyptian
stone.
The top of the cave is a bold arch, finished beyond all that art could do, and the floor as smooth as it is possible to make the stone. At the far end of the
grot,
there are a dozen rows of seats like benches, that rise one above another. The uppermost will hold but two people: on each of the others a 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 sofyly over the ground, and weared it smooth. It brought to my remembrance some very poetical lines in
Lucretius:
—Noctivagi Sylvestria templa tenebant
Nympharum, quibus exibant humore fluenta
Lubrica, proluvie larga lavere humida Saxa,
Humida Saxa super viridi stillantia musco
Et partim plano scatere atque erumpere campo,
And then by night they took their rest in caves,
Where little
streams
roul on with silent waves;
They bubble thro' 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 the lowest harmony, it gently fell over the slanting floor, and as
Oldham
has it—
Away the streams did with such softness creep,
As 'twere by their own murmurs lull'd asleep.
57. A description of a fine seat in Yorkshire-Stanemore; which belongs to a society of philosophers.
Such was the delightful spot I at last discovered, when I thought I was come to the ne plus ultra, that is, had gone on till I could go no farther; and now seeing how my way lay, I departed from
Orton-Lodge
betimes the next morning, leaving my lad
O Fin
to keep possession of the place till I returned,
1725. June 19. the 7th day since I left Jack Price.
and with the other boy went thro' the lawns in the wood I have mentioned at the end of the vale. This brought me to a range of mountains most frightful to behold, and to the top of them, with great toil, we made a shift to climb, and from thence 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 hills, whose tops and sides were covered with antient trees and lofty groves, and some mountains whose heads were above the clouds. Flowers and clover, and other herbs, adorned the ground, and it was watered with many never-drying streams. The plain seemed a vast amphitheatre, by nature formed; and variety and disposition refreshed the eyes whatever way they turned.
In the very center of this ground, I found a house and gardens that charmed me very much. The mansion had a rusticity and wildness in its aspect, beyond any thing I had seen, and looked like a mass of materials jumbled together without order or design. There was no appearance of rule in any part, and where a kind of proportion was to be seen, it seemed as a start into truth, by the inadvertent head of blind chance. It was the most gothick, whimsical, four-fronted thing, without, that ever my eyes beheld; and within, the most convenient, comfortable dwelling I have seen.
The gardens of Ulubrae.
This edifice, which looks more like a small gothic cathedral, than a house, stands in the middle of large gardens, which are not only very fine, but uncommon, and different from all the gardens I have been in. There is no more rule observed in them, than in the house; but the plantations of trees, and plots of flowers, the raised hills, the artificial vallies, the streams that water these vales, and the large pieces of water, and lakes, they have brought in, and formed, are inexpressibly charming and fine. Wild and natural they seem, and are a beautiful imitation of the most beautiful scenes of nature. The wilderness, the openings, the parterres, the gardens, the streams, the lakes, the cascades, the valleys and the rising grounds, in the most various disposition, and as if art had little, or no hand in the designs, have an admirable effect upon the eye.
The passages from valley to valley, between the hills they have made, are not by formal straight walks, but by windings in various ways, which are decorated with little grotto's,and diversified in the manner of laying out the ground: the streams and canals sometimes serpent, and sometimes spread away. Rocks artfully placed, seem to push the waters off, and on the banks are seeming wild productions of flowers. As the hills and risings are sprinkled with flowery trees, 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.
58. An account of the philosophers of Stanemore. 1725. June 19. 7th day.
When I came up to this seat, which the owners of it call
Ulubrae,
some gentlemen, who were in the gardens, saw me, and saved me the trouble of asking admission, by inviting me in with the greatest civility; but they seemed under a vast surprize at my arrival; and much more so, when I gave them an account of the way I had 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 hills 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
Westmorland,
and the bad part of
Yorkshire-Stanemore
I had passed.
It was a terrible way (I replied), and what I often despaired of coming through, even at the hazard of my life. Frequently we were locked in by chains of precipices, and thought we should never find a pass: some of the mountains were so steep, that it was with the greatest difficulty we could lead the horses up and down them: and many rivers were so rapid, and rocky at bottom, that we were often in danger of being lost: beside, if fortune had not conducted us to the habitations of people we little expected to find, we might have perished for want of food, as my servant 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
on the
southern-edge
of
Stanemore;
a little lone public-house, that lies half way the turnpike-road, on the left hand, as the traveller goes from
Bowes
to
Brugh, Penrith,
and
Carlisle:
but friendship and curiosity were too many for all the obstacles in the way; and in hopes of finding a beloved friend, who lives somewhere towards the northern edge of
Yorkshire,
or
Westmorland,
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 observed before, that
Camden,
and every other describer of England, had not the least notion of
Stanemore,
that is, the
north fells
of
Westmorland,
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, Gretabridge, Bowes,
and
Brugh,
that had been any length of way up the mountains. When I asked
Railton,
the quaker, a very knowing man, who keeps the
George
at
Bowes,
what sort of a country
Stanemore
was? He answered, it is, after a few miles riding, more wild and mountainy than the highlands of Scotland, and unpassable: nay, my landlord at
Eggleston,
some miles within
Stanemore,
knew nothing of the mountains upon mountains that are far beyond his house.
; I went on, and have had success thus far. The journey has been worth my pains. I have beheld the most delightful scenes, and met with very 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 extraordinary, and requested I would oblige them with some particulars that occurred. I did immediately. I told them, among other things, of my reception at
Burcot-Lodge
—and the
skeleton
of
John Orton
which I found in the cottage on the side of a woody hill: I let them know the goods and conveniencies I saw there, and that I was so pleased with the beauties of the place, the little mansion, the once fine gardens, and the useful things on the premisses, that I intended to return to it, and make it my summer retreat: that I had left a man there to that purpose, who was at work in the garden, and expected to be back in a month's time, with such things as were wanting to make it an agreeable and comfortable little country-house.
The philosophers wondered not a little at what they heard. If they were surprized at seeing me as a traveller in such a place, they were much more astonished at my relation. They could not enough admire Mrs.
Burcot
and Mrs.
Fletcher.
The history of the 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 calling upon them many times: that I should always be heartily welcome to their house, and might with less difficulty go backwards and forwards, as their lodge was at my service, whenever I was pleased to do them the favor to call. This was civil, and I returned them the thanks they deserved.
Here dinner was brought in, and with these gentlemen I sat down to several 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 chearful glass after dinner, and laughed a couple of hours away in a delightful manner. They were quite polite, friendly and obliging; and I soon found, in conversing with them, that they were men of great reading, and greater abilities. Philosophy had not saddened their tempers. They were as lively companions, as they were wise and learned men.
These gentlemen are twenty in number, men of fortune, who had agreed to live together, on the plan of a college described by Mr.
Evelyn
in his letter to Mr.
Boyle
You will find this curious letter in Biograph. Britan.
; but, with this difference, that they have no chaplain, may rise when they please, go and come as they think fit, and are not obliged to cultivate every one his garden. Every member lays down a hundred pounds on the first day of the year, and out of that fund they live, pay their servants, keep their horses, and purchase every thing the society requires. What is wanting at home, this stoek produces, and is to be expended only at
Ulubrae,
for every thing necessary and comfortable, except raiment and horses. When they are abroad, it is at a plus-expence.
I call these gentlemen
philosophers,
because, exclusive of their good morals, they devote the principal part of their time to natural philosophy and mathematicks, and had, when I first saw them, made a great number of fine experiments and observations in the works of nature, tho' they had not been a society for more than four years. They make records of every thing extraordinary which come within their cognisance, and register every experiment and observation. I saw 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 prolix 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 curvilinear spaces, an easy method in doing the thing, is a promotion of geometry in the best manner. The rule is this.
59. A rule to determine expeditiously, the tangents of curve lines.
Suppose B D E the curve, B C the
abcissa
=
x,
C D the ordinate =
y,
A B the tangent line =
t,
and the nature of the curve be such, that the greatest power of
y
ordinate be on one side of the equation; then
y3
= −
x3
−
xxy
+
xyy
−
a3
+
aay
−
aax
+
axx
−
ayy:
but if the greatest power of
y
be wanting, the terms must be put =
0.
Then make a fraction and numerator; the numerator, by taking all the terms, wherein the known quantity is, with all their signs; and if the known quantity be of one dimension, to prefix unity, and of two, 2, if of three, 3, and you will have − 3
a3
+ 2
aay
− 2
aax
+
axx
−
ayy:
The fraction, by assuming the terms wherein the
abscissa x
occurs, and retaining the signs, and if the quantity
x
be of one dimension, to prefix unity, as above, etc, etc; and then it will be − 3
x3
− 2
xxy
+
xyy
−
aax
+ 2
axx:
then diminish each of these by
x,
and the denominator will be − 3
xx
− 2
xy
+
yy
−
aa
+ 2
ax.
This fraction is equal to A B, and therefore
t
is = − 3
a3
+ 2
aay
− 2
aax
+
axx
−
ayy
/− 3
xx
− 2
xy
+
yy
−
aa
+ 2
ax
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 likewise saw them perform several extraordinary experiments.
60. Microscopical observations made at Ulubrae.
They make all the mathematical instruments they use, and have brought the microscope in particular, to greater perfection than I have elsewhere seen it. They have them of all kinds, of one and more hemispherules, and from the invented spherule of
Cardinal de Medicis,
not exceeding the smallest pearl placed in a tube, to the largest that can be used. They had improved the
double reflecting
microscope, much farther than
Marshal
's is by
Culpepper
and
Scarlet,
and made several good alterations in the
solar
or
camera obscura
microscope; and in the
catoptric
microscope, which is made on the model of the Newtonian telescope.
61. Colours in the microscope.
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 light red and a pellucid white: All the
phoenomena
of colours were here to be found out.
62. Works of art in the microscope.
In this instrument, the finest point of a needle appeared more blunt and unequal, and more like a broken nail, than I had before seen it—the finest edge of a razor was like the back of a dog, with the hair up:— the finest paper, was great hairs, cavities, and inequalities—and the smoothest plate of glass, was very rough, full of cracks, fissures and inequalities. Very different, indeed, are the things finished by human art, from the things finished by the hand of nature. The points, the edges, the polish, the angles, every thing that nature produces, appear in the instrument in a perfection that astonishes the beholder.
63. The vegetable kingdom in a microscope.
In the views I here took of the vegetable world, with my eye thus armed, I saw many extraordinary things I had never observed before. I took notice, in particular, that a sage leaf is covered with a kind of cobweb, in which swarms of little active creatures, with terrible horns and piercing eyes, are busily employed: a mulberry leaf was an amazing flexus or net-work: we can see but 9 ribs on the sigillum Solomonis; whereas my armed eye perceived here 74: in a nettle I observed its whole surface covered over with needles of the most perfect polish,
An account of a nettle in the double reflecting microscope.
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 the finger, it swelled again.—What a piece of workmanship is here in a nettle! Wonderful are thy works, O Lord God Almighty!
A sorrel leaf, and buds of french bean and almond in a microscope.
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 intire plant; and in an almond so cut away, the perfect tree. Many other wonderful things I observed of the vegetable kingdom, in the microscopes of these gentlemen.
64. A louse and flea in a microscope.
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 creatures that hate each other as much as spiders do, and fight to death when they meet. The
flea
appeared first in the box,
A description of a flea.
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 antennae 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.
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.
65. A battle in a microscope between a louse and a flea.
The first that was brought on the stage was the
flea,
and to shew us what an active one he was, he sprung and bounced at a strange rate: the velocity of his motions in leaping, were astonishing; and sometimes, he would tumble over and over in a wanton way: but the moment the
louse
appeared, he stood stock still, gathered himself up, and fixed his flashing eyes on his foe. The gallant
louse
did with a frown for some time behold him, and then crouching down, began very softly to move towards him, when the flea gave a leap on his enemy, and with his dangerous tail and pinching mouth, began the battle with great fury: but the louse soon made him quit his hold, by hurting him with his claws, and wounding him with his sharp snout. This made the flea skip to the other side of the box, and they both kept at a distance for near a minute, looking with great indignation at each other, and offering several times to advance. The louse did it at last in a race, and then the flea flew at him, which produced a battle as terrible as ever was fought by two wild beasts. Every part of their bodies were in most violent motion, and sometimes the flea was uppermost, but more frequently the louse. They did bite, and thrust, and claw one another most furiously, and the consequence of the 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 was to me a very surprizing 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 reflexion 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 little breasts, and the judgement they shewed in their endeavours to destroy one another. It is indeed a wonderful affair: nor was it the least part of my admiration to see through the extraordinary transparencies of the louse, the violent circulation of the blood in its heart. This was as plane to my eye, as red liquor forced by a pump in several experiments through circulating glass pipes.—As to the dead flea, it was opened, and by the
camera obscura
or
solar
microscope, (which magnifies the picture of such a body as a flea, to eight feet)
Tho' the image of 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 drawing, 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, that are thrown on it by a looking-glass, that its picture is most perfectly and planely represented on the white screen: You may have a mite, or one of the imperceptible animals 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 a 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
opake objects,
how usefully and delightfully might a young man of fortune employ many hours that are miserably sauntered away, or consumed in senseless and illicit delights?
we saw the intestines distinguished and arranged in a manner that cannot be enough admired. It was full of eggs, and in every egg were many half-formed young ones.
66. Spiders in the great double microscope.
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
Apulia,
called the
Tarantula,
and is furnished at the head with a hard black forceps, which resembles that of the Apulian araneus: the colour of its oval body is a blueish black, and has a transverse line and two spots hollowed in it: its eight legs are very long, the joints large, and the little bones of the feet have different articulations: it was armed with bristles like a boar, and had claws very black, not unlike an eagle: it had eight eyes, and six of them were disposed in form of a half moon on the forehead; the other two were on the crown of the head; one to the left, the other to the right: This disposition affords light to the whole body, and as these eyes are well furnished with crystalline humours, they are sharp-sighted beyond all creatures, and so nimbly hunt down flies: the mouth was full of teeth, and they looked like short thick hairs.
In opposition to this amphibious creature, which walks on the mud at the bottom of standing waters, as well as on the banks, the silvery-green bodied spider was put into the box, which is one of the class that lives in the woods, where it squats down on the branches of trees, and throws four of its legs forward, and four backward, extending them straight along the bough; but the great water aranea, with his terrible 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: he expired at the victor's feet.
A reflexion on the works of nature as seen in the microscope.
These things were a fine entertainment to me, as I had not before seen a
solar, catoptric,
or improved
double-reflecting
microscope. I had now a nearer view of the skilful works of the supreme Artificer. With admiration I beheld the magnified objects — the wonderful arrangement of the intestines of a flea — the motion and ebullition of the blood of a louse — their forms — the various spiders, so astonishingly framed — the gnat, that elephant in so small a miniature — the amazing form of the ant — the astonishing claws and beautiful wings of a fly; the bones, nerves, arteries, veins, and moving blood in this very minute animal — the wonderful bee, its claws, its colours, and distinct rows of teeth, with which it sips the flowers, and carries the honey home in its stomach, but brings the wax externally on its thighs — and a thousand other things which manifest a Creator. In every object I viewed in the optical instruments, my eyes beheld one wise Being and supreme cause of all things. Every insect, herb, and spire of grass, declare eternal power and godhead. Not only the speech and language of the heavens, but of all the works and parts of nature is gone out into all the earth, and to the ends of the world; loudly proclaiming, that thou, O God, art Lord 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.
67. The library at Ulubrae.
The library belonging to these gentlemen is a very fine one, and contains many thousand volumes; but is much more valuable for the intrinsick merit, than the number of the books: and as to antient manuscripts, there is a large store of great value: they had likewise many other curious monuments of antiquity; statues, paintings, medals, and coins, silver, gold, and brass. To describe those fine things would require a volume. Among the books, I saw the editions of the old authors, by the famous printers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; editions greatly prized and sought after by most of the learned; but these gentlemen did not value them so much as the editions of the classicks, that have been published within this last century; especially the quarto editions done in Holland. They shewed me many errors in the Greek authors by the
Stephens:
and as to
Plantin,
exclusive 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 books are the best editions of the classicks. They are the best helps for our understanding them. There is no reason then for laying out so much money for the old editions, when in reality the modern ones are better.
68. An account of the bock called Vindiciae contra Tyrannes.
One of the books in this library, which I chanced to take into my hand was the famous
Vindiciae contra Tyrannos,
which came out in Latin and French in 1579, under the name of
Stephanus Junius Brutus,
and is
a defence of liberty against tyrants.
— This treatise proves, in the first place, that 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, marionalatry,
the
demonalatry,
and all the
diabolism
of
popery;
— 2dly, That it is lawful to resist a prince, who, like James the Second, endeavours to ruin the true church, and make the
superstition of Rome
the religion of the land; — 3dly, That it is lawful to resist a prince, when he oppresses and strives to ruin a state; as when
Charles the First
would exercise a power
contrary
to the interest of his people, contrary likewise to that of the protestant religion
Many instances can be produced of
Charles the First,
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 deliver (and he did, in obedience thereto, deliver) 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 English captains to that order,
Pennington
was to sink them.
These naval forces enabled the
Gaulish
king to
break
and suppress the power of the
Rochelle
protestants: this was an unjustifiable step indeed in
Charles
's reign: and if to this we add a thousand acts of this said sovereign Lord, that 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 public calamity, it is certainly most amazing, to see the memory of this prince treated equally, if not superior to the most celebrated martyrs! torrents of tears have I seen pour from the eyes of our mourning theologers on the 30th of January. I remember one time, when Dr.
Warren
preached the commemoration sermon at
St. Margaret's Westminster,
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 the learned author of the
Life of David.
This gentleman preached before the late
Duke
of
Devonshire
in
Christ-Church,
Monday, Jan. 30, 1737, on 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. 25.
In this fine sermon, the Dr. gave us the picture of a man as like
Charles the
1st. 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: (says 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 defending it. King Charles the First of blessed memory!
— Here the preacher wept, and then proceeded to abuse the
opposers
of this
royal contender
for
absolute prerogatives;
as absolute as those the eastern, or civil law potentates claim; and then, to make and apply observations and inferences to the persons and characters of the present times, he told the lord-lieutenant, and the house of lords, (among other admirable things) that they should remember how the
lay lords
had consented to deprive the
bishops
of their seats in parliament, and rob the
spiritual lords
of their rights and privileges; which drew down a just judgment 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 singular, and I think, on the contrary, that it would be well for our church, if our bishops were obliged to leave the court, the parliament, and their politicks, and then spend their lives in labouring 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 to withdraw themselves from the world, that by their continued conversation with God, and attention only to the sacred prescriptions of the gospel, they might appear 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. The holiness of our prelates lives, and their fervor in teaching mankind 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 purifie the defilements of genius; that pride and vanity, that curiosity and self-love which are incompatible with an accomplished purity of heart. But as to
Charles the First
of blessed memory, certain I am, that whatever Dean Delany may think 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 legis habet vigorem.
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 of blessed memory assumed and challenged as rights, under the name of his undoubted prerogatives, and grasped the pretence so hard, as never to part with it, till he wanted strength to hold it. This is the
martyr.
