The vagabond. A novel. / By George Walker. ; Dedicated to the Lord Bishop of Landaff.

THE VAGABOND.

CHAPTER I. The Meeting of two Republican Philosophers.

ONE fine summer evening, Doctor Alogos walk|ed out to the banks of Wynander Meer, to enjoy the beautiful scenery surrounding, and reflected in the mirror of the crystal lake.

'This is charming,' said he to himself, as he walked onward; 'the harmony of nature is visible in every object round me; the clouds form a majes|tic and ever-varying canopy; man alone deviates from that pure state of existence he knew in the golden age; man alone is unhappy; his passions and his appetites in society know no bounds short of attainment; and why? because he will not copy the example of unerring nature in her conduct of animals. These never deviate into rapine and out|rage —they live free, and are happy.'

At that moment he heard a noise in the air, and looking round, distinguished a hawk in full pur|suit after a lapwing. The harmless creature flat|tered, and appeared nearly exhausted, while the

bird of prey redoubled his exertions—Doctor Alo|gos, who usually walked with a fowling-piece for his amusement, brought the hawk down at a shot; and the lapwing, as if to thank him, settled near upon the ground. In a little time it recovered from its fright, and a fine worm creeping before it fell a prey to instinct.

The Doctor mused on this subject as he contin|ued his walk.—'At worst,' said he, 'this is only a partial evil, and does not interrupt the har|mony of the universe; it is only matter changing form, and making room in the great field of nature for new existences; if we had no hawks, in twenty years the whole surface of the earth would be co|vered with lapwings; and if we had no lapwings, the whole globe would be so over-run with worms, that, like a Cheshire cheese filled with mites, the crusting would crumble away. It is necessary that the stronger animals should prey upon the weaker, and quite in the order of things: but for men to mur|der each other, is very different, and arises from an unjust accumulation of property. Oh happy times when property was unregarded, when no tyrant could plant his foot upo•• an acre of ground, and repulse his fellow from the sod! Property! Proper|ty! thou art the bane of earthly good, an ulcer in society, and a cancer in the political oeconomy.'

As the Doctor stamped his foot on the ground in the attitude of an orator, heated with the idea of revolution and equality, a young man in a very rag|ged dress leaped from a thicket of hazels, and holding a pistol to the Doctor's breast, demanded his money.

The Doctor's piece was unloaded, or his benev|olence for the human species might have been lost in the agitation of surprise; but making a full p••••se, and gazing at his antagonist, 'This,' said

he, 'is not right in the nature of things; force tells me that your argument is wrong; you should have first convinced me of your wants, and then my purse would have been your just property.'

'All property is a monopoly,' cried the young metaphysician, 'and the most laconic arguments are best: these rags which I wear are sufficient vouch|ers for my wants; and unless you can prove that some other has a greater claim to your property, I must have the contents of your pocket.'

'You are a philosopher,' said the Doctor.

'Yes,' replied the youth; 'my dear Stupeo used to tell me so; but philosophy is not rewarded in the present detestable system of things; virtue is ridi|culed, and vice rides in gilded coaches.'

'How much do you need?' said the Doctor, in transport. 'You are a pupil of the new school; ••••me along with me, and you shall find me a man who will esteem you exactly according to the quan|tity of merit you possess; your talents ought not to be thus lost.'

'Stupeo was perfectly right,' said the youth, 'he told me that all men are equal: I will go with you.'

'Who is this Stupeo?' inquired the Doctor, while the young man walked by his side. 'He was a very great philosopher, a mythologist, a met|aphysician, and a scholar: he was my tutor at college.'

'You a collegian!' cried the Doctor, in sur|prise: 'how came you in this miserable condition, and how could you commit such an act of danger+ous outrage?' 'From the most natural reason in the world: all crime, my dear sir, arises from some possessing what others want; but in fact, there is no such thing as crime; it is a mere chimera, ex|isting only in the law, like John Doe and Richard Roe.'

'There surely are crimes,' interrupted the Doc|tor, 'crimes against political justice, and the liber|ty of the individual: as for instance, I have, as a willing animal, a right or power to take a walk; but if I am to be assassinated every time I go out, my liberty is restrained, my house becomes a prison, and I might as well be in a dungeon. I think crimes of this nature ought to be punished.'

'How? By coercion or restraint?—My dear Stupeo used to say that punishment is a specious name, but is in reality nothing more than force, put upon one being by another who happens to be stronger. How can truth be promoted by this? If I am hanged for what is called a robbery, how am I convinced of my error? And it is the reform of the individual you should seek, and not the pun|ishment of an action partial in its nature.'

'You are wrong,' said the Doctor; the offend|er ought to be restrained as long as the safety of the community prescribes it, for this is just: re|strain him not an instant from a simple view to his own improvement, for this is contrary to reason and morality* 1.1.'

'But my dear sir,' cried the youth, warmly, 'Stupeo, who was a philosopher and a metaphysi|cian, says—'

'Says a fiddlestick,' retorted the Doctor, 'it is the good of the whole we are to seek; what signi|fies individuals? they are as mites in the universe. Truth, truth must be propagated, and I glory to see we are making such rapid progress.'

They were by this time arrived at the gate of a neat-looking mansion, with high chimnies, and heavy cornices, which declared it to have been erected in the time of William the Third, a flower

garden spread before it, in which a beautiful young woman was gathering flowers. She appeared a|bout eighteen, with all the innocence of that period, and the beauty attending upon health and good nature.

'Your daughter, I suppose?' said the stranger.

'No,' replied the Doctor; 'do you think I would belie my principles by uniting myself for life to any object, when the human mind is of so changeable a nature? She is my neice; her parents, who were very poor, and very ignorant, are dead. I attempted to educate her on my plan; but she is of a perverse disposition, she will not exert the di|vine privilege of resistance, and throw off the shackles of domination: she persists that the very difference of sexes should teach us that they are designed for different pursuits.'

'Laura,' cried the Doctor, 'have you set my room in order? I have brought home a stranger.'

'No,' replied Laura, blushing; 'I was obliged to visit a poor old woman in the village; and I in|tended, as soon as I had gathered some flowers, to arrange your apartment.'

'The d—l take all the old women in the uni|verse,' cried the Doctor, in a passion, 'with their diseases and their wants! What had you to do, you idle slut, with gathering flowers, when all my room is covered with litter? What a wretched state is society! every thing thwarting the temper, and spoiling our reflections.'

'In a state of nature,' said the young stranger, 'we should certainly have fewer wants. The pleas|ant spring would supply us with drink, and the mast of the forest with food. How happy would it be if all mankind, by universal consent, would destroy every vestige of society, and return to sim|ple nature!'

'Nothing is more true,' cried Doctor Alogos, tak|ing his hand and leading him towards the house; 'you seem a youth of profound intelligence, and I glory in having discovered such a gem. All the children of men are dear to my heart; and my in|dignation boils when I hear that our brethren of Africa are urged to labour with a lash—torn from supreme felicity—carried from the yellow sands of Guinea to the burning furnace of the West-Indies, and all for what? to supply us with spices and sweet-meats. I could hug a Tartar to my breast, and divide my little property with a Greenlander.'

A wounded soldier at that moment accosted them from the gate, entreating a morsel of bread, or a farthing to buy it with.

The Doctor's countenance reddened, and turn|ing round—'Go,' cried he, 'to your parish; for what do I pay so many poor's rates, if my purse is to be always open to such vagrants? In a state of nature there is no necessity for soldiers; and I am determined I will not support the present infamous system.' So saying, he slapped the door in the soldier's face; and leading his new friend up stairs, they entered an elegant apartment, the furniture of which was in a style of the greatest luxury.

'Is supper ready?' inquired the Doctor of a ser|vant girl, who entered the room to place his chair, —'It won't be ready this half hour,' replied she, pertly: 'if you want it sooner, you must come and help to get it yourself.'

'Go along, you baggage,' said the Doctor, laughing. Then turning to his guest, 'This,' said he, 'is a girl of independent spirit, the genuine equality for which I admire her. If my niece were a little more of her disposition, I should be extremely fond of her—not for herself, because I am above

all those false notions of relative connexion, but for her virtues.'

Supper was soon after served in a style that would have gratified an epicure. The Doctor de|claimed, between every bite, on the virtues of temperance, and the beauties of nature.—The young man ate little, being engaged with the beau|ties of Laura: and the latter was much abashed by the company of a stranger, who, though in a garb that declared present poverty, had yet a nobleness of physiognomy, which shone forth beneath the cloud that enshrouded him.

Having sufficiently satisfied the demands of nature and appetite, the Doctor ordered his niece to retire; and having replenished the table with wine, which he observed was taxed in an infamous manner, he requested the stranger to relate the outlines of his history.

CHAPTER II. The progress of Truth and Philosophy in an ignorant mind.

MY name is Frederic Fenton. I might per|haps be ashamed to mention my family, when you see me in these miserable garments; but truth must be spoken without regard to those false prejudices, which call folly by the name of honor.

My parents have great landed possessions, that is, are great tyrants, in the county of Kent. They educated me in all the superstitions of the Protes|tant

church, and my whole study was to conform to their desires, and restrain my wishes to the line of what they called rectitude and religion.

I was so grossly ignorant, as to believe that dis|obeying them was displeasing to the Almighty; and I considered religion as a sure means of leading me to a better world, and making me hereafter hap|py: but these were the dreams of unenlightened im|agination, impressed upon me by education.

Learning appeared in my eyes the greatest object of human attainment; and my parents delighting in my progress, my whole powers were bent to the acquirement of what they called valuable know|ledge.

I did not then know that profound ignorance is the real and only state in which men can enjoy fe|licity; and that every advance from this is so far di|verging from the intention of nature.

I was never easy under the neglect of a duty, because I either feared the censure of my parents, or the vengeance of an offended deity: and I re|frained for these reasons from committing any of those actions, false morality particularly considers atrocious. So eager was my application to study, and so tenacious my memory, that at fifteen I was judged capable of commencing student in form.

I took leave of my parents with tears; and my bosom seemed to lose its tranquility at parting with a youth nearly my own age, and who had been my friend and companion from infancy. Vernon was not less affected; and we vowed eternal amity at our separation.

At the recommendation of a nobleman, the di|vine Stupeo became my preceptor. He was a per|son of mean birth; but that distinction I despised, seeing in him only a man of talents.

He began his plan of education, with starting

bold truths, which shocked and dazzled me with their lustre, without confounding my perceptions. 'I will not,' said he, 'overwhelm you at once with the whole blaze of knowledge, though I would as little wish to lead you step by step, as though I would surprise you to an acquiescence with truth: immortal truth can never lose by being seen; it bears down every barrier; it is a mighty torrent; it may be stayed for a while, but the acceleration of its rapidity will increase in equal ratio.'

At first I ventured to observe, that the human mind is too often led into error by a deception of the senses, which are ever ready to adopt any new object, however absurd. His eloquence, which was like the torrent he described, soon overcame my weak objections, and the first gleam of truth and philosophy dawned upon my soul.

He lamented the profound obedience I paid to my parents. 'My dear pupil,' said he, 'what is this bondage you call duty? And what right have those beings you call father and mother to direct your actions, and controul the inborn vigour of your soul?'

'By the claim of nature; by the trouble they have taken for my preservation; and by the love they bear me in particular,' said I.

'Unjust in extreme!' cried he. 'Do your par|ents love you for your real value?—No! it is aristocracy, self-love, and family pride, that teach them to set a value on you. No human being ought to be preferred because that being is my fa|ther, my wife, or my son* 1.2; it is the good of the whole we should endeavour to promote. And what is your claim of nature? Are not all men born free? Children can be no longer connected with their father, than while they stand in wood of his

assistance. When this becomes needless, the natur|al tie is of course dissolved, the children are ex|empted from the obedience they owe their father, and the father is equally so from the solicitude due from him to his children; both assume a state of independence respecting each other* 1.3.'

'But gratitude,' replied I, 'would seem to in|spire reverence and esteem.'

'Gratitude!—Nonsense,' answered he, 'I ought to esteem a benefactor, not because he has done a kindness to me, but because he has done it to a human being† 1.4.'

'But if what my parents request is for my own advantage, surely there can be no crime in obey|ing?'

'Of that you are the best judge: if the action be good, it should be done because it is so, and not because certain persons have requested or com|manded you to do it. But even this you ought to doubt: to doubt is the first step to be a great phi|losopher, and the more you doubt the more real knowledge you are possessed of. For instance, you will call that an apple lying on your table, because it appears so: but you must doubt it; your eyes, your taste is fallible—it may be an orange, or it may be nothing—it may be any thing.'

'It may not be a church, or the Alpine moun|tains,' said I.

'But you must not believe it to be neither, for those who believe any thing, certainly are fools.‡ 1.5

'I am convinced,' said I. 'I doubt whether I ever had a father, or ever was born: I will no long|er be held in the leading-strings of obedience.'

Youth has a natural passion for entertainment; and having now cast off the trammels of parental admonition, I determined to enjoy those moments

which my dear Stupeo taught me would never return. 'How few are our years, and of those years, how few are allowed to pleasure!' would he say. 'Grasp then, my pupil, the moments as they fly, for all beyond this life is annihilation and non-entity: dry and barren study is well enough for muddy souls, but not for those who know how to live.'

It is surprising with what conviction truth flashes upon the mind:—Stupeo's axioms were unrefuta+ble, and I found the superiority of pleasure over all the laborious and musty researches of learning, which never satisfy a doubting philosophic mind.

I confess I ran into a few eccentricities, such as breaking the leg of a waiter in a drunken frolic— getting a fever by a surfeit—and spending my sa|lary before it became due; but these are the nec|essary attendants on this miserable system of things. We are so enervated, with drinking tea, that we cannot withstand the power of fixed air in fluids: and the monopoly of property prevents our spend|ing more than we can acquire.

These reflections naturally led me to abhor ty|ranny of every kind. It is singular how we im|bibe great truths, when once the mind doubts of every thing. The genius of liberty shone resplen|dent in mine eyes, and I groaned at the sufferings of my fellow men. I saw that no possible right could bind any man in slavery. What power had any generation of men to fell their posterity (no matter who bought them)? When had I given my consent to the government I lived under? Never; and therefore to me it was as absolute a despotism as any under the sun* 1.6. It was no consequence to me that it might be just and well administered; to me it was a tyranny. I confess there seemed a trifling argument against this new truth; for it

seemed a matter of difficulty, that the government should be sending to every individual, as he attain|ed certain years, to know if he approved their establishment. But in the best of systems there is always some little defect; and surely Voltaire, Rousseau, Tom Paine, and the metaphysician Stu|peo, knew which was for the best. 'I even doubt,' said the latter, 'whether the very article of our birth be not a great breach of political justice, since our consent was not required.'

He was a most exquisite reasoner; I remember him expatiating one day on the happiness of natu|ral liberty: he kindled into enthusiasm on the sub|ject. 'War,' cried he, 'that destroys our vitals, and in one moment silences eloquence, genius, and every virtue, with the howlings of misery, mur|der and despair, would never exist but for the ma|chinations of monarchs. When did you ever hear of republics going to war? what have they to fight about* 1.7?'

'Did the Tyrians, the Grecians, the Romans, the Carthaginians never go to war?' said I. But Stupeo knew his ground too well to be stopped by so trifling a question: he continued—'The recip|rocal relations of mankind, while living together in their primitive independence, were not suffi|ciently durable to constitute a state, either of peace or war, so that men cannot be naturally enemies. It is the relation subsisting between things, and not between men, that gives rise to war; which arising not from personal but real relations, cannot subsist between man and man, either in a state of nature or in a state of society, in which every thing is se|cured

by the Laws* 1.8. Thus it being evident, that as men never can be at variance with men, for as much as no savages in a state of nature ever fight; it follows, that war never could happen, but for the quarrels of a set of tyrants, who lead men into the field of battle to butcher each other with their eyes shut.'

'Then man becomes a mere machine?' said I.

'Man a machine!' said he, with ardour: 'man is a sublime animal; the great lord of creation▪ it is true his soul is nothing but an heap or collec|tion of different perceptions, or objects, united together by certain relations, and supposed, though falsely, to be endowed with perfect simplicity and identity. If any one, upon serious and unprejudiced reflection, thinks he has a different notion of him self, I must confess I can reason with him no long|er: he may perhaps perceive something simple, and continued, which he calls himself, though I am certain there is no such principle in me. But setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind (who believe they have a soul), I may venture to affirm, of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement† 1.9.

'But,' said I, 'you tell me you are certain you have no soul, and yet you lay it down as a maxim, that we are not to be certain of any thing. This is sure a contradiction. Beside, if this bundle of ideas is always changing, and never the same, what is memory? How am I conscious that I ate my breakfast this morning, and got drunk last night?'

'It is merely in idea,' replied he; 'you can|not be certain you did either. All ideas are only slighter impressions than realities, and there is no other difference between reality and idea* 1.10.

'Then,' said I, 'the idea of an inch must be an inch long, and of a mile a mile long. If I have an idea of a roaring lion, or a thunder storm, I shall hear the sounds, only in a smaller degree. I have an idea of two bottles of brandy, and the im|pression will surely equal the effect of two bottles of wine; but do I feel any actual difference be|tween an idea of the frozen pole or the bowels of Mount Etna? Am I colder or warmer for either? Does the idea of a bombardment lay me dead upon the plain; which it must do, if it were, as you say, that reality and idea are in every respect the same, except that the former strikes with more force than the latter† 1.11.

'You will believe every thing I have said,' he answered, 'if you doubt your own understanding; and nothing is more fallible than human reason, or more certain than immutable truth.'

In this new path of philosophy, I made so much progress, that I soon ceased to trouble myself with the jargon of the schools: Aristotle, Grotius, and Puffendorf, appeared as so many children, and even the great Locke, but an infant in science. Latin and Greek became the most insipid of studies; and in fact, my moments were too precious to be wast|ed on such trifles.

My father wrote me several letters, expressive of his grief at my change of principles, and hinting, that he would discharge Stupeo, if I attended to his infernal doctrines.

'And so,' cried the great logical metaphysician, 'you will stoop to the domination of this man, who wishes to cramp the divine impulses of your soul, to torpedo your faculties! Other tyrants would be content with governing your body; but this man, who calls himself your father, would de|press the energies of your so••ring spirit, and tear it down from beholding the splendid sun of reason and truth, to walk in the common track of plod|ding men.'

What reasoning could be more just, or delivered in more eloquent terms? I wrote in reply that my mind was free, that I detested controul, and would not submit to the directions of any tyrant, however distinguished by name.

My father returned me an answer in the mildest terms: he requested me to consider how much at|tention he had bestowed upon me in my early years. He asked how I should think of the man, who should return any favour I did him, with equal neglect and contempt. He entreated me to con|sider if any of his former advice had been in any ways detrimental to my own welfare; and to reflect, that no possible advantage could arise to him from my proceeding in a virtuous life, except that of beholding one, whom he had been a mean of bring|ing into the world, an honour to his country, to human nature, and to himself. He concluded with entreating me to meet him at a certain house upon the road, where he would communicate to me mat|ters of great importance; and should set out from home (though very unwell) the moment he receiv|ed my promise to meet him.

Stupeo was on a party of pleasure when I re|ceived this letter. I am almost ashamed to own the impression it made upon me, though it is all in the old-fashioned style; but we cannot at

once wholly overcome every prejudice of educa|tion.

I wrote immediately, that I would attend at the place appointed. I delayed till Stupeo arrived. He was surprised to find me ready for a journey, and more so when I informed him of the particulars.

'Weak, puerile, and inconstant man,' cried he, 'you resolve in one hour what you undo the next. It was either fitting that you should yester|day have bowed to the commands of your father, or it is not fitting to-day: time cannot change a moral action. What is it he requires? To bend you to his will—to make you the passive tool of his power: He would persuade you all he has done was for your sake. Who are you? an individual! his property?—A master gives physic to his slave, and pretends he has no interest in doing so. Nonsense! it is the good of the whole he should seek.'

'But I have promised to meet him; and I would not willingly forfeit my word.'

'All promises are morally wrong, and ought not to be kept. The action to be done, is either right, or it is wrong. If it is right, it should be done without an eye to a promise; and if it is wrong, no promise can make it right. For in|stance, I send word to a merchant I shall meet him on 'Change, and I find more pleasure in some other excursion, or some action of greater good (in my mind) appears for me to do. I ought not to meet the merchant;—his inconvenience I am igno|rant of, and I can no more be said to be accountable for any thing he shall suffer from the disappointment, than I am guilty of murder for not being on a trial at Newcastle, when I knew of no such trial, though my evidence should have saved the man. All that can be said is, that people would then in these cases

depend more upon themselves, and less upon others* 1.12.'

'But,' said I, 'how is business to be done, if no man has a certainty of meeting with those he has to transact some concern of the first importance with?'

'What is business, what is commerce, when compared with moral virtue and political justice? It is the good of the whole, my dear Frederick, and not the petty interest of individuals, we are to consider. We ought never to do an action with|out first calculating the resulting good, and consid|ering if some greater good may not be done.— You are dressed, and to tell you the truth, for we ought always, and in all instances, to speak truth, I this night am going to Mrs. Ell's, where you will see a charming girl: she has not been in|troduced a month, and you will not regret the loss of—. Come, my dear fellow, shake off all these superstitious notions, and taste real and genuine liberty.'

CHAPTER III. The new morality of Friendship, Honour, and Philan|thropy.

SOME days after, I received a letter from my fa|ther, informing me, that the disappointment he had received, with the fatigue of the journey, in his weak state of health, had so much raised his fever, that he had little hopes of recovering his health; and that if I yet retained the smallest spark of filial piety, I would instantly hasten to him.

I was at first shocked with the event, but it was evidently not owing to me, but the improper jour|ney he had taken; for to say the disappointment could have such an effect, was talking like a nerv|ous old woman. I was easily convinced by Stupeo that it was all a trick: and indeed I was in no con|dition to undertake a journey into Kent; the charming girl who had not been a month introduc|ed, having given me sufficient reason to remember her innocence.

'What a shocking effect!' said Stupeo; 'but you ought to doubt its reality.'

'To doubt it?' cried I: 'No, no, I have no reason to doubt.'

'But it may only exist in your idea, and that idea affects you.'

'Affects me! How,' said I. 'What, if I have an idea that my throat is cut, shall I find the blood streaming about me?'

'It all arises from the present miserable system of things, said Stupeo; 'a despotism is the very worst of governments.'

'But what has despotism to do with it?' cried I peevishly; 'am not I burning with all the flames of a volcano? and should I not have been well at this moment if I had attended my father? Pray how does this rise from the government?'

'I will maintain,' said Stupeo, with metaphysical coolness, 'this, and every thing else that is bad, arises from it. If genuine liberty were established, all the female sex would be within our choice; we should not have to venture—What business has one man to monopolize a woman to himself? Affection and love is as various as any other pas|sion. What are the names of mother, and wife, and daughter, and sister? In a state of nature men pursue their own inclinations, and not each grasp

a female being to himself, the slave of his caprice, and the object of his disgust.—Over this imagina|ry prize, men watch with perpetual jealousy; and one man will find his desires and his capacity to circumvent as much excited, as the other is excited to traverse him:—as long as this state of society continues, philanthropy will be crossed and checked in a thousand ways* 1.13.'

'That must be a very admirable state of things,' I replied; 'but at present, what are we to do, when our philanthropy must be practised in private? for it is a very dear article at Westminster-Hall. I am almost tempted to think it is a judgment of Providence upon illicit connexion.

'Providence!' repeated he; 'is it possible you can really be such a child in science? In the eigh|teenth century to talk of Providence, is a mark of the profoundest ignorance. Do you think then that there is a great and omnipotent Being, who cares for such a bundle of atoms as you are? All priest-craft and lies. Does any thing tell you that you shall live hereafter?'

'I have an idea that I shall; and all ideas must be realities, only in a slighter degree, if the doctrine of the fashionable Hume be true.'

'Not in this case. Your existence will terminate when the lobes of the lungs are no longer inflated, and the blood ceases to beat in the arteries. The union of the spirit with the body, is a mere fortui|tous connexion, happened wholly by chance, and will terminate in like manner.'

'But,' returned I, 'nature seems embellished with a thousand beauties, that surely are not the re|sult of chance. In the formation of one single flower, how insensibly does the stem increase, the leaves unfold, and the flowers expand! Were those the

effects of chance, we ought to see the particles which form the component parts, settling from the air into the shapes of plants, trees, horses, and geese; nor should we ever see two animals or plants of the same species.'

Stupeo paused a moment, but he never wanted resources in the extensive stores of his mind. 'All this,' said he, 'proceeds from physical necessity, and the nature of things; you impel a ball along a smooth surface, and it must proceed in a fixed pro|gress; so nature has given to all things an impulse, which never ceases to act. The same quantity of matter and spirit exists now that did exist at the first, though it is ever varying in form. In the first kern|el, in the first egg, was contained the germ of all other kernels and eggs, of all the plants, and all the chickens, requiring only the progress of time to un|fold them; and the first man contained in him all the men that ever did, or ever will exist* 1.14.'

'But how that first could ever exist without a creating power, is to me incomprehensible. We do not see new species of animals produced by na|ture in our time; we never find men with their heads just rising above ground, like the children of Deucalion and Pyrrha, or the teeth which Cadmus set in the mud. It would be a convincing argu|ment, if we were ever to find the horns of animals rising like plants before us in our walks. Indeed, my dear Stupeo, you must allow a great first cause.'

'Nature is all powerful,' said Stupeo.

'But what is nature? To be a powerful cause, it must have will: it must be a Deity; and I care not whether you call this mighty being Nature, Providence, or God.'

'Those who believe any thing are fools,' re|plied he: 'matter and motion may be regarded as

the cause of thought* 1.15: every thing arises from mat|ter and motion.'

'But what is motion? And what is the cause of motion?' said I.

'Priests,' he replied, 'have led the mind through their knowledge of its passions. They have intro|duced Hell to controul us by the horrors of future punishment. But the burning-glass of truth has struck the temple of prejudice and priest-craft; the fabric totters to the base, it will shortly fall, and crush all tyrants in its ruins.'