His reign was a provoking violation of parliamentary rights, and a cruel oppression of the subjects.
Instead then of the fine laboured reasons offered by Dr. Delaney 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 governing, were innumerable; 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 subverted, and for ever destroyed, therefore did Providence deliver up this king into the hands of wicked men, who had usurped the administration of affairs, that the mortification in the constitution might be cured by the death of this destroying prince; and the violence of his exit remain a monument in terrorem to all future kings of England; to have a care how they offer to make any alteration or change in the original form of government; for
violations
of the
constitution
had brought
Charles the First
to the
block.
This had been a reasonable account of that sad affair. It is supported by matters of fact.
N. B. The contentions between his Majesty and the
house of commons
began about the following
essential
points. —
1. A power the king assumed, and challenged as a right, to impose taxes, levy monies, and impose duties on merchandizes, without a previous grant thereof in parliament.
2. That the commons were obliged to observe and obey the king's messages, in giving
precedency
to the matter of supplies, 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
them 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 his subjects; and especially the members of parliament, for what they said and did in parliament.
These illegal and destructive acts of power
king Charles the First
claimed as his prerogatives, and exercised them as long as he was able, with great rigour, and extraordinary circumstances; 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 inconsistent 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 chuse to say, that since
Charles
would not act for the protection, happiness, and safety of his people, but by a continued exertion of
sovereign power,
endeavored to oppress and ruin them, and change the form of government, his arbitrary principles brought him to a dismal extremity. This (as before observed) is the truth of the case. May his death be a warning to future English kings; that they may, like his majesty king George the Second, govern with parliaments, and exert their power for the protection, safety, and happiness of the people.
; and when
James the Second
began his tyranny, by dispensing with the
penal statute
of 25
Car.
2. in the case of
Sir Edward Hales,
notwithstanding the true religion, the honour of Almighty God, the sasety of the government, and the public good and peace of the nation depend upon this act of 25
Car.
2. — and 4thly, That neighbour princes or states may be, or 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 compelled to reason. Charity challenges the right of relieving and restoring the oppressed. Those that make no account of these things, do as much as in them lies to drive piety, justice, and charity out of this world, that they may never more be heard of.
Who was the author of the Vindiciae contra Tyrannos.
I asked one of these gentlemen, if he knew who was the author of this book; for it was ascribed to various men: — he told me, that the learned
Hubert Languet
was the reputed author, as we find in
De la Mare
's elogium upon him; but
De la Mare
was misinformed by
Legoux.
The great
Du Plessis
Account of Du Plessis Mornay.
The great
Du Plessis Mornay
was born the 5th of
November,
1549, and died at his baronie
La Foret
in
Poitou,
the 13th of November, 1623, aged 74; having retired to his country seat, after
Louis
the Thirteenth had taken from him the government of
Saumur.
He writ several excellent books, and one that is invaluable, called
Mornay on the Eucharist,
against the papists, which was published in 1598. — This book produced the famous conference between
Du Plessis Mornay
and
Cardinal Perron,
at
Fontainbleau
in the year 1600. The victory at this conference 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,
at the time, bishop of
'Evreux,
published 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
Mornay
replied, and made a
poor devil
of
Perron.
See those pieces, reader, and you will be finely entertained; for,
Perron,
tho' a
papist,
was a great man.
An account of cardinal Perron. Sept. 5.
N. B. Cardinal
Perron
was born in the year 1556, Nov. 25, and died at
Paris,
A. D. 1618, aged 63. He had been 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 contrary,
Du Plessis Mornay
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
Henri Sponde,
bishop of
Pamiers,
and abridger of the annals of
Baronius,
dedicated to
Perron:
— and, in conjunction with Cardinal
d'Ossat,
he made a
papist
of
Henri le Grand,
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,
Poul
V.
So
Marbais,
a doctor of divinity, who knew this pope well, assures us,
Nic. de Marbais requeste a l'empereur,
p. 223. Leyde 1613.
was created
pope,
and cardinal
Baronius
lost the popedom:
Bellarmine,
however, (who was likewise one of the 59 cardinals in that conclave,) might have had it, but he refused it. — Those things we find in
Guy Pattins letters,
tom. 1. —
Godeau melanges critiques, apud antillon.
— and
hist. des conclaves.
Borghese,
alias
Paul
V, who succeeded that fine character,
Leo XI.
Leo
XI. reigned but twenty-five days.
in the year 1605, in the 53d year of his age, died the 28th of January, 1621; aged 68.— and had for his successor,
Ludovisio,
called
Gregory the XVth.
An account of cardinal d'Ossat.
N. B.
D'Ossat
was born August 23, 1536, and died at Rome, March 13, 1604. aged 67. His five volumes of letters are a master-piece in politicks, and next to
Father Paul's history of the Council of Trent,
are the best books you can look into, reader, for an exact and full description of the artifices of the court of Rome. — Remarkable was the saying of this
cardinal,
when
Henry the Fourth
of
France
was stabbed; —
If there was the least pretext for such assassinations, they ought to be contrived and executed by the hereticks, 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 this kind, neither against him, nor the five kings his predecessors, tho' their majesties made the most cruel butcheries of the Huguenots.
Account of Cardinal Baronius.
N. B.
Baronius
was born, October 30, in the year 1538, and died the 30th of June, 1607, aged 68. His twelve tomes in folio of
ecclesiastical annals,
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 unhappy prejudice for papal rights, and Romish pieties, attaches him continually to the Roman cause, without the least regard to truth, in a thousand and a thousand articles, and makes it plain, that he was not assisted from above in this work, as he affirms himself. The most judicious of the Roman Catholic writers say, —
Il seroit a souhaiter qu'il eut ete exempt des preventions que son education & son païs lui avoient inspirees.
N. B.
Isaac Casaubon,
in his fine exercitations, says with great justice of this great man;—"qui denique merita sua in ecclesiam, si immoderato partium studio non corrupisset, dignus erat sine controversia, cui omnes et veteres et recentiores, qui illam eruditionis partem attigerunt, assurgerent, et fasces submitterent. Sed vir eruditissimus quando ad scriptionem se accingebat, de approbanda fide sua ex aequo omnibus, sicuti par erat fidelem historicum, adeo nihil cogitavit; ut contra, id summo studio videatur egisse ne, qui in negotio religionis alia sequebantur castra ullum usquam aequitatis vestigium in suis scriptis reperirent. Adeo in defensione illarum partium quas probabat, totus est ubique historiam professus, non solum theologum, sed etiam persaepe disputatorem è schola agit. Locos communes, a narratione historica digrediens, saepissime contexit; Protestantes passim nullo discrimine, convitiis, maledictis et infandis calumniis incessit. Jura principum, quae a paucis seculis obtentu religionis imminui ceperunt, ita cupide, quoties datur occasio, contrahit, arrodit, evertit, ut natum in regno noscere nequeas; educatum, altum et auctum Romae facile agnoscas. Denique ita se gessit Baronius totis 12 suorum annalium tomis, ut qui dubitari nollet, praecipium sibi scopum fuisse, papalem monarchiam stabilire, amplificare, et ad coelum usque evehere." This is a just character of the
annals
of
Baronius.
The best edition of this work, is the
English translation of it by Hall,
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 account of Hall's corrections, and most learned notes and dissertations.
Account of the centuries of Magdebourg.
N. B. After all, however, the
centuries of Magdebourg,
which were published in 1559 and 1560, are the 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 men to whom we are indebted for the noblest collection of historical truths in ecclesiastical affairs, that ever appeared in the world. They are honest writers indeed. Every page of their work discovers a zeal for truth, and the glory of Christ; while
Baronius
sadly labours for a
pontifex maximus,
and the
cheats
of
Rome.
The work of the centuriators extends to the 13th century, and every century contains 16 chapters: the 1st is a summary of the things to be recited; then the 2d treats of the place and extent of the church; 3, of persecution and peace; 4, of doctrine; 5, of heresies; 6, of ceremonies and rites; 7, of polity and government; 8, of schism; 9, of synods; 10, of bishops; 11, of heretics; 12, of martyrs; 13, of miracles; 14, of the Jews; 15, of religions separated from the church; and 16, of broils and political changes. In this clear and distinct manner are the things of every age treated.
N. B.
Baronius
ascribes the guidance and success of his pen in writing his annals, to the favor of the most holy
Mary,
the mother of God.
To her,
from whom I acknowledge the whole to be received,
I offer these annals, etc: To her by whom the whole of this gift comes to us 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 annals,
that she may sanctify
them with
her blessing,
etc, etc;—for the intireness 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; the most holy and pure virgin favouring the work begun, and taking care of, and happily promoting all his affairs, etc, etc.
—What must a true christian say to this?
Many are the abridgments of the annals; but the best is that of
Henri Sponde,
the
apostate,
aforementioned. It is well done.
Account of cardinal Bellarmine.
N. B.
Bellarmine
was born the 4th of October, 1542, and died September 17, 1621, aged 79:—He was a man of great learning in the works of the fathers, councils, canon law, and church history, and writ several laboured things: but his chief performance is his Body of Controversy in 4 volumes folio; which the catholicks think very fine: They shew, indeed, great reading; but, ignorance of the sense of scripture, and are quite void of argument. There is not one article of popery tolerably well defended in the 4 volumes. Every exposition and vindication are senseless and ridiculous.
Account of Isaac Casaubon.
N. B.
Isaac Casaubon,
who writ the
Exercitations
on
Baronius,
(and lies in Westminster Abbey) was born Feb. 18, 1559, and died in the 55th year of his age, A. D. 1614.
Besides his exercitations, he published several learned works, and animadversions and commentaries on Persius, Polybius, Athenaeus, Strabo, Suetonius, and Diogenes Laertius. It was he first published in Greek,
Polyoenus's Stratagems of the Antients in War,
in the year 1589; having purchased the M. S. at a great price; but the Latin version he added to it, was done by
Justus Vulteius:
and we have since had a more correct edition of
Polyoenus,
by
Pancratius,
in the year 1690. The
Epistolae Casauboni
are likewise valuable things; but of most merit are his
Exercitations,
and his
Persius:
His
Commentary on Persius
is admirable, not only for a just explication of his incomparable author, but for a deal of fine classical learning he has scattered through it: and for his
Exercitations
against
Baronius,
the friend of truth must be for ever charmed with them. It is to be lamented that we have but 16 of them. They go no farther than to the 34th year of Jesus Christ, and relate principally to Baronius's bad explication of scripture.
Two
Jesuits, Boullenger
and
Jean L'Heureux,
writ against the
Exercitations:
but
Endemen Jean,
the name
L'Heureux
went by, his defence of
Baronius
is very weak, as you will soon see, reader, on turning him over: And as to
Julius Caesar Boullenger,
the other monk, when you have read his
Dissertation against Casoubon, and bishop Montaigue's animadversions
on that dissertation, you will perceive he was a
poor creature.
It is remarkable, that
Isaac Casaubon
's two sons,
Henry
and
Merric,
both went off to
popery,
and died in France
apostate
priests in the
Romish
church; tho' their father had fled from that country for the sake 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 the man in Dublin, and have never heard so outragious a
catholic
as he was. He said, to my astonishment, that his grandfather was a great light, but burnt with his head downwards in this world, till he dropt into hell in the next.
As to the conference between
Du Plessis
and
Perron,
about the Eucharist and other matters, besides the two pieces I have mentioned, to wit,
Perron's account
of it, and
Mornay's answer
to the account, you will find a good relation of it in L'Histoire de L'edit de Nantes, tom. 1. p. 343, & Suiv: and see on this article
Sully's Memoirs.
N. B. The ingenious and excellent Miss
Mornay,
of
Shelford-Park,
is descended from the great
Philip Mornay Du Plessis,
and the last of the house of
Du Plessis
now 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.
Of the edict of Nantz.
N. B.
Lewis the
14th, with the same hand that signed the
edict of revocation,
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 hand,
because the 12th article of the edict signed by this cruel and perfidious prince, in the 43d year of his reign, is as follows:—12. And furthermore, 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 traffick, 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, etc.—This was a monstrous cheat and perfidiousness, 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,
tho' he had sworn to the observation of it; but he allowed a certain time to his protestant subjects, after which they must either turn catholicks, 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, tho' an arbitrary proceeding: but to give it under his hand to his subjects, that they might stay and
continue their traffick, enjoy their goods without being molested, or hindered on account of their 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 his excellent history of the Reformation of France, vol. 6.) it would have imprinted such a spot on his reputation, that all the waters of the
Seine
were not sufficient to wash it away.
The
edict of Nantz
was granted to the
reformed
by
Henry the
4th, in the 9th year of his reign, of grace 1598.
was the author.
D'Aubigne
Theodore Agrippa Aubigne,
the favorite of
Henry the
4th, was born in the year 1550, and died 1631, aged 80. He writ several curious things: but his great and principal work is his
Universal History, in
3
toms folio:
containing the transactions from 1550 to 1601. —This is a very extraordinary history, and contains many curious relations that are no where else to be found.—He was obliged to fly
France
on account of this history, and died at
Geneva.
—His two
satyrs,
called
La Confession de Sancy
—and
Le Baron de Foeneste,
are fine things.—
The Avantures of the Baron de Foeneste,
(du Chat's edition) are likewise well worth reading: The best edition is à Cologne, 1729, 2 vols. in 12mo.—It is a very curious thing.
, whose word is sterling, affirms it. See here (Mr. Seymour said) the 2d volume of
D'Aubigne
's history, book 2. ch. 2. p. 108, il paroissoit un autre livre qui s'appelloit Junius, on défense contre les tyrans, fait par M. Du Plessis, renommé pour plusieurs excellens livres. — And, (tom. 1. l. 2. ch. 15. pag. 91.) D'Aubigné dits, que M. du Plessis lui a avoué qu'il en estoit l'auteur.
69. Account of the author of the famous book de libe tate ecclesiastica.
Another extraordinary book I saw in this library, was the famous piece
de libertate ecclesiastica,
written against the papal usurpations, at the time his holiness,
Camille Borghense,
commonly called
Paul
V, had the memorable contest with the
Venetians;
and upon enquiring, who was the author of this scarce and valuable work; that was superior even to Father Paul's book upon the same subject, in defence of the liberties of mankind; Mr.
Trenchard
the president of the society, shewed me
Cappel's assertion of the true Faith against Rosweius
the
jesuit.
And in it the following passage, pag. 17. — In ecclesiastica antiquitate quam non esset Tyro Casaubonus, docuit A. D. 1607. libro singulari de libertate ecclesiastica, cujus jam paginae 264. typis erant editae, cum rex Henricus IV. Compositis jam Venetorum cum pontifice Romano controversiis, vetuit ultra progredi, et hoc ipsum quod fuerat inchoatum, supprimi voluit, ut ejus pauca nunc extent exemplaria. — And in the same book, I saw some manuscript references to
Casaubon's lettres,
p. 628. 632, and 647. edit. Hag. — and to one place in
Scaliger's letters,
p. 345. ed. 1627. — Several places I turned to, and saw that
Casaubon
hinted to his friends, that he was the author of the book De Ecclesiastica Antiquitate: and that
Scaliger
affirmed it
The great
Joseph Scaliger
was born Aug. 4. 1544, and died at Leyden the 21st of January, in the 65th year of his age, A. D. 1609. His father,
Julius Caesar Scaliger,
died in the 75th year of his age, October 21, 1558.
His father was a papist: the son a protestant. They were both great men in the republic of letters, and both writ many books: but the son was by far the greatest man.
What I like best of the father's works, are his
poeticks.
— His
account of the Latin tongue
— and his
exercitations against Cardan.
These are fine pieces. His
prohlems on Aulus Gellius
is likewise a good thing.
The works of
Joseph
the son, are as follow —
Commentarii in appendicem Virgilii.— Notae in librum Varronis de re rustica. — Conjecturae in Varronem de lingua Latina. — Castigationes in Valerium Flaccum. — Notae in Tertullianum de Pallio, cum tractatur de equinoctiis.—Loci cujusdam Galeni difficillimi explicatio. — Elenchus Tribaeresii Nicolai Serarii. — Confutatio ejusdem Serarii animadversorum in Scaligerum. — Castigationes et notae in Eusebii chronica. — Thesaurus temporum. —Elenchus utriusque orationis chronologicae Davidis Paraei.—Conjectanea de Nonni Dionystaticis. — Notae in opera Ausonii.— Emendatio temporum. — Veterum Graecorum fragmenta. — Cyclometrica elementa duo. — Appendix ad Cyclometriam suam. — Ausoniarum lectionum libri duo. —Emendationes ad Theocriti, etc. Idyllia. — Notae in Hippocratem. — Notae et castigationes in Tibullum, Catullum, Propertium. —Epistolarum volumen. — Commentarii in Manilium. — Animadversiones in Melchioris Guillandini commentarium in tria Plinii de papyro capita. — Epistola adversus barbarum et indoctum poema patroni clientis Lucani.—Diatriba de decimis in lege Dei. — Notitia Galliae. — Diatriba de Europaeorum linguis, etc. — Judicium de quadam Thesi chronologica. — Expositio numismatis argenter Constantini imperatoris. — Orphei poetae hymni sacri versibus antiquis Latine expressi.— Martialis select. epigram. Versiones Graece. — Sophoclis Ajax characteri vetere conversus. — In Aeschyli Prometheum prologus. — Animadversiones in epigrammata, etc. Cornelii Galli. — Animadversiones in Cyclopem Euripidis. — Dionysius Cato cum nótis. — De equinoctiorum anticipatione diatriba. — Varia poemata Latina. — Poemata Graeca versa ex Latino, etc. —Notae in panegyricum ad Pisones. — Castigatio kalendarii Gregoriani. — Interpretatio proverbiorum Arabicorum cum scholiis. — De arte critica diatriba. — Notae in novum testamentum. — Hyppoliti canon paschalis, cum commentariis. — De re nummaria dissertatio. — Discours de la jonction des mers, etc. — Discours sur milice Romaine. — Lettres touchant l'explication de quelques medailles.—Praefatio in origines linguae Latinae. — Scaligerana.—Epistola in Fabrium Paulinum. — Animadversiones in locos controversos Roberti Titii. — Vita Julii Cesaris Scaligeri cum epistola de vetustate et splendore gentis Scaligera.
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 them all into his closet as soon as possible; and at the same time, the four excellent pieces I have mentioned of
Julius Cesar Scaliger,
the
father
of
Joseph.
N. B. The great
Lewis Cappel,
author of the
assertion of the true faith,
was a protestant minister at
Saumur.
He was born October 14, 1583, and died at
Saumur,
the 16th of June, 1568, aged 75. He was likewise the author of that excellent book called,
Arcanum punctuationis revelatum;
and of another very valuable thing, called
Critica Sacra.
His son,
Jean Cappel,
turned
papist,
and died a despicable
apostate
in the
Romish
church.
N. B. There were two other
Cappels,
protestant ministers; both
Jacques,
who died in 1585 — and 1624, and were the authors of several controversial writings against popery: but they were weak writers in respect of the learned
Louis Cappel.
— The words—
Vetuit ultra progredi, et hos ipsum quod fuerat inchoatum supprimi voluit
— accounts for this being published imperfect; which all that see it wonder at.
70.
Many other extraordinary books and manuscripts I saw in this library, and a great number of fine curiosities; but I can only mention one particular more. Engraven on a beautiful
Cornelian,
I saw the
Roman god of bounds,
with these words,
Concedo nulli:
and one of the gentlemen asked me, what I 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, tho' my thought was not unjust. The design is to put one in mind of death, of which
terminus
is the justest 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 medallion, on one side of which you see the image of the great
Erasmus,
and on the other this fancy; which he always wore in a ring, and from thence I had the medallion struck. Erasmus asked the famous
Carvajal,
the Spanish cordelier, (just as I did you) what the meaning of this ring was.
Carvajal,
who had had some contests with
Erasmus,
and hated him greatly, said it owed its 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, that his explication was quite wrong, and that, on the contrary, he used the device, to kill his pride, and put him in mind of death, which suffers not the greatest men to pass the short limit of time allotted them. This pleased me much, and I resolved to get the fancy on a cornelian for a seal.
71. An account of several subterranean chambers, and an ascent in the inside of a mountain from the bottom to the top.
Another extraordinary thing these gentlemen shewed me was a hole leading to some wonderful caverns in the side of a mountain, about a mile to the north of their house. It resembles at the entrance,
Penpark-hole,
in Gloucestershire
In
Penpark-hole
you are let down by ropes fixed at the top of the pit, four fathom perpendicular, and then descend three fathom more, in an oblique way, between two rocks, which brings you to a perpendicular tunnel, 39 yards down, into which you descend by ropes, and land in a spacious chamber, that is 75 yards in length, 41 in breadth, and 19 yards high, from the margin of a great water, at the north end of it, to the roof. This water is 27 yards in length, 12 in breadth, and generally 16 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 burn clear in this chamber, nor is the air in the least offensive, tho' 59 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 3 yards wide, and in the south side of it 30 yards down, 9 yards before you come to the opening of the chamber, or cavity below, is a passage 32 yards in length, 3 and a half high, and 3 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, is all irregular work.
, 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 2 yards and a half one way, and 4 yards the other way. This little cavern was two yards high. We went from it into a more easy sloping way, which brought us 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 caused the noise below, the gentlemen who came thus far with me, could not tell; for they had never ventured into it, nor could they persuade any of their people to be let down to the bottom, tho' they had found by the lead that there was hard ground below. I will then, (I said) explore this subterranean realm, if you will let me and my lad down, with proper 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 every thing you can desire, and be let down very safely, however you may fare when you get to the ground: and when you want to come up, pull the packthread you have in your hand, that will be tied to a bell at the top of the tunnel, and you shall be immediately drawn up again. These things being agreed, they let me down in a proper basket the next morning at eight o'clock, with a lighted torch in my hand, and soon after my man
Ralph
followed with every thing I had required. I was more than half an hour going down, for the rope was given like a jack line from the engine it came from. I saw several dismal lateral holes by the way; but no mischief or inconvenience did I meet with in my passage to the ground.
When I came to the bottom,
1725. June 20. 8th day from my leaving Jack Price's.
I found I was in a chamber of a great extent, and tho' 103 yards from the day, breathed as free as if I had been above ground. A little river made a noise in its fall from a high rock, within four yards of the spot I landed on, and ran with impetuosity in a rough channel I knew not where. The water was not deep, as we found with our poles, and but three yards broad, and therefore we crossed it, at 100 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 79 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 50 yards. The cavern was so wide we could not see the walls, and the roof was of a vast height.
At the end of the 50 yards, the river appeared due north again, and by its side we went for 10 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 differed from
Pools-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 climbed from the bottom to the upper end 479 yards
Pools-hole,
a little mile west of
Buxton-wells
in
Derbyshire,
is in the whole length, from the entrance to the farthest ascent, but 230 yards. The account of this in
Camden
is very imperfect, and next to nothing: and what the authors of the
Tour through Great-Britain
say of it, even in their 5th edition, in the year 1753, only shews 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 I shall then give a full and true history of this high and rough country; its waters, curiosities, and antiquities: — 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 5 yards more of aperture 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.
: add to this 229 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 708 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 condition, we could not stir. It was a horrible scene. It chilled my blood, and curdled it in my veins: but I had a tinder-box, matches, and wax-candle, in my pocket, and soon recovered the desirable light; at which we lit other torches, and proceeded to ascend the rough and rocky steep, till we came to the fountain that made the descending flood. The opening upwards from that became very narrow, and the slant so great, that it was extremely difficult to go on; but as I could see the day at the end of it, I resolved to strive hard, and mount, if possible, these remaining 60 yards. In short, we did the work. As before related, we came out this way, and from the dismal caverns of night ascended to a delightful plain; from which we again beheld the glorious sun, and had the finest points of view. It was by this time noon, and under the shade of some aged trees, that grew on the banks of a great lake, on the summit of this vast hill, I sat down to some bread and wine I had brought with me for relief. Never was repast more sweet. I was not only 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.
72. We descended from the top of the mountain, we had travelled through, and arrive at Mr. Harcourt's house.
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, and a fine country house and gardens, about a quarter of a mile off, in a delightful valley, that extended with all the beauties of wood and lawn, meadow and water, from the foot of the mountain I was on, the precipice here was a terrible way for a man to venture down; but it was possible to do it with a long pole, at the hazard of his life, as the rocks projected in many places, and the side went sloping off; and therefore I resolved to descend. I could not think of going back the way I came; since I had got safe into day again, I thought it better to risk my limbs in the face of the sun, than perish as I might do in the black and dismal inside of those tremendous hills. Besides, the house in my view, might be perhaps the one I wanted. It was possible my friend
Turner
might live there.
With art and caution then I began to 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; tho' the perils were so great, that often I could not reach from rock to rock with my pole. In this case, I aimed the point of my pole at the spot I intended to light on, and clapped my feet close to it, when I went off in the air from the rock: the pole coming first to the place broke the fall, and then sliding gently down by it, I pitched on the spot I designed to go to, though six, seven, or eight fathom off, and the part of the rock below not more than a yard broad. It is a frightful piece of activity to a bystander; but the youths on the mountains of Ireland make nothing of it: they are as expert at this work as the
Teneriff
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 like a bird.
My reception at Mr. Harcourt's house.
When we came to the ground, I sent my man before me to the house, with my humble service to Mr.
Harcourt
the master of it, and to let him know, that I had travelled through the inside of one of the high mountains that surrounded his house, and on coming out of the top of it, had made the precipice next him my road to the valley he lived in; that I knew not which way to turn next, in order to go to
Cumberland,
and begged leave to dine with him and receive his information. — This strange message, delivered by
Ralph
with much comic 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 surprizing a thing to Mr.
Harcourt
and his daughter, that they walked out with some impatience to see this extraordinary traveller, and expressed no little amazement, when they came near me. After a salute, Mr.
Harcourt
told me he did not understand what my servant had said to him; nor could he comprehend how I arrived in this valley, as there was but one passage into it at the front of his house; and my being on foot too, encreased the wonder of my appearing in the place: but whatever way I came, I was welcome to his house, and he would shew me the way in.
My arrival here, Sir, (I replied) is to be sure very strange, and would be almost incredible to hear told by another person, of one that journeyed 229 yards deep, to the foundation of this Alp, on the other side of it, then ascended a hollow way, till he got out at the top, and came down a high and frightful precipice to the vale below: But here I am a proof of the fact. I will 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 of its being a perpendicular steep; and that you must have hazarded your life a thousand times, in coming down the way you did with the pole? I tremble as I look at the place, and only with fancy's eye, see you on the descent. Beside, the gentlemen you left on the other side of the hill, will conclude you lost, and be very greatly troubled on the account.
My reason, Madam, (I answering, said) for coming down this very dangerous way, 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 light of heaven, with a human habitation in view, that might afford me some relief, if I only broke my bones; but, if in descending the very steep and horrible caverns of the hill, which with the greatest difficulty I climbed up, I should happen to get a fall, as in all human probability I would, and break a limb in these most dismal cavities of eternal night, I must have perished in the most miserable manner, without a possibility of obtaining any relief. Nor is this all, madam. The thing that brought me here among the mountains of Richmondshire, was to find a gentleman of my acquaintance, and when I saw your house from the top of the mountain, I did not know but it might be his. I fansied it was, as the situation answered my friend's description of the spot he lived on.
And if it had been his, madam, it would have put an end to all my toils; for I am a wanderer upon the face of the earth, through the cruelty of a mother-in-law; and the 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 infallibility of the orthodox system. Because the assent of my mind could not go beyond the perception of my understanding, and I would not allow that the popular confession is the faith once delivered to the saints, therefore I was thrown off, and obliged to become the pilgrim you see before you.
This history of a forlorn seemed stranger to the young lady and her father than even the account of my journey through the 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 going to ask me some questions, when one of his servants came to let him know that dinner was serving up, and by this put an end to our conversation. The master of the house brought me into a fine room, and I saw on the table an elegant dinner: there was likewise a grand sideboard, and several men servants attending: miss
Harcourt
sat at the head of the table, and at her right hand two young ladies, vastly handsome, whom I shall have occasion to mention 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 musick, the other a master 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 civil, 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 distinction rather than the poor pilgrim they saw me, with my staff in my hand. The young lady talked to me in a very pleasant manner, and as I saw the whole company were inclined to be very chearful, I clubbed as much as I could to promote good-humour, and encrease the festivity of the table. We laughed the afternoon away in a charming manner, and when we had done, we all went to walk in the gardens. Here the company soon separated, as the various beauties of the place inclined various minds to different things and parts. Some, pensive roamed in shady walks; some sat by playing fountains; and others went to gather fruits and flowers. I had the honour to walk with Miss
Harcourt
to a canal at some distance, and as we went, this young lady told me, she did not well understand me as to what I had said of religion being concerned in my becoming a traveller, and desired me to be a little more particular. That I will, and immediately proceeded in the following manner.
73. A discourse with miss Harcourt in relation to my religion.
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 lived in, and in good time (he fondly hoped) the inhabitants of many other countries; that notwithstanding the symbol I have mentioned is what no human apprehension can comprehend, and the
judgment
hath nothing to act on in the consideration of it;—that there is nothing to be understood in that symbol, nor can a man form any determination of the matter therein contained; — yet they must
believe
this
great
and
awful mystery:
that three persons and Gods are only one person and God; and, on
peril of eternal misery,
they must confess that,
Father, Son,
and
Holy Ghost,
tho'
three Beings, as distinct as any three things in the universe,
yet are only
one Being.
This mystery I was to preach up in his church, (a church in a field, near his house, to which he had the right of presenting,) and enflame the people against
reason,
that traitor to God and religion, which our adversaries, the Christian deists, would make Lord and King in opposition to
faith.
I was 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 believe, my beloved, that none is before or after the other. — None is greater or less than another. The infidels call this an unintelligible
piece of 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 believed, on peril of eternal misery, as I before observed: and it is easy to be believed, for this
plain reason,
(given by a very learned and pious bishop of our church) to wit, that
it is too high to be by us comprehended.
This was the opinion of that great prelate, Dr.
Beveridge,
in his
Private Thoughts,
p. 52. to which book I refer you, my beloved, for more of his admirable reasoning on this capital article, and farther observe to you, that not only this most pious bishop, and many other most excellent prelates were of this way of thinking; but all the most admirable divines have declared in their sermons, and other matchless writings, that the
more incredible
the
Athanasian creed
is, and the
fuller of contradictions,
the more honour we do to our God in believing it. It is the glory of
orthodox Christians,
that their
faith
is not only contrary to the carnal mind, but even to the
most exalted reason.
In matters of faith, we must renounce our reason, even tho' it be the only thing that distinguishes us from the beasts, and makes us capable of any religion at all. No human arguments are to interfere in this victorious principle: the
catholic faith
is the reverse of rational religion, and except a man believe it faithfully, he must go into everlasting fire and brimstone
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 an excellent divine, the same kind of arguments seriously produced in favor of the Creed of St. Athanasius: yet this strange thing has time brought on, and thereby convinced the world, that the greatest
learning
and the most exalted
piety,
employed in the cause of
mystery,
can become so
extravagant
and
erring
as to mentain 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 understanding, 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-college, Oxon. In his third section of
a clear and comprehensive view of the being, nature, and attributes of God,
from p. 61, to p. 78. the reader may see this
plea
for
darkness, confusion,
and
implicit faith.
He will find an answer to it in the appendix to this journal. No. 2.
.
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 unreasonable commands: but
unfortunately,
for my father's design; and
fortunately,
for my soul; I was, on entring the university, put into the hands of a gentleman, who abhorred
modern orthodoxy,
and made the essential constitutive happiness and perfection of every intelligent being consist in the conformity of our mind to the moral rectitude of the Divine Nature. This excellent man convinced my understanding, that even faith in Christ is of an inferior nature to this: it is only the means to obtain it. Such a conformity and obedience of the heart and conscience to the will of God ought to be my religion, as it was the religion of our Saviour himself.
Thus, madam, was I instructed by a master of arts, my private tutor, and when to his lessons I added my own careful examinations of the
vulgar faith,
and the mind of our Lord as I found it in the
books,
I was thoroughly satisfied, that an act of faith is an act of reason, and an act of reason an act of faith, in religious matters; — that our Lord was not the great God; nor a part of that
compound,
called the
Triune-God;
the miserable invention of divines; but, a more extraordinary messenger than the prophets under the law, chosen by the divine wisdom, to publish the will of God to mankind, and sent under the character of
his son,
and
spiritual heir of his inheritance the church, to new form the ages,
and fix such good principes in the minds of men, as would be productive of all righteousness in the conversation: 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 understanding, and believing things without any rational ground or evidence at all; — instead of going into order, 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 obliged me to swear and subscribe to articles I could not find in my bible; nor would I, as a layman, ever read, or join in the service of reading the tritheistic liturgy and offices he used in his family. I was determined, tho' I lost his favor and large fortune by the resolution; to live and die a
Christian deist;
confessing before men the
personal unity and perfections
of the
true God,
and the
personal mediatorial office
of
Jesus Christ.
As
St. Paul
mentained the
personal unity
and
absolute supremacy
of 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 wills, in a co-ordinate triplicity of all divine attributes and perfections;
but
one individual personal Agent, — one great Spirit, or mind, self-existent, and omnipotent in wisdom and action — one Supreme 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, believe in an worship the same God, the
One God,
the
only true God,
as our
Lord
says in
Matthew
and
Mark;
— through the alone
mediation and intercession
of
Jesus Christ,
our Redeemer and only begotten Son of God; — depending upon the effectual aid and assistance of the blessed Spirit, in hope of a glorious immortality. This is,—this shall be my religion, whatever I may feel from an
antichristian tyranny,
on account of the confession.—Tho' 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 this
faith,
yet I will believe as
Jesus Christ
and his
apostles
have ordered the world to believe. — No
unintelligible cant,
or
scholastic jargon
for me. The
Holy Ghost
has in scripture expressed it
sufficiently
and
unexceptionably
clear, — that there is
One Supreme Independent First-Cause of all things, a Spirit,
that is,
One Spirit, One God: I am God, and there is none like me: I am God,
and
there is none else; beside Me; with Me; none but Me.
— Thus does the Holy Ghost declare; and what signify the despicable, heretical declarations of the doctors, in respect of this?
Then, as a test of Christianity, the same blessed Spirit adds, —
that Jesus is the true Messiah, was sent from God to reveal his will for the salvation of man, and is the only Mediator betwixt God and man.
Thus has the
Holy Ghost
regulated our faith and 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 disobliged my father. I lost his favor intirely. He would take no farther notice of me, and I became as you see a wanderer.
This discourse, delivered with my fire and action, amazed Miss
Harcourt
so greatly, that for some time after I had done, she could not speak, but continued looking with great earnestness at me. At last however she said, I am glad, Sir, it has been my fate to meet with you, and must, when there is more time, converse with you on this subject. My father and I have had some doubts as to the truth of the
Athanasian creed;
but he told me, he did not chuse to examine the thing, as it had the sanction of ages, and was believed 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
Athanasius,
after a thorough examination of the system; and that you have now said some things against it that shew the folly of believing 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
contradiciton,
as I have often thought, and a doctrine against which a great number of texts can be produced. This I will examine. My reason shall be no 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, oblige me with your thoughts on the texts I have marked, as produced by orthodox divines for their mysterious religion. If you make me sensible that those texts do not prove the doctrine they are brought for, and of consequence, that the doctrine of the trinity as by them taught, is the work of
uninspired
writers, I shall renounce it to be sure. I will no longer mistake contradictions for mysteries. The schemes and inventions of men shall not pass with me for the revelations of God
The texts produced by Miss
Harcourt,
the next day, in a sheet of paper, she gave me, and my written explication of them in answer, the reader will find in the appendix to this journal, No. 3. I satisfied her, that the
letter
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
Christian-Deist.
.
74. Mr. Harcourt's observation on our discourse, and generous offer to me.
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 replied, and immediately began to relate the whole conference, and her resolution. Your resolution (the father said) is excellent. You have not only my consent, but I recommend it to you as the noblest work you can employ any time on. For my part, Sir, (Mr.
Harcourt
continued, turning himself to me) I never liked this part of our protestant religion, and have often wished our public prayers had been more conformable to the simplicity of the gospel; that we had been contented with what our Master and the Holy Spirit 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 most importance, and that the
orthodox faith
is a
sad thing,
if the truth be, after all our Athanasian believing, that
Christ
is no more than
God's instrument,
as St.
Peter
and St.
Paul
name him; a
succesful 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 will, his own good pleasure, purpose,
etc. 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 prefering the things that are eternal, when what you thought truth could not be held with things temporal. I have (Mr.
Harcourt
continued) a very great esteem for you on this account, and if I can be of 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, tho' 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 to truth has exposed me to. One week however I will stay with you, since you are so good as to invite me in this kind manner.
Here then I stayed a week, and passed it in a most happy way. Mr.
Harcourt
was 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 the honour to commence a friendship with me, which lasted from that time till death destroyed the golden thread that linked it.
75. An account of Harriot Eusebia Harcourt.
Reader, this young lady,
Harriot Eusebia Harcourt,
was the foundress of a religious house of protestant recluses, who are still a society in that part of
Richmondshire
where first I saw her and her father. They are under no vow, but while they please to continue members, live as they do in nunneries, and in piety, and in all the parts of the christian temper, endeavour a resemblance 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 musick and painting for their diversion, and unbend their minds in these delightful arts, for a few hours every day. This makes them excel in these particulars. They are great masters in all kinds of musick, 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 admirable — her pictures had the ordonnance, colouring, and expression of a great master. She was born with a picturesque genius, and a capacity to give measure and movement to compositions of harmony. Her music at the time I am speaking of had a most surprizing power: and in painting, long before this time, she astonished. When she was a child, nine years old, and had no master, she would sketch with a black lead pencil on a sheet of paper the pictures of various kinds that came in her way, and make such 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 landskips, and low subjects with a success great as
Teniers,
but evinced by her paintings, that she brought into the world with her an aptitude for works of a superior class. Her pictures shew that she was not the last among the painters of history. They are as valuable for the merit of the execution as for the merit of the subjects.