I could not but observe, that he had evaded my questions; but that was an effort of his exquisite wit and talent for disputation. It was impossible any one could resist the torrent of his eloquence; and my imagination was warmed by the glorious and brilliant idea of the temple of superstition tumb|ling down, and crushing tyranny in its ruins. I forgot my sufferings in the prospect, sighing alone in the fear that mankind were not yet sufficiently enlightened. Indeed I have to lament, that I find too many self-interested people, who prefer the misanthropic way of living in families, watching their wives and daughters like so many dragons guarding the Hesperian fruit, and hoarding up that wealth which thousands would be rejoiced to share. But the time will come, when knowledge is disseminated in all ranks; when the ploughman shall sit on his plough reading the Rights of Man, and all books of law and religion shall be burnt by the magistrates. Then, then, my dear sir, liberty shall triumph! and aristocracy and property vanish together!

It was a long time before I recovered my health and strength; and my father finding he could not bully me into his narrow principles, sent a dismissal

to Stupeo. That great and good man could not bear to take a personal farewel of his pupil, but departed in the evening, two days after his dis|charge, taking with him a gold repeater of mine, which his delicacy would not let him ask as a me|morial. —The loss of my dear Stupeo would have been dreadful, had I not imbibed sufficient know|ledge to proceed without a guide; the light of na|ture being sufficient for those who will follow her impulses, unbiassed by vulgar errors.

I endeavoured to spread the truth* 1.16 with all my powers; but the old fellows thinking their places in danger, and alarmed at the thunders of reason, and the fulminations of science, expelled me the col|lege, and I returned to my father's house.

There I resolved to live as much as possible in conformity to reason, without stooping to the forms of custom. Nature is the best regulator, and I was not obliged to eat and drink because the hand of the clock pointed to such a set of figures; or to eat pork, when my appetite preferred mutton.

My mother, who was a weak, silly old woman, was always crying at my whims (as my father called them); and if I had not steeled my heart against that foolish failing, pity, I could not have persisted in the line of truth.

Vernon, the friend of my youth, resided at this time at our house, having finished the studies neces|sary to a mercantile education; and he now only waited for a vacancy, to go abroad on some adven|ture.

I endeavoured in vain to open the eyes of this bigoted youth, who was nearly my own age. I put into his hands books of religious controversy, in hopes of catching his mind by some insoluble question. I demanded of him frequently an expla|nation

of all the articles of religious belief. I read to him the admirable writings of Voltaire and Hume: but he had the impudence to say, they contradicted each other; that Voltaire frequently asserted falsehoods as certainties, which three fourths of his readers had not means to detect; and that Hume was so contradictory and unintelli|gible, that the reader was lost in a jargon of words.

He had taken a strong fancy to a very elegant girl, the daughter of a farmer in our neighbourhood, and was never happy but when writing verses in her praise, or teaching her what he called, the Christian virtues. He was so jealous of this fan|cied property, that he was for excluding all others from their natural right. Had I attended to the old-fashioned doctrine of honour, I might have re|frained from desiring the girl myself; but our en|joyments are very transient in this world, and none but fools will think of the next.

Your church people, who believe that they have souls, might indeed be deterred from violating innocence, and plundering the weak: but I rejoice to think these notions are growing obsolete; and not being troubled with such qualms myself, I re|solved to gratify the pure and natural desire I had, at least to divide with Vernon the affections of Amelia.

The girl herself soon perceived the difference; for, having a quick understanding, she became en|amoured of the new doctrines I daily discoursed upon, for they carried self-evident proofs in the latitude they allowed for the passions and weakness of human nature.

Vernon was of too jealous a disposition not to perceive her growing coolness towards himself, and that all his sanctified religious notions were un|attended to. His vigilance was roused, and he soon

discovered that I had not only supplanted him, but even gained those favours he durst not in idea think of: a glorious proof of the superiority of truth, and the new morality.

In the narrow spirit of self-love, and the old times of chivalry, he sent me a challenge with all the fire of a madman, and all the reproaches he could have uttered had I injured him in the most in|famous manner.

Determined to preserve the dignity of conscious innocence, I replied to him in a letter, 'That it was the offspring of despotism, to bring any argu|ment to the sword!—that his appeal to force was palpably wrong, as he should have convinced me, by rational tenets, that I was not right. I also begged him to reflect, that my mind, being infi|nitely more illumined, and more liberal than his, I was so much more valuable in the scale of moral virtue. That his death would, in the eye of po|litical justice, be a matter of insignificance, but that mine would be a great detriment to society in general, for whose benefit I even durst not use the self-command of my person, by risking it against his.* 1.17

I happened to meet him the same evening, on my way to Amelia. His eye kindled the moment he saw me; and standing firmly in my way, he waited my arrival.

'Execrable coward† 1.18!' cried he, 'monster of human depravity! you have forever ruined the tranquillity of my existence, and you deny me the honourable satisfaction of a gentleman. Were there not others less worthy than Amelia, whom you might have contaminated with your detestable

maxims? But none other than the beloved darling of the soul of your friend, the girl whom he had doated on from infancy, you must defame!'

'Friendship!' said I, when his passion allowed him to pause; 'we ought never to form particular friendships with any one, to the exclusion of the whole species: every man ought to be our friend; but before we enter into confidence, we ought to inquire carefully into the worth of our object, that we may not bestow upon him a regard which his abilities do not deserve, or we shall act unjustly. We ought to be sure, after a certain allowance for the fallibility of the human judgment* 1.19.'

'Perish such infernal doctrines!' cried he, inter|rupting me: 'such cold-hearted and diabolical sys|tems would unhinge all society in the universe!'

'True,' cried I, 'true, most true,' raising my voice, determined to be heard in the cause of truth. 'It were well for mankind, if society were this mo|ment abolished: we should then be free from its vices; virtue would spread her celestial banner over the children of men; science would dart the rays of its fecundating beams to the bosoms of all men; and liberty would spread her reign from zone to zone, and from one pole to the other.'

'What is this jargon!' said he, with a look of calm contempt: 'Is the liberty you wish, the right of ravishing your friend's mistress? Is this virtue you blaze forth—the committal of outrage, and slinking from the punishment? And what is your state of nature, but a state of anarchy and blood|shed?'

'You misname every thing,' said I. 'If the great metaphysician Stupeo were here, he would soon convince you. As it is, I would ask how I

have injured you? Is Amelia any way injured but in your romantic fancy? What claim had you to her more than I? Should I at this moment oppose you, if you were to supplant me, or even divide with me her affections? No; so much philanthropy, so much friendship do I feel, that though I was now going to her, you shall go in my place.'

'Villain! monster!' cried he, nearly choaking with passion; 'this moment I would tear your soul from your body, did not gratitude for your father prevent me. Live then! live to be a curse to yourself and society!'

'Do you not know,' said I, 'that gratitude is a crime? because —'

'Because, d—n—n!' vociferated he. 'Be|gone, monster! The man without gratitude is a companion alone for the blackest fiends of hell. The affections of angelic minds are lost on his cal|lous soul. He may talk as he will of benevolence, but self is the centre of all his actions; and because he will not return a favour, he would meanly seek to destroy the obligation. Frederick, Frederick,' continued he, in a voice supernaturally solemn, ••remember this. Nothing can be more fallacious than the philanthropic principles held out by mod|ern philosophers: they paint themselves as the most benevolent of the human race; they lament the horrors of West-Indian slavery; they groan at the sufferings of mankind▪ which arise from the na|ture of man and mortal existence. But look your|self, and let others dispassionately look into the con|duct of these worthy patriots, and I challenge you, or them, to bring me one man in an hun|dred, who will, or who has bestowed one single shilling voluntarily, either to relieve the distresses of the poor, or to aid the support of their country. In the one case, they shuffle off, by saying, the

poor have a right to demand the property of the rich; we are determined not to give a penny to a set of cowards, who will not rise and cut the throats of aristocrats and placemen. In the other case, they exclaim, I give any thing to support a set of ministerial minion••! No, it is contrary to my principles, I will oppose them in every mea|sure; and if a foreign enemy should come, I will either be neutral, or rejoice to see the day that shall make us free. What is the meaning of this cant, let your own sense dictate. Were these men to come forward and pay the regular taxes, there would not require above half that are now ostensibly demanded, the burden would be more equal, and the honest part of society would not be crushed with more than their portion. This, Frederick, is probably the last time I shall con|verse with you: it is gratitude which impels me to desire your reform; and I would have you look at those men, who have always the word morality in their mouth: look at the private life of any one of them, and you will find the liberty they seek to be no other than the right to practise every li|centiousness unchecked by the law, and unstigma|tised by sober and religious men.'

I was going to repeat some of the arguments of the profound metaphysical Stupeo. I was going to prove, that we ought to doubt whether two and two made four, or the greater was larger than the less: but he turned from me with a look of super|iority, and I could not for my soul but muse over his sermon, which was sacrilege against the cause of reason and truth; it being well known that our political demagogues, our brethren in the cause of universal man, live in the most abst••mious man|ner, that they may give the surplus to the poor. Will they not with true patriotism make the mean|est

subterfuges to evade a tax, by which means a double burden is thrown upon those who cannot flinch, and mankind are forced to open their eyes? Do they not print cheap books to enlighten their understanding, and let them see how they are plundered and robbed* 1.20? For it is no argument to say, that from those who have not, nor ever had any thing, nothing can be taken;—for what is more clear, than that I commit a robbery on a man if I with|hold his just demands? and the rich have no more real claim to their wealth, than the farmer has to the product of the ground he has cultivated; and which ought to be divided equally to all the people on the surface. No man has a right to monopolize the fruits of the earth.

The arguments of Vernon might have weight on some minds; and I trembled to think that he was counteracting all the good which I hoped to produce in the vicinity. So dangerous an enemy to liberty and reason ought to be removed; and when I returned home, I immediately went to my father, desiring him to withdraw his countenance from Vernon, who was a man that abused his gen|erosity.

'I can hardly believe him capable,' said my fa|ther; 'and even if he were so, the hopes I have in|spired him with, render it in me a sacred duty to provide for him. I have educated him superior to his fortune; I have given him, as I may say, a mind equal to a great employ; and I should deem it injustice to cast him down, and to destroy all the talents he has acquired, and the schemes he has indulged, beneath my influence.'

'But,' cried I, 'your influence may be employ|ed to better purpose, and it is the greater good we ought to prefer. What is the tenderness to which you are bound? This expectation you dare not disappoint. Has his expectation altered the orig|inal purpose of his life, engaged him in under|takings from which he would otherwise have ab|stained? Be it so: he and all other men would be taught to depend more on their own exertions:* 1.21 they would be taught never to rely on vain expecta|tions, but act from the noble energies of indepen|dence.'

'What language is this?' cried my father. 'What would society become, if no human be|ing could depend on the promise or the protection of another? And what is this greatest good? A term without meaning, a cant phrase to avoid a duty. The greatest good is, to be upright and sincere before God and man; and not, because my present convenience may suit, to turn the whole life of a dependant into a different channel; break all his connexions, and dissolve his plans at my will. This indeed is despotism with a power su|perior to the mandates of Persian plenipotence.'

'I wish,' said I, 'the divine, mythologistical, metaphysical Stupeo were here: he would shortly convince you that you are in a palpable error.'

'He could never,' replied my father, 'sophisti|cate the common-sense dictates of a mind wishing to do right.'

We were interrupted by the entrance of Ver|non, who paused, and trembled at seeing me. I did not wish wholly to confound and embarrass him with my presence, and therefore withdrew.

I know not what passed between him and my father: but the next morning he departed by break of day, and my father shut himself up in his closet, in a gloomy fit.

CHAPTER IV. The greatest Good fully illustrated by a strange accident— anecdotes of Patriotism.

I CONTINUED my connexion with Amelia, and had the satisfaction to perceive that another human being would be added to the race of men. My father, by some means, became acquainted with the circumstance; and I was catechised for having fol|lowed the dictates of nature. Family pride did not permit his requesting me to marry her, though he pretended that his only objection was, that no union could be happy after so great a lapse of discre|tion. He proposed that I should, for some time, quit the country; and he would provide for Ame|lia and the child, when it should be born.

'Let the parish provide for it,' said I: 'all chil|dren ought to belong to the public. The great, the immortal, the virtuous, and illustrious Rous|seau sent his children to be maintained by the Foundling Hospital at Paris* 1.22: and shall I be

ashamed of copying so great a master, whose ac|tions were all sublime?'

'And how do you reconcile those principles with morality?' said my father.

'Morality,' I replied, 'is political justice, which prefers the good of the whole to the good of a part; suffering partial evil, that the great work of truth may go forward, and liberty and reason be paramount over selfishness, pride, super|stition, and priestcraft.'

'Excellent! cried my father, breaking into a loud laugh: 'a speech worthy the humble copier of Rousseau, and the great metaphysician Stupeo. Let me ask you one question, Frederick—Do you understand yourself?'

'Do I understand myself? Yes; and what I say is as legible as the broad beams of the sun at noon day: it is written in the great book of Na|ture.'

It was evening when this conversation took place: and we were startled by a sudden blaze of light, which darted across the hemisphere; at the same moment the servants cried out, Fire! and we could perceive the farm in a blaze.

My father and I, together with the servants, hastened to the spot, where we found a scene of deplorable distress. The farmer had forgot his children in his endeavours to save his property, which he threw out at the window.

His wife had fainted away; and the younger chil|dren were screaming in an upper story. My father, without any reflection, darted up the flaming stairs, and descended with the two little boys in his arms; in doing which, he was considerably scorched. Meanwhile, I snatched a ladder from one of the

men, with intention to rescue Amelia, who had been sleeping in her room, and now appeared ter|rified at the window. I was going to apply the ladder, when part of the roof fell into the room where her father was employed, and drove him to the window in danger of suffocation.

In this dilemma it was impossible to save both: —'Were Stupeo here,' cried I, 'he would tell which is the most deserving of life; but I shall commit some injustice, if I save the life of the one with the lesser merit, ('Let go the ladder,' cried several; 'why do you keep it useless?') I, at that moment, remembered a parallel case, quoted by the excellent philosopher, Stupeo, in support of the new political justice.—'Suppose,' said he, 'the Archbishop of Cambray and his maid are both in danger of perishing in flames, which ought I to save? The maid, a stupid creature, little better than a brute;—the archbishop, a man of eminent virtue and learning, and the author of Telemachus.* 1.23 To save the one, at the hazard of my own life, is scarce more virtue than to save a dog; but to save the Archbishop, is an act of the highest virtue; be|cause all actions are to be es••eemed in exact pro|portion to the merit of the person receiving the bene|fit. Now the difficulty is, in the present case, to know whether the farmer or his daughter is of most va|lue to mankind. The farmer cultivates the earth, and provides for his family in a gross kind of way: the daughter is young, and may add many to the human species: but then—'

I was calmly proceeding, in spite of the strug|gles of the men to wrest the ladder from me, when a tremendous crash, and a large column of flame, ended my discussion, and I had the horror to see the

farmer and his daughter both overwhelmed in the burning ruins. I was shocked at so dreadful an accident, which would not have happened had Stupeo been there: but in this present rascally sys|tem of government and society, virtue will not al|ways succeed; and no man can be condemned, if evil should result from a good intention.

It was, however, a very deplorable circum|stance, and I regretted deeply that I was not bet|ter versed in the great book of Nature and Man, as I should then have known instantly how to ap|preciate the several degrees of merit.

Another unpleasant circumstance resulted. The common people, who are like a swinish multitude, and cannot perceive reason, (how indeed should they, when they are held in profound ignorance?) insisted upon it, that I had retained the ladder pur|posely to suffer them to perish: by which I expec|ted to avoid the consequences of my connexion with Amelia. My father himself was inclined to believe the report; and unless I had the logic of Stupeo, and the effrontery of Voltaire, (who being asked how he could insert falsehoods so glaring in his history, replied, 'To one half of the present generation they ••ill be facts, and the next will not possess the mea•• ••f detection.') I should have found it impossible to prevent their reproaches.

A committee of stupid farmers met to inquire into the cause of the fire. It began in a back stable, where I had been on some business in the course of the day: their suspicions appeared facts, and a war|rant was sent for to apprehend me.

I was very much astonished when my father mentioned this with tears in his eyes, and told me the corroborating circumstances were in every point against me: that my retention of the ladder was

too evidently to prevent the rescue of two wretch|ed persons whom I had in fact murdered: that he shuddered at being the father of so profligate a son; but that his consideration for my mother prevented his assisting to detain me himself, as I should most assurdly be hanged, unless I possessed incontrover|tible proofs in my favour.

'I maintain it,' cried I, 'that in a state of na|ture the fire could not have happened: I even doubt that it has now happened. Did you ever read the great, the fashionable Hume, in his Trea|tise on Human Nature? In all incidents of life, we ought still to preserve our scepticism. If we be|lieve that fire warms, or water refreshes, it is only because it costs us too much pains to think other|wise: nay, if we are philosophers, it ought only to be on sceptical principles* 1.24.'

'You will believe,' said he, 'when the rope is tightened round your neck.'

'I know not whether there be reality in that,' said I, 'it may be only an idea: we cannot be certain that any man was ever hanged; because, if we proceed upon hear-say ••vidence, upon tra|dition, ever varying; upon chronicles and annals, which are half int••ations; I say, if we be|lieve all those so•• testimonies, we may as well believe the authenticity of our bibles; for, in fact, we have as little real proof of the burning of the farm-house, the hanging of John the painter, the revolution of Massanielo, and the existence of Alexander, as we have of a book, which is mere|ly the laws and history of people, preserved in their synagogues by themselves: our senses are the most deceiving things in nature.'

'You speak lightly,' said my father with a deep sigh: 'had you the common feelings of a man,

the loss of Amelia would rend your heart; but you are callous to the ties of nature: if, however, you cannot prove your innocence, you would do well to fly; and this purse will supply you the means.'

'Give me a few moments,' said I, 'to delibe|rate, I would march rejoicing, with a firm step and steady countenance, to meet the axe of the executioner, if it would promote the cause of truth: but I have yet to consider how my death will benefit mankind, whether it will impress a conviction of the omnipotent power of truth, or whether—'

'Are you indeed mad? said my father, gazing at me sorrowfully.

'Mad!' cried I. 'No; I repeat the senti|ments of all enlightened men: I have the power to escape, and the power to march to the gibbet, and I only balance between the resulting good of either action.'

'You are not fit to be a member of civil soci|ety.'

'I know it; I glory in the idea: were I fit to live in society, I should be no real and genuine phi|losopher. Society is a fungus, reared in the hot bed of luxury.'

'Fly!' cried he: 'the mob is coming across the green—it is dark, haste through the garden!'

I really did not see that any good would result from my being hanged; for how could I know what yet remained for me to perform on the great stage of life? and accordingly I hastened from the house.

I continued to cross the country, chagrined at the effect of consideration. I must confess, the new philosophy involves one in situations that re|quire all the energies of the human mind; and in|deed

it would be almost impracticable, were it not for that fundamental and happy maxim of disbe|lieving every thing past, present, and to come.

I detested disguise, because it is inconsistent with the spirit of truth; and I know not but all sorts of stratagem are blots on the dignity of virtue. It was, however, very awkward, that a philoso|pher should be hanged for such a trifle as the death of a farmer and his daughter.

I proceeded forward the whole of that night, and the next day I remained to rest at a farm-house, again setting out at the commencement of evening. I had not advanced above seven miles, when I heard a considerable noise in a barn, like a tumult of applause, which again subsided into a calm; and I could hear a voice pronouncing a de|clamatory speech. I hastened to the door, which was guarded by some ill-looking fellows, and, hav|ing paid sixpence, was ushered into a croud of gaping farmers and cottagers. A little dark com|plexioned man, with a most hypocritical counte|nance, and a grin of self-applause mingled with contempt, was instructing the clowns in their rights. His voice was elevated to the pitch of raving, and the idea of liberty gave volubility to his tongue, which he rolled about with the energy of enthusiasm.

'Citizens,' cried he, 'citizens and fellow bre|thren of the human race, this is a glorious sight, this is a display that shall strike terror into tyrants. The prisoners rattle their chains, and will soon dash them in pieces on the heads of their jailors. —Germ•• of my love! how it gives satisfaction to my soul, to see you assembled and determined in the good cause! What shall we do? Shall we pray, like a set of canting methodists; No, we will do

something better. (Here he made signs of fight|ing.) Yes, citizens, we will rally round our rights; we will claim something else besides mouldy parchments and rotten charters; we will de|mand the Rights of Man! (Can any citizen fur|nish me with a morsel of fruit, for I am exceed|ing thirsty?) Well, brethren, let us reflect upon the horrid times we live in; I don't mean to say this country, and I don't care how many govern|ment spies there may be amongst us; I am speak|ing as if I was in Rome. Let us remember the times of our forefathers:—hear it, citizens! In the time of good Queen Bess, every ploughman could, with his day's wages, carry home a suck|ing pig, or a turkey, to his family at night* 1.25: which of you can do so? Won't you believe now that the times are bad? that you are slaves? that Old England (mind I mean Old Rome) is ruined, and that, without some energetic exertion, we shall never redeem ourselves from perdition? Brethren! germs of my love! this is a meeting for the cause of universal man: no real citizen would refuse to give—What! slinking away through the gate when we talk of giving? Aye, aye, the minister has drained your pockets, not left you a farthing:—however, the box is held at the gate† 1.26. Well, citizens, I am the man that stands forward to defend your rights—and what do you think the government will do with me? I will tell you: they will put me in a dungeon, where I shall look through the grating at you; or they'll hang me on a gibbet, where I shall dingle dangle

before you like a scare-crow. But let them—I am willing to suffer for your sake† 1.27.'

Here he descended from the rostrum, amidst the loud applauses of the multitude; and I pressed ea|gerly forward to get a sight of a man labouring in the cause of philosophy and truth.

'Citizen,' said I, seizing his hand, were the great, the metaphysical, the oratorical Stupeo here, he would honor you for your noble speech.'

'Which of my speeches?' said he. 'You may get the last phillipic of the door-keeper for a shilling.'

'My dear friend,' said I, 'I am a disciple of the wonderful Stupeo, whom you must have heard of. Tell me how I may be of service in the cause of human nature.'

'Have you subscribed?' demanded he: 'Are you a member?'

'I am a stranger, but I pretend to some little philosophy.' He gazed upon me; and some friend stepping up, I was parted from him by the crowd.

He is too much a philosopher, thought I, to have his reflections interrupted by idle curiosity: he will now retire to meditate on the subject of his undertaking, and I will endeavour to see him in the morning.

I proceeded towards the next village across some fields, and, as I went slowly, was overtaken by two countrymen, who were in high argument.— 'I tell thee,' said one, 'it be's a thing impossible as a labouring body should yearn a pig in yan day. Why, doan't I know as how, thof we pays dearer for an article in name, we do have more money in proposition, as our parson say.'

'He say!' cried the other: 'he's a right to stand up for himself, and make folks believe any thing. Why, I tell thee now, atween mon and

mon, that Ould England be gone to the dogs, as we heard Citizon Ego say; and it will never be as it ought to be, till we have another Aldermon Cromwell, and no tithes.'

'Alderman Cromwell!' repeated the first. 'Why, thee be's an arrant ninny hammer: he were Oliver Cromwell, an our Parson did tell us about him last Sunday, as how he did tax the peo|ple, when he got fixed, as much or more than they were before.'

'I will be stringed up,' cried the other, 'if it were not Aldermon Cromwell now. Why, I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hear a deel about un from a paper Citizon Ego did give away for nothing.'

'Like a montabank to catch fools,' said the other 'You'd a deel better go and mind your master's business, and not trouble your thick head about nation affairs.'

My blood began to rise in the cause of truth.— 'What,' cried I, 'would you have the human soul bound down and settered in bonds of supersti|tion and ignorance? Give the intellectual faculties play, and then the great day of universal emanci|pation will soon arrive.'

'Mensuration!' cried the first: 'who be you, to talk of mensuration? Ayn't the country divided enough, without more mensuration?'

'My good friend,' said I, 'learn that emanci|pation is the freeing of all mankind from their chains; when neither priests, nor kings, nor Oli|ver Cromwells will be wanted.'

'Thee lies,' cried one in anger: 'Alderman Cromwell were the only good man in the land, and I wish we had an hundred at this present.'

'Who are you,' said the other, 'that abuse your betters? You shall go to the stocks if you talk treason.'

'The stocks!' cried I: 'you would do well both of you to go there, and learn your alphabet; then you would know a little more.'

The champion of Alderman Cromwell was too much irritated at this reply to enter deeper into the argument; and being also in a quarrelling dis|position from the speeches of his adversary, he in|stantly struck me over the head a blow which near|ly brought me to the ground. I returned it in an instant with a good cudgel, and he fell at his length before me. His antagonist attempted to collar me; but; darting my fist in his mouth, he stuck up to me in a more scientific way; and though I beat him black and blue in about six rounds, I was myself so bruised, that I crawled with difficulty to the next inn.

Having procured some vinegar, or rather sour beer, I retired to the chamber allotted me, which was in the upper story, the roof admitting the sparkling of the stars as they passed over. I lay down on a dirty piece of a bed, which the maid told me was all they had to spare, the rest of the house being engaged by the London gentlemen.

I was grieved at so fair an opportunity being lost; but my bruises paining me, I found little inclination to enter into political discussion.

I endeavoured to sleep, but a loud noise in the room beneath effectually prevented me. I arose, after some time, and through a chink in the floor could perceive the same little dark citizen Ego, and two others, the one in green-and-buff, and the other in black.

'We shall make a decent harvest, citizens,' said Ego; 'the germ of freedom begins to shoot, and we shall reap the benefit.'

'How much,' said Green-and-buff▪ 'shall we divide to-night? This is but a poor place. I am

about a work that shall bring more money, and set the nation more together by the ears than all your lectures and debates. I shall demonstrate by a ratio, clear as the angles of a triangle, that the whole kingdom is beggared; and every man will buy the book to see how: it will be torn from the press; the very government will buy it up. I shall prove to every man, if he has any common sense, that all the property in his warehouse won't fetch him half-a-crown in the pound.'