76. An account of Mrs. Harcourt's pictures of the Revelations of S. John.
Her histories of the revelations of St. John, which she finished a little before her death, from the first vision to the last, demonstrate 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 cloyster of St. Clare at Naples), yet these paintings are treated with greater truth, and shew that the imagination of the painter had a hand and eye at its disposal to display the finest and compleatest ideas. The great artist is obvious in them.
Pictures.
The first picture of this Series is a 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 veneration, elle-imprime une terreur respectueuse. In his right hand, this grand person holds the main shaft that supports the six branches of the six lighted lamps, and the seventh lamp 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 snuffers.
St. John
is seen on the floor. He is looking in great surprize at the whole appearance, 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
Apocalyps, — When I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead.
Picture 2.
The next picture in this series is a continuation of, or another representation of the inside of the temple, the golden lamp-sconce of seven golden candlesticks, and the august personage in refulgent brightness, and 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
St. John
describes him); —
he laid his right-hand upon me
(the hand which before held the seven stars, or lighted golden lamps, that exhibited an appearance not unlike a constellation of stars)
saying unto me, fear not. I am the first and the last. I am he that liveth, even tho' I was dead, and behold I am alive for evermore, Amen. And I have the keys of hell and of death.
— One almost hears these words from the lips of the august form, so wonderfully is the figure painted,— so happily has the pencil counterfeited 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.
Picture 3.
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 represented by a crystal seat or glory, and from it proceed flashings of a bright flame like lightning and thunder, to represent the awful majesty of the
One,
and
One Only, True God,
the
Supreme Lord
of all things: seven lamps of fire are burning before this throne, as emblems of the seven spirits, or principal servants of God, to shew with what purity, constancy, and zeal, the spirits of the just 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 Shechinah,
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 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 spirit of the Living God.
Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that his Spirit dwelleth in you?
The next figures are the four living 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 he whole circle round about, full of eyes, not only before but behind: so as to have a direct and full view every way: without-side them, on seats, are the four and twenty elders placed, in white and shining garments, with crowns of gold upon their heads. The person who sits on the throne appears in great majesty and glory, and round about his throne the most beautiful rainbow is seen; to express the glory of God, and his faithfulness to his covenant and promise: the four living creatures next the throne, who represent the angels attendant on the
Shechinah,
and have the appearance of a lion, a calf, a man, and an eagle, full of eyes, and with six wings, to express the great understanding and power of the angels, their activity, constancy, and good will; — they are drawn in the act of adoring and praising the eternal living God; and are answered by the four and twenty elders, the representatives of the people, the churches. So inimitably are all these things painted, that the faces of the
cherubim
and the
four and twenty elders
seem to move in worship and thanksgiving: one acquainted with the divine songs, cannot help fansying that he hears the
four living creatures,
saying,
Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come;
who for ever 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,
Who is worthy to open the book, and to loose the seals thereof
— and a lamb with seven horns and eyes, standing just before the throne, within the circles of the cherubim and elders: this Lamb, represented as a sacrifice, and with seven horns and eyes, to shew the power, wisdom, and goodness of our Lord in the work of redemption, and the accomplishment 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 encreasing, as he hears the
living creatures
and the elders sing a new song, or hymn of a new composition, which expresses the peculiar 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 liveth 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 delightful richness of local colours. This painting gives the beholder a full and fine idea of the
vision
As Mrs. Harcourt's pencil has illustrated the revelation of St. John, in a more satisfactory way than I have seen in any commentator, and gives in particular a striking view of popery in her pictures, I shall give the reader an account of the other pieces in another place. You will find them among other curious things in the appendix to this journal.
77. Miss Harcourt's character.
But it was not only in painting, and in musick, that Miss
Harcourt
excelled: she had, when I first saw her, made great progress in her studies, and discovered in her conversation extraordinary abilities. She talked wisely and learnedly on many subjects, and in so charming a manner, that she entered into the possession of the heart, and the 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 he correctest Latin she often spoke to me, and for an hour would discourse in the Roman tongue, with as great ease as if she had been talking English. She spoke it without any manner of difficulty, which was more than I could do. I was slow, and paused sometimes; but this young lady went on with that volubility of tongue the women are born with. The language being
Latin
was no check to her natural fluency of speech.
To all this let me add, and with truth I can add it, that
Eusebia,
from the time I was first acquainted with her to her death, walked in the fear of the Lord, and of consequence, in the comforts of the Holy Ghost. Religion from her infancy as her stated and ordinary business, and her sole concern to know and do her duty to God and men. The Proverbs of Solomon, and the pattern of Christ, were her study when a very young girl, and from both she acquired a conduct so prudent and evangelical, that she seemed at the greatest heights of grace and goodness which a mortal can reach, and appeared as one that had made a prodigious proficiency in divine knowledge, and in every virtue: yet there was nothing gloomy, or even formal in her behaviour: she was good-humour itself: frank and free; quite easy, and for ever chearful.
Her picture.
Miss
Harcourt,
at the time I am speaking of, that is, in the one and twentieth year of her age, had all the qualities that constitute a beauty: she was tall and graceful, and in every action, and her whole behaviour, to the last degree charming: her eyes were vastly fine, large and long, even with her face, black as night, and had a sparkling 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 the year 34 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 sometimes in one of the
Western Islands,
but for the most part in
Richmondshire.
Since her death, which happend in the year 45, they have lived intirely in the North of England, 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
Instituto,
Mrs.
Harcourt
encreased it to twenty-four members, by taking in twelve eleves 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 office another year. This, and their easy circumstances, secure their peace, and as they are ever wise to that which is good, and simple concerning evil, they lead most happy lives: nor can it be otherwise with mortals who cultivate the grace of humility (the want of which lies at the bottom of all contentions,) and by a christian prudence, make it their main work to facilitate the practice of piety, and to promote the 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 diligence in making constant advances toward the perfect day. Mrs.
Harcourt
shewed them what an uninspired mortal could do by the means of grace: that it was possible for assisted human nature (feeble as flesh and blood is) to resist temptations the most violent, and by the supreme motives of our religion, acquit ourselves like christians. If there be a devil to assault, a corrupt heart to oppose, and many difficulties to be encountred, yet her conduct was a demonstration, that those who are heirs of the heavenly country, may chuse and prosecute their best interests, and improve the divine life to a high degree. Let us (she used to say) make salvation not only a concern on the bye, but the governing aim thro' the present life, and we shall not only live like the primitive christians, but die for our holy faith, with more resolution than the worthies of Greece and Rome, tho' death should appear in all his array of terrors. Neither adversity nor prosperity could then tempt us to drop a grain of incense before any idol, or commit any action that dishonoured the gospel. Let what will happen, in all events, we should secure the future happiness of our souls, and thereby provide for the everlasting glory and felicity of our bodies too in the morning of the resurrection.
78. 1725. Our return to Ulubrae by a dangerous way.
The twenty-fifth day of
June
I took my leave of Miss
Harcourt
and her father, and the rest of the good company, and on horses I borrowed, we returned to the philosophers at
Ulubrae.
It was nineteen miles round of most terrible road; a great part of it being deep and swampy bottom, with holes up to the horses shoulders in some places; and for several miles, we were obliged to ride on the sides of very steep and craggy mountains, in a path so very narrow, that we risked life, and passed in terror: a wrong step would have been destruction beyond recovery. It was likewise no small perplexity to find, that I was going back again, the course being south and southwest; and that there was no other way of journeying from Mr.
Harcourt
's to
Ulubrae,
but through the pass I first travelled from
Westmorland;
unless I rid from Mr.
Harcourt
's into
Cumberland,
and then round through
Bishoprick
to the valley the gentlemen lived in. On then I went at all hazards, and in a tedious manner was forced to creep the way: but to make some amends, the prospects from the hills were fine, and things very curious occurred. Groupes of crests of mountains appeared here and there, like large cities with towers and old Gothick edifices, and from caverns in their sides torrents of water streamed out, and tumbled in various courses to the most delightful vales below. In some of the vast hills there were openings quite through, so as to see the sun, at the end of three or four thousand yards; and in many of them were sloping caverns, very wonderful to behold.
79. A fine chamber in a mountain, and a passage from the room to a valley on the other side of the vast precipice.
I found in one of them, near the top of a very high mountain, a descent like steps of stairs, that was in breadth and height like the isle of a church, for 300 yards, and then ended at a kind of door, or small arched opening, that was high enough for a tall man to walk into a grand room which it led to. This chamber was a square of 17 yards, and had an arched roof about 20 high. The stone of it was a green marble, not earthy and opake, but pure and crystalline, which made it appear very beautiful, as the walls were as smooth as if the best polish had made them so. There was another opening or door at the other side of this chamber, and from it likewise went a descent like steps, but the 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, tho' it seemed at a great distance from me, and as it was not dangerous to descend, I determined to go down.
The descent was 479 yards in a straight line, and opened in a view of meadows, scattered trees, and streams, that were 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 center of it a neat and pretty little country house, on an easy rising ground. I could discover with my long glass a young and handsome woman sitting at the door, engaged in needle-work of some kind; and on the margin of a brook hard by, another charmer stood, angling for fish of some sort: a garden appeared near the mansion that was well improved; and in the fields were sheep and goats, horses, and cows: cocks and hens, ducks and geese, were walking about the ground; and I could perceive a college of bees. The whole formed a charming scene.
80. An account of the inhabitants of the valley I came into.
Pleased with the view, and impatient to know who the two charmers were, I quite forgot the poor situation in which I left
Tim,
holding the horses at the mouth of the cavern, on the dangerous side of so high a hill, and proceeded immediately to the house, as soon as I had recovered myself from a fall. My foot slipt in the passage, about six yards from the day, and I came rolling out of the mountain in a violent and surprizing manner. It was just mid-day when I came up to the ladies, and as they did not see me till they chanced to turn round, they were so amazed at my appearing, they changed colour, and one of them shrieked aloud; but this fright was soon over, on my assuring them that I was their most humble servant, and had against my will tumbled out of the hole that was at the bottom of that vast mountain before them. This I explained, and protested that I had not a thought of paying them a visit, when curiosity led me into an opening near the top of the hill, as I was travelling on; but that when I did get through so wonderful a passage, and saw what was still more strange, when I arrived in the vale, to wit, two ladies, in so wild and silent a place, I judged it my duty to pay my respects, and ask if you had any commands that I could execute in the world? This was polite, they said, and gave me thanks; but told me, they had no favor to ask than that I would dine with them, and inform them how it happened that I was obliged to travel over these scarce passable mountains, where there was no society nor support to be had. Beside, if in riding here, you should receive a mischief, there was not a possibility of getting any relief. There must be something very extraordinary surely, that could cause you to journey over such frightful hills, and through the deep bottoms at the foot of them.
Ladies (I replied), necessity and curiosity united are the spring that move me over these mountains, and enable me to bear the hardships I meet with in these ways. Forced from home by the cruelties of a step-mother, and forsaken by my father on her account, I am wandering about the precipices of Richmondshire 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 contemplate the works of nature, which are very grand and astonishing in this part of the world, I have gone many a mile out of my way while I have been looking for several days past for my friend, and have ventured into places where very few I believe would go. It was this taste for natural knowledge that travelled me down the inside of the mountain I am just come out of. If I had not had it, I should never have known there was so delightful a little country here as what I now see: nor should I have had the honor and happiness of being known to you.
But tell me, Sir, (one of these beauties said) how have you lived for several days among these rocks and desart places, as there are no inns in this country, nor a house, except this here, that we know? are you the favorite of the fairies and genies — or does the wise man of the hills bring you every night in a cloud to his home?
It looks something like it, madam, (I answering said) and the thing to be sure must appear very strange: but it is like other strange things: when the nature of them is known, they appear easy and plain. This 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 innumerable 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 intervals betwixt the mountains: the sweetest interchange between hill and valley, I believe in all the world, is to be found in Richmondshire, and in several of those delightful vales I discovered inhabitants as in this place: but the houses are so separated by fells scarce passable, and torrents of water, that those who live in the centre of one group of mountains know not any thing of agreeable inhabitants that may dwell on the other side of the hills in an adjacent vale. If there had been a fine spot at the bottom of the precipice I found the opening in, and people living there, (as might have been the case) you ladies who live here, could have no notion of them, as you knew nothing of a passage from the foot to the summit of yonder mountain, within side of the vast hill, and if you did, would never venture to visit that way; and as there is not a pass in this chain of hills, to ride or walk through, to the other side of them: but the way out of this valley we are now in, as I judge from the trending of the mountains all round us, must be an opening into some part of Cumberland. For this reason Stanemore hills may have several families among them, tho' you have never heard of them, and I will now give you an account of some, who behaved in the most kind and generous manner to me. Here I began to relate some particulars concerning 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.
Harcourt,
and his excellent daughter, whom I left in the morning; and at whose house I arrived by travelling up the dark bowels of a tremendous mountain; as, on the contrary, I arrived at theirs by a descent through yonder frightful hill, till I came rolling out by a fall within, in a very surprising and comical way; a way that would have made you laugh, ladies; or, in a fright, cry out, if you had happened to be walking near the hole or opening in the bottom of that hill, when, by a slip of my foot, in descending, a few yards from the day, I tumbled over and over, not only down what remained of the dark steep within, but the high sloping bank that reaches from the the outside of the opening to the first flat part of the vale. There is nothing wonderful 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, an 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 to be sitting near the hole, in the bottom of that tremendous rocky mountain, as they sometimes did, and often wondered where the opening went to, and that I had come rolling down upon them, they would have been frightened out of their senses; for they must have thought it a very strange appearance: without hearing the history of it, they must think it a prodigious occurrence, or exception from the constant affairs of nature.
This might be, ladies, (I answered,) but from seeing me before your eyes you must own, that many things may be fact, which at first may seem to exceed the common limits of truth. Impossible or supernatural some people conclude many cases to be that have not the least difficulty in them, but happen to be made of occurrences and places they have not seen, nor heard the like of before. Things thought prodigious or 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 excellent one. The ladies were very civil to me, and exerted a good humour to shew me, I suppose, that my arrival was not disagreeable to them, tho' 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 schoolfellow, and my senior by a year in the university, which he left two years before I did, and went from
Dublin
to the north of
England,
to inherit a paternal estate on the decease of his father. There was an 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 meant, and therefore, I am sure he is my friend
To this the lady answered, Sir, since
Charles Turner
is the man you want, your enquiry is at an end, for you are now at his house; and I, who am his sister, bid you welcome to
Skelsmore-Vale
in his name. He has been for a year and a half last past in Italy, and a little before he went, gave me such a description of you as enabled me to 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 chance to call here, while I happened to be in the country, that I would receive you, as if you were himself; and when I removed, if I could not, or did not chuse to stay 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
Scarborough
next week, and from thence to
London:
nor is this all: as I know I shall the more oblige my brother the civiller I am to you, I will, when the Scarborough season is over, if you chuse to spend the winter here, come back to
Skelsmore-Vale,
and stay till Mr. Turner returns.
This discourse astonished me to the last degree — to hear that I was at my friend Turner's house, — he abroad, and to be so for another year: the possession of his seat offered me; and his charming sister so very civil and good, as to assure me she would return from the Spaw, and stay with me till her brother came home: these were things so unexpected and extraordinary, that I was for some time silent, and at a loss what to say. I paused for some minutes, with my eyes fastened on this beauty, and then said — Miss
Turner,
the account you have given of your brother, and the information that I am now at his house — his friendly offers to me by you, and your prodigious civility, in resolving to return from Scarborough, 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 favors. Accept my thanks, and be assured, that while I live, I shall properly remember the civility and benevolence of this day; and be ever ready, if occasion offered, and the fates should put it in my power, to make a due return. Your offer, madam, in particular, is so high an honour done me, and shews a spirit so 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, would not be right, nor agreeable to me: and as to confining you, madam, in staying with me, I would not do it for the world. Sir, (Miss
Turner
replied) in respect of my staying here, it will be no confinement to me, I assure you. My heart is not set upon going to London. It was only want of company made Miss
Jacquelot
and me think of it, and if you will stay with us, we will not even go to Scarborough this season. — This was goodness indeed: but against staying longer than two or three days, I had many good reasons that made it necessary for me to depart: beside the unreasonableness of my being an expence to Mr.
Turner
in his absence, or confining his sister to the country; there was
Orton-Lodge,
where I had left
O Fin,
my lad, at work, to which I could not avoid going again: and there was Miss
Melmoth,
on whom I had promised to wait, and did intend to ask her if she would give me her hand, as I liked her and her circumstances, and fansied she would live with me in any retreat I pleased to name; which was a thing that would be most pleasing to my mind. It is true, if
Charles Turner
had come home, while I stayed at his house, it was possible I might have got his sister, who was a very great 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, tho' by missing her I had been brought to beg my bread. Three days then only I could be prevailed on to stay, and the time indeed was happily spent.
Miss Turner's character.
Miss
Turner
was good-humoured, sensible, and discreet, as one could wish a woman to be, talked pleasantly upon common subjects, and was well acquainted with the three noblest branches of polite learning, antiquity, history, and geography. It was a fine entertainment to hear her. She likewise understood musick, and sung, and played well on the small harpsichord: but her moral character was what shed the brightest lustre on her soul. Her thoughts and words were ever employed in promoting God's glory, her neighbour's benefit, and her own true welfare; and her hand very often, in giving to the poor. One third of her fine income she devoted to the miserable, and was in every respect so charitable, that she never indulged the least intemperance in speaking. She detested that calumny and reproach which assassinates a credit, as much as she abhorred the shedding a man's blood. The goodness of her heart was great indeed: the integrity of her life was glorious. She was perfection, so far as the thing is consistent with the nature and state of man here—as it was possible for a mortal to be exempt from blame in life, and blemish of soul. An absolute exemption from faults cannot be the condition of any one in this world: But (to the ladies I now speak), you may, like miss
Turner,
be eminently good, if you will do your best to be perfect in such a kind and degree as human frailty doth admit.
81. Miss Jacquelot's character.
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 little 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 life 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 that intrenched upon piety, infringed charity, or disturbed the happiness of any one, nor at any time shewed the least sign of a vain and light spirit: yet she had a sportfulness of wit and fancy that was delightful, when she could handsomely and innocently use it, and loved to exert the sallies of wit in a lepid way, when they had no tendency to defile or discompose her mind, to wrong or harm the hearer, or her neighbour, or to violate any of the grand duties incumbent on us; piety, charity, justice, and sobriety. Every thing that reason made unfit to be expressed, in relation to these virtues, she always carefully avoided; but otherwise, such things excepted, would enliven and instruct by good sense in jocular expression, in a way the most charming and pleasing. She was very wise, agreeable and happy. She was very good and worthy.