'Drink about, my boys,' said the man in black. 'If we had but three nice pretty little rogues here, I would recite my ode to the best of kings —'tis a d—d clever thing, citizens; Pepper's book will be nothing to mine: I make out every man to be a rascal or a fool; there's nothing like it: the more you abuse people, the more eager they are to buy. I've found out the secret, and I take care to lay it on thick enough? true or false, it is no matter to me, not a pin.—There was the other night I was at the Opera, and there was my Lady—. Oho! here comes the supper.'

The papers before them were rolled into their pockets. Roast fowls, and other articles of equal luxury, attracted their attention; and jests at the folly of mankind filled the intervals. 'Damn it,' said Ego, 'do you know I had a devilish difficul|ty to get on to-night! I thought I was a little too far out; but I thundered it away, and they gulped it all down for gospel. If I mention a government spy, I always set the room in a roar.'

Having eat till they could eat no more, they were again left to themselves over a bowl of punch. —'Here's,' cried Ego, grasping the bowl, and lift|ing it to his mouth, 'here's the dignity of human nature, and may the blood of ruthless tyrants flow like this punch!'

'Bravo! citizen,' roared out the man in black▪ 'down your throat you mean. Well, but now we must to business.'

'We have letters to write,' said Ego, 'from Edinburgh, from Liverpool, and from Portsmouth. Our club in London is grown so fearful, that we shall not keep them together without some flaming correspondence from some of the large towns. Which will you take, Pepper? will you write from Liverpool? Talk a great deal about virtuous poverty, the dignity of human 〈…〉〈…〉 of knowledge; tell them of the converts my speeches daily procure: and you, citizen, you write from Edinburgh; talk about the Scotch tree of liberty* 1.28: for myself, do you know I'm assassin|ated?'

'Ha! ha! ha! how, pray?'

'Why, the enemies of liberty, the hirelings of government, have stabbed me at Portsmouth. D—n it, citizens, it will be a blow-up, better than a mine in a counterscarp: when I get back to London, I may shew myself for a wild beast.'

'But it won't do,' cried Pepper; 'John Bull won't be gulled so. D—n it, keep the broad way; tell him that there is a mine of dormant good sense in him, which, if not brought into ac|tion, will die with him.† 1.29 Talk about revolu|tions, taxes, ropes, and axes, till you set his brains a-whirling, and then you may pick his pocket with all the ease in nature.'

'Right, right, right!' shouted Ego, 'But what are all these ••rifles▪ When our clubs are

properly established we shall govern the nation, we shall ride upon the heads of the people, superior to law or human controul* 1.30.'

I was so agitated with this dialogue between the pretended friends of liberty, that I started up, and cried aloud, 'Hypocrites! will you sully the beau|ty of truth by such actions? Will you bring her into disgrace with mankind?'

'Blood and murder!' roared out Citizen Ego, 'where are my pistols? Citizens, we are betray|ed▪ Let us fly! The spies of government are come upon us, thick as the locusts of Egypt.'

'A despotism,' cried Pepper, 'is the worst of all governments; no man is safe in his own house; formerly, an Englishman's house was his castle; but since we have opened the eyes of mankind, we are daily more and more restrained.'

'Sit down, citizens,' said the man in black. 'Drink away, and laugh at the devil: it was only a false alarm.'

'I won't stay another hour in the house,' cried Pepper; 'I will be off through this window.'

'Who is to pay the reckoning?' said Ego.

'Pugh! what's the reckoning to us?' said Pepper. 'We will tell the world that we were pursued by the blood-hounds of government, and somebody else will pay the score. We have been here more than a week, and the bill will be some pounds.' So saying, he gently opened the window. I stamp|ed aloud with my foot upon the floor; they were again alarmed; and not waiting to look behind them, all three descended into the lane.

I raved about the room, lamenting the deprav|ity of mankind, and almost afraid that some of the principles of the new philosophy were errone|ous: but I remembered that truth could not be in|jured by the abuses of some of its professors, except they were hypocritical priests; there being a wide difference between religion and politics.

In the morning I found myself too stiff to re|move with pleasure. The whole inn was in an uproar about the fugitives; and the landlord con|signed all politicians pell mell to the devil. To refresh my spirits, I walked down into the garden▪ where I had not stayed long before I was alarmed by the cries of a lad, and, hastening to inquire the accident, found it the son of the inn-keeper, who was suffering a severe flagellation with an horse-whip, his father seemed to lay on in vexation for his late loss.

'What,' cried I, seizing him by the arm, 'what are you doing? What has the poor lad done?'

'What I'll murder him for if he repeats,' an|swered the angry inn-keeper: 'he has been robbing an orchard, and will bring himself to the gallows.'

'But you should advise him—you should con|vince him of his error by reason and argument, and not use coercion.'

'I don't know what you mean by coercion?'

said he: but I have already sufficiently talked to him, and now his hide shall suffer.'

'You are wrong; all coercion is wrong,' cried I: 'at this moment your son feels a sense of insult and injury; he feels himself right, and that you are a tyrant* 1.31.'

'Who are you?' demanded the inn-keeper. 'D—n me if I don't think you are a partner with those that bilked the reckoning, and go about the country teaching children disobedience, and the poor people to knock the rich on the head for feed|ing them.'

'Softly,' said I: 'if you had ever heard the my|thological Stupeo, you would have thought differ|ently. The rich plunder you, tax you, and drive you.'

'That's as bouncing a lie as ever was uttered,' said he bluntly: 'we don't plunder them to be sure, because its all in the way of business, but we tax them pretty soundly, and my ostler drives them.'

'You don't comprehend,' said I: 'I speak of political evils.'

'What have I to do with politics?' said he. 'Let every man mind his own business, and I'll be bound for it the nation will run very well. Why now, there's a canting set of mealy-mouthed vaga|bonds, preaching up rebellion, and setting people by the ears, and what good comes on it? Why, the minister, to keep his seat, pulls the reins the tighter, and the steady horse is pin•• for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 restiveness of his companion.'

'But,' said I, 'these are only partial evils: we ought to consider the good of the whole, and the benefit mankind will receive.'

'Benefit! what, to talk politics when their families are starving, and about the Rights of

Man when they are drinking their children's main|tenance, and about clothing the negroes of Africa, when their own family is in rags. I tell ye, mas|ter, I've seen enough of these here rotten politics in my ale-room.'

I found his concep••ons so gross and stupid, that I determined to remain no longer under his roof; and, though I could scarcely walk, I took a place in a stage-coach for London.

CHAPTER V. The Vagabond meets with various Adventures— a Duel in the republican style.

IN the stage were two female passengers, a young man well dressed, and two persons with the appear|ance of substantial tradesmen.

'Well, Mr. Adams,' said one of the tradesmen, as soon as the stage had cleared the town, 'is there any news from London? have the rioters in St. George's Fields dispersed yet?'

'Dispersed! No,' cried Adams, 'nor I hope ever will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they have cut up popery root and branch, and established liberty.'

'So you would establish liberty by religious persecution? That would be like the Americans fighting for freedom with one hand, and rattling the whip over their slaves with the other.'

'You and I never agree, Master Ketchup; you have read so little, that you are quite ignorant of all

the wheels within wheels that set the great crane of government in motion.'

'I never heard that government was like a crane,' said the young gentleman, 'pray, how may that be?'

'Why, it lifts heavy brains into the cockloft of honor,' retorted Adams, with a loud laugh. 'You thought, I suppose, you had caught a green one: it is not for ignorant people to talk politics.'

'You are right, my friend,' replied the young gentleman; 'and I can give you another simile: —government is like a crane, because it lifts all the rascals it catches out of this world.'

'Gentlemen,' said I, 'this is idle punning, and beneath the discussion of men who think on the glorious dawn of liberty that is breaking from the shores of America.'

'And blazing in the destruction of houses in London,' said Ketchup, 'I have however little doubt yet, but we shall be able to reduce the Ame|ricans to obedience.'

'Never,' cried Adams, 'never: the French will pour in troops upon Canada from the Baltic; and I had it as a private fact, that they were at this moment marching from the Spanish settlements in South America, and intended to take our Hud|son's Bay factory in their route, and to ruin our Newfoundland fishery* 1.32. Then, what shall we

do for whalebone and lamp oil? The streets of Lon|don will be involved in darkness, and I shall never go to club without loaded pistols.'

'Be not alarmed,' said the young gentleman, laughing at the geographical error, which was a mere trifle: 'they never will do it. There is news arrived within the last twenty-four hours, that the whole expedition has been wrecked upon the flats off the coast of Hanover.

'Indeed,' cried Adams, 'I lament it from my soul; but I hope yet that liberty will prosper. If they would take my way, they would run no danger of these horrid tempests. But people in office are al|ways too proud to take advice from those who are in low situations, or they might listen and learn.'

'Well,' said the youth, 'let us hear your ad+vice, if it be no great secret.'

'Why, now, this is it, and can any thing be clearer?—Is not France a continent? and is not America a continent? and is not a continent, as Johnson's Dictionary says, land not disjoined by the sea from other lands? What then should pre|vent them marching over land to the relief of the Americans? We hear every day of journies by land to the East-Indies, and America is not half so far.

'Did you ever look at the map of the world?' said the youth: 'you would then see a trifling ob|jection.'

'I'll bet you a bottle,' cried Adams, 'it is so in Johnson's Dictionary, and that's the best book of the sort.'

I sat in some little pain for the well-meaning Adams, who seemed to have a clear sense of truth * 1.33

and reason; and what after all does it signify to know the relative situation of countries; it only con|duces to extend oppression. Had Alexander known of China, he would not have lamented the want of other worlds to destroy.

'Mr. Adams,' said I, 'you seem a man of a true mind, and so far as you wish the Americans success in the cause of universal man, I honor you; and were the profound politician Stupeo here, he would press you to his bosom as a brother of the human race. But, my dear friend, when shall we see an end of this detestable butchery of our species? When shall we cease to worry and de|vour each other?'

'In a republic,' said Adams, 'no man has an inclination to quarrel—war always originates from kings. If there were no kings, there would be no wars.'

'I am tired of this eternal babble,' said the young gentleman. 'I abhor war from my soul as much as any man; but is it possible mankind can be dupes to so glaring a lie? What were the re|publics of Greece and Rome, but a company of banditti, who over-run all the countries which could not oppose them? These very Romans pre|tended to emancipate the people they went to con|quer; yet, when they had reduced them to the state of dependant provinces, so heavy were the taxes they imposed, that Rollin informs us, in the tenth volume of his history, page 136, that the people of Asia frequently sold their children of both sexes to pay these republicans for procuring them freedom. What were the so much boasted Spartans? who were too imperious to till the ground, and had all things in equality. Were they not worse than the most cruel despot that ever breathed, to a whole people, whom they compel|led

to every servile employ? What were the re|fined Athenians, but a company of boxers and prize-fighters, on a par with our porters and dray|men? But let us look coolly into the subject, and we shall find, whatever be the ostensible reason, all sorts of governments, and all the tribes of the earth have ever engaged in war.

'You are right,' returned I. 'Mankind has hith|erto been in a state of childhood, but the new philos|ophy will teach them to go without leading-strings. Stupeo has demonstrated, that when men are suffi|ciently enlightened, their chains will drop off as by magic; every man will hail his fellow as his broth|er, and the copper-coloured Indian will clasp in his arms the white European. Can any heart not beat with rapture at the idea? Can any mind resist the torrent of omnipotent truth?

'Your ideas are very strange, I must confess,' said he, 'but they are morally impracticable. If you destroy the arts, and return to pure nature, how will you teach men the new philosophy? How will you prevent them from sinking into barbarous ignorance?

'That is not my business,' said I, 'it is the great|est good we are to prefer, and not to be staggered by apparent and trifling evils.'

'You are as far wrong, my dear Sir,' said he, 'in true maxims of political jurisprudence, as this learned gentleman is in his knowledge of geogra|phy. One thing let me however observe, and I have done. When we see the infinitude of princi|ples and ideas on subjects of religion and politics, ought we not to be careful how we destroy all the establishments which time has sanctified?'

'Truth,' cried I, 'cannot admit of error: alter it, and transform it as you will, it is still in its essence the same; and the divine Stupeo—'

'Was for aught I see,' interrupted he, peevishly, 'an arrant fool.'

I saw it was in vain to attempt reclaiming bigo|try and prejudice so firmly established, and I attach|ed myself to Adams, who seemed to have made some progress in real knowledge.

After dinner, we were proceeding over a fine cultivated track of country, and passed by several weather-beaten and aged countrymen, who were mending an hedge.

'See,' cried Adams, 'the effects of aristocracy and luxury. It is from thence all the miseries of the poor arise. Why is one man to wallow in wealth, while another is labouring in an hedge for a scanty subsistence? No man can give a reason for this.'

'Would reasons convince you,' said the young man, 'I would endeavour to give you them, for I am grieved to see any man entertain such strange doctrines. Luxury is a vulgar phrase for every thing possessed by another of which we could make use; but in reality is is like the manure to the ground, which causes every thing to bring forth double in|crease; it gives invention to the ingenious, it fos|ters arts and sciences, it employs the mechanic, the shop-keeper, and the merchant•• without luxury, none of these could meet employ.'

'But the lands would feed all who dwelt upon them; mechanics would not waste their health in the noxious fumes of various processes, and the poor would have less to do.'

'It is true, the ground would feed all who culti|vated it: but if we infer from facts, we shall uni|versally find agriculture keeping pace with what we call luxury. You will find, that though on cal|culating upon paper, this country of England, if cultivated like a garden, would feed thrice the

number of inhabitants it contains; yet unfortu|nately for political romances, the people would inevitably diminish, and a poor half-starved system of husbandry infallibly ensue. It is by calling forth variety of inventions, giving employment to all kinds of genius, that every thing is urged to perfection, and the multiplication of mankind for|warded.'

'But virtue and talents,' said I, 'do not meet their rewards, while vice rides triumphant: you surely cannot say that is politically right? Why should a man be despised because in a mean garb? And why are riches alone honored?

'For this reason:—riches are only the means of gratifying our desires, and increasing our conve|niencies. A wise man, and a man of genius will endeavour to do so by laudable means. In the pre|sent constitution of society, it is in the power of every man possessing real abilities to rise to a sta|tion equal to those abilities; and therefore we rev|eren••e the exteriors of wealth, tacitly bestowing it upon all the possessors, because indiscriminate intercourse will not admit of time to distinguish the truly worthy. It is rare, very rare, to find a man of genius in a wretched situation, without having brought himself so by imprudence; but it is by no means rare to find those, whose self-love has taught them to set a wrong value on their abili|ties, and who, therefore, repine at the success of others, and their own failure, as the greatest in|justice; and originating in a depraved government, and a profligate generation.'

I was extremely chagrined that the sophisms of this youth should pass unrefuted, for his arguments and volubility had so confused my senses, that I

did not recollect any retort, and nothing can be more shocking than to lose the last reply in an ar|gument.

The fineness of the road invited the coachman to drive forward with celerity. 'The poor beasts,' said the gentleman, 'feel for our riding at our ease. I am astonished that any of our modern nervous phi|losophers make use of carriages.'

'Why,' cried Adams, 'what are the beasts to us? They want human understanding to free themselves. Let us first emancipate man, and then we shall not need the aid of animals.'

At that moment the coach overset in a waggon rut; and several countrymen came from their la|bour, in the neighbouring field, to assist to right it. Fortunately none were hurt; but Adams snatch|ing up a whip, made at the coachman, cursing him for a careless scoundrel. 'Who the devil are you,' cried the coachman, 'that give yourself such airs?'—'And who are you,' cried Adams, 'a lousy, stupid, drunken coachman, with not half the sense of your beasts. I'll enter an action against you, s••rah. What! am I a gentleman, a citizen, and house-keeper, to run the danger of having my neck broken by you?"

'Peace, friend,' said the youth, 'you have for|got that you are usurping all the airs of imperious aristocracy: come, and help to right the carriage!'

'I help to right the coach! dirty my clothes, and work like a porter! Sir, you mistake me.'

'I do, indeed,' said the youth. 'But what right have you to be exempted more than your fellow men? If there was a revolution to-morrow, your lot would be a ploughman.' So saying, he turned indignantly away, and helped the peasants to replace the coach, I being engaged in comfort|ing the women, who were very much frightened.

It was discovered that one of the wheels were broken, and the next inn at the distance of some miles. The countrymen finding they could render us no more service, begged something to drink.— 'Come,' said the youth to Adams, 'you would not work yourself, let us see your generosity in re|warding the labor of others.'

'For what?' said Adams. 'It is the duty of every man to help his fellow-men; in fact, those in distress have a right to demand it. To reward a man for doing his duty is unjust, because it is a bribe to do what ought to be done: beside, the money may be wanted for some act of charity, and the greatest good is always to be preferred.'

'You are right,' said I, 'in theory, but the pre|sent state of things frequently infringe upon po|litical justice: for instance, I employ a workman to make me a set of chairs, for which I appropri|ate ten pounds; this man is rich, and another who is poor, comes and tells me his case; political jus|tice commands me to give the ten pounds to the poor man, and let the other go without.'

▪I profess,' said the youth, 'that is a most ad|mirable argument; no wonder so many are ena|moured of the new political justice.'

The affair of the countrymen being settled, by the youth giving them a crown to drink his health, we were proceeding towards the inn in full caval|cade, when a post-chaise driving up with a single gentleman, he ordered the driver to stop, and cal|ling to the youth—'My Lord,' said he, 'is it you? What in the world are you now upon? Some fro|lic, I suppose?'

'My dear friend,' replied the young gentle|man, 'this is a fortunate meeting, a little accident has happened to our vehicle, and I will trouble you for a lift.'

'Upon my soul,' said Adams, bowing profound|ly, 'I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord, I hope nothing I have said will prejudice your Lordship; and if you will honor me by taking one of my cards, no man in the trade shall use you better.'

I was confounded at this abjection of soul, and walked forward without taking the smallest notice of the young nobl••man.—This is a strange world, said I to myself; and it is plain, as Stupeo, said, that half mankind are fools and slaves to com|merce, with all its train of selfish affections. Poor Adams has a weak soul, he sees clearly what is right, he feels the invigorating rays of truth, but his habits of trade drag him from the daring height, and sink him again into all the prejudices attached to property.

The inn where the stage was to stop was not the general rout for the stages; and it being only three in the afternoon, I determined to proceed on foot without waiting for the coachman, whom I had not paid for my journey, (but that was no|thing); I was not to be prevented by prejudice and common-place rules from following that free-will, which I possessed in my breast, for the direction of my actions.

I still felt the pains of my bruises, and walked forward slowly, admiring the beauty of the country, and reading the great book of Nature. I fell into a profound trance, and began to doubt my own exist|ence, which is very necessary, according to all phi|losophers, as we thence proceed in synthetic order to erect hypothesis as upon a base. The fashiona|ble Hume doubted whether he thought he existed; but I went further, I doubted whether I doubted that I thought I did not exist, and from thence pro|ceeding to establish the axiom, Cogitas ergo sum, I think therefore I am. I began to think that I did

not think, that I thought at all, when I was awak|ened by the sound of several voices; and looking up, I perceived coming along the road a man on horse-back, with several people surrounding him; one held the re••ns, and the two others, with consta|bles staves, held him on each side.

A sight so shockingly shameful to human nature, and the natural freedom of man, aroused me to at|tempt some noble exploit. I darted forward, and brandished my cudgel—'What right,' cried I 'have you to imprison your fellow man? This is a shame|ful abuse of power, it is all society hunting down an unfortunate individual, who has ten thousand chances against him, especially if brought to trial.'* 1.34

'He is an highwayman, and a murderer,' replied several, 'and you look like a madman.'

'That is nothing to the purpose,' cried I, kind|ling into patriotic frenzy, at recollecting some of the arguments of the great Stupeo, and the maxims of political justice. 'The man who professes him|self ready to commit murder, seems to be scarcely a less dangerous member of society than he, who having already committed murder, has no apparent intention to repeat his offence.† 1.35—Unless this man appeared ready, and in a situation to repeat his of|fence, political justice requires him to be left at his own discretion. He is no more likely to repeat the crime than any man here, for ought you can tell; and no man ought to be deprived of his liberty on presumption.'

'Pelt the madman,' cried several clowns, 'who ever heard such nonsense? A murderer is not to be punished for committing the crime, but appearing ready to commit it.'

'Certainly,' cried I, 'could you hear the mytho|logical,

metaphysical, philosophical Stupeo, you would not hesitate a moment bowing before almigh|ty truth and moral light; but if you are like stupid beasts, deaf to the voice of reason, I insist that you liberate the prisoner.'

So saying, I seized the bridle from the man who held it, and the highwayman sticking his spurs in the beast, rode over the constable, and would have gained his liberty, had not a sturdy clown levelled a stone at his head, which brought him over his horse; I was seized by several at once, and not|withstanding a stout resistance, I was dragged like a slave, and forced against my will into an inn upon the road.

Are these the laws, the detestable maxims of society? cried I. Am I to be confined here as a prisoner of state, for attempting to rescue an injured man from the tyranny of the law? O that the glo|rious day were come, when every man shall act from the divine impulses of his will, and reason and liberty be acknowledged as the presiding deities.

While I was exclaiming to myself, a constable en|tered, and informed me, that as I was deemed either intoxicated or touched in the head, it had been agreed that on my paying five pounds as a compen|sation to those I had wounded, they would not en|ter an action against me, otherwise I should be sent to the country gaol for attempting a rescue.

'Society,' cried I, 'I detest thy barbarous max|ims and rights: what times! what country is this! where a man shall be imprisoned for an act of moral virtue in the eye of political justice, and be obliged to pay for his liberty? Dear, dear liberty! what are five pounds to thee? Here, take the money, and permit me to fly from the whole herd of mankind. O, my dear Stupeo, would that I could discover

thy retreat; some philosophic retirement conceals the brightness of thy genius from mankind.'

'There is a return chaise for London at the door,' said one of the waiters, 'are you going that way?'

'Any way,' said I! and following him, I entered the chaise, and was driven rapidly towards London.

I always make it a rule to read the great book of Nature, and philosophise as I go along the road; and I could not but be delighted to see the great book bound in green, with variegated edges of trees and flowers. Now, thought I, is this chaise an idea or a reality; I cannot prove it by argument to be real, it is therefore an idea, a whirling idea: now I have a very strong impression of this whirl|ing idea; I wonder if I was to step out into what seems an highway to my eyes (but which may be in fact the Red Sea), I should still continue whirl|ing to London. This was a very metaphysical problem, which nobody but the fashionable Hume, the conundrumic Berkely, or the great Stupeo could resolve.

The cries of No Popery roused my attention, and I perceived we were entering the metropolis. No Popery was written upon every house, and a parcel of ragged fellows, with No Popery chalked upon their hats, stopped the chaise, and demanded money▪

'For what?' said I, 'I don't care any thing about Popery; a wise man will have no religion at all, because the prejudices and narrow principles of religious sects will prevent his mind expanding to the broad beams of truth.'

'No gammon! —Tip us the grub!' cried seve|ral greasy fellows. 'He's a Popery man! a Roman Catholic! and an enemy to the Church!' roared out others, while the words 'Go it! go it!' sound|ed

around me, and a shower of mud and stones nearly overwhelmed me, smashing the glass of the chaise, and almost knocking down the driver.

'You are a set of rascally cowards,' cried I: 'will any man of you fight me: I will die in the cause of freedom.'—A ring! a ring! was shouted and formed; and stripping off my coat and hat, I threw them into the chaise, which drove away from the fury of the mob.

There is something generous in a mob; we there see the first germ of justice, generosity, and mag|nanimity; we see that a giant of a man shall not be allowed to annihilate a little one. It is true, that the love of novelty often inclines them to promote a quarrel where it might be reconciled: but no man should be ashamed to box in a just cause, espe|cially if he remembers the value of the pugilistic science at Athens and Sparta: and why, because I am better dressed should I refuse to enter the ring with a dirty antagonist, whom I may have injured? Whoever has read the novels of a very great dra|matist, must be struck with the beauties of boxing; an art, which I hope will supersede the use of pistols between jealous lovers and injured husbands.

A champion being found, he came forward with an aspect horridly ferocious. He was a great-boned Irishman, and all the vile passions of human nature were written in his countenance. His savage ap|pearance inclined the mob in my favour, who ut|tered a long roar of applause when I intrepidly de|termined to st••d the contest. I had taken several lessons at College, and knew the most scientific mo|tions, so that the difference was not very great, and we immediately fell to.* 1.36

After six or seven rounds, I marked an opening in his right guard, and with a well-placed side stroke, cut a long rip in his forehead, from whence the blood streamed into his eyes, nearly blinding him, at which the mob (who are always generous) roar|ed with a tumult of admiration and pleasure. I now had considerable advantage, and though I had three teeth jammed into my mouth, I broke one of his ribs, and levelled him with a full blow upon the ground, where he turned black in the face, and was left for dead.

A hackney coach was instantly pressed into my service, and I was conducted by the mob in triumph to a public house, where they drank themselves half drunk in the joy of my having conquered.

Though I had at first been in considerable dan|ger of being murdered, yet my subsequent valour had rendered me dear to them all: so true is it, that pure human nature can discern truth when it descends to the level of their own ideas.

I was here cleared of gore, and refreshed with some cordials. I had lost my coat and hat, and had not paid the chaise, which I knew not where to find; but these were mere partial evils. A gene|rous blacksmith accommodated me with a coat, and a butcher insisted I should take his red and blue cap for love, for he had never seen a better cock in his life▪ as tough as bull-beef. My dress was com|pleted by a pair of trowsers, and a large cockade of blue ribbon.

It was now near eight o'clock. The mob who were drinking in the street were more ••n a thou|sand strong, and the shouts and vociferations of No Popery! Lord George Gordon for ever! rent the air.

A man, dressed like a chimney-sweeper, with No Popery gilt on a blue ribbon round his hat, came

familiarly up to me, and taking me by the hand, led me into a corner of the room.—'Are you engag|ed?' said he—'No,' I replied, 'I know of no en|gagement.'—'I beg pardon,' he returned, 'I thought, by the clothes you wear underneath, you were one of us.'

'I am always for the greatest good,' I replied; 'in seeking a magnificent object, we are not to re|gard the means.'

At these words he clasped his arms round me, nearly smothering me with soot.—'I know,' said he, 'you are a man of education—all London will shortly be in flames, and the cause of mankind will be successful. We have cast aside prejudices and human frailties; it is necessary in the great labour of a revolution. We have at our command some thousand insurgents, who, with a little more disci|pline may be brought to face the regulars, and then despotism will tumble with a tremendous crash; the very earth will be split by its fall, and the gulph of hell yawn and swallow it up.'

'O glorious!' said I, 'then the great day is dawning. But what are those cries of No Popery?'

'It is our watch-word. The ignorant believe they are fighting for religion, but we guide them, and direct where the storm shall fall. The passions of men must be raised, their rational senses must be confounded with terrific reports, before the mass can be roused; but there are always a sufficient number of profligates and vagabonds to join in with any thing.—You appear one of the true men; you will be a great man in the new system of things. At this moment the mob are plundering Newgate; I am wanted in another place; I beg you will di|rect the mob to Snowhill, for I am certain you may lead them any where. I have studied the mobs

of different nations, and they are all alike. Go then and prosper.'

I was on fire at the glorious idea of emancipating the victims of tyranny and oppression, of opening the cells to the heart-sick offender, who could not hope any redress from those laws which condemned him.

CHAPTER VI. The Vagabond achieves several noble exploits—an unexpected meeting in the cells of Newgate—a slight idea of a Revolution.

I DESCENDED amongst the mob, and grasping a pole with blue colours, and the words No Popery inscribed upon it—'Let us go,' cried I, 'my dear boys. No Popery! Lord George Gordon for|ever!' A loud and repeated huzza rent the air, and the prodigious mass of people pressed after me to|wards Newgate. I was astonished in myself at the change of my fortune: I had but an hour before been in danger of being stoned by the very mob that, under my commands, would have made no scruple of setting London on fire. But such is al|ways the reward of great talents in moments of popular commotion; it is then great men are brought forward from obscurity.

Thousands were already assembled before the august deposit of trembling victims: our reinforce|ment was received with the triumphant shouting of

the patriotic bands, who felt the energy of liberty pulsating in every artery. The air was crimsoned with the flames of the gaoler's house, and his fur|niture was cast into a bonfire, which sparkled in my eyes like an offering to the Goddess of Reason, or like that glorious flame which consumed all bonds and engagements when equality was established by Lycurgus at Sparta.

I hastened to second the attack upon this grand fortress, by leading my followers into Newgate-street, where, with sledge-hammers, crows, and iron-pallisadoes, we soon broke an entrance into these detestable abodes, where the poor criminals were panting for freedom. With a high ladder, and in the sight of thousands, I scaled the lofty walls, exulting as I rose at the glorious prospect before us, and waving my colours as a trophy of conquest.

We soon penetrated into the wards of this almost impenetrable building, which short-sighted politi|cians might have supposed capable of repulsing an invading army; but the energies of the people are irresistible when determined on emancipation, and unopposed.

Fire-balls and fire-brands soon set the timbers in flames. I ran from one ward to the next, and from cell to cell, sounding the tidings of liberty, and receiving a thousand blessings from those tongues which had too often been turned to curses and exe|crations. Pick-pockets, cut-purses, shop-lifters, and felons of every denomination, hailed the dawn of returning freedom, and sprung forward to a glori|ous consummation, helping us to destroy this dread|ful tomb to all who despise the laws, and claim the natural privilege of dividing property.

The flames raged and run with rapidity among the thick oak planking, which cracked with the

noise of thunder; the smoke and heat was nearly suffocating, and many in their over eagerness to clear the dungeons, fell martyrs in the glorious cause. In a cell which I had nearly overlooked, I found a miserable wretch half naked upon the ground. I had broke open his door with an iron crow, and the first object that he saw was a tre|mendous blaze of light, which proceeded from the opposite wainscot on fire. He had long heard the shouts of exulting thousands, and the burstings of the fire. 'Heaven and earth,' cried he, 'is the day of judgment come? or have I sunk alive into hell? Are you a fiend?' said he, staring wildly, and starting from me. 'Are you come to pitch me into everlasting flames?'

To say truth, my figure was not a little hideous, for I was covered with all sorts of dirt, swelled in my face from the different bruises I had received, and streaked with blood from a cut in my head by the falling of a plank: but how was I astonished to perceive, by the light of the fire, the great Stupeo, the wonderful philosopher, in chains.

'Exult,' cried I, 'you are revenged, my master, my tutor, liberty has reared her standard on these walls, and the fabric of selfish tyranny is tumbling about our ears. Haste, get these irons off, and join in the noble cause of liberty and man.'

Stupeo immediately started up, uttering incohe|rent expressions of joy. I hurried him from the chamber of his studies into the press-yard, where his detestable fetters were knocked off, and being refreshed with a large goblet of wine from the cel|lars of the gaoler, we went into the street to enjoy the exultation of the surrounding multitude, and the most tremendous sight that can well be con|ceived; a sight which awed the military into inac|tion, and struck the magistrates into a panic of the

most pusillanimous nature: but cowardice is ever allied to terror, and I stood considering how best to exert the force now in action, that the greatest blow might be struck to the present detestable sys|tem of monopolized property.

Part of the army of patriots remained upon the walls, and dancing round the ruins to prevent every attempt at extinguishing the flames: the rest followed Stupeo and myself, who encouraged them to persevere and be free. The crowd would have destroyed Langdale's, a large distillers, in Holborn, but I represented that this was a paltry business, when we had yet to open the doors of so many gaols to the liberation of our brethren; besides, we had already near four hundred felons amongst us, and the augmentation of this force was a grand point, for who could fight for freedom like those who had experienced its loss? or who would level property like those who had nothing to lose, and all to gain.

As we proceeded, every passenger was stopped and plundered, and from every house was collected, two or three times over, considerable contributions. I would have remonstrated, but a fellow, who had been confined on a charge of murder, and whom I had liberated, swore he would rip me up alive if I attempted to prevent it; and indeed, though his argument was not in the line of reason, Stupeo re|conciled me to the practice.

'In revolutions and public commotions,' said he, 'no man in Athens was allowed to be neutral: every man who does not fight for us, ought to be considered as against us and if we follow the new philosophy, we should shew no mercy to those who support the system of despotism.'* 1.37

Having liberated the prisoners in Clerkenwell,

our forces were divided to objects of less moment. That division under our direction proceeded to Lord Mansfield's; and there liberty and rational princi|ples received a complete triumph over all regular order. The musty records of precedents, cases and law, made a fire to warm the people they had so long enslaved: I own I wished to have preserved several works of curiosity and art, but Stupeo would not suffer a thing to be taken—'Let them all pe|rish together,' said he, 'we have yet remaining too much of art to be happy; let us not stain the cause with the appearance of selfishness.'

'But why then,' said I, 'are we to plunder the poor inhabitants? Surely it were better to supply ourselves from stores like these?'

'No,' answered he, 'can you not perceive that the destruction of property must be the grand aim; from those who have little we must take that little, and the hoards of affluence must be utterly destroy|ed. As long as one single cart-load of property remains in any country, there will be no genuine equality.'

From these ever-memorable exploits, I and Stupeo, with several select leaders, retired to an ob|scure public-house, to contrive and arrange the un|dertakings of the ensuing night. I already fancied myself as great as the immortal John the Painter.

At our meeting, several foreigners of liberal principles* 1.38 were present. A plan was proposed for organizing the body of the people, and urging them to throw off the yoke of dependence, and declare themselves free. A paper, entitled The Thunderer † 1.39, was drawn up by Stupeo, which he hoped would

kindle the glow of enthusiasm, and awake the peo|ple to their rights.

The prisons were condemned to destruction, that none of our brave followers might be deprived of their liberty. The New-river water was to be cut off, that we might have the town effectually at command, and compel those weak and obstinate people who were afraid of joining our standard. The Museum we fixed upon as a good deposit for stores, after all that trumpery should be burnt, which gives edge to a childish employment of time. The toll-houses on the bridge we condemned, be|cause bridges ought to be built without subjecting individuals to expense. The East-India ware|houses and the Custom-house we considered as large lumber rooms for monopolizing property that be|longed to every body.

The Tower and the Bank were two grand ob|jects, behind which we could entrench in defiance of the troops which were drawing towards the town from every quarter; and indeed our plans were too extensive and grand for me to detail in minutiae.

In the attack upon the Bank I was severely wounded in the hand by a musket bullet, for there the soldiers recovered their thirst for blood, and fired upon the innocent people, who were gloriously fighting for liberty. We determined there to con|quer or die, being strongly reinforced by the Bo|rough patriots, who had burnt the toll-houses on the bridge in their rout. To place a just sense of our cause before them, an horse loaded with the chains of Newgate, was driven through the crowd in place of colours, and every breast beat with throbs of vengeance at the sight.

A body of savages on horseback cut down seve|veral with their swords, and the infantry made use of their infernal muskets, which severely galled the

••narmed patriots. It was shocking to hear the tre|mendous roar of exulting rage sink after every pla|toon, as if it was exhausted.

Poor Stupeo, who stood beside me encouraging a band of those, whom the ignorant call felons, to an attack on the infantry with iron spikes and bottles, received a shot that laid him dead beside me. The mob, who now began to faint from the unequal contest, trampled over him, and hurried me along with them. I endeavoured to rally them, and one of them dashed a link into my face, which I re|turned by shooting him with a pistol, for I had found a very good pair in an house we had gutted, and nothing could be more proper than turning the weapons of tyrants against themselves.

I was confounded at the fickle disposition of a mob, which can only arise from their want of in|struction; and so long as what is called civil order and police exists, I very much fear the people will never unanimously rise: but, however, truth is making a rapid progress, and it must irresistibly break forth into a glorious day.

The mob would have executed summary justice upon me for the murder of the lint-bearer, had I not escaped through the narrow streets into Hol|born, where Langdal•• (the distiller) was on fire. Torrents of spirits ran in the streets, and being played upon the neighbouring houses for water, augmented the danger and the flames.

Here the military destroyed a great number of patriots, who were dancing round the fire, or ••umbling the furniture out at the windows; while many others fell victims to the half rectified spirits which ran in torrents through the streets.

I saw clearly it was a lost cause, for want of a more regular organization, and I lamented that we had not made better use of the time allowed by the

timidity (they called it humanity) of the government; we should then have reduced the whole city to an heap of ashes, from which liberty, like a phoenix, would have arisen in ten-fold splendour: the mass of luxury and of wealth would have been annihi|lated, and the partial injury individuals might have received would have been amply compensated by the new order of things which must have arisen.

It would have been, as Stupeo often said, talking of revolutions, like the fermentation of anarchy, which from all the rage of lust, of revenge, of mur|der, of cruelty, of rapine, and unheard-of distress, sinks into a glorious and heart-soothing calm* 1.40.

Indeed nothing could be more dreadfully great than the appearance of London on that glorious night. The large body of fire issuing from the dif|ferent conflagrations of the Fleet Prison, King's Bench, Toll-houses on Blackfriar's-bridge, Mr. Langdale's two immense ware-houses full of spirits, and a vast number of small fires, together with the illuminations, which of themselves would have ren|dered the streets as light as day, all ascending into the air, and consolidating together, formed an at|mosphere of flames, impressing the mind of the spectator with an idea, as if not only the whole metropolis was burning, but all nations yielding to the final consummation of all things. But how much greater must have been the sight, amidst which even the soul of a modern philosopher might tremble, would it have been to see the flames chas|ing the distracted people from street to street; to see the enemies of liberty perishing in heaps before the burning sword of retributive justice; to see the rage of lust despoiling those disdainful beauties, whose love heretofore was only to be won by cring|ing; to see trembling tyrants biting the dust, and

drinking their own blood as it mingled in the ken|nels; to hear amidst all this uproar the thunder of cannons, the whistling of bullets, the clashing of swords, the tumbling of houses, the groans of the wounded, the cries of the conquerors; and see, amidst the blazing and red-hot ruins, the sons of Freedom and Liberty waving the three-coloured banners dropping with the blood of their enemies, and hailing the everlasting Rights of Man!!!

Ah! how dear must such a scene be to the friends of liberty and universal man; nor should the paltry consideration of two or three thousand being mas|sacred, to satiate private revenge, be taken into the account of so great, so immortal a consideration.

CHAPTER VII. Humanity of a mob—the Vagabond is unfortunately pre|vented attaining a martyrdom—Gaming demonstrated to be the only liberal science.

I WAS so agitated by the failure of our glorious cause, that I was nearly putting a period to my exist|ence, especially when I recollected the shocking and infamous system of a constitution, which none but fools can see any one virtue in; and this was, that every man who had suffered by this effervescence of liberty, would receive satisfaction for his losses, and thus the people would be made to pay for what they had destroyed; so that our failing in the ultimatum was worse than if nothing had been done, and we

had in fact been strengthening the lash for ourselves. To be sure, there was this alleviating reflection, that the cowardly and selfish citizens would have to contribute equally with the patriots.

I wished myself away from such a detestable country as England, where property is guarded with as much vigilance as if it were a deity; and no man, however obnoxious, can be plundered, without a right of retribution from the parish or county, a thing totally unknown in other countries, and quite inimical to genuine liberty.

My wound, my bruises, and fatigue had nearly exhausted my strength; for till mind shall over|come matter, the human frame stands in need of repose and cessation from action, though it is aston|ishing what exertions we are capable of, when the mind is engaged in great exploits; and I have little doubt, but when the new system is established, we shall have no need of what is called sleep, nor shall we require food, both of these being superfluous to spiritual substance. In fact, as my dear Stupeo says, why may we not one day become immortal* 1.41?

I did not regret the loss of this prodigious great man any other than as society lost an invaluable member, for I had strengthened my mind to the case, and should, with the immortal Brutus, have looked with indifference on the death of any relation or friend, these being mere partial evils, and not to be separated from extensive designs.

It is not politically just that a wise man should expose himself carelessly to martyrdom for the sake or liberty, till he has well weighed whether the human

species will be most benefited by his life or death. To run rashly on the point of a bayonet was wrong, because I might yet live to illumine the world, and catch some glorious crisis—while truth would not receive any promotion by my death at the present instance: I therefore retired unnoticed amidst the universal alarm.

I was very little acquainted with the town, hav|ing been there only upon one or two vacations; but the light of the fires, and the brilliance of the illu|minations were sufficient guides. Several watch|men looked as if they intended to stop me, but awed by the dignity of my countenance, though covered with blood and dirt, they all slunk away, so pow|erful is the effect of innocence and impressive reso|lution.

I arrived opposite a bonfire, where the furniture of a Roman Catholic milliner was blazing; it made but a paltry light, compared with the many others that gleamed in the air; and the noble band that danced around it being ashamed to be out-done in their patriotic exertions, in the goodness of their hearts dragged the bed from beneath two infants* 1.42 and a woman in labor, which gave a great, but transient addition to the fire. To be sure, the poor woman died of fright, but that could not be helped in such a case; and it is the ill-education of women which introduces all sorts of nervous affections.

In a little back alley I met an old woman carry|ing something in her apron; at my approach she ap|peared very much frightened. 'What have you got there?' said I. She replied, trembling, 'only some trifles, your honour, that I have preserved from fire.' I required to see those trifles. Accordingly she opened her apron, displaying some gold fringe, a silver censer, and two cups, which she had taken

from a Romish chapel. 'You are heartily wel|come,' said I, 'to these spoils of superstition; I wish you had as many more; but now, can you tell me where I may sleep securely from unwelcome intru|ders?'

'Aye, and that I will: come to my little lodg|ing, my dear babe, you need not be frighted at no|body there.'

Accordingly I followed her into a miserable house, up three pair of stairs, into a back garret. A crucifix stood on a chimney-piece, and a string of beads hung upon a nail, by which I soon discovered that this good lady, who had been plundering a chapel, was a Romanist; and I rejoiced to find that knowledge had reached even into a back garret, and taught an old woman to discern the cause of man|kind from the bigotry of priestcraft

With this hospitable creature, who was an Irish woman, I determined to reside. Being extremely jaded and pained by my bruises, I went immediately to bed, and she hastened to procure me some refresh|ment. She would have fetched a surgeon, but I utter|ly detested the whole crew of leeches, who deal in a cant jargon (like the priests of Cybelle) which no|body understands.

When the fermentation of my spirits began to cool, in spite of all my efforts, I became nearly dis|tracted. I had lost three of my teeth, and my whole body was bruised: the cut in my head, to be sure, was only an inch and half long, and a finger deep; but I had a musket wound in my hand, which had taken off half my little finger, and grazed the rest, so that I was not in the most comfortable situation. I raved like a madman at the loss of the noble opportunity, which might not occur in a whole generation.

Before morning I became wholly delirious, burn|ing with a violent fever; and now it was the old woman introduced a lame apothecary from the neighbourhood. I was tortured, blistered, and blooded, and underwent worse than a thousand deaths in the course of three weeks, when I recover|ed my senses, and awoke as from a dream. I then learnt, to my infinite regret, that the kind old wo|man had been taken up and hanged, adding anoth|er to the long list of victims to despotism. The apothecary pretended that the old woman had at|tempted to criminate me respecting the stolen arti|cles, and that I should have been taken up had he not sworn I had been under his care prior to the riots; and it turned out, on the trial of the old woman, that she had been seen alone entering the chapel.

I reproved him severely for his falsification of truth.—'Truth,' said I, 'ought at all times, and in every situation, to be spoken. Friendship—every thing should bend to omnipotent truth. Strata|gems of all kinds are detestable, even in war they are unjustifiable; and I hope tactics will be so sim|plified, that they will be reduced to a few general maxims, and th•• no man will need the experience of a long life to become a general; it will then be|come a generous, manly, and open system* 1.43. Beside,

in concealing the truth, you have done me an irre|parable injury, you have sunk my name in obscuri|ty, you have deprived me of the honour of a public death.'

'It is not too late yet,' replied he, 'if you have an ardent desire to swing, but I thought you had the appearance of a gentleman.'

To this observation I made no reply, being agi|tated with the loss I had suffered.— All mankind,' cried I, 'would have seen an example of magnanim|ity in the cause of freedom. Oh, my beloved Stupeo! had you been alive, you would have gloried in hearing the name of your pupil in the same sentence with Massienello, William Tell, Oliver Cromwell, Cato, Leonidas, Juffer, and Judas Maccabaeus.'

'We must take at least three ounces more of blood,' muttered the apothecary, and went out of the room.

I now plainly perceived that I had a rascally, ig|norant, aristocratical apothecary, who meant to bleed me to death out of spite, that my name might for|ever be lost to mankind. I therefore searched for my pistols, which I had thrust under the bed; and that never having been disturbed since I laid down upon it, I had the satisfaction to find them. The apothe|cary soon after entered, with a ragged attendant, and made preparations to tie my arm, when grasp|ing one of my pistols, I drew the trigger, and should have terminated his practice had the piece been loaded.

'Do you mean to murder me,' said I, with all this bleeding? Does nature ever bleed her patien••? and her you ought to follow in all things. You think I am mad, but I have sense enough to tell you never again to come in my sight.'

'Who is to pay my bill?' said the frightened dealer in drugs. 'I saved you from the gallows, and from dying raving mad.'

'How could I have died both ways?' said I. 'As to your bill, I have more need of the money myself, and the greatest good is always to be pre|ferred.'

'But my attendance and medicine must be paid for.'

'What is your attendance? Ought not every man to labour for the good of his fellow men? I should be guilty of political injustice were I to re|ward you for doing your duty.'

'But Sir, I have dedicated my life to the prac|tice of medicine: I have no other means of gain|ing a living, and cannot afford to practise for noth|ing.'

'That is not my fault, it is the ill-construction of society. In a state well ordered, no man would re|ceive wages, but every one would do what he es|teemed the greatest general good. Had you ever listened to the lessons of the great, the immortal Stupeo, you would have been convinced of what I say, and would have disdained a bribe to perform a duty.'

'Sir,' said he, humbly, in a vile depending tone, 'when you reflect, you must observe that you only exchange one benefit for another. In society all must mutually hang together, and if any part be disordered, the whole organization must suffer. Men have a variety of genius, and what would be|come of the world if those who were willing to work gave all their labour for the benefit of the idle? All human genius would then be cramped, and directed merely to the providing of food.'

'Peace, peace,' cried I, 'will you, an ignorant apothecary, a pounder of drugs, pretend to talk

philosophy with a disciple of the everlasting Stu|peo?—Why, Sir, I could talk with you on this sub|ject for seven years, and in five minutes you would not have a word more to say. Is it not, therefore, demonstrable that you are in the wrong?'

'Well, Sir, pay me the trifle I require; it is only three guineas, and I have a numerous family.'

'A family!' replied I, with indignation, 'and what business has such fellows as you to get fami|lies? In the present system, it is only bringing into the world a parcel of slaves.'

'But population is the riches of a country.'

'Granted,' cried I, 'in a good government, where the children are public property, and no one knows his relations; but in our system children in|troduce all the infamous train of selfish and family connexions and shut up the bowels of compassion against the dear suffering Chinese, who eat rotten meat and pounded rice.'

'Sir,' said he, 'give me leave to say you talk in a very singular manner; your sentiments would un|hinge the universe.'

'Come here,' cried I with transport, 'you own then the power of my arguments; I knew they must carry conviction; I should die contented if I could only unhinge society. I detest a claim, but you are a man of understanding, and in want. At present, I do not know on whom I could bestow five guineas to do a greater good; take them—but remember, that I shall always regret your having prevented my execution.'

'A very singular gentleman,' exclaimed he, over|joyed, 'give me leave to attend you in future for nothing.'

'As long as you please,' said I, 'that is the natural way, but I will not be blooded. The art of medicine is to follow nature. If the patient is

sick, it is a sign nature wants to discharge, and you should dose him with emetics: if he is delirious, you should apply strong stimulants to increase the frenzy, as the sooner it arises to the height, the sooner a calm will ensue.'

I continued to take his drugs by way of experi|ment; but I am satisfied I owed my recovery alone to the natural strength of my constitution. I had daily accounts of the sufferings of the persecuted patriots; and I debated with myself what line of life I should pursue as the most rational, and in har|mony with my principles.

I resolved not to stoop to my father; I could as ill cringe to any man in power, and I detested eve|ry thing in alliance with trade as a debasement of the human soul. Surely, thought I, I am born for something more noble than to measure goods, or sort the articles of commercial exchange: low and base minds may find satisfaction in such employ, but the intelligence which learned to soar into the realms of science, must not be chained down to such groveling undertakings.

To amuse my mind, I visited a billiard-table which was at no great distance from my lodging, and I found some entertainment from the exertions of skill. I there became acquainted with the most good natured man in the world, whose name was Williams. I soon discovered that he was an advo|cate for the new philosophy; and he protested that he could not in conscience accept a living in the present system of things in any other way than by gaming. 'It is true,' said he, 'the prejudices of mankind have stigmatized it as ignoble, but it is of all sciences the most natural; it brings lords, and all those titled trumpery, down to a level with the most insignificant of men: it introduces a freedom of discourse, it detaches the mind from all those

bigoted notions called religion: it equalizes pro|perty, by taking from the rich to give to the poor; and in one word, it is the most eligible way of liv|ing with honour and independence.'

'You charm me,' said I, 'I once thought gam|ing was a foolish method of spending time, and cal|culated merely for the introduction of vice and dissi|pation; I now see better, and it is to me singular how naturally the mind transides from one truth to another: but so it is with human nature. The progression of knowledge is going forward with rapidity, and the wisdom and experience of ages is discovered to be nothing at all in the eighteenth century.'

Williams proposed, that as I was what he called new to the town, we should divide our gains, to which I readily agreed, and we were for several nights very successful, so that I had to my share near two hundred pounds. The transient state of human existence loudly urged me to grasp at the present; and my college habits returning with force, I fre|quently spent whole nights with drinking parties.

CHAPTER VIII. Mr. Hume's arguments for Adultery, with practical consequences—the new mode of Benevolence.

I WAS charmed one evening at the play, by a beautiful young woman, who was in company with an ill-humoured, jealous-looking, illiberal man. I attempted several times to address myself to the lady,

but his severe looks and lowering frowns compel|led her to restraint, and I did not wish to be the cause of increased domination.

I was extremely well dressed, for in these trifles one may as well appear like the rest of the world, though I had more than once an intention to adopt the Roman Toga, on purpose to attract attention, for these matters go a great way with little men. I found that I gained the attention of the lady, who appeared uneasy under her restraint, and I made a secret vow, to emancipate her from the bondage under which she groaned.

I discovered, on further enquiry, that she was the wife of a citizen, who had married her when she was extremely young, and extremely giddy; that they had two children, and were as happy as a tyrant and a coquet can be in wedlock.

I read over the Essays of the fashionable Hume, where I found that adultery was one of the moral virtues, and perfectly agreeable to political justice. In volume 2, page 409, of his Essays, edition 1767, are these admirable words, which, singly, and un|connected with his other excellent principles, would be sufficient to raise the book into public notice.—'Adultery,' says he, 'must be practised, if men would obtain all the advantages of life, if generally practised, it would soon cease to be scan|dalous; and if practised secretly and frequently, it would, by degrees, come to be thought no crime at all.'—'Immortal Hume,' cried I, though thou doubtest whether thou had'st a soul, I doubt whether it be possible to doubt that thou had'st a body.'

I determined to follow so great an idea, and it was not long before I contrived an interview. It is needless to say the lady soon became a convert to the prevailing principles of reason and nature; she was disgusted with her slavery, and wanted only an

opportunity to exert the inborn freedom of her sex. I engaged very neat lodgings for her, and began to enter into that state, so congenial to the feelings of human nature and rational being. I found her a very singular character, within a truly feminine form; she had a soul of masculine energy; every thought of her mind seemed received by intuition. She was often right by this means, only in matters of mere speculation; she adopted one and rejected another, by a sort of tact, and the force of a culti|vated imagination; and yet, though upon the whole she reasoned little, it is surprising what degree of soundness was in all her determination* 1.44. My dis|position frequently led me to waver in the practice I had adopted: I doubted, and I sometimes feared; but my oscillations and scepticism were fixed by her boldness. When a true opinion emanated in this way from another mind, the conviction produced in my own, assumed a singular character. She did not descend to all the frivolous softness of her sex, which custom has rendered general. She saw in woman, a being in no point inferior to man, except in personal prowess; and she disdained all those at|tractions, which poets and mankind have generally combined in perfecting the female character.