This young lady was a great master on the fiddle, and very knowing in
connoissance.
She painted well, and talked in an astonishing manner, for a woman, and for her years, of pictures, sculpture, and medals. She was indeed a fine creature in soul and body.
82. My departure from Skelsmore-Vale.
With these ladies I spent three days in
Skelsmore-Vale;
and the time we talked, walked, played, and laughed away. Sometimes we rambled about the hills, and low adown the dales. Sometimes we sat to serious
ombre;
and often went to
musick
by the falling-streams. Miss
Turner
sung; miss
Jacquelot
played the fiddle: and on my German flute I breathed the softest airs. We were a happy three, and parted with regret on every side. Fain would they have had me stay, and
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.
83. A morning reflexion on the rising sun, and the Great Spirit who created it.
The sun was rising as we mounted the horses, and struck me so powerfully with the surpassing splendor and majesty of its appearance, so cheared me by the gladsome influences, and intimate refreshment of its all-enlivening beams, that I was contriving as I rid on an apology for the first adorers of the solar orb, and imagined they intended nothing more than the worship of the transcendent majesty of the invisible Creator, under the symbol of his most
excellent
and nearly resembling 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: 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 ruralists,
without a
creed,
and without
a philosophy,
should be tempted to some warmer emotion than a merely speculative admiration, and inclined to something of immediate devotion. That universal chorus of joy that is manifested at the
illustrious solemnities
of opening sun-shine, might tempt the weak to join in a seemingly-
religious
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
revelation
expressly against them —
Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.
(Matt. iv, 10.) —
Neither shalt thou set up any image or pillar.
(Deut. xvi. 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 luminary 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 fansied
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 splendor likest heaven.
They might ascribe the origin of their own existence, and the world's, to this seemingly adequate cause, and genial power of the system; when they beheld him returning again in the east, (as I now see him) after the gloom and sadness of the night; again the restorer of light and comfort, and the renewer of the world;
regent of the day, and all th'horizon round, invested with bright rays;
that all inferior nature, the earth's own form, and the supports of its animated inhabitants, 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 reveled 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 fansied) of this heavenly body, and that some homage was due to the fountain of so much warmth and beneficence. This (I imagine) may account for the earliest kind of idolatry; the worship paid to the sun. The effects of his presence are so great, and his splendour so overpowering and 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 revelation
The weakness of tradition.
When the
tribes
went off from
Noah
in
Peleg
's days, in the aera 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 farewel 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 to be sure 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, especially the doctrine of
the being of a God, his unity 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 by tradition only, become precarious. The tradition is rendered obscure and dubious. It might remain pretty perfect, while
Peleg, Reu, Serug, Nabor,
and
Terah,
lived, as they had their informations from
Noah,
and were thoroughly advised to make God the object of 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 recomended 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 antient facts, and distance and other objects overshadowed them. A depravation of tradition might likewise arise from relators forgetting material circumstances, and from a misapprehension of antient 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 antient 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 themselves: for the works of nature still remained in all their wondrous 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 intelligence ought likewise to have led them to the
great Original
it was formed by, an
uncreated mind.
There must be a
divine understanding,
or there never could be
pure intellection
in man. It is impossible to solve the phaenomena of moral entities, without the being of God. If it were possible for atoms, rencountring 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
ntelligent.
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 intelligence.
All the works of nature proclaim it, and especially the human soul.
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 postdiluvian world, religious knowledge was decayed, and we can trace the origin and beginning 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 170th 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 worshiper of false gods, from
Ur
of the
Chaldees,
with
Abraham,
his son, and
Lot,
etc. that the young 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 352; 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 well as Jews, in his infinite wisdom, proceeded 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 human 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
unwritten word
of
Rome
let us despise. There is no security in tradition. It is insufficient for the preservation of truth: and for that reason, God gave us the
writings of inspired men.
, and wanted those helps to judgment which are derived from the experience, observation, and reasoning of past times, the
specious
idolatry might have been introduced, and something tolerably plausible perhaps was 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 exhibition
(as observed); they might, in the next place, conclude from the extraordinary motion of the luminary, that he was an
animated being,
and
noble intelligence,
placed in the highest post of honor and usefulness, and employed by God as his first minister and servant; for which reason, they thought it their duty to magnify and venerate the
sun,
whom the Creator had exalted so high; as the chief ministers of kings are had in honor, which is reflected back on their royal 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 all lower nature happy by his benign and diffusive influence; could see as far as he is seen, and every way was fitted for the noble work he had to execute. Thus did the
sun
commence a God. He must, (they thought) from every appearance, in his wondrous, useful course, have the most exalted powers; be wise and benevolent, great and good. And when the worship of this luminary was once established, it could not be long before the
moon
was
deified:
and then the
stars
became
conservators
of the universe. From thence idolatry went on, and added to the heavenly bodies the
emblematic doctrine,
and
animal apotheosis. Artificial fire
was
consecrated,
and made the
symbol
of
sidereal splendors. Deity
was exhibited to the multitude in the
forms
of its
effects,
and innumerable orders of inferior divinities by degrees sprang up. Successive enlargements of the system of
natural apotheosis
prevailed; and, at last, the
world,
which ought only to have been regarded, as the magnificent
theatre
of
divine perfections,
was itself
blasphemously
adored, as the
independent proprietor
of them.
It is evident from hence that a
reveled rule
was wanting, or man had need of
physics,
to suppress the rising transports of a too eager gratitude, and guard against the inclination to worship this rising, lucid being, now so glorious before me; whose motion is so
steady
and
uniform, swift, regular,
and
useful,
that it seems to manifest itself a
wise
and
intelligent
being. Without the
lights
of
philosophers,
or the
supernatural assistance
of religion, it was hard for recent and wondering mortals, to refrain from worshiping that beautiful body, as they saw it proceeded with the greatest harmony, and shed innumerable blessings on them. But
pure reveled religion
diffuses such a light as manifests the error: and a
correct
and
philosophic
reasoning, (in this
improved
age the
safe guide,
and
proper arbitrator
of religion) not only refuses to address itself to that God of the antient popular theology, but proves the worship impious and absurd.
Right reason
and
revelation
demonstrate from the matchless graces and glories of 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 beautifully provides for the uses and occasions of human life, and produces repeated millions 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!
And especially, when from the earth I lift up my eyes to the heavens, and behold among the wonders of the firmament, that vast and magnificent orb, the sun now rising before me, brightning by degrees the 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 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 stampt 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 to a thorough and rational examination. A supreme Being, an eternal self-existent mind, who comprehends and presides over all, must impart the benefits of that glorious creature before me, using it as an inanimate, unconscious, instrument of conveying light, heat, and prolific influences to the
earth;
which, by infinite power, is rendered as much active in sending the vegete juices through the vessels of all plants, as the sun is in diffusing its rays upon the surface of the globe we inhabit. The
sun,
and
moon,
and
stars,
are but instruments in his hand, for bringing about mechanically whatever good effects he has created them to produce. Our
holy religion
and
philosophic
reasoning evince this truth. This glorious sun bears the signatures of its author, and the finger of God is discernible every where. The wisdom and loving-kindness of the Lord are visible, whatever way we turn. His bounty appears by its constant, yet 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, inevitable ruin: and when, in the evening it leaves us overspread by the darkness, to visit others with its benign influences; the change is charming, for night gives man a necessary vacation from the labours of the day. In sleep he takes the sweetest refreshment, till this rising sun, by the beneficent direction of its great Author, again appears in grace and splendor, and displays the face of nature in unspeakable beauties. Every where the bounty of the supreme Spirit I see diffused; through air, through earth, and in the waters. No place is without witnesses of his liberality; 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 acknowledge him
worthy to receive glory and honour and power, who has created all things, and for his pleasure they are and were created.
And it follows, that we should likewise absolutely submit to this sovereign Being, and ever resign ourselves to his direction and disposal. Where can ignorance and impotence find so safe and sure a refuge as in infinite wisdom, and almighty power?
84. A delightful landscape betwixt the mountains.
In this manner were my thoughts employed, as we rid over the brows of many high hills, with the rising sun before me, till we descended to a narrow wet bottom, which trended due west for an hour, and brought us to the foot of another high mountain. This we ascended with the horses as far as it was possible to bring them, and from thence I climbed up to the top, by a steep craggy way, near 200 yards. This was very difficult and dangerous, but I had an enchanting prospect, when I gained the summit of the hill. A valley near a mile in breadth appeared betwixt the opposite mountains, and that on which I stood; and a river was running through it, that spread sometimes into little lakes, and sometimes fell headlong from the rocks in sounding cascades. The finest meadows, and little thickets, bordered those waters on every side, and beyond them the vast hills had a fine effect in the view: some were covered with forest; and some with precipitating streams. I was charmed with this assemblage of the beauties of nature. It is a more delightful landscape than art has been able to form in the finest gardens of the world.
85. A pretty country seat.
The descent was easy to this beautiful vale, and after I had feasted my eyes with the prospect of the place, I went down to see who lived in a house covered with creeping greens, that stood by a sonorous waterfall. Some wise one perhaps, (I said) who scorns the character of the libertine, or the sot, and to the pursuits of avarice and ambition leaves the world; to enjoy in this fine retreat 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 relation, enjoy that fulness of satisfactions and felicities, which the divine institution was designed to produce. Happy pair indeed! if such a pair be here.
86. A strange meeting.
But when I came near the mansion, no human creature could I see, nor, for some time, could I find an entrance any way. The gate of the garden in which the house stood was fast, and so was every window and door: but as the gardens were in fine order, and full of fruits, vegetables, and flowers, I knew it must be an inhabited place, tho' its people were from home. With my pole therefore I leaped a deep moat, which surrounded the garden, and for half an hour continued walking about it, pulling some things, and looking at others, in hopes that some one might be seen: no soul 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 shade of laurel, ever-green, and branching palm. Down I went immediately. I walked thro' a long arched passage, in which two lamps were burning, and at the end of it came to an open door, that admitted me into an 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 habitation of rogues, I might find myself in a pound. What shall I do then? Go on, (says curiosity) and bravely finish the adventure.
Softly then I ascended, listening, by the way, if I could hear any voice, and 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 library. 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 every thing looked as belonging to a scholar and man of fortune. Great was my amazement, as I saw no living creature. I knew not what to think of all these things: nor did my astonishment diminish, when I went from the library 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 continued near an hour, when I turned round to depart, and saw at the door of the library I was in, a gentleman, and two young ladies in riding-dresses, who seemed more than amazed at the sight of me. The man's face I knew very well, and soon remembred he was one of the 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
Melmoth
and me to our inn. With us he sat for the time I have said, and talked like a man of sense and virtue. He was but three or four years older than I was, and yet so very grave, that in respect of temper, he was fit for the bench. He told me, he lived in too remote a place, ever to expect to see me in the 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 agreeable to me to improve our acquaintance. Many other civil things he said, and shewed a regard for me that I little expected, and could not but wonder at. All this made me as well known to him as he was remembred by me; but he looked as it were scared at the sight of me, in the place I now appeared in; where I stood leaning on my long pole (when he came to the closet door), and was reading out the following lines in a book I chanced to take into my hand; to which I added a few reflexions:
87. A passage I chanced to turn to in a Greek author.
Est ut dicis. Vera praedicas, vir sapiens.
Quae ad Deos spectant, pulcherrimum sacrificium et cultum esse maximum ducito, si teipsum quam optimum et justissimum praebeas.
: Praebere se quam optimum ac justissimum, pluris apud Deos quam multae victimae. Sperandum est enim tales potius, quam qui victimas multas prosternunt, quidpiam boni a Diis immortalibus accepturos. Quam optimum cor ac justissimum ad aras feramus, & 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 conformable to the truth of things, and continually display strict justice and universal charity, we offer the noblest sacrifice to heaven, and are consimilated with the Deity. By this divine affection, or order and goodness, we manifest a continual use and employment of ourselves 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 mysteries,
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; speculative 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.
88. Mr. Berrisfort's kind reception of me.
This passage and reflexion pronounced very loud, with an enthusiasm that seizes me when I take a classic in my hand, added greatly to the astonishment of finding me in the closet, and for some time the gentleman was not able to speak, or come forward; but at last, moving towards me, as I did to him, the moment I saw him, he said, by what strange chance have I the favor of seeing you here? Inform me, I beseech you, in the name of friendship, what surprizing 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 seeing me in this remote and silent part of the world, and especially at my being in your study, without either horse or attendant in waiting, that you could find, on coming home; but the thing was all natural, in the common course of events, as you shall hear.
Three weeks after you left me at
Whitehaven,
I set out from 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 the fine prospect, and seeing the descent on this side easy, and a house and large gardens before me, I could not refrain from going down to the bottom. I marched on to take a view of the mansion and improvements, and as I saw some ver fine things in the gardens, and no sign of any living creature; the gates shut, and every place to appearance fastened, I leaped the moat with this pole, and after I had wandered about the ground, by accident came to the shady enclosure, 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 out, when you came to the door of your study. Such were the causes that brought me where you find me.
(Mr.
Berrisfort
replied): Sir, I am glad there was any thing in the force and operation of casualties, that could bring you to my house, and I assure you upon my word, that you are most heartily welcome. As I lay in my cabbin on ship-board, I conceived a great regard for you, on account of many 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, tho' it militates with the reveled truths of God, and the reason and fitness of things. I was greatly pleased with your different definitions of churchism and religion, and honoured you not a little for what you said in opposition to unintelligible mystery, and the glare of ceremony; at the same time, that you contended for the 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 this closet of books, which you shall possess while you stay here, we will hunt, and set, and shoot, and enjoy all the pleasures of the field: but in the mean time, as it is now ten o'clock, we ought to think of breakfast, and he desired his sister, a most charming creature, to call for it immediately, and I soon saw several servants bring in every thing that was elegant and excellent. He told me I need be under no uneasiness about my mare and horses, for there was a steep narrow way for them to come down to his stables, about half a mile from the place I left them, and he would immediately send one of his servants to bring them.
This was vastly civil and affectionate, and I told Mr.
Berrisfort,
that I was under great obligations to him for his goodness, which I should ever have an extreme sense of, but I was obliged to go on upon business: a few days however I would enjoy the happiness he offered me, and we passed them in a very delightful manner.
89. Manner of living at Yeoverin-Green.
Early in the morning, we went out with the hounds, and for half a dozen hours, had the dogs in full cry before us. We had hawks and pointers in the afternoon, and enjoyed abroad all the sports of the field. Within, when our labours were over, we had the most elegant dinners and suppers; every thing, of meat and drink, that the best taste could desire: and the conversation was excellent after the repasts.
90. Characters of Mr. Berrisfort, his sister, and Miss Fox.
Mr.
Berrisfort
was a man of letters and breeding; and the ladies had sense, and were no strangers to the best English books. They understood no other language than their mother tongue, but the choicest authors of every kind that our country has produced, 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 every thing 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 liked better than those girls. They both charmed me with their persons, their faces, their good manners, and their chat; but I could not enough admire Miss
Berrisfort
for one particular, in which she not only excelled Miss Fox, but all the women that I have ever seen. This was in hunting. In the field, she seemed the
silver-shafted queen.
91. The daring spirit of Miss Berrisfort in hunting.
Mr.
Berrisfort
and Miss
Fox
followed the dogs with caution, and never attempted any thing that could hazard their necks or their bones: but the charming
Juliet 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 limbs. She leaped every thing to keep in with the dogs; five-bar gates; the most dangerous ditches and pales; and drove full-speed down the steepest hills, if it was possible for a horse to keep his feet on them. She frightened me the first 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 lillies grew. I was reckoned a very desperate rider by all that knew me, and yet, with this young lady, I paused several times at some leaps, when she did not hesitate at all. Over she went, in a moment, without thinking of the perils in her way; and then, if I broke my neck, I could not but pursue.
When glory call'd, and beauty led the way,
What man could think of life, and poorly stay?
92. An account of two falls in the field.
It was not in my complexion to stay, and by that means, I got a terrible fall the second day; whether by my own fault, or my horse's, I cannot tell: but as no bone was broke, and I had received no 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
Berrisfort
's side. She laughed immoderately at me, while the dogs were at fault, as my bones were safe, and advised me with a humorous tenderness, to ride with her brother and Miss
Fox.
It was not however very long before I had more satisfaction than I desired; for in half an hour's time, we came to some pales, which the stag went over, and I leaped first; but Miss
Berrisfort
's horse, tho' one of the best in the world, unfortunately struck, and cleared them in such a manner, that the lovely
Juliet
came over his head. She fell very safely in high grass, where I waited for her, for fear of an accident of any kind, and did not receive the least hurt; but in the violence of the motion, and the way she came down, the curtain was thrown on her breast, and she lay for some moments stunn'd upon the ground. In a minute however I snatched her up, and set her on her feet. She came to herself immediately, and thanked me for my care of her; but was vexed to the heart at what had happened. She requested I would not mention the thing to her brother, or Miss
Fox,
and hoped I would be so generous as not to speak of it to any one. — Miss
Berrisfort
(I said) it is not in my soul to extract a 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 from this mischance derived. One was, that for the future, this lady hunted with a little more caution, and did not take the
leaps
she was wont to do: — the other, that it gained me her heart, (though I did not know it for many months), and thereby secured for me the greatest happiness, against a day of distress. From the most trivial things the most important do often spring: but I proceed.
93. A religious conversation between Bob Berrisfort and Jack Buncle.
Vexatious as the fall was to this young lady, it was I however that had all the pain, by the mischief I received when my horse threw me. My eye was in a sad black way, my side troubled me, and the skin was off half my face: yet I did not much mind it, as the diversion was good, and that 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 (Mr.
Berrisfort
said, after a considerable pause, as we sat smoaking a pipe over against each other), that the cause you gave Dr.
Whaley,
on ship-board, for the decay of christianity, was the best I have heard. I remember you told this divine, that it was not a want of faith in the present generation that made so many renounce 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 the blind and bloody scenes of cruelty and superstition, have been the great stumbling-blocks to mankind, and given the most sad, severe and lasting stabs, to the interests and success of the pure and peaceable gospel of Christ. This is just. But exclusive of this, may we not say, that there are so many seeming contradictions, and a multiplicity of obscure passages in it, that it looks as if it could not be, in its present condition, a rule of faith: and that christians differ so much about the meaning of the texts of their bible, that reason knows not what to say to a religion so variously represented. It is not only the two great camps,
papist
against
protestant,
and
protestant
against
papist,
who make the religion as different as black and white: that 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 contrary, to those
Indians,
that they will be damned to eternity, if they are converted to what the Danish ministers call christianity; which made the famous
bramin Padmanaba
say, that it was impossible for him to become a christian, till the learned christian priests had agreed among 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 the church of England—dissenters against dissenters — and give such different accounts of the reveled system, that it requires more understanding, and strict, serious enquiry, than the generality of people have, or can spare, to be able to determine in what party of the celebrated critics and expositors true religion is to be found: and when the controversy is so dark and various, and the authorized professors can never agree among themselves, what can a man of a plain understanding say to it? This makes many (I imagine) turn from the scriptures to study nature, and the general laws which are established among the several gradations, ranks and classes of beings, so far as they are connected with intelligent, moral agency. In the natural, agreeable pages of that 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 all 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 shew our love of God, by a love of these; and that a regular, uniform pursuit of them, must be the only true and rational pursuit of human happiness. Here is a plain and good religion. Can we wonder then that many study and follow nature, and disregard those interested commentators, who, like opposite counsel at the bar, multiply and make void the law by different and contradictory pleadings on it? — Here
Bob
ended, and lit his pipe again, while
Jack
laid his down, and went on in the following manner:
An apology for true christianity.
As christianity was instituted by its great Author and Publisher, for the benefit of mankind, it is to be lamented that the divines should so differ, concerning what genuine reveled religion is, as to cause many to renounce this standing and perpetual rule of faith and manners: but as to contradictions and inconsistencies in the apostle's writings, I have read them over several times, and never could find such things in them. Obscure passages there are a few at first sight; but a little consideration can explain them by other scriptures, if we do no, like some commentators, endeavour, by forced constructions, to adapt the sense of them to a system. This is what ruins christianity. The monks shut out the light of reason, which is to explain scripture by scripture, and in the dark, fansy a
metaphysical theology:
They speculate a
tritheistic mystery, original sin, divine sovereignty, election, reprobation,
with many other pieties, and call the things
revelation,
which are, in
reality,
an
artificial, invented corruption of the gospel.
The majority of the doctors insist upon it that their reverend notions are reveled religion, and where they have a power, wattle the people into them: but men who will use the
human understanding
their Creator has given them, and employ the reason of men in the choice of their religion, very easily perceive 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 reveled religion. The principal
offence
must remain, while the majority of the clergy continue to blind the human understanding, and instead of couching 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 public 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 religion must suffer, and of consequence, the
divines
who contend 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 religion; 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 light in the head, and which consists of good and innocent affections 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 difficulties 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 offers 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 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 liable to be disturbed and shaken by frequent doubts and misgivings of mind: but in reveled religion, that is, the moral law republished by inspired men, the promises of the gospel take in all the wishes of nature, and establish 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 inconsistency; 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 (Bob continued), you will allow, I believe, that the sacred writers had not perpetually the aid of an unerring Spirit, and therefore are sometimes inconsistent 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 evangelists 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
(ix. 9.) differently. And as to the other sacred writers, does not the dispute between
Paul
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?
Jack Buncle
to this replied, that however some zealots may contend for the perpetual 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, prophets and apostles, were sometimes left to the guidance of their own spirit; and therefore all things which they have signified to us by their words or deeds, are not to be considered as divine oracles.
Nec adeo omnia, quaecunque dictis significarunt aut factis, ea pro divinis oraculis habenda. Nullus, excepto Domino, fuit unquam prpheta, qui omnia egerit spiritu prophetico.
So
Limborch, Dodwell,
and
Baxter
say, and of the same opinion were
Grotius
and
Erasmus
Erasmus, Grotius, Limborch, Baxter,
and
Dodwell,
were great and excellent men, and their lives and writings very highly merit the consideration of gentlemen.
Erasmus
was born at Rotterdam, October 28, in the year 1466, and died of a bloody flux at Basil, the 12th of July, in the year 1536, aged 70.
Joh. Manlius in locorum communium collectaneis.
Edit. Francf. ad Maen. in 8. 1568. has this passage: —
Erasmus Roterodamus
moriturus saepe ingeminavit hanc vocem,
Domine, Domine fac finem, fac finem,
sed quid voluerit dicere non possum.
Manlius
was with
Erasmus
in his last hour.
Froben published an edition of all the works of Erasmus at Bale, in nine volumes in
folio,
in 1540. The first, second, and fourth, contain his philosophical, rhetorical, 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 apologies. 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 the catholics, was printed for Cooper in Pater-noster Row, 1749.
Bayle
says of
Erasmus,
that he was one of those witnesses for the truth, who were wishing for a reformation in thechuch, 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.
Erasmus
speaking of his contemporary
Luther,
says, — had all that he wrote been good, his seditious freedom would still have been disagreeable 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 truth.
But in vain did Erasmus live and die in the Romish communion, and undergo many reflexion from some zealot protestants; he was not the less ill treated both during his life, and after his death, by several catholic writers; for, tho' taking all things together,
Erasmus
was what they called a 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.
His inscription at Rotterdam is this:
DESIDERIO ERASMO MAGNO SCIENTIARUM ATQUE LITERATURAE POLITIORIS VINDICI ET INSTAURATORI VIRO SUI SAECULI PRIMARIO CIVI OMNIUM PRAESTANTISSIMO AC NOMINIS IMMORTALITATEM SCRIPTIS AEVITERNIS JURE CONSECUTO. S. P. Q. ROTTERDAM. NE QUOD TANTIS APUD SE SUOSQUE POSTEROS VIRTUTIBUS PRAEMIUM DRESSET STATUAM HANC EX AERE PUBLICO ERIGENDAM CURAVERUNT.
BARBARIAE TALEM 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.
The following epitaph is on a marble stone in the cathedral at
Basil,
where he was buried.
CHRISTO SERVATORI. S. DES. ERASMO ROTTERODAMO. VIRO OMNIBUS MODIS MAXIMO, CUJUS INCOMPARABILEM IN OMNI DISCIPLINARUM GENERE ERUDITIONEM PARI CONJUNCTAM PRUDENTIA POSTERI ET ADMIRABUNTUR ET PRAEDICABUNT; BONIFACIUS AMERBACHIUS, HIER. FROBENIUS, NIC. EPISCOPIUS, HAEREDES ET NUNCUPATI SUPREMAE SUAE VOLUNTATIS VINDICES, PATRONO OPTIMO NON MEMORIAE QUAM IMMORTALEM SIBI EDITIS LUCUBRATIONIBUS COMPARAVIT, IIS TANTISPER DUM ORBIS TERRARUM STABIT SUPERFUTURO AC ERUDITIS UBIQUE GENTIUM COLLOQUU TURO, SED CORPORIS MORTALIS QUO RECONDITUM SIT ERGO HOC SAXUM POSUERE. MORTUUS EST IV. EID. JUL. JAM SEPTUAGENARIUS, ANN. A CHRISTO NATO M.D.XXXVI.
Above this epitaph is the device and seal of
Erasmus,
to wit, TERMINUS, the god of bounds, and the words—
CONCEDO NULLI.
The most learned men of Europe did likewise write epitaphs on
Erasmus.
Cognatus,
that is,
Gilbert le Cousin
made the following one —
Magnus Roterodamus ille noster
Haec quo saecula neminem tulerunt
Majorem, neque prisca clariorem
Norunt tempora, nec cui futura
Parem posteritas habebit: ecce
Sub hoc marmore mortuus quiescit.
But that of
Louis Masius
is one of the most ingenious:
Fatalis series nobis invidit Erasmum;
Sed Desiderium tollere non potuit.
Reader, tho' the edition of the works of
Erasmus
which I have mentioned is a good one, yet that of
Le Clerc
in 11 volumes folio, at Leyden, in 1703, is much finer.
Grotius, the son of Jean de Groot was born at
Delft
in
Holland,
the 10th of April, 1583, and died at Rostock in Mecklenbourgh, Sept. 8, 1645, aged 62.
He writ the following books —
Annotationes in totam scripturam sacram.
— De jure belli ac pacis, libri tres. —
De veritate religionis christianae, libri sex. — Mare liberum
against Selden's
mare clausum. — De antiquitate reipublicae Batavicae. — De imperio summarum potestatum circa sacra. — Annales et historiae de rebus Belgicis. — Historia Gothorum, Vandalorum et Longobardorum. — Annotationes in totam scripturam sacram. — De satisfactione Christi adversus Socinum. — Apologeticus. — Poemata. — Pietas ordinum Hollandiae. — De coenae administratione ubi pastores non sunt. — An semper communicandum sit per symbola. — Epistolae, etc. — Portuum investigandorum ratio. — Syntagma arateorum. — Notae in Lucani Pharsalium.—Florilegium Stobaei. — Notae breves ad jus Justinianum. — Notae breves et emendationes in Cornelium Tacitum. — Pontifex Romanus, rex Galliarum, rex Hispaniarum, Albertus cardinalis, regina Angliae, Omnes foederati. — Adamus exul et Christus patiens.
There is a great deal of fine learning in these books: but the most valuable of them are the three first mentioned. His
annotations — De jure
— and,
truth of the Christian religion,
cannot be sufficiently praised, nor enough admired.
A late writer of this great man's life,
(De Burigny, a bigotted papist)
says,
Grotius
died a member of the church of Rome, and in a sad and ridiculous manner strains some lines of this excellent writer to prove it. — He was to be sure one of those moderate protestants, who wished there could be a reconciliation between Rome and us: — and the very hard measure he had from the protestant government of his country, while he was treated by the Romish princes with the highest honours and encouragements, were great temptations to leave the reformed: but he never did turn
popist,
whatever this hot Romish biographer may affirm.
Vossius,
and
Reigersberg,
his brother-in-law, writ to him upon the subject, and he answered them in the following manner. —
Puisque j'ai eu assez de courage, pour souffrir la prison, je spporterai aussi l'exil, la pauvreté, & le mepris, a l'imitation de celui qui aima mieux souffrin avec le peuple de Dieu, qu'etre appellé le fils de la fille de Pharaon.
This was to
Vossius.
— and then to
Reigersberg. — Je repons ouvertment a ceux qui me parlent de religion que j'adhere toujours aux eglises dont j'etois membre avant mon emprisonnement. D'ailleurs j'ai soins de ne point offenser ceux de l'Eglise Romaine, & d'entretenir une bonne correspondence avec ceux qui le sonhaitent.
— This demonstrates that
Grotius
did not turn: and for farther satisfaction, see
G. Brandt. hist. de la reformation.
tom. 2. p. 307.— What epithet then does that papist De Burigny deserve?
The great and good
R. Baxter
was a nonconformist divine, who suffered much by the severity of that cruel monster of a man, lord chief justice
Jefferies,
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, to the 24th of November 1686; when, by the mediation of Lord Powis, he obtained a pardon from King
James,
and was discharged out of prison.
The passages picked out by
Sir Roger l'Estrange,
were his explications of
Matth.
v. 19. —
Mark
ix. 39.—
Mark
xi. 31.—
Mark
xii. 38, 39, 40. —
Luke
x. 2. —
John
xi. 57. and
Act
xv. 2.
Dr.
South
likewise, (as I have heard) put into his enemies hands some accusations out of
Rom.
xiii. The charge was, that his paraphrase on these places reflected on the prelates of the church of England, and so he was guilty of sedition: but equity at this day can find no such reflexion or sedition in the passages.
Mr.
Baxter
was born November 12, 1615, at Rowton in South Bradford: and died at his house in Charter-house-yard, the 8th of December, 1691, aged 76. He was an author 52 years, and in that time writ 145 distinct treatises; whereof four were folios, 73 quartos, 49 octavos, and 19 in twelves and twenty-fours; besides single sheets, separate sermons, and prefaces before other men's writings. He began with
aphorisms
of
justification,
in 1649, in his 34th year; and ended with the
certainty of the world of spirits,
in 1691; the year he died.
Few can be persuaded, I imagine, in these days of pleasure, in this age of
Vauxhalls
and
Ranelaghs
A remark on our little Vauxhalls.
Beside the two grand seats of pleasure, which are filled every evening with coaches full of love and laughter; and Cuper's-Gardens; there are several little Vauxhalls, and dancing-rooms in the gardens, 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 young fellows come by degrees to the gallows. Their morals are here corrupted: their time is wasted: and money must be got some way or other, to answer the expences. 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,
A word of advice to the rich and gay.
and wanton life away in dissipations and diversions! For shame,
rationals,
stop. Consider what ye are. You are beings endued with reason, to the end 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 rational, intellectual 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
natural weakness,
as they are now called, will not be accepted as a plea for the offender against nature and reason: for, let reason be heard, and spend some hours of your every day, in reading good books, 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 future world. Ponder then,
rationals,
in time. As you are placed here in a mutable condition, capable of bliss and misery; — to be made
confirmed blessed spirits
above, when the 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 that frequent
Vauxhall
and
Ranelagh;
for as to the people who resort to the six-penny gardens, they are incapable of being advised: the women there are for the most part street whores, 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, at 9 o'clock at night, as I was walking home), I saw some of the men suddled, —fighting 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 stop every wandering or illicit thought, every inconsiderate word, and to bring every intended action before the supreme bar of righteous and impartial reason. You may, perhaps, remember what I beg leave to tell you, that you live under a three-fold duty to God, to your neighbours, and to yourselves: and of consequence, that you must flee all those pleasures, diversions, and alienations 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.
This advice I humbly offer to those
spiritual, intelligent, immortal beings,
who waste their precious hours at
Ranelagh
and
Vaux-hall,
and in routs and spectacles, and every species of plays and sports, frolick it all the long day.
, to sit down to read all that
Baxter
writ: but most certainly, the following books in English, of his composing, are very good ones: — The
saints everlasting rest. A call to the unconverted. — Dying thoughts —certainty of the world of spirits:
and his
paraphrase on the New Testament.
His Latin pieces are these
De catechisatione domestica. — Aphorismi de justificatione et foederibus. — Apologia. — Libellus rationum pro religione christiana contra Gassendum et Habesium. — Epistola de generali omnium protestantium unione adversus papatum. — Dissertatio de baptismo infantium. — Directiones de reformatione ecclesiae. — De religione Grotiana adversus Piercium. — De jure sacramentorum. — Gildas Salvianus, sive pastor reformatus. — Catechismus quackerianus. — Clavis catholicorum. — De regimine ecclesiae.—De universali redemptione contra Calvinum et Bezam.— De rep. sancta. — Historia conciliorum.
Phitip de Limborch,
a remonstrant divine, and professor of theology, was born the 19th of June, 1633, and died the last day of April, 1712, aged 79.
The christian world is greatly obliged to this learned and excellent man for the following fine books by him written.
1.
Systeme complet de la theologie, that is, a body of divinity;
which has been translated into English.
2.
Collatio amica de veritate religionis christianae, cum erudito Judaeo.
— 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 reveled religion were translated into English in the year 1740, and makes a shilling pamphlet, which you may get at Mr. Whiston's shop. But the
collatio
has not been published in English by any one: at least I never saw such a thing: and for this reason, I have begun a translation of it, and intend to finish it, with many notes on the arguments of the two disputants; if death, or sickness, does not hinder.
3.
L'Histoire de ce terrible tribunal l'inquisition;
that is,
Mr. Chandler's translation of Limborch's history of the inquisition.
the history of the inquisition.
This was translated into English by Mr.
Samuel Chandler,
a dissenting minister; who prefixed, in an introduction, a history of persecution, that cannot be sufficiently praised, or enough admired. The history and introduction were published in a large quarto, London, 1731: and the introduction was afterwards printed in octavo.
Account of some other pieces written by Mr. Chandler.
This gentleman is still living, and greatly to be honoured, on account of several other excellent writings, in defence of the true gospel of Christ, and true piety: his
vindication of the history of the Old Testament
against Dr. Morgan. — His
discourse of the nature and use of miracles; and answer to Mr. Collins's grounds
— His
re-examination of the witnesses of the resurrection
Reader, on the subject called
the resurrection of Jesus,
read first 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 the bishop of
Rochester,
Dr.
Pearce,
says on this subject in the first part of his four discourses on the miracles; add to them,
Grove's sermon on the resurrection;
and I imagine, these fine little pieces will give you satisfaction: if a doubt should still remain, open Mr.
West
's fine
book
on the article, and I think you will be easy as to this point. Reduce the strength of what they all say to a few written arguments, and keep them for use.
.— His
commentary on Joel
— His two sermons called
the notes of the church,
in the second volume of the Salters-Hall sermons against popery — His
sermon on superstition:
and two funeral sermons: one on the death of Dr.
Hadfield, For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Rom. vi. 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 working whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.
Phil. iii. 21. — These are fine pieces; well written; with a sense 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, p. 73. to which I refer you, reader.
4.
Commentarius in acta apostolorum at in epistolas ad Romanos et Hebraeos.
Folio.
This is one of the most valuable books in christian learning; — strong and beautiful; just and rational. Let it stand next your bible in your study, and when you sit down to the acts of the apostles, and the epistles to the Romans and Hebrews, let
Limborch's commentary
be open before you, and you will be improved and charmed.
Of Dr. Sykes's writings.
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. Dr.
Sykes
is a
divine.
By the way, his
essay upon the truth of thechristian religion,
is one of the best, (if not the best) of all the good things that have been published for revelation; and his
connexion and discourse on the miracles,
are admirable.
See likewise his
Essay on sacrifices
— his
true foundations of natural and reveled religion
— his
two defences of Clarke's exposition of the catechism
— his
phlegon.
— his
two previous questions — 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 revelation, and give a just and charming account of the christian religion.
Limborch
writ some other small things, as letters, prefaces, and essays, and among his letters, those to Mr.
Locke
are excellent: that on liberty or power was too much even for
Locke.
But the best letter he writ to Mr.
Locke
has not yet been published, to wit, a letter that gives the history of his arguments used in bringing back an ingenious lady to christianity, who had been converted to judaism. It has been seen by several; but what is become of it, no one can tell.
Of Courcelles and Episcopius.
In 1675,
Limborch
published the valuable
works
of his master
Etienne de Courcelles,
an Arminian divine. — and in 1693, the
sermons
of the great
Episcopius,
in a large folio; to which he prefixed not only a fine preface, but a long and curious history of the life of
Episcopius.
The life was afterwards translated into Latin, and may be had in octavo. It is an admirable thing.
Courcelles
was born in the year 1586, and died the 29th of May, 1659, aged 73. He succeeded
Simon Episcopius
as pastor to the church of the remonstrants in Holland, and was succeeded in that charge by
Arnold Poelemburg;
who writ his life. This life is an excellent thing, but is only to be found at the beginning of his works, published, as before said, by
Limborch,
in 1675.
The best thing of
Courcelles
is his
quaternio dissertationum theologicarum:
in which he treats, as an able, rational divine, of the trinity, original sin, the knowledge of Jesus Christ, and justification. — The next in value to this, are his
institutiones religionis christianae: — Diatribe de esu sanguinis: — vindiciae contra Amyraldum:
and
avis d'un personnage desinteresse;
in which he acted the Mediator between the Calvinists and Arminians; but without success. It is a vain attempt to unite parties. Every party is a church, and infallible in its own conceit. Happy they that are of no party; but
devoted
to
Jesus Christ only,
and his
plane gospel;
doing their best to be
pure and good, even as the Lord Jesus Christ was pure and good
— and
worshiping God the Father Almighty, in the name of Jesus, as his disciples;
without speculating, inventing, or perplexing ourselves with imaginations. This was our Lord's direction. When you pray, say,
Our Father — whatever ye ask in my name — without holiness no man shall see the Lord.