Our connexion was that of friendship; we only met when mutual inclinations prompted; and she has frequently lamented, that the customs of the world prevented her mingling in all the pursuits and un|dertakings of men.—'Is there any sex in soul?' she would say, 'if not, what right have those tyrants, the men, to exclude us from the senate, the bar, and the army? Do we not pay taxes in every article we consume?—And who are our representatives in Parliament?—It is an outrage against the inborn

Rights of Women.'—'Why,' I would ask, 'may not a woman be as capable of leading troops into the field as a general? Are they not perpetually play|ing cunning tricks? Soldiers and women I main|tain to be equally alike: the officers are perpetually attentive to their persons, fond of dancing, crowded rooms, adventures, and ridicule: like the fair sex, the business of their lives is gallantry: they are taught to please, and they live only to please; yet they do not lose their rank in the distinction of sexes, for they are still reckoned superior to women, though in what their superiority exists, beyond what I have just mentioned, it is difficult to discover* 1.45.'

A woman of these sentiments was congenial to my soul; our discourses were a feast to the mind, in which the senses had no share. She frequently lamented the evils to which nature had necessitated her sex in the article of children; a subject which she never could discuss with patience, it being an evil to which man was not subjected, and a badge of bondage not to be overthrown.

'Oh! cried she, one day to me, in a fit of en|thusiasm, 'what signifies all the freedom of our souls, all the exaltations of our intellects, if we are to be confined for months to carry a burden which we have no means to lay down, and when the little wretch appears in the world, what a dreadful idea: —with intellects that soar beyond the firmament, are we to be confined to swaddle and dandle an ani|mal that has no ideas, and must at every moment destroy itself if we do not preserve it? Oh horrid! that Nature did not provide some middle, some stu|pid, lumpish being, to rear and take care of the human progeny: why not make man an oviparous animal? Then we might have hatched the eggs in tempered stoves, as they do chickens in Egypt.'

I could not but admire this flash of idea, which was bold and grand, and new; indeed, all her spec|ulations were sublime, though she reasoned little.* 1.46 I had nearly overlooked an unpleasant incident, which would have very much grieved me, had it been occasioned by me; but it was another dread|ful consequence of the present organization of so|ciety, and gave me an additional reason to execrate the prejudices of mankind.

The husband of my Mary had expected to find in her that softness, complacency, and modesty, which none but idiots ought to require, and which are merely calculated to fit a woman for a seraglio, or a play-thing to a voluptuary. He had taught himself to desire a female, who might solace him after his business, with the endearments of a mind that had no will but his own, and sought to oblige the man who preferred her to all her sex. But Mary was of a different nature—her soul was not to be confined in a gilded cage, and she would not bow to the bashaw dictates of a master.

The poor wretch became distracted at her loss. In place of taking another, he was perpetually rav|ing about conjugal affection, the claims of children, the duties of wives, and such ignorant prejudices, till his senses sailed him, and his friends sent him to Bethlem Hospital. The children who had none to provide for them, were sent to the work-house, to be educated by the public, where they caught the small-pox, and died; an event, which ought natu|rally to have been expected, when they had not been inoculated, and could not throw any blame upon the conduct of their mother.

After this incident we continued on the most har|monious footing, for though Mary allowed herself

the conversation of many of the opposite sex, I did not experience the smallest uneasiness, for she had as much right as myself to all the excentricities of fancy; and I never thought her the worse for having con|tributed to the happiness of other human beings.

About a month after this, the poor husband died delirious, one of the most stupid deaths a man could die, for the loss of a woman: and Mary, thus freed from the shadow of a tie, appeared with me openly in public. Our neighbours made their usual rude comments upon our intercourse; and because seve|ral gentlemen pressed some handsome presents upon Mary, they circulated the calumny, that I kept my wife as a prostitute.

I despised all this; I was not to be frightened into any act because of scandal, and I had long re|garded marriage with so well grounded an appre|hension, that, notwithstanding the partiality for Ma|ry that had taken possession of my soul, I should have felt it very difficult, at least in the present stage of our intercourse, to have resolved on such a ••••eas|use; thus, partly from similar, and partly from dif|ferent motives, we felt alike in this, as we did perhaps in every other circumstance that related to our in|tercourse.

The human mind delights in variety. It is im|possible we should be forever attached to one par|ticular object. This change Mary experienced be|fore myself; and she parted from me for the prot••|tion of my friend Williams, who certainly possessed very powerful attractions, and was an athletic fig|ure.

I regretted this separation, but was not fool enough to repine; and I determined, according to the maxims of the great Stupeo, instantly to select some other; though it was difficult to find one with such an understanding as to march forward to

the high gaol of reason, trampling down prejudice, superstition, and character, in its career.

While I was in search of such a female, I wrote, by way of amusement, a little tract, proving that girls ought to receive the same education as boys; that the same exercises ought to be pursued by each, and that beauty was not of the smallest value, when compared to a robust constitution, that feared nei|ther wind nor weather. I proved, beyond contra|diction, that every thing called the graces, such as music, singing, dancing, timidity, delicacy, and bashfulness, ought to be exploded.

I know not how it was, but my book was only bought by a few; and the aristocratic critics con|demned it, as the work of a man who paid no re|gard to truth, provided he made himself singular: which was an absolute libel, for I had lost in the cause of truth, three teeth and half my little finger.

I confess I did not understand the subject. When a man writes a book of methodical information, he does not write because he understands the subject, but he understands the subject because he has writ|ten. He was an uninstructed Tyro, exposed to a thousand foolish and miserable mistakes when he began his work, compared with the degree of profi|ciency to which he has attained, when he has fin|ished it.* 1.47 In like manner, no man understands po|etry or architecture, till he has written a poem or built a house.

Frequently, by way of amusement, I attended the six-penny debating societies, where truth is propa|gated in every branch, and religion and government attacked from behind a masked battery. A debate on the beauty of a coquet, or the merits of a beau, was sufficient to introduce annotations on despotism,

and satires on nobility, to the edification of the igno|rant and young, who are thus prepared to re|ceive all the enlightened principles of the new school. It is astonishing what energy reason posses|ses, when adorned with all the flowers of oratory: and it was in vain that a man of narrow opinions should endeavour to be heard; for let him say what he would, he was unattended to. I was, however, disgusted at a little trifle, for I could not endure the smallest duplicity, which is beneath the dignity of man, and ought not to be permitted even in the promotion of general knowledge. This trifle was a quarrel between Citizen Cow and Citizen Calf, about which side of the question they should take: the one insisting that he could declaim best on the side of liberty, and the other declaring his own tal|ent lay in discovering faults. I was ashamed that such great men should wrangle about the parts they were to act, like the performers of a country barn; and I could not but consider, that the cause of lib|erty must suffer, when garbled by the palsied efforts of men, whose object was a dividend of six-pences, to be spent the same evening in a debauch.

One evening, at the hazard-table, a young man, who had been sitting near six and thirty hours, at|tracted universal attention by the extravagant exe|crations he uttered, and the agitation of his mind. He protested that he was ruined and undone to all perdition.

My feelings are ever peculiarly alive to the suf|ferings of my fellows, and though I endeavoured to guard against false pity, I am frequently melting at the distresses of my fellow mortals. I followed the poor wretch home at a distance, and entering his room abruptly, I found him sitting in a chair, with a fine young woman hanging on his shoulder weep|ing, and a child sleeping in a cradle.

He started up confused at my entrance, and would have made an apology, but I soon tranquil|ized him, and pressing him with the irresistible argu|ments of truth to rely on my services, he confessed that he had wronged an excellent master to a consid|erable amount, under the fallacious hope, that by hazarding it at the gaming-table, he might acquire an independence, his salary being too small to enable him to keep a family and appear as he must; that he had now lost the means of concealing his crime, and should bring shame on his wife and his relations by a public death.

I was affected at the dreadful situation, for though his feelings were false, he having a just claim on his master's property, yet, in the present system of things he would have all mankind against him; I therefore determined to let him have two hundred pounds, the whole amount of my cash, which would cover his affairs for the present.

Returning home, I met with Williams at the door of a tavern, and acquainted him with my pur|pose,—'You know my sentiments,' said I, 'and you know of what little value I esteem property when it is conducive to good. I have not promised Jackson, because promises are criminal, but I think at present it is the greatest good I can do, and I have raised his hopes from the edge of despair, by my assurances of succour.'

'But shall you not want it yourself, and how shall he repay it?'

'Hear,' cried I, 'the profound sentiments of the insallible Stupeo, that most exalted of philosophers. —My neighbour is in want of ten pounds which I can spare: there is no law to transfer my property to him, but in the eye of simple justice, unless it can be shewn that the money can be more benefi|cially employed, his claim is as complete as if he

had my bond in his possession, or had supplied me with goods to the amount. If two persons should offer, I must balance between them; it is therefore impossible for me to confer upon any man a FAVOUR, I only do him a right* 1.48·'

'Stupeo,' said he, solemnly, 'was a man of the most exalted intellect, he was a prodigy amongst men, a meteor in the path of science, which blazed for a time, but was too brilliant to be permanent. His language was superior to all the groveling max|ims of men, and his eloquence must have rivalled the persuasion of Cicero,'

'I might say,' answered I, 'as Aeschines said of Demosthenes, if such be the effects of mere repe|tition, what would you have said had you heard himself?'

'We regret,' replied he, 'the decease of great men; but when their principles are practised by their pupils, we ought to be content. At this mo|ment I was searching for you, to throw myself into your protection, well assured that the justice of my claim will convince you. I have lost this night ev|ery farthing I possessed, and I am now under im|mediate apprehension of an arrest for two hundred and fifty pounds: I am even told the bailiffs have been after me. To be deprived of liberty, is more dreadful to me than death; I never will support it; I am determined in my purpose, and it remains for you to consider whether the saving of a rational being is worth two hundred pounds.'

I felt myself in a distressing situation, and pressed on both sides by very urgent claims, the merit of which required reflection.—'My dear Williams,' said I, 'more than ever I lament the death of the illuminated Stupeo; he would with one word have relieved our embarrassment; but, tell me yourself,

without any bias of prejudice or weakness, which will be the greatest resulting good.'

We walked several paces in silence. 'At length,' said he, 'I would not appear selfish. I swear it by my love of truth and political justice, that both these cases are severe, but I do think that mine has the greatest claim upon you.'

'It is sufficient,' said I, 'you are right.' He accompanied me home, where I delivered him, within a guinea, of all I possessed. It was useless to visit the young man when I could not relieve him, and I had no inclination to insult distress. I was happy in having saved Williams from imprisonment, though the disappointment Jackson must endure in the failure of my offers now and then intervened, but I remembered that no man ought to place de|pendence upon any but himself.

I cannot remember the conclusion of this inci|dent without regret, and the reflection that philo|sophy cannot always direct us amongst the doub|lings and mazes of human affairs. The young man was apprehended the next day, and his wife running forward to the most sinister conclusions, cast herself in the Thames, where she was unfortunately drowned.

I grieved, but grief was useless, after the event; I execrated the customs of mankind, and drew some comfort in remembering that I had probably saved Williams from equal calamity.—I hastened to his lodgings, to pour out to him and Mary the tumults of an agitated soul, but I was informed that they had departed, before break of day, nobody knew where; and that a warrant was out against him for having cheated a gentleman with cogged dice.

I was struck dumb at this account, which in|formed me that I was a beggar; and the woman of the house hinted that I was implicated in the busi|ness.

My mind was, however, clear of this asper|sion; it was too manly to descend to other finesse than that of skill; but I could not reconcile the be|haviour of Williams to any maxim of truth or po|litical justice; for if there be not common honesty amongst those the vulgar call rogues, how are the affairs of life to be conducted?

The accidents I had witnessed resulting from gaming, had startled my mind, yet I preferred it to binding myself a slave to the caprices of any man. This resource was now become dangerous. No man from persuasion, would render me a portion of the superfluities he enjoyed, and in the midst of so|ciety which calls itself polished, I must either la|bour in employ, beneath the dignity of a ration|al being, or perish unpitied or unrelieved.

Occupied with these reflections, I returned to my lodgings, absorbed in a gloomy melancholy. Mankind appeared to me a set of selfish, solitary animals in the midst of society, and so far from being associated for mutual protection, they seem only to live for themselves.

I remembered, in all its brilliance, the state of nature, described by Rousseau, and enlarged by Stupeo. I repeated again and again Il retourne chez ses Ega••z; and I determined to make the wilds of America my asylum. In this intention I sold every article of value, and changed my dress to that of which you see the remains, the better to pass un|molested, having many reasons to fear personal de|tection, for no man can be truly great, till he is become an object of hatred to nine-tenths of man|kind.

CHAPTER IX. The omnipotence of modern Truth—meditations on a Gibbet—and the consequences.

I DETERMINED to cross the country of England to the North-West, and proposed to make observa|tions upon man in my journey; for, as some writer has said, that ought to be the object of all voyages and travels; and, as Pope says, "The proper study of mankind is man." Indeed, man may be said to compose the first chapter of the great book of Na|ture: and before we pretend to a knowledge of all the chapters of that large book, we ought surely to be masters of the first.

On the sixth day of my journey, for I walked on foot, towards evening I arrived on the borders of an extensive waste; a large crowd of country people were assembled, and in deep debate about some new enclosures, which had shamefully infringed upon the common right. Some gentlemen were endeav|ouring to persuade them, that by cultivating the useless ground, larger crops would be produced, which would create greater plenty, and render the articles of life cheaper.

All my patriotism was roused at the glaring im|position, and taking advantage of a mound of earth, I requested to be heard.

'Can you listen patiently, citizens,' cried I, 'to this detestable doctrine? Do you not know that the ground which now scarcely sustains a goose, will then fatten an ox, and thus your oppressors will be enriched, and you will be starved? You have an undoubted right to the whole surface of the earth,

but if the cultivation goes forward, you will he pen|ned up in the highways: you will not have so much as a path left through a meadow; your very high|ways will be taken from you, and made into canals, by which every waggoner in the kingdom will be ruined; and what will you get by this spirit of im|provement, as they call it? Will they give you the surplus of what they cannot devour? No, they will pile it up in barns to rot, and make manure for a double crop. Open your eyes, citizens, and you will see the falsity of their speeches: they tell you provisions will be cheaper; I tell you they will not; and ask yourselves which you are to believe, those intere••i••n, or I, whom you never saw before: I tell you, you ought to have provisions for nothing.— Awake, citizens! remember that when you are driven from the highways, you will be like frogs in a gutter. Now is the time; a moment's delay, and you will be too late. Unite and tear up the fences, level the hedges before the cultivating spade has turned up the sod. Would to heaven there was not a single acre cultivated, and the then imperious rich would not monopolize provisions. I see impatience in your eyes—I see the rising flame of liberty and truth flash in your countenances.— Come then, down with the boundaries, those badges of slavery, and tell all the world that you have as much right to the surface of the earth as you have to the air.'

This speech was like an electric shock, every man confessed its truth, and the triumph of patriot|ism was complete. In vain the gentlemen endea|voured to argue down the storm; no one would hear them; a plain demonstration that their arguments were false. I tore up, with my own hands, one of the stakes, and in an instant the aristocratical en|closures were laid open again in a state of nature. Oh, cried I to myself, Oh that Stupeo could wit|ness

this effusion of reason, this march of philosophy. But, alas! the great mythological, metaphysical pa|triot, was first killed by a musket bullet, and then trod to death by his friends.

While I stood witnessing this transient start of en|ergetic freedom, I was suddenly seized by three of the gentlemen, and though I made a strenuous re|sistance was soon overpowered. I called aloud for the country people to rescue me (but the disposi|tion of a mob is always fickle,) those who a few minutes before hung with raptures on my words, now seemed to rejoice in the new object raised to their attention.

I was chagrined, and as they led me on, I ex|claimed aloud, 'Rascals and cowards, is this the manner to treat a pupil of the great and immortal Stupeo? Is this treachery to be reconciled with po|litical justice? For myself, I am not concerned, I glory in the martyrdom I shall suffer; but re|member, that the axe which sunders my head from my body, cuts at the same moment all your liberties.'

'Who in the world are you?' said one of the gen|tlemen; 'you surely are not in your senses, or you would not utter such incoherent absurdities.'

'Did I not tell you,' said I, 'that I am a pupil of the great Stupeo, a man who, if he had been here would have confounded you with his eloquence, and shake•• all the prejudices and habits of your mind like an earthquake, which, at one trembling, over|whelms all the proud puny structures of ignorant and tyrannical men.'

A gentleman on horseback advancing towards us, stopped at the sight of so tumultuous a procession•• and I knew him to be the same I had met in the stage. He recollected me, but seemed not to know me.

'How does your Lordship? said one of the gen|tlemen. 'We have here one of those seditious im|postors that go about the country destroying its peace, and telling palpable lies in a flowery lan|guage, which warms the passions, and runs away with sober reason.'

'My Lord,' said I, 'I am glad to see you, be|cause you shall be a judge of the subject in dispute, and for which I am dragged along the public road like a traitor and a slave. What is truth? Can any circumstance change the immutability of its nature? Is it not like those mathematical axioms, which we only enquire to hear to understand? Think you that the senses of the people are so dull, they do not com|prehend the light of truth when it flashes in their eyes? Or, as the sublime Stupeo would have said, when truth, like a volcano, bursts forth on the dark|ness of night—its thunderings shall awaken the dor|mant senses of mankind—its lightnings shall glitter in their eyes like the brilliant morning of science— its lava shall bear down all opposition, over-whelm|ing all the puny barriers of state—its cinders will scatter destruction upon its enemies, and the devasta|tion it spreads (like a revolution) shall be momen|tary, giving place to a tenfold fecundity.'

'But,' said his Lordship, 'not to question the truth of your bombastic metaphor, you forget that this devastation would sweep away all the then gen|eration.'

'And what is one generation,' I returned, 'or what are ten generations to the resulting good? Are we always to be as imbecile as infants? I have no doubt, that when reason acts in all things, we shall live to the age of the primitive parents of mankind, and then we shall not tremble at revolutions.'

'Oh that the glorious days were come!' said he with a sneer, 'when the dagger and the rope shall

lose their destructive qualities, when the musket, the sword, and the pike shall rebound from the bo|som of the patriot, and the cannon ball, in place of flying onwards, winged with death, shall fall harmless to the ground—then, and not till then, ought we to rush into revolutions.'

'But truth,' cried I, 'truth is omnipotent, of which this very day is an example.'

'Which way?' said he. 'I know you have sense, though at present it is warped. You call by the name of truth that which stimulates ignorant people to outrage: but you forget that all men are not cool philosophers, that the great mass of man|kind are enamoured of novelty. The very bustle of a riot or a revolution has for them equal charms with a horse-race or a bull-baiting, and the merits of the subject are never discussed till they smart un|der the consequences. What can be more easy than to lead people to desire to live without labour, to plunder the rich, and pay no regard to those laws which were made purposely to restrain the passions? And because this is easy to be done, you call it truth and liberty, and patriotism. But I would ask one sober question, and would to God the whole world could hear me. If simple nature, poverty, and e|quality is the natural state of man, why do reform|ers wish to deprive the rich of their wealth, to ren|der the poor unhappy? A plain argument that all they want is to plunder the rich, and, under a mask of mock patriotism, destroy all those sacred bonds which give energy to genius, and encouragement to virtue. If they have the real welfare of mankind at heart, in the establishment of equality, and detest (as they are always pretending) cruelty and blood|shed, it would be very easy to establish themselves in America.'

'But monopolizers,' cried I; 'are they to be suffered to prey on the entrails of society? What right has one man to eat a pine-apple, for which he gave a guinea, when another is starving for want of an half-penny worth of bread? Answer me this —.'

'Few things can be more easily done,' replied he. 'In the first place I would observe, that the incident never happened but in imagination, drawn for the purpose of casting an odium upon the rich, they do not in general deserve. Secondly, the ac|cumulation of individual property is the natural and certain consequence of society. It is to be seen in the state of savageism, where an industrious Indian shall possess good arms, while an idle one shall be almost without. In the state of equality, that is, ignorant barbarism, no pine-apples would be culti|vated. How many depend for their share of the guinea paid for the pine-apple? The fruiterer, the gardner, the glazier, the carpenter, the bricklayer, the smith, the coal-merchant, the mariner, the mi|ner, with all the crowd of others who supply each of those individuals with materials; and when you shall have divided the guinea between all these, I think the gentleman may eat his pine-apple with a good conscience, unless you can prove that he ought to give half of it to the vagabond, who will not work to provide himself food.—To state your question right, you should ask which is the greater good, to aid all those tradesmen and their depen|dents, by encouraging the luxury, or to give the superfluous guinea to the support of unproductive idleness? There is another question frequently asked—What right, say they, have the rich to tax the poor? What right have they to live by the la|bour of the poor? The real fact is, that they do not live by the labour of the poor, but vice versa; for

were there no high people to pay the poor for working, there would be no work done. What bricklayer would build a house without being paid? What labourer would work for him without hire? The benefit is reciprocal to both parties; but, to speak a truth, the rich, wrapped as they are in ease and in|dolence, would do much better without the poor, than the poor without them. As to taxes, the poor in this country pay very few in proportion to the rich; their cottages are exempt, they are not vassals who work without pay (as in most countries of the world,) and those who wish to live in peace, may do it with as much security as a lord; their persons and their little all are equally sacred in the eye of the law, and except in the article of game, equally free. It is the drunken, the idle, and the vicious, who have their families starving, and a burden to the parish. But such is the singular constitution of the country, that no Englishman can die of absolute want, if he will appeal to the charitable institu|tions. In fact, it is the middle class of people who bear the great burden of the state: the poor are exactly the same as they were a thousand years ago, and were, and will be always the same under every form of government, with the exception of personal freedom and protection. It is to be remembered that taxes ought never to be murmured at, provi|ded they are applied to public affairs. I am, how|ever, grieved when I reflect that the upright, peace|able, and loyal citizen pays at least one third more than his just portion, to make up the deficiency oc|casioned by the sneaking, miserly part of the rich▪ and by the mock patriot evading every impost he can flinch from—thus stabbing the country he pre|tends to weep over.'

'But,' replied I, 'it is a gross and ridiculous er|ror, to suppose that the rich pay for any thing:

there is no wealth in the world except this—the labour of man, * 1.49so that when a man of property pretends he is rewarding the labourer, he is cheat|ing him, he is giving him a bauble, and cajoling him. If he employ them in erecting palaces, in sinking canals, &c. it will be found he is their enemy; he is adding to the weight of oppression, and the vast accumulation of labour, by which they are already sunk beneath the level of brutes.'

'From this doctrine,' said Lord B—, 'it follows, that the less employ given to mankind, the greater is their happiness, and the greater your be|nevolence; and the Eastern Bashaw, who grasps every accumulation of property, destroys the specu|lations of commerce, arts, sciences, and agriculture, reducing men to the happy station of providing no more than just sufficient to support existence, is, in your system, the benefactor of the human race.'

I know not how it was, I felt all my ideas unor|ganized, and I endeavoured in vain to reply: though what could be more trite, illiberal, and common place. The country people who had listened to this discourse, one and all protested they were griev|ed at their offence, declaring, that they now saw plainly how much better it was to receive the wages for their labor in cultivating the ground, than to keep it barren, and of use to nobody, at the same time offering, the next day, to replace the hedges they had thrown down.

'And to conclude this adventure,' said the young nobleman, 'let this unfortunate man be liberated; and I hope he will yet be convinced of the folly of destroying one system, which has some faults, with many beauties, and in its place proposing another, which has not one single practical beauty, but is pregnant with the most detestable and dreadful evils.'

Being at liberty to proceed on my journey, I left Lord B— and his train of slaves. Continuing along the road by moon-light, and having leisure to recollect the apothegms of Stupeo, I was angry with myself that I had not contradicted every asser|tion made by Lord B—, and proved that his reasonings were false in toto.

I was roused from these reflections by the creak|ings of a gibbet on the highway, and could not avoid shuddering at the inhuman spectacle.

'O property!' said I, 'this is one of thy bles|sed effects—what a dreadful exhibition of injustice glares upon the thinking mind, that death shall be the fate of the man who by force exerts the rights of nature. In the principles of Penal Law, we are told near an hundred persons annually are exe|cuted. Oh ye victims of this infernal monopoli|zing scheme, the whole amount of the goods (vul|garly called stolen) is only threefourths per cent. upon moveable property, yet they hang you up on the highway. Perhaps you were obliged to shoot somebody in self-defence, and must ye die for that? Can we wonder at the miseries of society, when luxury and trade are risen to so enormous an amount, that the aggregate of property brought to the city of London, and moved in floating bottoms only, is annually seventy millions, out of which only about four millions are taken in plunder, only four millions reduced to the laws of equality. There is, indeed, a bright gleam breaking through this dark picture, which enables the private patriot to tax the property of these dealers in wealth; this is the article of base coin, amounting, it is true, to no more than one million a year* 1.50. Let us a mo|ment

contemplate this mighty Colossus of proper|ty, which threatens to devour up the Rights of Man, and resist all the open and secret attacks of philosophers, and we shall see how necessary it is by every means to render property less secure. Let us reason calmly, and without prejudice, and to any man of liberal ideas, what is the moral turpi|tude of robbery? It is no more than taking by force what I have a natural right to: it is an he|roic and generous way of exerting the claims of nature and Agrarian justice; and the hazard I run is the same as every patriot must lay open to, who excites revolutions, and proclaims the glad tid|ings of universal emancipation. The one, as well as the other, is detested by all men who are blinded by religion, and the prejudices of the old school. It becomes, therefore, the part of every patriot, who would nobly resist oppression, to be|gin by counteracting the unjust distribution of property; and were they all to a man boldly and heroicly to set out on the high road, they would soon render wealth less secure, and its possessors less arrogant. It may be objected, that this would not be so manly as at once throwing off the yoke of bondage: but till the march of sentiment has proceeded to universal conviction, the next great|est good ought to be preferred to listless inactivity.'