Here it is,
gentlemen
of the
laity,
as the doctors call us, and will have us to be an
inferior tribe
to them. Adhere to these few, plain things, and you will be for ever happy, tho' the church damns you by bell, book, and candle-light.
Simon Episcopius,
a remonstrant minister at Rotterdam, a glorious man, was born in the year 1583, and died of a retention of urine, the 4th of April, 1643, aged 60. His excellent works are three large volumes in
folio.
Two, in the purest Latin, published by
Stephanus Curcellaeus,
whom I have given an account of in the preceding article, — and by
Arnoldus Poelenburgh,
his successor.
And the third containing his sermons, and life by
Limborch,
as I have said before.
Arnoldus Poelenburgh
died in the year 1667, and Limborch succeeded him in the pastoral care of his church.
Arnold
was a learned, eloquent, and pious man. His
dissertatio epistolaris contra Hoornbeekium
— and his
examen Thesium Spanhemii,
are fine things. His
preface to the second volume of Episcopius's theological works,
is excellent: and in a valuable book called
epistolae praestantium virorum,
you will find many letters by
Poelenburgh,
that are extremely beautiful, in respect of the charms of his stile, and his judicious manner of treating his subjects.
Of Dodwell and his writings.
And now as to the learned and pious
Henry Dodwell,
some time fellow of Trinity-College, Dublin, and Camden professor of history in Oxon, till he lost it for refusing to take the oaths to
King William;
he was born at Dublin, October 1641, and died at Shottesbrooke, the 7th of June, 1711, aged 70. His works are the following books — 1.
Prolegomena ad tractatum Joannis Stearnii de constantia in rebus adversis.
— 2.
Two letters of advice on going into holy orders, and theological studies, with a tract concerning Sanchoniatho.
— 3.
Considerations of present concernment, how far the Romanists may be trusted by princes of another persuasion.
— 4.
An account of the fundamental principle of popery, and an answer to six queries proposed to a lady by a Romish priest.
— 5.
Separation of churches from episcopal government schismatical, and a defence of it.
— 6.
Dissertations on St. Cyprian.
— 7.
A dissertation on a passage of Lactantius.
— 8.
A treatise of the priesthood of laicks.
— 9.
Additional discourses to the posthumous works of Dr. Pearson, by Dodwell published.
— 10.
Dissertations on Irenaeus.
— 11.
A vindication of the deprived bishops, (Sancroft, Lloyd, Turner, Kenn, Frampton, White;
to whom suceeeded
Tillotson, Moore, Patrick, Kidder, Fowler, Cumberland);
and
a defence of the vindication.
— 12.
Four Camdenian lectures,
called,
praelectiones academica.
— 13.
The annals of Velleius Paterculus, etc. — An account of the lesser geographers.
— 15.
The lawfulness of church musick.
— 16.
An account of the Greek and Roman cycle.
— 17.
A letter against Toland, relative to the canon of the New Testament.
— 18.
The annals of Thucydides and Zenophon: and an apology for the philosophical works of Cicero.
— 19.
A letter on the soul to Mr. Layton— and a letter to Dr. Tillotson on schism.
— 20.
Two dissertations on the age of Phalaris and Pythagoras.
— 21.
An admonition to foreigners concerning schism.
— 22.
An epistolary discourse to prove the soul a principle naturally mortal, but immortalized by its union with the divine baptismal spirit;—that the bishops only can give this immortalizing spirit; and that sacerdotal absolution is necessary for the remission of sins.
— 23.
Three treatises in defence of the epistolary discourse.
These are the works of the learned
Dodwell.
Some of the pieces 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 notions, (which he affected), his learning lay like a lump of puzzeled silk in his head, and he could draw few useful threads. In the 2d volume of this journal, and in the 2d volume of the memoirs of some ladies of Great-Britain, the reader will find several remarks on Dodwell's pieces.
Note, in the 52d year of Mr.
Dodwell
's age, he married a very young girl, the daughter of a gentleman, in whose house he boarded in the country; having been her preceptor for five years, from a regard to her fine understanding; and by her had ten children. Two sons and four daughters survived him, and one of the sons is the present
rector
of
Shottesbrook,
well 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, finely written, called,
christianity not founded on argument.
They assert, that the apostles, on ordinary occasions, were ordinary men. All true christian 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 authority they think the best way to silence all objections, and weakly embrace the hypothesis to advance the honour of religion.
But our allowing this, and that there are some disagreements and variations in the evangelists, cannot hurt the gospel. St.
Paul
might
reprove St. Peter,
and speak himself sometimes
after the manner of men;
yet, we see where they had the divine assistance in their explications, and the power of working miracles to confirm their doctrine; and there, as rational and thinking men, we must allow 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 fragilitatis 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 inlightened and an inspired knowledge rendered them incapable of error. This, in my judgment, is so far from ruining the authority of scipture, that it is the greatest confirmation of its truth. It shews the 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 religion 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 religion has no better foundation. In short, there is no reason to believe that the apostles were extraordinarily inspired, when they say it not; and when their discourses have in them no mark of such like inspiration. It is sufficient, (says
Le Clerc),
if we believe that, no prophet of the New Testament has said any thing in the name of God, or by his order, which God has not effectually ordered him to say; nor has undertaken to foretell any thing, which God had not indeed truly reveled to him:— that every matter of fact related in the
books
is true, and the records, in general, the truest and most holy history that ever was published amongst men, notwithstanding the writers may be mistaken in some slight circumstances: — that all the doctrines proposed are really and truly divine doctrines, and there is no sort of reasoning in the dogmatical places of the holy scriptures, that can lead us into error, or into the belief of any thing that is false, or contrary to piety:— that Jesus Christ was absolutely infallible, as well as free from all sin, because of the 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 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 epistolary form: the first is,
Sentimens de quelques theologiens de Hollande sur l'histoire critique du Vieux Testament, et de Nouveau Testament, par P. R. Simon,
and
Defense des sentimens contre Bolville.
These are fine books: my reason for mentioning them here is, that the 11th and 12th letters, in the first volume, called
Sentimens,
etc. is on the inspiration of the sacred writers; — and the 10th and 11th letters of the second volume, called
A defence,
etc. is a continuation of the subject in a very extraordinary manner, that is, by giving a solid demonstration of the truth of our religion, without interesting it in this controversy; that is, that the christian religion is true, tho' the apostles had not been continually inspired.
Note, reader, these five letters were translated into English in 1690, and make a very little 12ves, that sells for five shillings. — The two first letters, that is, the 11th and 12th of
Sentimens,
were printed lately in a new translation, (I think for
Cooper
) a shilling pamphlet.
Le Clerc
was the author of these two books. I gave an account of him, and his writings, in my
memoirs of some ladies of Great Britain,
etc. p. 356—358.
Note, reader, the famous Father
Richard Simon,
a priest of the oratory, who writ
l'histoire critique,
was born at
Dieppe,
the 13th of May, 1638, and died at the same place, April 7, 1712. He was the author of many other learned works, which a general reader ought to be no stranger to: but I can only recommend to a friend the
lettres choises de M. Simon
— his
bibliotheque critique — Nouvelle bibliotheque choisie.
There is a great deal of curious learning in these pieces, mixed with a great deal of prejudice.
Simon
was a great man, and bad (in respect of the design) as his
histoire critique
is, it is a most learned work, and of great use to those who have heads fit to use it. Note,
Herman Witsius,
mentioned in my
memoirs of the ladies,
p. 357. (who defended
Simon
in his
miscellanea sacra,
by abusing
Le Clerc),
was a doctor of divinity, and professor of the faculty at
Franeker,
natus Feb. 12, 1626, denatus, Octob. 22, 1708. aged 82.
Beside his
miscellanea sacra,
he published
oeconomia foederum, etc. — exercitationes sacrae in orationem dominicum:
— And Aegyptiaca. If like me, reader, you have nothing else to do but to read, I advise you to read them as curious things: there is learning, tho' not much good in them. See
M. Mark's funeral oration on Witsius. Simon's Eloge
you will find in journal litter. tom. 3. p. 225. — And if you have a critical head, I recommend to you Father Simon's
dissertation critique
against
Du Pin's nouvelle bibliotheque des quteurs ecclesiastiques:
It is an arch piece of criticism, tho' it does not hurt
Du Pin's bibliotheque.
Note, the learned and excellent
Louis Ellies Du Pin,
author of the valuable
bibliotheque ecclesiastique,
was born June 17, 1657, and died at
Paris,
June 16, 1719, aged 62. He writ many other excellent works: but this
bibliotheque nouvelle des auteurs ecclesiastique,
from
Jesus Christ
to the year 1710, in 35 volumes in 8
vo,
is the principal labour of his life. — The best edition in English of this fine work, is that of
Grierson
in
Dublin
in
Folio.
The other works of
Du Pin
are these —
Dissertation preliminaire ou prolegomenes sur la bible, en trois volumes, in
8
vo. — De antiqua ecclesiae disciplina, in seven dissertations. — De la puissance ecclesiastique et temporelle. — La doctrine chretienne et orthodoxe.— Notes on the pentateuch. — Les pseaumes en Latin, et des notes in
8
vo. — Version François des psaumes, avec des notes. — A defence of his notes on the psalms.
— A
folio
edition of the
works of Optatus Aser
(Milevi in Numidia episc. qui clar. an. 368.) and to this edition is prefixed
Du Pin
's
history of the Donatists
(a very curious thing), and
the sacred geography of Africa. — A new edition of Gerson's works in five tomes folio;
to which he joined a work of his own, called
Gersoniana;
a very curious and valuable thing, which contains the life of Gerson, the history of his times, and the doctrines and lives of contemporary authors. —
Critique sur l'histoire d' Apollonius de Tyranne. — Une lettre sur l'ancienne discipline touchant la messe. — Un traite de l'excommunication. — Une histoire de l'eglise en abrege — Une histoire profane depuis les tems les plus reculez jusqu'a present. — Une analyse de l' Apocalypse, avec de dissertations sur differentes matieres curieuses. — Une histoire du
xvii
siecle. — Un traite de l'amour de Dieu. — Bibliotheque des historiens profanes:
but of this last work he never published more than two volumes, which have been translated into English: and so far as he did go, is so well done, that it is to be lamented, he did not finsh 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 castigation from Basnage; as I mentioned in my account of Basnage's writings in my first volume of the
memoirs of several ladies of Great-Britain,
p. 350; where I referred the reader to a fine piece, called,
histoire des Juifs reclame, par Jacqueus Basnages.
Note: next to the
bibliotheque des auteurs ecclesiastiques,
the best books of
Du Pin
are, his
seven dissertations de antiqua disciplina ecclesiae:
which is one Latin volume in 4to: — and his
puissance ecclesiastique et temporelle:
one volume in 8vo. In these volumes, he works the pope in a fine manner, as to
supremacy
and
infallibility.
.
The case is the same as to differences, want of exactness, and small mistakes. We may justly celebrate the harmony or agreement of the sacred writers, with regard to the principal transactions 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 slips of memory, or different informations. This cannot hurt the authority of the gospels, as it proves the honesty of the writers by shewing they did not compose by compact: and I think, that some of the evangelists having been eye-witnesses of, and actors in the facts of the several gospels; and others having written from the information of those who had got a perfect information of all things from the very beginning, is an argument solid and rational for the credibility of the evangelical history. It is sufficient. I am sure it is better to allow this, than to say the writers of the four gospels were
mere organs,
when the little omissions and 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.
No contradiction in St. Mark's and St. John's account of the crucifixion.
As to
St. Mark
and
St. John
's accounts, I see no contradiction in the relations.
St. John
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, delivered 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 morning, and they crucified him. This perfectly reconciles the two evangelists. There is no sign of a contradiction in the places.
The testimony of St. Matthew and St Mark's accounts of the resurrection of Jesus.
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, tho'
St. Mark
says, he appeared
first to Mary Magdalene.
The case to me appears to be this.
Mary Magdalene, Mary
the mother of
James,
and the other women, went with spices and ointments to embalm the body, Sunday the 28th of April, early in the morning, about six and 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 apparel, 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 disciples, and related to them what they had heard and seen. The apostles looked upon this account as a dream or vision; but however, on
Mary Magdalene
's assuring
Peter
and
John
apart, that she had really been in the tomb, and found it empty; from whence it was most certain, that either
Jesus
was risen, or they had removed his body; these apostles ran both to the sepulchre, and
Mary Magdalene,
went with them.
Peter
and
John
then saw, that it was as she had affirmed, and after they had viewed the tomb, the clothes, and the napkin, returned from the sepulchre, greatly wondering what was become of their master's body: but
Mary
continued at the monument, lamenting very greatly, that she could not see Jesus either alive or dead, and while she thus bemoaned herself, the
Lord
appeared to her. As
St. Mark
says,
Jesus appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had cast out seven devils:
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 assured thee, I shall quickly leave this world, and ascend to the
God and Father of us all, my Father and your Father, my God and your God,
unto those happy mansions where he manifests his presence in a most especial manner; there to receive full power over all things both in heaven and earth, and to prepare a place for you; that where I am, there ye may be also.
Mary
accordingly departed. She told the apostles that
Jesus
had appeared to her, and acquainted them with the
joyful
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 all the sacred relators have declared of the matter, that I am astonished how
Jerom
could be so perplexed with the two accounts, as to say, that
Mark's account,
(the last twelve verses of his gospel) might be rejected here as
spurious,
because it was found only in a few copies of that gospel, and contradicted the other evangelists.
Non recipimus Marci testimonium, quod in raris fertur evangeliis — praesertim cum diversa atque contraria evangelistis ceteris narrare videatur.
In the next place, if the account I have given was liable to any objection, and you could shew me that it was not the truth of the case; which, at present, I think impossible: If it was evident from the gospels, that the women were not a second time at the tomb, but that
Jesus
appeared to
Mary Magdalene
and the
other women,
the first time they were all there together, yet this may be, as I apprehend, without
Mark
's contradicting
Matthew.
The meaning of the words of
Mark — he appeared first to Mary Magdalene
— might be, that as she and the women were returning from the monument, to tell the news to the apostles,
Jesus
appeared to them, and in particular, addressed himself to
Mary Magdalene;
directing his discourse to her, and speaking familiarly and affectionately to her, to distinguish her as his constant follower in his life-time, and one on whom he had worked a great miracle of healing. This, I imagine, might very justly be termed —
he appeared first to Mary Magdalene
— To appear first to any one of a company, as I take it, is to come up to, or stand before some particular person, in order to speak to such person. This, in my imagination, removes the difficulty, and reconciles
Mark
to
Matthew:
but to this explication I prefer the women's being at second times 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,
etc. 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 by the learned minister of Maybole, in which he labours, through several 4to pages, from p. 213, 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 possibility of rational reply. See Mr.
Macknight's harmony. Le Clerc,
in his
harmony,
does likewise evince the thing.
What has been said, (Mr.
Berrisfort
told me), seems plausible, nd ought to satisfy every honest man. It gives me content: but there is one thing still that perplexes me, and that is, the various lections of the New Testament. Do they not hurt the book?
No:
(Jack Buncle
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,
etc. and yet who denies the genuineness and great use of those noble authors of sense and politeness? who is so hardy as to question whether the works universally ascribed to them be their own and the product of those immortal wits? On the contrary, men of thought and clear heads, conversant in those studies, will agree that those authors of antiquity of which there are the most various readings, are rendered the most pure and correct. And why should not the various readings of the bible rather lead men of sound learning and judgment to the true meaning of the divine writers, than endanger their mistaking their genuine 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 manuscript, there may be scope for fancy; but none for judicious comparison and well-grounded criticism.
Style and language may be distinguished by a happy genius of natural sagacity, improved by true learning and proper application, 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, medal, etc. can be imposed on, and deceive the compleat masters and judges of those ingenious professions and sciences.
Secondly, there is nothing in the various lections that affects the essentials of religion, or can imply a considerable depravation of the copies, that alters or weakens one moral contained in the divine books. And 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 villanis committed by free and accountable creatures; 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 transcripts 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 Providence, there could not possibly happen any detriment to our sacred records by various readings: for though in an innumerable number of copies of the gospel that were made before printing was known, and in the many translations of it into several languages, where the idioms are different, and the phrase may be mistaken, it was almost impossible there should not be various lections, and slips of amanuenses, yet the sacred volumes in the early ages of christianity, were disposed into innumerable hands, translated into so many languages, kept in so many libraries, churches, and in private families of believers, and so carefully preserved and revered as the authentic deeds and charters of eternal happiness, that they were not capable of being falsified.
Nor could those inestimable copies, 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 alike 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 atheistical ministers of state, prevail over many distant and independant nations, to endeavour to corrupt and destroy their sacred book.
On the contrary, we are to consider that christianity was the ecclesiastical law of all christian nations under the sun. The
great law
which assured to them their religious right and properties, their claims and titles to immortality, to the inheritance of the saints in light, an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, that fadeth not away, reserved for them in the heavens. Which, to every one that deserves the name of
man
and
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, 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 persecutors, and were commanded to deliver 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 consert,
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,
frequently explained in
schools,
and daily used in
public divine offices.
It was impossible then in the nature of things that there could be any such alterations or corruptions introduced into the sacred text as would affect its doctrines, 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 New Testament,
as we now have them, are the
word of God,
see, reader, the
sacred classics
— and
Jones's method of settling the canonical authority of 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 the bishop of London's sermons
(Dr.
Sherlock) in a letter to his lordship, price
1 s. 6 d. had read with attention the books I have mentioned, (and Dr. Lardner's credibility of the gospel-history) he would not, I imagine, have composed
a pamphlet,
that manifests not only an impious licentiousness, but an ignorance the greatest and most despicable, in relation to the subjects he pretended to write on.
The reader will find in my Appendix to this Journal, among other curious Things, some
strictures on Mr. Ilive's letter.
.
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 creatures must have of the supreme and all-perfect Being, firmly to believe that the same goodness and providence, which took care for the
writing,
would likewise take care for
preserving these inestimable books,
so free at least from corruption, that they might be sufficient for the gracious ends for which they were written, and be able to make us wise to salvation? I think so. To me it is evident, that since infinite goodness was pleased to reveal a religion, that teaches men to know Jehovah to be the true God, and to know Jesus Christ, whom he hath sent; his providence must not only preserve the book on which the doctrine depends, but so secure it from corruption, as to render it a plain rule to mankind. While there is a providence, the holy scriptures will remain the sacred and unalterable standard of true religion.
What you say (Mr. Berrisfort replied) seems to me to be true. I have nothing to object. But once more — let me ask you, in respect of the
ascension,
which followed the resurrection of
Jesus,
is it not very strange, that this is not mentioned by any of the apostles who are said to have been eye-witnesses of the fact, but
Luke
and
Mark
only are the relators of the thing, who were not apostles, and had all they writ 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 affair in their gospels; — and men who did not see the thing, to relate it as part of the history they had received from the apostles; — this is what 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 non est providentiae divinae rationes reddere. Placuit spiritui sancto ita dirigere calamos Matthaei et Joannis, ut narratione resurrectionis dominicae evangelia sua concluderent.
(Sic refert Philippus a Limborch). — 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 demonstrated the divine mission of Jesus Christ. To it, as a proof the 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 believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing, ye might have life through his name.
We must allow then, that the account of the ascension by
Luke
and
Mark,
may be authentic, tho' not mentioned by
Matthew
and
John.
In the next place, St.
John
is not totally silent as to the ascension of our
Lord.
In his sixth chapter, ver. 62. it is written —
What and if ye shall see the Son of Man ascend up where he was before?
and in the 7th chapter, ver. 39th.
But this spake he of the Spirit, which they that believe in him should receive. For the Holy Ghost was not yet given, because that Jesus was not yet glorified.
Here most certainly the apostle speaks of the ascension of his Master, and tho' he did not write the history of it, yet, not 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. 16.26. 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 follows, 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 writ the history of it. This is evident to me. I think it is not possible to dispute it.
The sum of the whole is, that the prejudices of the pious, and the arts of the crafty and interested, have defaced the true gospel of Christ, and substituted human notions and consequences in the place of divine 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 slight mistakes, and inadvertencies, in the representation of ordinary events; that they did, sometimes, by too great an affection for their Master's doctrine, strain some things, and cite prophecies that did not relate to Jesus in any sense at all
Let us now see (says a great man and upright christian) what use the enemies of christianity 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 intirely on the force of those particular prophecies which the same evangelists have applied to the illustration of it, in their several gospels. Upon this hypothesis, the enemy undertakes to shew, that the prophecies, so applied by them, do not at all relate to
Jesus,
in their proper and literal signification, but only in secondary, typical, and figurative sense: but then this way of interpreting 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 the enemy 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 modern 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 necessaay 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 offered afterwards in support of it by fallible men. Mr.
Whiston,
in his
literal accomplishment of the scripture prophecies,
has produced 45
prophecies
from the Old Testament, which are cited in the New, in proof
of the Messiahship 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 authority of the gospel, tho' all the rest were thrown aside.
But to say the truth, the grounds of our faith, in these
latter ages of the church,
do not lie in the particular interpretations of prophecies, made by men, who might be mistaken, and who, as
Jerome
St.
Jerome
is one of the four great
doctors
of the
Latin
church, who support the magnificent bronze chair of St.
Peter,
in this saints church in Rome. — The other three
doctors
are
St. Augustin,
St.
Ambrose,
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.
In my memoirs of several ladies of Great-Britain, vol. 1. p. 329. I gave an account of St.
Augustin
's works, and observed that this great saint was born in
Africa,
November 13, 354, in the reign of
Constance
—and died August 28, 430. at
Hippo.
—Aetat. 76.
St.
Jerome
was born at
Stridon,
in
Dalmatia,
in the year 340. — and died in the year 420. aged 80.— There is a good edition of his works in 9 volumes solio. Paris 1623. But the later edition of
Martianay,
the Benedictin, is much finer and more valuable.
St.
Jerome
was a hot, abusive man, and quarrelled even with St.
Augustin.
In his disputes, he is more like a madman than a faint, and ever in the wrong. He writ
comments
on all the
prophets, Ecclesiastes,
St.
Matthew,
and the
epistles
to the
Galatians, Ephesians, Titus,
and
Philemon;
but they are sad stuff in respect of some modern performances. Compare them with the comments of Dr.
Clarke,
Mr.
Locke,
Dr.
Benson,
and others of our country, and you will see what a poor creature this 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, tho' 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 writ is his
treatise of illustrious men;
which contains 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; tho' 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; which is a mere fancy, that plainly contradicts the history of that affair in the bible. But
Jerome
abhorred a woman, as much as Mrs.
Astel
did a man: and detested and blackened
matrimony
and a
wife,
to extol and exalt that whim of his brain, virginity. With detestation (he owns), he beheld every big bellied woman, (the finest sight in the world) tho' rendered so in the holy matrimonial bed, and could not bear looking at her, but as he reflected, that she carried a virgin, So he tells us in his letters; and of consequence, a fit supporter of St. Peter's chair.
St.
Ambrose
is the next supporter and saint. He was born at Treves in the year 340.— and died the 4th of April 397.—Aged 57. This holy prelate was a great contender for
tritheism
and the
rights of the church,
and writ many worthless pieces for them and persecution. He acted an insolent and senseless part, in the case of the emperor
Theodosius,
in the affair of
Thessalonica,
when that prince ordered the seditious to be destroyed: and he died soon after the greatest and most blessed of men: (say
Paulinus
and
Baronius,
who both writ his life.)—The best edition of his works is that of the
Benedictins,
Paris 1691, 2 volumes, folio: with many notes.
As to St.
Gregory
of
Neocaesarea,
and the four other saints of the name, to wit, the two
Nazianzens, Nysse,
and
Armenia,
I shall have occasion to mention them in the next volume of my journal, and therefore, shall here only observe, in respect of
Ncocaesarea,
usually called
Thaumaturgus,
or the
wonder-worker,
that he died in the year 265, according to
Baronius,
and the
saint
of
Armenia,
or in 270, according to
Fabricius:
and that the best edition of his works is that of
Gerard Vossius
in 4to, Mayence, 1604. His pieces were likewise printed at Paris in folio, 1621. with the writings of some minor saints. This folio is a collection of things written by saints.
says more than once,
by trusting to their memories, in citing these very prophephecies, 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 who 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, while 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 acquainted with the Jewish scriptures, nor tinctured with any Jewish prejudices, the
testimony of its miracles,
and the
purity of its doctrines,
were the most affecting proof of its divine origin. Yet when by the evidence of these, people had once received the christian faith, and acquired a competent knowledge of it, they would then perceive, that the argument of prophecy, was a part also of the evidence, essentially necessary to complete the demonstration of its truth.
; — 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 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 certainty of
future judgment
and
retribution,
that they incline a rational to have a serious regard to them.
In a word, the
religion of nature
is
perfect,
but
men
are
imperfect,
and therefore it pleased God to send our Saviour into the world, to republish the law of reason by his preaching, and in the writings of the apostles, and by him to give many motives to men, to incite them to perform their duty, as set forth in his written laws, and in the more striking example of our Lord, his only-begotten Son. Let us be christians then, my dear
Bob,
and adore the divine goodness, for the life eternal prepared for the righteous, as declared in the sacred records. Let us hearken to the apostles, (who,
knowing the terror of the Lord, persuade men),
and so govern and conduct ourselves by the rules of revelation, that when the man Christ Jesus, who 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 replied, 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 Buncle.
94. 1725. July 3. My departure from Yeoverin-Green, and arrival at a shaking-bog, at the bottom of a mountain.
The 3d day of July, I left
Yeoverin-Green,
and set out again for
Ulubrae,
to get my horses and portmanteau, but proceeded now on foot; because, by climbing over a high mountain, which it was impossible for a horse to ascend, and then walking half a mile over a shaking-bog, where a beast could not go, I was to save many miles; and beside, Mr.
Berrisfort
was so obliging as to send one of his servants back with Mr. Harcourt's horses, which I knew not which way to return. With my pole in my hand then I set out, and after I had bid adieu to my friends, who walked with me a couple of miles to the foot of the hills, I bagan to mount the Alp at Six in the morning, and at eight arrived on its summit. Here I had a fine road, due south, for an hour, till I came to a very steep descent, that led to the shaking-bog, as my paper of directions informed me. It was an ugly way down, and the better to go it, I resolved first to breakfast, and bid
Tim
see what he had got in his wallet. 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, tho' the way was bad; being very steep, wet, and slippery. I came to a dirty lane, about two hundred yards long, and that ended at the shaking-bog.
95. The nature of a shaking bog.
This kind of bog I take to be an abyss of standing water, covered with a thin arch of earth, that is, a water communicating with the abyss so covered, or weakly vaulted over: and of this opinion I find the
right reverend Erich Pontoppidan
is, in his
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 surprizing Manner.
96. We return from the bog to the Mountain, and arrive at a farmer's house.
To go half a Mile over such a bog, and the most elastic of them I had ever tried, was what I did not much like; tho' the author of my paper of directions, an old servant of Mr.
Berrisfort,
affirmed it was quite safe; and as to
Tim,
he would not, 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 remained, 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 glin, to which we descended by an easy slope, and marched thro' it, to the west, and north-west for two hours, till it ended at a wood. This we passed without any difficulty, as there were walks cut through it, and came out into a broad valley, that had a river very near us, and a sweet pretty cottage on the margin of the flood. I went up to the house to ask my way, and found at the door three men, the eldest of whom seemed to be about thirty years old. They asked me very civilly to walk in, and seemed to wonder not a little at seeing me and my man, in such a place, with our poles in our hands.
97. An account of Mr. Fleming, and his two brothers.
These Men were three brothers, and Roman catholics. Two of them were gentlemen-farmers, who lived together, and jointly managed the country business. The eldest was a Franciscan frier, who came to visit them. Their good manners, in their plain dress, surprized me; and their benevolence, made me wonder a great deal more. Their maid laid a clean cloth in a minute, and brought some cold roast beef, good bread, and fine ale. They bid me heartily welcome many times, and were so frank and generous, so chearful and gay; especially the eldest of the farmers, who sang several good songs over a bowl of punch after dinner, that I could not think of leaving them immediately, if I had known my road, and was easily prevailed on to stay several days. A friendship 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 lived. He loved me as his brother from the first day he saw me, and I had so great a regard for him, that with a sorrow I cannot help, I think of his death to this day. How to account for such sudden passions I know not. The thing has always appeared to me very strange. Mr.
Fleming
to be sure was a man of a bright and very extraordinary understanding, though no more than a farmer in this world, had a most happy temper, a generosity too great for his fortune, and was for ever chearful and free; but these things, however pleasing, could not be the cause of the sudden and lasting 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, a sameness of disposition had helped to produce
The arguments I used to make a
convert
of Mr.
Fleming,
the reader will find in the
appendix
to this journal, among other interesting matters, that are too long to be inserted in the story of my life. I shall print them in hopes they may be of service to some other soul. They were introduced the first day I was at Mr.
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 travelling 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 affair may never happen again. I little thought then, that I should afterwards meet with two instances of the same kind of thinking and resolution in the female world, to wit, Miss
Chawcer
and Miss
Janson;
whose histories I have given in the first volume of my Memoirs of several ladies of Great-Britain, 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 my 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 Head by the devil possessed by a woman, called, a mother-in-law. As the glass went round, I let them know, how a man in the twenty-second year of his age, forsook all for the
true gospel of Christ,
and at a time of life, when very few think of religion, resolved to confess himself a
Christian deist,
to all whom it concerned, if it brought him to want, and from a morsel of bread to the grave. So far I was heard without interruption, tho' 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 England were only 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 reader, tho' 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
Frier,
changed colour several times, (which I took notice of, and knew not what to ascribe it to, unless he was very sick) and at last he told me, by way 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. This was a great surprize to me. It struck me silent for some minutes. At last, however, I told the gentlemen, that I asked their pardons for making so free with their religion, which I should not presume to have done, but that I 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 unanswerable; or, offer such reasons for remaining a protestant, as must satisfy a rational man. He then went on, and my reply followed. The substance of this is what the reader is to find in the Appendix.
. 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.
98. My arrival at Ulubrae, and what passed there.
But as to the shaking bog I was to have passed to go to the gentlemen at
Ulubrae, Fleming
told me, I had a fortunate escape in not venturing over it; for, tho' it be passable in one narrow way, about a yard broad, yet a stranger to the bog must perish in attempting to cross; as the timber causeway that was made over the great marsh, time out of mind, is invisible in many places, and one sinks for ever, the moment he steps off that way: but I will shew you an easy road (my new friend continued) to the gentlemen's house, to whom I am no stranger, and will make you acquainted with some passes thro' the mountains, that will render it easier riding over this country than you have found it. He did so, and by his guidance I arrived at
Ulubrae,
the 7th day of July; being the 17th day from the morning I left the philosophers. The gentlemen were startled at the sight of me, as they concluded I had perished, and had, as they assured me, mourned my sad fate: they were impatient to hear the adventure of the mountain, and by what strange means, I was jumbled all the way to
Tom Fleming
's; who lives so far from the hill I went into; and the road from it to his house, scarce passable for a mortal. Inform us, we beseech you, how these strange things came to pass.
Gentlemen, I said, I am extremely 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 believe the thing, and they would order the whole account to be entered in the journal of their society, as the most extraordinary case they had ever known: or, perhaps, should ever hear related again. Their secretary, as directed, writ it down in the big book of transactions, and it remains in their records to this day.— In short, reader, these worthy men were so greatly rejoiced at my being alive, when they thought me for certain among the dead, that they put the bottle round in a festal manner after dinner. We drank and laughed till it was midnight.
99. My departure from Ulubrae to Eggleston.
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 glins. Several scenes were as charming as any I had before seen, and the low ways as bad; but he knew all the roads and cross turnings perfectly well, and shortned 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
100. 1725, From Eggleston I went to Mrs. Asgil's to look for Miss Melmoth; but she was gone.
The 9th of July, early in the morning,
Fleming
and I parted, and I proceeded as fast as well I could to the appointed station: but when I came up to Mrs.
Asgill
's door, the 2d day in the evening, July 10, and asked for Miss
Melmoth,
an old man, the only person in the house, told me, Mrs.
Asgill
had been dead near a month, and Miss
Melmoth
went from thence immediately after the funeral of her friend; that she had left a letter with him for a gentleman that was to call upon her; but that letter by an accident was destroyed, and where the lady then was, he could not so much as guess: he farther told me, that Miss
Melmoth
had sold the goods of the house, and the stock, bequeathed to her by her deceased friend, to the gentleman who inherited the late Mrs.
Asgill
's jointure, and she would return no more to the place. This was news to me. It struck me to the soul. Doleful tidings, how ye wound. What to do I could not tell, but as I rid to the next town, determined at last, to try if I could hear of her at York. To that city I went the next day, asked at the inns, walked the walls, and went to the assembly-room. My enquiries were all in vain. One gentleman only did I see who was acquainted with her, and he knew nothing of her present abode. From York then I proceeded the next 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 silent 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.
101. By accident, I meet Miss Melmoth.
To this purpose then I went the 2d of August, 1725, to
Barnard's Castle
in
Durham,
and intended the next morning to set out for Mr.
Fleming
's house in
Stanemore,
to go from thence to my cottage on the side of a
Westmorland-Fell:
but after I had rid a mile of the road to
Eggleston,
where I purposed to dine, I called out to my lad to stop. A sudden thought came into my head, to ride first to
Gretabridge,
as I was so near it, 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 of which was her man servant, and on the other her maid. She had a black mask on her face, to save her from the dust and sun, and when she lit from her horse, she id not take it off, but went with it on into the house, after she had looked for a moment or two at me. This I thought very strange. A charmer to be sure, I said. With what life and grace did she come to the ground! but how cruel the dear little rogue is, to conceal the wonders of its face. Landlord, I said to the master of the house, who was coming up to me, can you contrive a way to get me one view of that masked lady, and I will give you a pint. — Sir, mine host replied, that I can do very easily, for this lady has sent me to let you know, she wants to speak with you — with me! — Transporting news! I flew to her apartment, and there saw that dear irresistable creature, who had added to the
inferior
charms of face and person, that
wisdom
and
goodness
of
conauct
and
conversation,
which are the
true glory
of a
woman.
It was Miss
Melmoth.
She had heard I had been at Mrs.
Asgill
's house, and did not get the letter she left for me; which made her think of riding towards
Gretabridge,
on an imagination she might find me thereabout; as she remembered to have heard me say, in one of our conversations, that I intended as soon as I could, to look at the Roman antiquities in this place: but she had very little hopes (she added) of succeeding in her enquiry; as little as I had of her riding up to the inn; and this made the meeting the more pleasing. It did enhanse the pleasure indeed. It turned the amour into an adventure, and gave it that delicious flavor, which the 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 a felicity, which words would in vain attempt to express.
As soon as we had supped, I recited my adventures since we parted, and gave Miss
Melmoth
a flowery description of
Orton-Lodge;
then asked, if she would bless me with her hand, and sit down with me in my pretty solitude.
Sir, (Miss
Melmoth
replied), 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 bequeathed me; and the whole is at your service, to dispose of as you please.
Give me thy hand then (I said,) 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 obligation. Twice do I swear by the
great Spirit,
in whose dread presence I am, with your right hand now locked fast in mine, across this table, and call on him as witness to our vows, that neither time, nor chance, nor aught but death's inevitable hand, shall e'er divide our loves. Miss
Melmoth
said,
Amen.
102. 1725. Miss Melmoth and I proceed to Orton-Lodge, and are married by Father Fleming.
Early the next morning, the third of August, we rid to
Eggleston,
where we breakfasted, and proceeded from thence to Mr.
Fleming
's house, up Stanemore hills, where we arrived at nine o'clock in the evening, and had beds there that night. My friend
Tom
and his brother
Jemmy,
were gone to a fair; but the eldest brother, the
Franciscan fryer,
was at home, and entertained us very well. We took him with us very early the next day to
Orton-Lodge,
which we reached at eight in the evening, and found the house and garden in good order. My friend, Mr.
Fleming,
had done every thing possible, to make it a convenient and comfortable place. He had made near the Lodge two little rooms for servants, and had put a bed in the green-house in the garden for a friend. He had likewise sent there a couple of cows, some sheep and lambs, ducks and geese, cocks and hens, and every necessary he thought we might want there.
Good Tom Fleming.
There never was a better man, or a kinder friend, to his small power.
We had likewise fish in abundance, in the waters at the foot of our hills, and goats and kids, and plenty of wild fowl. Few things were wanting that reason could desire; and for us, who thought that happiness, that is, pleasure and repose, did not precariously depend on what others think, or say, or do; but solidly consisted in what we ourselves did feel, and relish, and enjoy, there could not be a more delightful station discovered on this globe.
To conclude, the best things that
Orton-Lodge
afforded, were ordered to the fire, and before they were brought on the table, the 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-pac'd hours did sweetly pass away,
And happy nights still clos'd each happy day.
FINIS.
ADVERTISEMENT.
NEXT winter will be printed the second volume of Mr. Buncle's life; containing his transactions and remarks in various parts of the world; — his voyage to the South seas; — and many wonderful changes and chances he met with in the space of twenty years.
The Appendix, mentioned several times in the first volume, will be added to the second, and contain the following pieces. — No. 1. Remarks on Lord Nottingham's letter to Mr. Whiston; being an apology for the author's religious principles, which he gave in to his father. — No. 2. An answer to the Rev. Dr. Smith's third section of his book, called, A clear and comprehensive view of the being, nature, and attributes of God.— No. 3. A reply to Miss Harcourt's vindication of Athanasian religion; which converted her from the general Apostacy to that pure gospel theism, which preserves the supreme majesty of our heavenly Father, and denies an equal to the God over all Gods, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus. — No. 4. A conversation with Father Fleming, a Franciscan fryer, concerning the doctrines of the church of Rome; which converted his brother, Mr. Thomas Fleming, to the religion of protestants. — No. 5. A dissertation on the antediluvians.