Such were my reflections while I stood gazing at the gibbet: I ridiculed the idea that it would act as a restraint: it was in my eyes like the mangled body of Caesar, which only stimulated to revenge. I considered the poor victim as unjustly massacred by the iron-fisted law, for though he had commit|ted murder, that was no reason for coercion in the code of political justice.

My mind was impressed with a majestic and in|dependent tone, resulting from those ideas. I felt

myself roused to some arduous exploit, and a post|chaise driving towards me, gave me an opportuni|ty to emulate the valour of an Alexander, or a Charles the Twelfth.

I drew out my pistols, and marched forward along the middle of the road, which the postillion perceiving, spurred his horses, with an intention to ride over me. With a stroke of my oak-stick I brought him down, and grasping the reins, re|tained the horses. The gentleman immediately fired, and missing me, I returned the shot, and a loud scream from a female caused me to think it took place. The horses taking fright, tore away from my grasp, and rode over the postil|ion, who was much bruised, and had one leg broke.

This unfortunate accident extremely chagrined me, but I consoled myself as much as possible with remembering, that partial evil will ever attach to general good. The immortal Stupeo, before he died, used to observe, that nature in her fecundity, produced all things in superfluity, that much might be spared for the destruction of accident, as in the produce of animals and vegetables; and man, being nothing but a brute, was also supplied in greater numbers than sufficient; in fact, that the death of two or three hundred thousand was a matter of no moment, and absolutely unworthy to fill the mind's eye a second in the contemplation of a great event.

These arguments were clear as the broad base of truth; for what man could walk out on a summer's day, if he feared crushing the insects in his path? Or who could look coolly upon a revolution, if they valued the lives of individuals, who must be crushed by the ebullitions of the moment* 1.51.

I rejoiced that my mind was superior to preju|dice, and continued forward, after this little acci|dent, with an high flow of spirits. I was on foot, and walked slowly on, forgetting, that by this out|rage (as it is vulgarly called) I rendered myself lia|ble to account, when I heard behind me the clatter|ing of horses. It was totally dark, and stepping a little from the road, that they might not run over me, I stuck in a muddy ditch on one side.

The splashing I made to clear myself caught their ears, and they quickly surrounded me ordering me to surrender. I was in no situation to contend, for I could not extricate myself. I threw my pistols over the hedge into a thicket of whins, and replied, that they might use me as they pleased, for death was infinitely preferable to slavery.

I was conducted back on horseback several miles, to the nearest inn, where I was ushered into a large kitchen. It was now very late being near three in the morning, so that only two maid-ser|vants were there, with the three persons who had caught me. One, who had the appearance of a gentleman, turned me to the light to examine my features, when I instantly knew him to be my father.

'Great God!' exclaimed he, 'who do I see? What dreadful fate is this? Why did I not die before I had beheld this hour? But for a trembling hand I should have killed my son! and that son would have been spared the guilt of murdering his mother!'

A cold damp sweat gathered on my brow. I was unmanned in a moment, notwithstanding

every effort I could make to preserve my resolution. —'Was it not imprudent,' said I, 'to travel at this hour? What business had you upon the road? And how could I know you in the dark from ano|ther?'

'Ill-starred boy,' said he, shedding tears; 'Pro|vidence directed your arm against your parents, that you might behold, in full light, the horror of your actions, and rep••t!'

'Nonsense,' cried ••overing at this impeach|ment of truth. 'Do•• ••t know that in the eye of a man of sense, 〈…〉〈…〉 no 〈◊〉〈◊〉 con|nected than the greatest strangers. Would Rome ever have been a republic 〈…〉〈…〉 ••ile! from ordering his own children to execution? Would Caesar have fallen, had the second Brutus been tied by the name of friend? Or would any revolution happen, if brothers, and fathers, and sons, feasted to plunge the dagger in each others bosom? The mind which cannot leap over these paltry and prejudiced considerations, is not inspir|ed with genuine patriotism: we must learn only to appreciate persons by their intrinsic value, and not by their titles, nominations, and connexions* 1.52.

My father, during this speech, had thrown him|self upon a chair, holding his head in an agony of emotion, which I did not wonder at, considering his prejudices; and I regretted myself, that so lit|tle good had been produced by an action, which, had it occurred in full day, amidst a tumultuous people, and in the bustle of a revolution, would have rendered me eternally immortal, and hand|ed my name down to the remotest posterity as a dread to tyrants, and a text to all declaimers on the

sufferings of human nature: as it was, it was on|ly like seed scattered in st•• ground, unproduc|tive and obscure.

'What shall I do?' cried my father suddenly starting up. 'Shall I, for the sake of severe, but immutable justice, become the instrument of ven|geance on my son? Shall I adopt his own max|ims, and rend at once all the tender ties of nature? shall I burst all those fine bands asunder, and con|sign him to public execution? O Heaven! can such •• sacrifice be required of me, for having given ••istence to such a monster? No, no, get from my sight! fly! fly to the desarts of the world! beyond the boundaries of society, lest the earth open and swallow you alive.'

'See,' said I, calmly, 'what it is to be agitated with all these puerile feelings of kindred; they unman the soul, and when we should reason ration|ally, overwhelm us in a vortex of passion▪ I am not so prejudiced as to refuse that portion of liber|ty you offer me: I will go, because I do not think that I have yet fulfilled the great mission I have un|dertaken. In the present instance, I do not see how the good of mankind can be promoted by my death: till we can see this, we ought never volun|tarily to march to the scaffold, or as the immortal Stupeo said—'

'Perdition strike him to the centre,' cried my father, flaming with fury.

It is a folly to attempt reasoning with madmen; and seeing the two countrymen debating whether they should allow me to pass, I put on a determined air, and walked calmly out of the house. There is something imposing and aweful in the frown of a de|termined man, conscious of his innocence; and I have little doubt but an hundred would have suffered me to pass with equal impunity.

I soon shook off the chagrin this little incident had occasioned, and having recovered my pistols, I thought it a matter of common precaution to strike from the high road.

CHAPTER X. The Vagabond concludes his Story—the Effects of Refor|mation in a country parish—the Vagabond's reasons in favour of Seduction.

ON the following day I stopped a post-chaise in a cross road, which contained two ladies, and was driven by a lad. One of the women fainted away, and the other was excessively frightened. I took nothing but her purse, informing her, that she mis|took, if she supposed me a common robber; for, though I was willing to equalize property, I did not wish to monopolize. So saying, I quitted her, that she might assist her insensible companion.

I could not but execrate the whole system of fe|male education, which thus enervates the human body; it being an eternal fact, that were women educated to all the exercises of men, and, as my dear Mary used to say, so mingled with the world, that every action would he performed promiscuous|ly, (sex out of the question) we should not have wo|men fainting on sudden emergencies, and as imbe|cile as infants.

What a glorious thing would it be, if the whole female sex would emancipate themselves from those tyrants the men, and enter equally into every con|cern

of life! We should then no longer admire a beautiful idiot, but value them according to their mental charms and personal prowess. It would also be a very great advantage in the article of love, it being no inconsiderable trouble to a philosophical mind to bend to all the frivolities of declaring a passion.

By the exertions of my independent principles, I acquired a sufficient subsistence; but I always made it a rule never to put in my claim to a part of the universal stock, till necessity (which has no law) in some sort compelled me. It was on one of those occasions I had the good fortune to meet with you, and I only lament that the immortal Stupeo was killed with a musket bullet.

'I lament too,' said Doctor Alogos; 'I should have delighted in the conversation of so great a man, who has introduced so enlightened a pupil to the world. But let us now retire to rest; the clock has struck three, and to-morrow we will discourse further.' So saying, they separated for the night: Frederick rejoicing that he had at length found a man illuminated with the irradiating principles of the new philosophy; which he the more wondered at, considering the Doctor's property, for he had found the pupils of the new school, in general, a little short in financial affairs.

The next morning the company met to breakfast. Laura was extremely lovely; and the eyes of the philosopher frequently repeated the observation. Susan sat down familiarly to breakfast with them; and the luxury of the times was ably descanted upon.

Tea and chocolate, new bread and fresh butter, with a relish of cold ham and eggs, composed the breakfast of these practical philosophers.

'Luxury,' cried Doctor Alogos at every mouth|ful, 'will be the bane of this country; every thing

rises to so enormous a price, that a poor man can|not absolutely get an existence; we shall be starv|ed!'

'It is a dreadful thing' to think of it,' said Fred|erick; 'I have often considered what could occa|sion such a rise in meat, for instance; formerly we used to have the best beef at one penny a pound, and now it is sixpence.'

'I apprehend,' said Laura, 'that there are two reasons: the increased consumption, and the increas|ed quantity of money. Formerly, a farmer, before he killed an ox, had to contract with so many fami|lies as could purchase the whole, not being able to place a dependence on chance custom; a fact that must give the lie to the tales of some people, who would make us believe that day labourers fed upon roasted beef.'

'You are a little perverse jade,' said the Doctor, 'to dare contradict a man like me. Pray, how should you know what used to be, who have not yet seen eighteen summers?—You are a moth in the creation yet, I insist upon it that our peasants are starved and famished:—Are not potatoes and bacon half their support?—Answer that.'

The Doctor enjoyed the triumph of rhetoric over common sense; but Laura, with becoming defer|ence, replied, that it might be true, but that was even better than skimmed milk and oatmeal cake, which was formerly the general food, with a change of barley and rye. 'The people of England, then,' said she, 'were subject to leprosy and cutaneous diseases, which have vanished since the introduction of tea. I grant that they live hard, but it is what they have ever done; and were it possible for them to see the peasants of other countries, they would rejoice at being people of England. Not to men|tion the powers of life and death, possessed by most

landed gentlemen on the continent, let us look at the eastern nations, whose lower orders live upon nothing but rice, and particularly the Chinese, sup|posed, in the Annual Register for 1789, to contain two hundred millions of people, whose lower orders, in-land, taste nothing but rice and water, and on the sea-coast a little fish.'

'Rice and fish!' said the Doctor, 'I am per|suaded they are both primitive dishes. Rice is the food of more than half the human species, and sava|ges on the sea-coasts universally eat fish. I am de|termined my table shall be furnished with these pro|ductions of all-provident nature; and suppose, for the second course, you give us a brace of roast ca|pons and a few tartlets.'

'For my part,' said Frederick, laying a slice of ham on his bread and butter, and putting three lumps of sugar into his cup of chocolate, 'it is to me a matter of the greatest indifference what I eat; I eat merely because it is right to eat for the keeping our bodies in order. A family physician proves, that one half the necessity of eating is to distend the in|testines; for which purpose, any farinaceous paste is sufficient; and I have an intention to try a pud|ding of marble flour; for, if this proves true, what great exploits may be performed without the trouble of carrying bread!'

'For heaven's sake!' said Laura, laughing, 'forego the experiment, or the images of Jupiter and Juno, in the garden, will be made into hasty|pudding; and the arm of Venus will have as much temptation as an haunch of venison.'

After breakfast, the Doctor requested Frederick to walk in his garden, and help him to weed some beds of herbs.

'Do you think,' said Frederick, 'after what I have told you, that I will degrade my dignity by a

menial employ? that I will become a slave to till the ground?'

'No,' replied the Doctor; 'you are a philoso|pher; I do not propose to you any such thing; but husbandry is a primitive art, and no disgrace when practised for exercise. I propose that we shall live together on a footing of equality, and that we shall endeavour to enlighten the people in our neighbour|hood, erecting to ourselves a little republic.'

'The idea is grand and noble,' cried Frederick: 'had we Stupeo here, his whole soul would enter into the subject. Let us begin this very day—only let me observe, I will be entirely independent.'

'Of course,' said the Doctor.—'Though I very much fear we shall never bring them to the standard of nature. This island is the sink of slavery. The very elements won't let the people go naked like the Indians of America. What shall we do first to|wards bringing about the freedom of man?'

'The first great action to be performed, is to convince them of their wrongs—to shew them they ought to govern the state; and that, if they do not recover their rights, they will be starved and en|slaved; and that all distinctions are badges of tyran|ny, and not rewards of merit.'

'But in that point,' said the Doctor, 'it appears to me cheaper to bestow titles and ribbons than pensions—if there were no titles, the pension-list must increase.'

'And suppose it did,' cried Frederick, 'are we going to do away all profits and rewards? Every man should labour for the resulting good.'

'Right, right,' answered the Doctor. 'But should we not say something on the article of mar|riage? We shall never introduce real liberty till we can do away that Gothic barbarity. There's Susan, a good deserving creature, just such another as

Rousseau's Teresa: to own the truth, we, that is, she and I—you understand me—but the opin|ions of the world have hitherto prevented my living with her in a manner congenial to my wishes, and as nature and reason point out.'

'Hear,' said Frederick, 'the sentiments of the great philosopher Stupeo: When the distinctions of society shall be confounded, and men shall cease to appropriate a whole female to themselves—two men might easily enjoy one woman, because it would be her company they desired, and the sensual gratification would be considered as a trifle. Rea|sonable men will propagate their species; not because a certain pleasure is annexed to this action, but because it is right the species should be propagated, and the manner in which they exercise this function will be regulated by the dictates of reason and duty. It cannot definitively be affirmed, in such a state of society, who is the father of the child; but it is of no consequence. I ought to prefer no human being to another because that being is my father, my wife, or my son* 1.53.'

'What a glorious doctrine!' cried Alogos: 'one might then have as many concubines and children as they could procure. This very reason alone ought to make us detest monarchical govern|ment, where what is called sacred engagements are obliged to be in some sort preserved. I will, this very day, tell the world that I disregard its preju|dices, and Susan shall appear in her proper charac|ter.'

Poor Susan, who was an ignorant, vulgar girl, was so intoxicated with the elevation from the cook|ery, that she resolved to exert the inborn Rights of Women, disdaining any longer to superintend

the kitchen; and the Doctor frequently cursed soci|ety, which had introduced luxurious dishes.

Mean-while these two great men exerted their endeavours to reform the parishioners, and it was not long before the excellent effects of their doctrine became visible. The churches, those temples of priestcraft and ignorance, were soon left without vi|sitors; and even the elocution of a popular preach|er could not assemble an audience.

The two philosophers rejoiced at this dawn of reason, and, the better to spread the truth, erected a large barn into a Hall of Reason, where they un|dertook alternately to read moral lectures.—Fred|erick there clearly proved, that all religion was the offspring of ignorance, resulting from ideas, mingled with impressions, mingled with realities; and that the first idea of a Deity was taken from a howling wind on a stormy night; so that, if he did not convince, he confounded his hearers. He, however, proved beyond a doubt, that religion was not of the smallest benefit to mankind, 'It is true,' said he, in one of his lectures, 'that architecture was first carried beyond the unpolished beam, and the unshapen stone, by the enthusiasm of people to honour an unknown Deity; but could any thing be more absurd than to raise great piles of magnifi|cence to nobody knew who? And what was the consequence? Why, the great men then would have great houses, and no longer live, as they used to do, in hovels of mud. It is true that astronomy was first studied for the sake of tracing the power of God in the creation; but what has been the result? We have learnt to traverse the ocean, and send people from Europe to tyrannize over the people of Africa. Religion indeed gave birth to all the arts and sciences, because it was supposed the Architect of worlds must delight in grandeur, and every costly

ornament was deemed too little an offering to his abode. But, in my opinion, this would better have been given to the starving poor—no doubt the priests had their tithes out of it. (Here a loud burst of applause broke forth.) It is in vain to say that monks have been the preservers of literature; for, at the time they promoted it, they had no in|tention to benefit mankind, and it is the intention which makes the merit. You are told that religion teaches social duties; that it is wrong to injure your neighbour, for you shall be hereafter punished. Who told you all this? A parcel of priests, whom you pay to hold you in darkness. Are you to be|lieve them, or I who instruct you for nothing? I tell you then that there are no future rewards and punishments. I am certain no man can prove that there are; and if you read the great book of Nature, it does not say a word about it. That is the book you ought to study, and burn your Bibles, if you would enjoy the world without those shocking re|flections about fire and brimstone.'

Moral lectures like these could not but influence the minds of the country people, who wondered they had been so long imposed upon. The Curate was under the necessity of suing for the tithes, and the parsonage was threatened with destruction.

Corn had been dear and scarce, owing to a wet season; and to render it cheap, a mob of patriots burnt down several stacks and barns, for which one was hanged and three transported.

The Principles of Universal Equality, and The Catechism of Nature, the one written by Fred|erick, and the other by Doctor Alogos, were printed and distributed gratis. The public houses had each ••club, where the newspapers were sub|scribed

for, politics discussed, and ale consumed with genuine liberty; by which means those here|tofore ignorant people became warm advocates for freedom, and declaimed about the inborn reason of the human soul, till all reason was suspended in hilarity, and the whole company levelled to a state of swinish equality.

They now clearly perceived that the times were the worst that ever Old England had witnessed; for they every day found themselves less able to maintain their families; and so far from being ca|pable to pay their rents, they had scarcely money sufficient to support the club, on which depended the salvation of their country.

In vain the gentlemen of the parish endeavoured to stay this torrent of philosophy. Man only re|quires to be told his rights to know them. The young men copying the example of Doctor Alogos, were not to be bubbled out of a fee by the priests, and the wives became what is vulgarly called lazy and slovenly, but which in the language of re|fined philosophy, is independent, and superior to prejudice.

Things proceeded thus admirably in a parish, where, but a little time before, all had gone on in the old track, where contented and ignorant families depended on their own labour, and were so proud of the childish title of Englishmen, that they de|tested a work-house so long as health and strength remained. But now they saw clearly, that, ac|cording to the Rights of Man, every one had a just demand for support from the community, after a certain age, and therefore to work for a rainy day was as absurd as it was old.

The poor rates multiplied so fast upon those who still continued to support the Gothic prejudices of

their ancestors, that several heretofore flourishing families were obliged to quit the parish, and their farms remained unoccupied.

Frederick, in the mean time, had endeavoured to cultivate the affections of Laura; but though he gained upon her heart, her head resisted all the arguments of his philosophy. It was in vain he traduced the custom of marriage; she remained wedded to the blind principles in which she had been educated. 'For,' said she, 'were I to become your companion, or that of any other man, when I shall perhaps be surrounded with two or three chil|dren, a moment's disgust may leave me without a partner. Till it is the fashion for men to maintain the children of others, no woman in her senses would permit the passion of a man unmarried, because, though he could range and select another, she must remain forlorn and abandoned.'

'The supposition,' said Frederick, 'that I must have a companion for life, is the result of a com|plication of vices: It is the dictate of cowardice, and not of fortitude: It flows from a desire of being loved and esteemed for something that is not desert. The institution of marriage is a system of fraud, and men who carefully mislead their judgments in the daily affairs of their life, will always have a crip|pled judgment in every other concern.—Marriage is law, and the worst of all laws. Whatever our understandings may tell us of the person from whose connexion we should derive the greatest improvement, of the worth of one woman, and the demerits of another, we are obliged to consider what is law, and not what is justice. So long as I seek to engross one woman to myself, and prohibit my neighbour from proving his superior deserts, and reap|ing

the fruits of it, I am guilty of the most odious of all monopolies.* 1.54'

'Do you wish me,' said Laura, 'to suppose you speak seriously? You are dreaming, Frederick, or you are mad or worse. To say nothing of the moral turpitude of such infamous and brothel doc|trines, I should like to know if there is one single republican in the kingdom, who, however he might wish to indulge himself in such license, would per|mit his mother, his wife, his sister, or his daugh|ter to live promiscuously like beasts of the field?'

'And are men not by nature brutes, as the mighty Rousseau has proved to a demonstration?'

'Let us take it so,' said Laura, with a sigh: 'what will be the result? We should see half a dozen throats cut for a pretty woman, for then the law would be no check on licentious appetites. But, Sir, reflect if what I say be not true. Your reformers in general are men of broken fortune, fiery passions, or e••entric dispositions. You would cast aside restrains, because you are too great ty|rants yourselves to submit to the government of others; as, for instance, Doctor Alogos was one of the best tempered, humane men in the world, till he took to these whims from the loss of a law-suit; and now, though he is always telling us we are slaves, and have as much right as the men to every freedom, yet, if every article in the house, to the smallest trifle, is not in exact order, we hear noth|ing but execrations, which once he was afraid to utter. But, in the present case, I do sincerely believe, that those men who preach up promiscuous inter|course

of sex do it merely to cover their own de|praved desires, and avoid the stigma of the world by rendering it common.'

'I am very sorry,' said Frederick, 'that you argue as if you had never heard the great doctrines of philosophy. Had you heard my Mary on this subject! persuasion hung upon her tongue, and the self-demonstrated axioms of moral science flow|ed from her lips. "It is difficult to recommend any thing to indiscriminate adoption, contrary to the established rules and prejudices of mankind; but certainly nothing can be so ridiculous upon the face of it, or so contrary to the genuine march of sentiment, as to require the overflowing of the soul to wait upon a ceremony, and that which, wherev|er delicacy and imagination exist, is of all things most sacredly private, to blow a trumpet before it, and to record the moment when it has arrived at its climax* 1.55."

'Excellent!' cried Laura, breaking into a laugh; 'this is sheer bombast, and putting into hy|perbolic language what might have been said in simple words. Can any thing be more impudent than for a woman to marry, because by marrying she tells the world that she has conformed to its customs in following the purpose of her creation? Whereas, if she despised all its rules, trampled down those barriers to lust, modesty, and morality, and became a prostitute, she is modest in extreme, because she did not tell the world beforehand she was going to be ruined. With regard to the trum|pet

and the climax, it is not a practice in our coun|try, where marriages are frequently performed with that decent secrecy which eludes even the questions of friendship.'

'There is no reasoning with women,' cried Frederick, in a pet; 'they have no souls capable of receiving the new light of irradiating science, which is breaking through the mists of superstition and ignorance. How few are like my Mary, free in thought and in action! She was a wonderful wo|man, and despised the jests of the world: she knew, that in reality there was no difference of sex in souls, but that education made women fools and idiots.'

'You have often,' said Laura,' talked to me in this strain; you have told me that women are no otherwise inferior to men than by education; but to me there appears an humbling difference.— Have they not to bear and bring children into the world? Are they not then tied down to the routine of a nursery? Are not all their employments neces|sarily domestic? And does not nature seem to have pointed to this end in the disposition of their frame? —Men, in all countries, take upon them the ruder employments, and it is only an eccentric soul that would wish, in the frenzy of imagination, to blend the sexes.'

'But women, with their present weakness of in|tellect, are not capable of teaching children their duties, and rational philosophy.'

'I will quote you a passage,' said Laura, 'from a droll book at reveries my uncle lately bought, called the Rights of Women. In page 148, I believe you will find these words:—"The man|agement of the temper, the first and most impor|tant branch of education, requires the sober, steady

eye of reason: a plan of conduct equally distant from tyranny and indulgence. I have followed this train of reasoning much further, till I have concluded that a person of genius is the most improper person to be em|ployed in education, either private or public."

From this quotation we may infer two conclu|sions: First, that a person of genius possesses not the steady, sober eye of reason, and therefore all your pretended philosophers, reformers, and men of pro|found genius, have not one jot of reason, conse|quently are fools. Secondly, allowing women to he pretty idiots, they are the most proper to give education, and the less genius they possess, the greater is their qualification: and indeed I might draw a third inference, that persons writing pal|pable contradictions are unworthy notice on either side.'

'Oh!' cried Frederick, 'were the great Stupeo here, he would bring arguments that would incon|trovertibly prove—'

'Prove what?' said Laura: 'prove himself a greater fool than his pupil.'

'No,' cried Frederick, 'prove that you are the charmingest pretty idiot in the world.'

Thus the great copyist of one of the greatest phi|losophers that have glittered in the eighteenth cen|tury, descended from the pinnacle of intellect to tell a girl what her glass told her every morning. But, as Voltaire has admirably proved, by a few arguments in about a hundred different places, and Rosseau demonstrated by practice with the idiot Teresa, it is a fact, that great heroes, great poets, great philosophers, metaphysicians, and ballad-mak|ers, have all become fools to please foolish women.

CHAPTER XI. Reasons for peopling the world—specimen of the Sublime— the consolations of Philosophy in Disappointment—the immutability of Truth.

FREDERICK was discomposed beyond the dignity of a philosopher at the perverseness of Lau|ra: he began almost to think that women were be|ings made expressly for the pleasures of men, a gild|ed toy, which a great metaphysician and philoso|pher might condescend to play with when he quitted the Hall of Contemplation, and ventured from the paths of intellectual rambling to the gross pavement of life.

His mind was perpetually bent upon the great work of reformation, and the perfection of juris|prudence, except when he mused upon the pretty lip of Laura, which frequently dimpled with an inimi|table smile, and that smile was not the vacant smile of childishness—it was a smile of meaning, express|ive of some fine sensation of mind, brightening the whole countenance, and lightening the eye with the intelligence of good sense.

'I know not,' said he to himself, as he rambled over the fields, 'what to make of this girl; she rea|sons as if she had reason, but it is quite in the old style. What is this love? What would my dear Stu|peo define it? A passion, that, like an optic glass, inverts its object. Ah! now I am satisfied she does not in reality possess any good quality: it is my pas|sion which deceives me, and she is no more an angel than the rest of her sex. All her virtues are only

like colours in objects, merely rays pressed in dif|ferent angles upon the eye. She herself is a blank, a mere white sheet of paper, and it remains for me to stamp upon her any character I please. As to beauty—what is beauty? Ask a negro of Guinea what is beauty, the supremely beautiful, the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 (to kalon,) he will answer you a greasy black skin, hollow eyes, and a flat nose. Consult the philosophers, they will tell you some unintelligi|ble jargon for answer—they must have something correspondent to beauty in the abstract.'

Having thus used the light of human reason in rational argument, Frederick determined that Laura must and should be his, not for his own sake, but for the promotion of freedom, and the spread of the truth.

'It is the universal good and greatest resulting benefit we are ever to have in view,' continued he: 'all the great men of the eighteenth century tell us we must not regard any contingencies, these be|ing only partial and unavoidable evils. It is plain the world must be peopled; for if it is not peopled, we philosophers would have nobody to revolutionize, and reason and logic, and ignorance, would be tan|tamount to the same. This then is the self-demon|strated hypothesis: this then is the grand basis to build upon; and as all things depend upon peopling the world, it follows, that to people the world is the most meritorious action of life. But how am I to con|tribute to this greatest good, if Laura persists in her notions of matrimony? It is impossible. I should then surrender my freedom, and freedom is even a great|er good than life itself. Some middle way must be devised; and though I abhor giving pain to any creature under the heavens, yet I must not be de|terred from peopling the world, by the tears, faint|ings,

and frettings of a woman who even does not know the great maxims of philosophy. What are tears? mere bubbles of water emitted from a par|ticular stimulus of the nerves of the eye: Women have weaker nerves than men, therefore tears from them are more common. As to fainting, that also depends on weak nerves:—Some will faint at the sight of a rat. Well, I cannot help the irritability of the nervous system:—A charming idea indeed! that, because women have weak nerves, the world is not to be peopled! Besides, am I not a philoso|pher? Yes: I have, and I will rise far above hu|man nature. Have I not seduced the mistress of my friend? Have I not been the means of a pretty girl and her father perishing in the flames? Have I not led a mob to burn down the metropolis of Great Britain? Have I not induced a wife to betray her husband, which caused his own and his children's death? Have I not lost three teeth and half my lit|tle finger in the cause of liberty? Have I not mur|dered my own mother? And shall the tears and lamentings of a girl prevent my marching forward in the high road of all-irradiating science, and peo|pling the world?

'O Philosophy! how few can contemplate thy sublime and terrific features: Thy feet stand upon the poles of the world—thy head is cinctured round with nubilated exhalations, whose volcanic entrails emit thunderings and lightenings that scatter all ex|istence around thee, and hecatombs of infidels and surdous men are reared or dispersed by the cata|clysms of thy scientific fulminations. When shall the catenas of mankind be decrepitated by the furnace of truth, ignited by the bellows of reason? When shall the ingannations of prejudice be delacerated, and the catachrestical reasonings of facinorous aris|tocrats

be dispanded by the zetetic spirit of the eighteenth century?'* 1.56

From this prodigious flight of the true sublime and unintelligible, Frederick suddenly descended to the consideration of more common action: simply, how he might promote the increase of mankind. It appeared no very easy task to do away the qualms of conscience in a modest girl, unless indeed he could prove to her that there was no such thing as con|science, which was a task of no great difficulty for a modern philosopher to undertake. Another small reflection occupied him, for he saw that he must proceed upon the principles of deception, and what then became of immutable truth? But on weighing over the maxims of political justice, he found that deception was extremely moral in affairs of love, and he was more than ever enamoured of the new philosophy, which seemed calculated for the com|fort of man.

He began with Doctor Alogos, whom he soon convinced of the non-entity of conscience; that reason was the only guide to truth, and passion the index to pleasure. Laura, the blind prejudiced Laura, was not to be wrought upon by the pro|foundness of his reasonings and the subtilty of his logic.—'Though I feel myself unequal to answer you,' said she, 'that by no means is an approval of your arguments; for I well know that by argument we can neither prove nor refute many things which yet we feel to be or not to be. For instance, you may tell me I am ten feet or only ten inches high; that my sight deceives me; and you may confound me with arguments to prove your assertion. But all those arguments will not change my opinion that I am only five feet high, nor will you persuade me that I have no conscience.'

One fine glowing evening, when the country was yellowed over with harvest, and the birds chirped amongst the hedges, which were hung with stalks of loose corn, Frederick and Laura took a walk to some distance, and, as it is very natural, discoursed on love by the way.

Frederick exerted all his eloquence upon the usual subject; but seeing that he made no impression, he transided into the more natural language of com|mon-place, such as has been the practice of all lovers since the flood, and such as will continue to win the hearts of the fair, till philosophy shall introduce a new set of ideas and sensations.—'I will,' said he, 'char|ming Laura, adopt your side of the question, for re|ally metaphysics do not altogether satisfy the heart.'

'Were you to forsake your wild opinions,' said Laura, 'you would become an agreeable member of society.'

'It is you,' he replied, 'who must make, me so; it is you I shall look up to for instruction; but re|member the sentiments of Rousseau in his Emilius. If woman be formed to please, and be subjected to man, it is her place doubtless to render herself agree|able to him instead of challenging his passion: the violence of his desires depends upon her charms; it is by means of these she should urge him to the ex|ertion of those powers nature has given him. The most successful method of exciting is to render such exertion necessary by resistance, as in that case self|love is added to desire, and the one triumphs in the victory which the other is obliged to acquire.'

'These sentiments were worthy a voluptuary,' replied Laura: 'they came, no doubt, warm from the heart of Rousseau.'

'Yes,' said Frederick, 'from the author of Eloisa we should expect strong expressions, but they are nevertheless true. You have read, Laura,

that charming romance. What did you feel at the first kiss of love? In a word, did not the whole per|formance set your soul on fire?'

'No,' replied Laura; 'I saw through the so|phistical jargon of rhapsodic language. I beheld only a man who kept a milliner, endeavouring to justify his actions to the world by drawing a fiery picture totally untrue. Do you think there is a man in the world like Wolmar? And what was St. Preux but a precious sentimental rascal, who, un|der the sanction of the most sacred friendship, plunders, a believing love-sick girl, and talks all the while about virtue and celestial innocence?'

Frederick found by this discourse that he should not easily contaminate the purity of her mind by the introduction of voluptuous subjects, for he knew of no book more likely to introduce a desire of dissi|pation than the celebrated Eloisa of Rousseau:* 1.57 he therefore resolved to supply his want of persua|sion by violence, beginning with those liberties of|ten allowed, till his passions throwing him off his guard, he exerted that prowess which men are en|dowed with for other purposes; but here he was again deceived, Laura not being one of those puny slips of fashion which shrink from the touch.

The philosopher was confounded at a resistance he had not expected from the delicate figure of the maid. He hung down his head in silent vexation at her keen reproaches; for shame he knew not, unless it was in stopping short of his heroic and pa|triotic intentions. He proposed, in a tone of voice much beneath the dignity of manhood to accom|pany her home, but she refused his offer with su|perlative disdain.

He turned away to philosophise, and call to his aid the doctrines of Stupeo: so chagrined was he at the disappointment, that he almost resolved never again to present himself before Doctor Alogos— but again he reflected, that it was unworthy a great man to stoop to accidents, it being more in the order of Nature that accidents should bend to them.

As he walked forward, wrapped in musing me|lancholy, a gleam of satisfaction darted across his mind—'Why' said he, internally, 'am I so griev|ed at a trifling disappointment:—I, who am a be|ing independent of the Universe, in how few years will age destroy the appetite for pleasure, and I shall then regret not having made more advantage of the fleeting moments. Did I bow down to the idols of priestcraft, I might be deterred from many ac|tions called crimes, by the dread of future punish|ment; but it is the height of monkish blindness to suppose there is any such thing as future punishment, and I am persuaded, I am certain, half mankind do not give credit to such shocking doctrines, or it would be impossible they could act as they do.— What lawyer would undertake a wrong cause? What guardian would ruin the orphan under his care? What wife would betray her husband? What son would disobey his father? What father would ruin his family with variety of excess? And what young man would, for the pleasure of half an hour, cajole, with false oaths and professions, a fair, be|lieving-tender-hearted girl into a misery that can end only with her life?—No; I am certain, if peo|ple believed any thing of revealed religion, none of this could happen. Then shall I be trammelled by such considerations? O Philosophy! divine light of the soul I thy consolations never fail in the hour of

distress. Beware, says St. Paul, lest men spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit; but Paul was an old woman, Paul knew nothing of eternal steep.'

Having thus confirmed his mind in these delecta|ble principles, he felt re-assured to his purpose, and inclined his thoughts to suggest the means of subdu|ing Laura.

Laura informed her uncle of the great designs of the vagabond Philosopher; but that disciple of the new school only cooly bid her be cautious, for no|thing in nature could be more natural.

Frederick was surprised to find the Doctor in good spirits; and no hint being dropped concerning his recent attempt, he already concluded Laura in his possession. He retired early to bed to digest his plan; and not being, able to sleep, he tumbled a|bout till midnight, when he was alarmed with a grating noise at the window beneath him. He lis|tened, and fancying he heard footsteps, arose, and was proceeding down stairs with a poker in his hand, when two men ascending, presented pistols at him, with threats of instant death, if he alarmed the house.

'Am I to be deterred from speaking the truth?' said Frederick: 'a truly virtuous man will proclaim the truth, amidst an host of foes.'

'D—n my glims,' said one of the ruffians, 'you are a rum quiz; but I suppose he is dream|ing.'

'If you will tell truth,' said the other, 'tell u•• where the old codger hides his cash.'

'Truth,' replied Frederick, 'is invariable: the great Stupeo declared that no circumstance could change its effects, and that it must be spoken at all times.'

'Well, out with it then, and no qualms.'

'In love,' continued Frederick, with sang froid,

'we may conceal the truth because it is an allowa|ble deception to deceive a girl to her own benefit, and the augmentation of mankind. But, for the sake of wealth, dross, trash, rubbish—'

'D—e' cried the first, 'you are a devilish rum one: only tell us where we may find the rubbish, and less of the gab.'

'This rabbish,' cried Frederick, 'the bane of so|ciety, the cause of all unnatural accumulations, of all the miseries of suffering man; what is this to truth, eternal and immutable truth?'

'Blow his brains out,' said the robber, 'if he don't instantly tell us where the possibles be.'

'We are not to be compelled to speak truth,' said Frederick: 'we should speak it for its own sake, and not to avoid any evil, or to promote any independent good: for instance, I could now, to avoid the evil you threaten, tell you that in the front parlour there are bank notes to the amount of fifty pounds, and that would satisfy you; but that is an equivocation, because you ask where the money is concealed, implying all. (Aye! aye! All! all!) Well, that being the case, and an equivocation being a lie, according to Dr. Paley, I continue to tell you, that under his bed in the back room, on the second floor, is an iron chest, where you will find the remainder, and thus it is clearly demonstrated that—'

'Aye, aye, clear enough,' cried the thieves, 'don't say a word more—go back to your own bed and sleep in a sound skin.'

I am not obliged, said Frederick to himself, to run hazards in proclaiming truth when it is not re|quired. Perhaps these patriots intend to murder the old Doctor: well, suppose they do, what will be the resulting consequences? Ignorant, unillum|ined

people, in stating this fine and metaphysical argument, would talk about gratitude—that is to|tally exploded in political justice. A servant might urge his being obliged to serve his master, but I am no servant; and a servant would be condemned if he did not assist to destroy his master in the cause of truth, by the new system. But what possible good will result to mankind by the death of the Doctor? Is he not one of us? Is he not an enlightened phi|losopher of the eighteenth century? He has already created three or four riots in the parish, and ren|dered the people so dissatisfied, that they will nei|ther work nor play. A revolution seems maturing in this little spot, that shall light the torch of liberty all over Europe: and shall this man be cut off by men who seem unorganized to systematic depreda|tion—men who do not seem to plunder upon princi|ple? No; the whole human race would suffer in his loss.

These arguments were convincing, and he hast|ened with the poker in his hand to the chamber.— The robbers had drawn out the chest, and emptied its contents, when Doctor Alogos awaking, began to call aloud for assistance, and the robbers swore they would cut his throat if he was not silent. At that instant Frederick burst into the room, and one of the thieves fired, but missed him. A blow of the poker tore off the rascals car, and shook his arm so rudely, that the pistol fell to the floor, and the Doc|tor having reached a blunderbuss, they hurried a|way, carrying with them the notes and cash with which they filled their pockets, swearing they would shoot whoever attempted to follow them.

'My dear Frederick,' cried the Doctor, embrac|ing him, 'you are a brave fellow, and this savour shall not go unrewarded: you may always rely on my friendship.'

'Friendship!' exclaimed Frederick. 'Has

fear clouded your intellects? Friendship is well enough for boarding-school girls, who are plotting intrigues. You must esteem me for my intrinsic value, and not because I have done you a service. No man ought to return favour for favour—that is an old obsolete doctrine, done away entirely by the new political justice. Hear the great sentiments of the great Stupeo on favours:—'It may be objected,' said he, 'that a mutual commerce of benefits tends to increase the mass (or cube lump) of benevolent action, and that to increase the mass of benevolent action is to contribute to the general good: indeed, is the general good promoted by felsehood, by treating a man of one degree of worth, as if he had ten times that worth? or, as if he were in any de|gree different from what he really is? Would not the most beneficial consequences result from a dif|ferent plan, from my constantly and carefully inquir|ing into the deserts of all those with whom I am connected, and from their being sure, after a certain allowance for the infallibility of human judgment, of being treated by me exactly as they deserved? Who can tell the effects of such a plan universally adopt|ed?'* 1.58

'Not even the profound Stupeo himself, 'said Doctor Alogos. 'I very much fear we shall never arrive at that perfection of knowledge, so as to be sure and yet uncertain of the quantity of merit: had that great man lived, he would, no doubt, have made a barometer, which, upon being applied to the object, would instantly settle to the exact degree of worth.'

'The idea is original,' cried Frederick, 'and I am persuaded he would have attempted its com|pletion, for mind in that case would overcome mat|ter.

Alas! what has the world lost by the death of such a man, who only was rescued from the gallows to be shot in a riot. O Fortune! what a jilt art thou to men of genius and science.'

'Nothing more true,' said the Doctor, with a sigh. 'Here is an end of our great projects of re|formation, for my rents come in very slowly, the wretches declaring they have a right to the ground rent free, and here I have lost five hundred pounds.'

'It is the vile government we live under,' said Frederick; 'a monarchy is a mere excrescence, and a disease in the body of society: the wars it oc|casions, and the lavish revenues by which it is main|tained, make it unbearable. Ah! if we could fly from its evils and re-assume the primitive simplici|ty of mankind; if we could shake off all sorts of governments, and live to ourselves as independent and rational beings, we should then pay no taxes: Laura should be my companion, and Susan yours: —there beneath vine trees of our own planting, we should sit and talk of love: beneath the date tree and the olive we should sing hymns of peace, and in the sylvan shades should we be united in har|mony and celestial affections. Our children would promiscuously grow up untainted by the world, and no tyrant should violate the chastity of our daughters at his imperious will.'

'Oh! charming,' cried the Doctor, dressing him|self. 'Go and wake Laura instantly, and before to-morrow's sun raises the blue mists of the lake, we will be on our journey to this terrestial para|dise.

Frederick, impressed with equal rapture at the romantic idea, and repeating to himself anathemas against the tyrants who have debased unthinking in|nocence, he hastened to the chamber of Laura.—

He found her half dressed, having been alarmed at the cries of her uncle. She blushed at being thus exposed to the eyes of so great a philosopher, and that blush drove all the tyrants from the mind of Frederick. He clasped the fair maid in his arms, and at that moment Doctor Alogos entered to tell his niece the service he had received from the in|terposition of the virtuous hero.

Frederick, in such a situation, would have been confused if he had not been a very great man: but he was arrived at so much perfection, that he could listen to his own praise in the moment he wished to perpetrate what with half mankind would have ren|dered him an object of detestation; but this attain|ment could only be acquired by a steady attention to all the enlightened doctrines of the eighteenth century, and is called the bold, unblushing front of manly truth.

Laura rejoiced at the escape of her uncle, for her bosom was only too susceptible of gratitude, and she almost forgave the attack upon herself. She, how|ever, objected to the plan of emigration, as a wild-goose chase after happiness; and the arguments she used almost convinced the Doctor that all pleasure was ideal, for, as to dates and olives, not a single tree grows in all North America, which obliged Frederick to own he meant only figurative expres|sion.

Frederick was too candid to conceal his discourse with the robbers, and Doctor Alogos could not re|frain observing, that, though truth ought to be spo|ken at all times, yet, if it cost five hundred pounds, it was as well to be silent.

CHAPTER XII. The introduction of a very great Man—Matter and Spirit discussed—the raising of the Dead by natural magic.

THE harmony of the family once more restor|ed, the public good became again their chief care, but an accident happened that very much checked their proceedings. A countryman had been detect|ed offering one of the notes which had been stolen, and was carried before a Justice of the Peace, where he was identified by Frederick and the Doctor.— He pleaded very much in his own favour, protesting that it was his first crime, and that his accomplice had carried away the whole booty except that single note.

'And how,' said the Justice, 'could you be guilty of so great an offence when you could not be igno|rant of the law?'

'That be very true, your honour,' replied the man: 'but I did hear Doctor Alogos in his pulpit reading a great book of political justice, which did say as how no law ought to punish offenders for a crime that be done, because as that it were not like|ly, please your worship, that any man should com|mit the same again, and no man ever committed the same offence in all its sarcumstances, as the law do mention. So, your honour, I thought that I did see clear enough, that if I did not do the action as the law did forbid, I were not guilty. Beside, and more your honour, I were near starving, having lost my

playse because I would not attend church on a Sun|day, nor work like a neger, as the Doctor did tell us we all were, as laboured for the rich; and so, your honour, I had nothing to do but to starve, and the day were once, when I would have starved rather than do a dishonest act: but Doctor Alogos did tell us that there were no such thing as dishonesty; that it were all a tale to cheat us out of our right; and that the poor ought to have the lands of the rich divided: so, playse your honour, I were in a strange quandary, and though my heart did misgive me, I were persuaded to begin with the Doctor, as it were but proper he should practise what he did preach.'

'Doctrines like these,' said the Justice, 'are certainly of the most pernicious tendency, and, in fact, Doctor Alogos, this man appears to me less guilty than yourself. You know I must commit him if you prosecute, but I should suppose you would not wi••h to appear in such a situation; and I hope this will be a warning to this simple man, and teach him to follow the track of his fore-fathers.'

'Such,' cried Frederick, 'is the blessed effects of property! The great philosopher Stupeo, used to say, that the fruitful source of crimes consists in one man's possessing in abundance that of which another man is destitute. This day gives us a proof of it; for this poor man would not have attempted the robbery, notwithstanding the beam of truth which ••••ashed on the obscurity of his mind, had it not been from want.'

'It is not my place,' said the Justice, mildly, 'to attend to arguments; my business is with facts; but, for the good of my countrymen who are round me, I will observe, that this is the general topic of modern reformers, but like most other of their per|nicious

principles, it is erroneous. Thieves, nine|ty-nine out of the hundred, are idle and dissipated, and in general possess that ingenuity, which, rightly employed, would raise them to considerable emi|nence. Drunkenness and lust are their great in|centives to outrage, and not the want of food and raiment, the latter being, with a very small excep|tion, in the power of every one who is willing and who has strength to work. It is likewise to be re|membered, that, in the professed system of equality and property, no man is to enjoy or possess more than food and raiment, all else being luxury. It has been urged, that some have been starved to death for want of encouragement, who had genius and tal|ents; but let this be remembered, that it was ow|ing to their employing those talents in a wrong way. Chatterton, for instance, starved as an author, but he might have maintained himself well as a school|master; but, you will say, can any man of feeling speak so coldly of so great a genius? We will not talk of feeling, but reason. When I speak of Chatterton, I mean it of all others. Chatterton knew his abilities, and he wished to force the world to acknowledge him at once—but this must always be a work of time. Placing his whole dependence on one foun|dation, he was too proud to stoop from the high throne of poetic exaltation; whereas, had he be|come a school-master, he might have lived and watch|ed the progress of his productions to the climax which awaited them. Again I would seriously ob|serve, and would to heaven I could be heard by all mankind; this man here accused of robbery tells you one means of losing his place was, disregard of Sundays—mark with your own eyes the difference of those who do attend the service of God, and those who do not▪—I will not mention sects of religion; but look at those who pay a reverence to holy things.

sobriety directs their way; they have no taste for profligacy, and they rarely sink into ruin from their own vices. But let us see those men who despise the formality of church, and spend the Sunday in drinking and gaming; idleness and debauchery powerfully seize on the mind in these vacant mo|ments, and thus it is from the cottage to the mansion that we may in general draw a man's moral char|acter from his attention to Sunday; and we need none of us look far round, without, as it were, per|ceiving that even in the transient prosperity of this world, God has distinguished those who obey his commandments.'

The attention of the numerous company assem|bled was arrested by the approach of a crowd of peo|ple. The poor labourer was discharged (for in the interior of the country, Justices of the Peace are extremely arbitrary.) Frederick hastened into the yard, wher••▪ amongst a troop of wom••n and coun|try people, appeared a thin, sallow complexioned man, with one eye, and a large g••sh on one side of his face, which added to the gloom of his countenance a trait of ferocity and malignant ex|pression.

Frederick gazed upon him a few 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with a look of surprise.—'Is it possible,' cried he, 'I behold the profound and immortal Stupeo? Are you resuscitated, or were you not hanged nor mur|dered?—Can I believe my eyes?'

'It is I,' cried the great philosopher himself: 'I have escaped these evils by accident, but I have lost my eye in the cause of freedom. How, my dear Frederick, are you here? How could you possibly escape the vengeance of that glorious night?'

'Another time,' answered Frederick, 'I will tell you every thing; but, why are you deprived

of your liberty?—Have you fallen at last under the gripe of that many-fanged monster—the Law?'

'This is a mere trifle,' said Stupeo: 'I am ac|cused of marrying three wives, and as it is not a criminal process, I shall escape with finding bail to maintain them. So much for the glorious uncer|tainty of that profound abyss—the Law.'

'But is it possible,' cried Doctor Alogos, 'that you, Sir, the great and powerful opponent of mat|rimony, should be married to three at once? This strikes me as a contradiction."

'That is, Sir,' replied Stupeo, with a look of su|periority, 'because you are but little versed in the sublime doctrine of political justice. Sir, you would there find that contradictions are nothing in the way of truth;—but here there is no contra|diction. The excess of an evil is always a reme|dy; as, for instance, when the militia of Europe shall exceed the standing armies, and all the cit|izens become soldiers, the evil of standing armies will cease, as the power of directing them to the destruction of the people will be gone* 1.59. In like manner, a man who has three or more wives may live as free as though unmarried, for he has only to go to the altar with any female whom he judges capable of adding to the stock of general, or result|ing good.'

Frederick was struck with this profound argu|ment; and the company being now ordered be|fore the Justice, he paused to reflect whether, af|ter all means were tried of subduing Laura, he might not adopt this plan without infringing the principles of liberty.

Doctor Alogos, who, had he not imbibed the new philosophy, would have been a man of be|nevolence, agreed to pay a stipend for the main|tenance of the young woman at whose suit the great philosopher had been detained, and, proud of hav|ing so celebrated a man for his guest, (though at present a little in disorder) he invited him to the mansion-house.

Laura started with surprise at the sight of so shocking a being in human form, and not being able to discern the wonderous patriot beneath his unseemly habit (for females are strangely impressed by exteriors,) she concluded it one of the robbers of her uncle, and scarcely knew whether to run away or stay.

The name of Stupeo which she had often heard, arrested her attention, and when she gazed more minutely on the master, she ceased to wonder at the eccentricities of the scholar.

When they were seated and refreshed, the Doctor enquired in what state Stupeo had found the people of England in his excursion?—'In what state!' cried he, 'why, absolutely starving and undone: the whole country is in a rapid consumption, and no efforts of man can save it. I may say, without vanity, I have done my endeavours. I have had twelve illegitimate children, but not one of them could bear the air of this foggy climate. I have had three wives, but still the people decrease—pop|ulation is rapidly declining. What with emigra|tion, and the prevailing taste for celibacy, I am con|vinced this island will, in a very few years, become an howling wild, and its sea shores a place for fisher|mens' nets. The sun of science is hastening west|ward from these benighted lands, and it becomes every rational man to follow its beams.'

'I have long meditated on the subject,' said the Doctor: 'I would not proceed rashly, but I find the people of this country so tenacious in their sup|port of an old rotten constitution, so wedded to old principles, that we are thwarted at every mo|tion by some cross accident, and they are such gross fools, that the most palpable facts they invert to contrary tendencies.'

'I am on fire,' cried Frederick: 'I a•• deter|mined to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a freer air; and let me tell you, the man who remains voluntarily in a despotic country lends his countenance and support to the measures of that country.'

In the evening Stupeo and Frederick took a walk, when the latter requested his tutor to inform him of the accidents he had met with since their first separation, their meeting in London having been so momentary, and their minds so employed on great exploits, that they had no time for private relations.

'It would be impossible,' said Stupeo, 'to de|tail all the actions I have engaged in; I must there|fore briefly enumerate them in a sort of catalogue. The life of a philosopher ought to be perpetually changing. First, then, I was appointed tutor to some young ladies, one of whom I took a fancy to (for I am not very difficult of choice), and the fa|ther having prevented me from starving, it was im|possible I could do less than instruct his daughter in the new philosophy of political justice. He was, however, such a bigot to the old school, that he kicked me out of his house, and I remained for some time nearly starved, when I had an undenia|ble right to dine at the richest table in the kingdom. A trifling forgery I had been induced to commit, not for any purpose of self-interest, that would

have been morally wrong, but merely to take a little from the fortune of a man who wallowed in wealth he could not consume, was the means of introducing me to the cells of Newgate: such is the present detestable system, fencing round proper|ty with capital punishments, so that it is next to impossible to reduce the horrid amassments of wealth into more equal channels.

'After I was shot and trod down, I lay some time insensible, when a surgeon's man dragged me into a bye alley, and whipping me into a sack, carried me to his master's dissecting-room. Having prepared himself for a grand experiment, he was surprised to find that I was not wholly dead, and applying some powerful stimulants, I opened my eyes.

'I was astonished to see stooping over me, an haggard figure, dressed in a brown stuff gown streak|ed with blood; in a belt hung a parcel of instru|ments, and round the room were various prepara|tions of anatomy, with saws and skeletons hung up|on nails. I inclined my eyes to see my own situa|tion:—a wet cloth bound my head, and I found that I was lying naked upon a large table clotted with morsels of skin and flesh. I fancied myself in the inquisition.

'Fiends!' said I, 'is this your way of promot|ing your superstitions? You would make me believe in the immortality of the soul; but matter is eter|nal—and as to the soul, it is like the sap in vegeta|bles, when it leaves one form, it goes to impress mo|tion on another: it is a bundle of ideas perpetually changing, and never is the same two moments to|gether; and yet this fleeting something you would make me believe is immortal.'

'Are you an Atheist?' said the surgeon.

'No,' cried I, 'I am no Atheist, I am a new philosopher. Helvetius says, he is no Atheist who

says that motion is God, because, in fact, motion is incomprehensible, as we have no clear idea of it, as it does not manifest itself but by its effects, and lastly, because by it all things are performed in the universe.'

'Then you call motion God?'—'Certainly,' said I, 'because it is incomprehensible.'

'Then whatever is incomprehensible is God?— But, what do you say of the cause of motion?'

'That must be motion itself, because passive power cannot act, and active power is action or mo|tion.'

He took a lancet, and making a slight incision in my thigh, dropped upon the part a few drops of elixir, which threw me into such intolerable pain, that I started on my legs and made at him like a fury.

'Is it a Deity,' cried he, 'that acts on you? You are under some strange impression.—Do you com|prehend the cause of your motion?'

'That fluid,' said I, 'has cut to my soul, and stimulated my nerves to a convulsive motion.'

'How say you? What then is motion mechanical! If so, how is motion God? But, do you compre|hend the reason why this elixir ran like fire to your brains?'—'No.'—'Not comprehend it? Why then this elixir is your God: It is an incomprehensible cause of incomprehensible motion.'

'I might reply in the words of Mr. Hume,' said I:—'If you do not believe as I do, I must confess I can reason with you no longer.' 'But, however,' continued I, 'to give you a clear idea of this grand doctrine of motion:—The internal organization of abstract principles coming in contact with tangible substances, forms a concatenation of resulting con|sequences, demonstrating the powers of loco, im|pinging

motion, resulting from the chance arrange|ment of ponderous bodies, subsiding in concocted masses, and assuming a form in vac••.'

'My dear Sir,' cried the surgeon, 'I can form no clear idea of your incomprehensible discourse, and yet I should not take you for a Deity—at least you must be one in disguise.'

'You must allow, however,' said I, 'that chance has produced every thing, and directs every thing.'

'So far the contrary, that chance produces noth|ing, and cannot direct any thing; this elixir acted on you as it would on a thousand others. What appears chance to us is only an invisible cause, of which we see the effect. In some cases we may trace up the effects to a great First Cause, who must, from our very nature, be to us incomprehensible; but not for that reason non-existent, or on the con|trary, because many things possess this our attribute to us, are we to call them Deities? For if so, every phenomanon of nature would become a Deity, and the philosopher of the eighteenth century would have more Gods than the ancient heathens.'

I saw by these arguments that he was so wrapped up in the mists of the old school, that it was no use attempting his reformation, and finding I was not in the Inquisition, I rejoiced at having escaped the muskets of the soldiers and the fangs of Jack K••••ch, not for my own sake, that was out of the question, but for the sake of universal man.

After my recovery, with the loss of an eye, I liv|ed some time with this anatomist, being frequently employed in raising the dead, which to me was a mat|ter of indifference, because I knew that all things in nature were merely modifications of the same matter, there being no difference between a putrid carcase

and a bank of violets, except in the perception of our ideas.

The surgeon frequently lamented the necessity there was for this barbarous practice, as he called it. —'Were we allowed,' said he, 'all unclaimed bodies which die in hospitals, all malefactors, of every des|cription, and all suicides, we should not need to dis|turb the repose of sacred bodies, whose place af|fection laments and visits, when perhaps they have been mangled to pieces in our lecture-room, or sold piecemeal, at fixed prices, like butchers' meat, to any person.* 1.60 The dissection of suicides would be a greater preventive to the action than all the laws of felo de se, because the plea of insanity would not abrogate the consequence.'

My practice of plundering the church-yards at the most solemn hours, under danger of detection, and what was worse, under the fear of infection from diseases nearly advanced to putrescence before the interment; to break open a coffin, and carry in my arms a naked body, whose scent was sufficient to ferment a plague, was an undertaking that re|quired all the resolution of philosophy, and fitted me for the event of any revolution or combustion of nature.

One day I observed to Dr. Cuticle, that it was to me a plain demonstration from the structure of the animal oeconomy, and its tendency to putrescence, that it was like every other material substance; that the derangement of any one part affecting an imma|terial, impalpable something, called the soul, was a g•• bigotry; for, were the soul an immortal spirit, it

could not be affected by matter—it could not feel pain in disease.—He replied,

'Place a man in perfect health in a circular room, glazed round, some of the windows shall be green, some red, and some blue: you will grant that in looking through these windows he will see ob|jects of different colours and shades, but yet his own sight shall be clear and perfect. If the win|dows are dirty, he will see objects obscure; and if they are painted black, the surrounding scenes will to him be invisible; so the human soul, placed in the body, like the man in the room, can receive no external impression but through that body. His reasonings will take various shades, his passions and affections will be variously combined; but this does not deduce from his perfection as a man, but proves that the soul may be immortal, and yet obliged to partake of every accident which touches or acts up|on its habitation.'

To this I replied—'Modern philosophers define the soul to be an immaterial substance, in the strict use of the term, signifying a substance that has no extension of any kind, nor any thing of the vis inertia that belongs to matter: it has neither length, breadth, nor thickness, so that it occupies no portion of space; on which account the most rigorous metaphysicians say, that it bears no sort of relation to space any more than sound does to the eye, or light to the ear: in fact, that spirit and space have nothing to do with one another, and it is even improper to say an im|material being exists in space, or that it resides in one place more than another, for, properly speaking, it is no where, but has a mode of existence that cannot be expressed by phraseology appropriated to the modes in which matter exists* 1.61.'

Cuticle bowed profoundly at this observation— 'You have proved to a demonstration in words,' said he, 'that we have no soul: to answer you in words would be an easy matter. I must confess that modern philosophy has something in it sublimely unintelligible: it is like the definition you have given, a substance without substance, a cube, long, broad, and wide, but occupying no place, and has no more relation to reason and sense, than nothing has to something, and something to nothing.—It is even improper to say philosophy exists any where, or that it is here more than there, for, properly speaking, it is no such thing: its mode of existence cannot be ex|pressed in any language utterable by the human tongue. Such an argument as this may be applied to any thing, and would disprove the existence of the whole universe.'

So saying, he turned away to pursue some ana|tomical preparation, and I saw clear enough that we have no souls at all. My present employ was not congenial to my desire of benefiting mankind. I was like a gem hid in the mud, and I resolved to quit my situation. Indeed, the house-maid had been a little troublesome, for in teaching her some of Munro's anatomical comparisons, we were natural|ly led from theory to practice, for she had so much of the modern spirit of inquiry, that she frequently attended dissections promiscuously with the other sex* 1.62.'

I rambled over great part of the country under different professions, and gained a great deal of mo|ney from a certain medicine that was an infallible cure while I staid in the town. Wherever I went I disseminated the new doctrine of universal emanci|pation;

I made many converts from religion, and taught the ignorant peasant to read the great book of Nature. I may say that mankind are infinitely obliged to me for the knowledge of various griev|ances they never so much as dreamed of till I point|ed them out.

'My dear master,' said Frederick, 'you are a martyr to your virtues; but here you may rest for a time.

CHAPTER XIII. The formation of the World—a strange event results from a political Lecture, which disgusts the philoso|phers with society.

THE following day, Frederick, in the garden, informed his tutor with his passion for Laura; that he debated with himself as to the resulting good, and found a sort of hesitation to use her with too much violence.

'I will let you into a mystery,' said Stupeo. 'The great mass of mankind are fools, and no better than the callous sod on which we tread. It is the part of the great men and philosophers to mould them as they please; and when we have shaken off the in|fluence of every thing called principle, are satisfied we have no portion in eternity, and that the fable of an avenging Deity is an old woman's tale, what

power, I ask, can controul us? We become almost too great for the world; mind seems to rise superior to matter; crime becomes nothing; all that men call murder, incest, lust, and cruelty, is trifling, not more, in fact, than changing the form of passive matter, or cutting down the trees of the forest: for, remember, we cannot destroy any thing, we only change its form; and suppose a woman dies under our hands, her death makes room for another; the same as plucking a turnip makes room for the plant|ing of a cabbage.'

'I feel,' cried Frederick, 'I feel I am now free. —I shall render my name immortal, for no human tie—no moral check shall stay the purpose of my power. But it seems true, after all, that a society of atheists could not exist, they would murder and be murdered: no trust could be placed upon any man; the king would assassinate the man who af|fronted him; the courtier would assassinate the man who opposed him; the wife would assassinate her husband, when disappointed in meeting her lover; no girl would arrive at the age of maturity; and the human species would soon become extinct.'

'And what then?' said Stupeo. 'The same spirit which now actuates our bodies▪ must then actuate something else:—you cannot annihilate that subtle gas; and if it does not give motion to men, it may to some new species:—who knows but it may animate the trees and plants with rational facul|ties* 1.63—it would make this world a very different place.'

'I should like to see it,' said Frederick. 'Meta|physics are surely the most useful of the sciences;

but here comes Laura and the Doctor. We have been discoursing,' continued he, 'on matter and spirit, and it appears plain that matter is eternal, and spirit mere fermentation.'

'I wonder,' said the Doctor, 'how our world was so admirably formed, unless it was by the power of an omnipotent Being.'

'Our earth,' cried Stupeo, 'was once a part of the sun, a molten mass, when a large comet brush|ing too near that luminary, dashed off a considera|ble portion, which flew till the natural motion form|ed it into a spheroid, and it began to cool. The at|mosphere round it formed the ocean, and the fric|tion of this vast body of waters upon the scoria and cinders, which composed the great skeleton of the world, formed the sands of the sea, which sub|sided into large beds, rising by degrees to the sur|face, where the action of the sun hardened the su|perfices. The heat of this luminary upon the pu|trid particles of the sea generated shell-fish, which are evidently most allied to stone of any animal we know. These possessed the whole of the ocean for some thousand ages, and being by the gravita|tion of the earth, thrown into large chains of beds, in the progress of time decaying and cementing to|gether with the olaginous-substance they contained▪ the shells became stones, forming mountains.— Thus we always find shells in every body of rock, and on the highest mountains. Every great change produced a revolution, and from the soft ••lime of shelly mountains, vegetables were produced.—This new form of matter decaying and fermenting, ani|mals, such as lyons, tygers, bulls and monkeys, were produced. The latter was man in his original state. It was some thousand years before he learnt to walk upon his hind legs, some thousand more before he pull|ed off his shaggy coating; but it is not material for me to trace him in every improvement, till he ac|quired

a full face from the effects of a change of cli|mate, and learnt the articulation of sounds by imi|tating the babbling of a brook, for he is to this day a creature imitating every other animal, and nothing is more clear than that he was originally an Ouran-outang.'

'It strikes me,' said Laura, 'that your system is a little preposterous; and one is led to inquire where you stood when the earth was a liquid stream of melting fire? But, with regard to man, I would observe, that had he ever been a mere brute ani|mal, he never would have changed his nature; he never could have acquired perfectability, for we never see the least progression in animals, nor are monkeys, at this period, one single degree advanc|ed beyond what they were three thousand years ago; but, nevertheless,' said she, with a look of irony, 'when one sees some people, they are apt to acknowledge the relationship, and when they hear the chatter of jingling, unmeaning sentences, they are apt to cry out, that the Ouran-outang is the better man.'

Stupeo could not but feel this sally, but it was beneath his philosophical metaphysical dignity to re|gard, or even reply to this reasoning of a woman, who was not illuminated with the splendid rays of intellect.

Frederick often sought an opportunity to accom|plish his schemes, but sought in vain, the vigilance of Laura precluding a possibility of success. He more than once attempted to infuse a drug into her drink; but whether she suspected him or no, she al|ways avoided any thing from his hands which would admit adulteration.

Peace was about this time established with Amer|ica, and the whole country rang with exultation. —During the war, no one had more execrated the system than the Doctor, and every lecture conclud|ed

with an apostrophe to peace. He now mounted the pulpit in the Hall of Science, (the name of the lecture barn) and to prove that he was a very great philosopher could find fault with every thing, and was staunch at all times and all seasons against gov|ernment. He declared that the peace was the most disgraceful that could possibly be made; that it would not continue a twelvemonth before we should be driven from Canada. He declared, that, like Milton's devils, mankind were only born for re|bellion and revolution, that all their joy was to riot in destruction, murder, and violation.

A number of soldiers who were returning to their families, hearing these great truths, swore the Doctor was insulting them. A sailor, with one leg, threw a crab cudgel at the head of the Doctor, which narrowly escaped him. Frederick leaped upon a bench, vociferating, 'Citizens! the cause of all mankind is involved in this dispute: we ought to know whether these vagabonds are to insult us in our halls, and in our temples. Truth is sacred, and I will speak it, though a legion of spies were around me.'

'Citizens!' roared out Stupeo, 'you are under military government; the Philistines are upon us; the freedom of speech has departed, and you are all slaves bound in chains, and riveted by your own su|pineness.'

Anarchy and confusion now reigned in the Hall. The benches were broken in pieces and served for clubs. A desperate battle ensued, as some few of the country people stood by the Doctor; but they were soon completely drubbed, and fled in different routes. Doctor Alogos and his two companions found a temporary shelter in the mansion, and to their astonishment, saw their principal hearers the most violent.

'What shall be done?' cried the Doctor, trem|bling most philosophically: 'This enraged beast, this many-headed monster will devour us.'

'Reverence the divine majesty of a mob,' cried Stupeo; 'all their motions possess energy, and all their actions justice. This is a mere momentary fermentation, the effervescence of popular frenzy▪ and will subside into a delightful calm.'

'But what are we to do in the mean time? We shall be murdered!'

'A mere trifle, my dear Doctor:—a mere re|modification of matter.'

'A remodification of the devil: I don't at all like this.'

'It is a d—d aristocratical church-and-king mob,' cried Frederick. 'I have been to talk to them, but they are deaf to the voice of reason; they are increased by a number of market-women, who vow vengeance against Stupeo for his three wives, and the Doctor for his kept mistress. This is no repub|lican mob, inspired with the divine frenzy of liberty and equality.'

'Oh! curse it,' cried Doctor Alogos, 'they seem to have liberty enough; they are treading down my fine flower-garden like an herd of swine; there go all my exotic shrubs!—I believe they are a troop of Goths and Vandals, who pay no regard to science.'

'There is your whole congregation!' cried Laura, weeping. 'My dear uncle, they are all gone mad; they are talking about rights and li|berties, and destroying every thing before them.'

'Let us defend ourselves,' cried Frederick, run|ning to the front window. 'Citizens!' cried he, 'is it thus you abuse your friends?'

'Friends!' shouted a countryman, 'there be no su••h thing as friendship. Equality for ever!—

and down with the Doctor!' Frederick immediate|ly fired a fowling-piece, loaded with small shot. A volley of stones was returned, which broke half the windows in front, and dashed out one of the orator's teeth. Stupeo instantly advanced, with a blunder|buss, which he fired, and checked the fury of the mob for an instant; but the soldiers leading the at|tack swore they would murder man, woman and child, and burn the house to the ground.

Not a moment was to be lost in this case of ex|treme necessity; and Frederick even debated whe|ther the resulting good did not require him to join the mob, and aid them in the destruction of proper|ty. All the Doctor's cabinet of natural history was destroyed; his fine library made a bon-fire, and his elegant mansion was reduced to ashes, amidst the shouts of liberty and equality.

The fugitives found shelter in the house of a neighbouring gentleman, who saved them from the madness of the mob. 'For me,' cried Frederick, 'I am determined not to remain another week in this vile island, where there is not one single spark of liberty and national spirit remaining.'

'What do you call this?' demanded the Doctor: 'I think it is liberty sufficient to burn a man's house about his ears.'

'But that must have been a mob hired by the go|vernment,' said Stupeo: 'had it been a republican mob, it would have been a different thing; we should then have had a fine display of rational prin|ciples.'

'All mobs,' said the gentleman, 'are alike, what|ever name you may give them. Mischief is their only desire—plunder the only object. To their lead|ers they are a subject of perpetual dread. For my part, I would rather live under a Turkish Bashaw,

or in a country under martial law, than in a revo|lutionary country governed by mobs.'

'For this reason,' said Stupeo, 'you are a man of property, but for a man without any property, the latter is preferable, as it renders, in a summary way, the accumulations of wealth.'

'But then,' answered the gentleman, 'you are not one moment sure of your plunder; a stronger man may tear it from you, and, like a worm caught by a chicken, the whole flock will in turn catch it from each other, till it is either pulled in pieces, or gulphed down by some one at the hazard of choak|ing.'

'But that has nothing to do with liberty,' cried Frederick. 'All riches, and especially hereditary riches, are to be considered as the salary of a sinecure office, where the labourer and the manufacturer perform the duties, and the principal spends the in|come in luxury and idleness. Hereditary wealth is in reality a premium paid to idleness, an immense annuity expended to retain mankind in brutality and ignorance, by the want of leisure (or time to be idle.) The rich are furnished indeed with the means of cultivation and literature, but they are paid for being dissipated and indolent. The most powerful means that malignity could have invented, are em|ployed to prevent them from improving their tal|ents, and becoming useful to the public.* 1.64'

'You have made a very long speech,' said the gen|tleman, 'on a very short subject: All you have said amounting to this, that the poor are ignorant, because they have not leisure to be idle, and the rich are ig|norant, because they are paid to be idle; so that, in fact, all real knowledge centres in yourself; and I have very little doubt, but, in your eyes, all the rest

of mankind are little more than ideas, or at best ma|chines.'

'I will prove it by a demonstrable argument,' cried Stupeo.

'They are very destructive▪ ideas then,' said Doctor Alogos. 'To say the truth, I am become quite sick of society, and all human nature togeth|er. I will go and bury myself in the wilderness of America, where no mob will burn my house and destroy my library.'

'Oh!' cried Frederick, 'there the people are free;—there the spirit of truth sought with irresis|tible energy: republicans always fight with double ardour.'

'Enthusiasm,' said the gentleman, 'is no proof of either truth or justice; but it is certain to inspire a desperate spirit in those who feel it, let the cause be liberty, religion, rebellion, revenge, plunder, or what not; though it is very well to ascribe to the justice of the cause what in fact is only due to the intoxicating enthusiasm of attaining a point— Revenge in general inspires revolutions. The people feel the evils they suffer under; they forget that a change most probably will be for the worse; and to be revenged on one set of men, they become slaves of another. I believe there never yet hap|pened a revolution, where the then living genera|tion did not feel accumulated ill, and the benefit to the next is very doubtful. Time, and the natural improvement of the human mind, gradually intro|duces reform, and in our own constitution we find always some trifle to improve; and it is well known, that at this moment we enjoy more real liberty than any of our ancestors; for in the days, called the gold|en days of good Queen Bess, did not she grant so many monopolising patents, that a gentleman de|manded

in the house, if there was not going to be a patent for selling bread.'

The next day the Doctor began to arrange his plans of emigration, procuring all the information he could of that delectable country, where poor peo|ple live better than the rich; where provisions are so plentiful, you have money to take them away; where more is paid to mechanics for their labour than the articles sell for; where there are no taxes, and where the travellers bundle with the daughters of the family.

Frederick felt his enthusiasm rise at this descrip|tion, and determined to accompany the Doctor to Philadelphia, one of the finest and most regular ci|ties in the world.—'It is there,' said he, 'we shall begin to breathe on the broad basis of truth and reason; there all the puerile distinctions of religion and country are unknown, and man is respected for his good qualities.'

Laura raised many objections to the scheme, and Susan absolutely, refused to trust herself in a foreign country without being married. Thus the Doctor was under a philosophical necessity of complying with a superstitious custom; and he could not re|frain observing, that if he would have submitted to matrimony before, he might have married a lady of education and fortune, and not an ignorant pert baggage, who assumed the airs of a lady, without the qualifications.

The estate and ruins of the mansion being sold, the Doctor determined to set out without putting in his claim to the damages he could demand from the county.

Frederick for a while suspended his designs up|on Laura, foreseeing, that when they should be settled in a wilderness, she must of necessity be ei|ther

his or Stupeo's, and he had no doubt but she would prefer the greater good.

CHAPTER XIV. Reflections in a storm—the delights of Philadelphia— the Doctor purchases a large estate in Kentucky.

A PLEASANT gale wasted these adventurers from the detestable island, where every thing was conducted in the worse manner possible, and where law and religion influenced the majority of men. Their hopes were high, and they discoursed and disputed with true metaphysical ardour. The rest of the passengers were mechanics and countrymen, going over to make their fortunes, and the praises of America bounded from one mouth to another.

'I am astonished,' said a man who had sold a very good trade to emigrate, 'I am astonished that any man remains in Europe, when all the blessings of life await him in America. I am going to pur|chase some lots of ground in the great city of Wash|ington, which will shortly be the most magnificent in the world. All the houses will be polished free|stone, the most narrow streets will be as wide a Port|land Place in London. Ships already arrive there, and the city will be the emporium of commerce: I understand that it already makes a noble appearance.'

'A very noble appearance indeed,' said the Cap|tain: 'the streets are all laid out in right angles, upon paper. The number of workmen and me|chanics employed in building this magnificent city is truly astonishing, they amount to nearly one

hundred and fifty. But the chief advantage attend|ing this city is, that it is contiguous to the estate of the President.'

'You speak,' said the passenger, 'as if you were an Englishman, and wished to discourage new set|tlers. I suppose you are jealous of others partaking in the pleasures of your country.'

'Very far from it,' said the Captain. 'I am amused with the golden dreams of emigrants, who expect to find silver crows in America; and I can assure you what I tell you of Washington is literally true, and more than that, it never will be finished, on account of the local and multiplied inconven|iences around it.'

'But how comes it,' said the other, 'that such advertisements are inserted in the newspapers?'

'How comes it,' said the Captain, 'you puff off any article you wish to dispose of?—Do you think it is natural for a man, who has discovered a trea|sure, to call all the world to share it with him? This very reason ought to deter people, if they were not mad; they might be certain, if America was that happy land held out to them by designing men, all the vagabonds in Europe would not be in|vited to its bowers.'

After they had sailed many days before a fair wind, the heavens became suddenly obscured; black clouds embattled over the deep, which hissed in rising breakers against the ship's side. Sudden squalls furrow the dark bosom of the ocean, and threatened, to tear the sails from the yards. All hands were ordered to work; the sails were furled, the yards struck, the pumps cleared, and every pre|paration made for a storm.'

'My dear Doctor,' said Frederick, in the cabin, 'now we shall behold a grand display of magnificent scenery; we shall see Nature in a rage, and ad|mire the terrific features of her countenance.

'I hope not,' said the Doctor: 'I have no curi|osity to behold the bottom of the terrible sea, to be hacked in pieces by the sword-fish, smothered in the embraces of polypusses, or devoured by aligators.'

'A true philosopher,' cried Stupeo, 'will behold the combustion of elements with tranquillity; he would not tremble were all the human race scat|tered around his feet with a blaze of lightning; though the clouds were to become ignited and flame around his head; though the concave vault of the heavens was to become red hot; though the earth was to dissolve with fulminations beneath his feet, and parting nature to mix in chaotic confusion, yet would he stand firm and undismayed: Such are the effects of real philosophy.'

At that moment a loud crash of thunder burst over them, and rattled to a distance invarious directions.

'The devil take it,' cried Stupeo, 'that is a hor|rid smash; the wind howls like an hundred wolves in a forest hung with snow. The sea thumps a|gainst the vessel as if it would break in the timbers. After all, men are very foolish to trust themselves so far from land in an egg-shell.'

'It is nothing but an idea,' said Laura. 'What, are you frightened at your own ideas?'

'I am fearful,' said the Doctor, 'that even Mr. Hume must al••ow this storm to be something more than idea.'

'I shall go on deck,' said Frederick. 'I am like an Englishman so far, that I am only afraid when I do not see the danger.'

'I will go with you,' said Laura; 'the ship trembles so much I cannot sit.'

It was with difficulty they could preserve them|selves from falling, by grasping the hatchway; but the scene that presented was the most terrible sub|lime. One universal canopy of black clouds seem|ed

to unite the ocean with the heavens, and the rain poured down in such torrents, that they might be said to be overwhelmed in water; through this, the vivid flashes of lightning played at leisure, dancing on the mountainous billows, and giving to the ridges of rolling waves, which tumbled over each other as if contending in a race, the momentary appearance of melting gold. The thunder was so near, that it appeared rather surrounding than above them, and the whole was a promiscuous confusion of fire and water, the waves reflecting and refracting the varie|gated lightnings in every direction.

'Oh! great Creator of the universe,' said Laura, a tear of piety starting from her eye; 'Oh! that man would acknowledge thy power, for what pre|vents that thou shouldst at this moment destroy the whole earth, and expunge it from thy presence for the crimes of its people!'

'Surely,' said Frederick, 'this is more than idea;—there must be an omnipotent Being, not|withstanding Mr. Hume and Stupeo. Were this storm the production of chance, it might continue, it naturally would continue for ever, and overwhelm creation.'

'Chance!' repeated Laura: 'How has it hap|pened that this whole globe has never deviated from its orb? Why do not the planets leave their harmo|nic circles, and dash each other to pieces?—Har|mony is not an attribute of chance, for the very word chance implies confusion. Surely, had not some infinite Being, whom we should tremble to name, given them their motions, they never could have continued within their orbit. But man, weak and silly man, denies Providence and miracles, be|cause Providence is not every day working miracles to provide him a dinner.'

'That peal of thunder seemed to me to shake

the foundations of the universe,' said Frederick;— 'but you look quite composed, Laura—are you not frightened?'

'I am indeed,' said she, 'very much frightened, but I am not dismayed.—It is true I am a weak woman, but I look beyond these heavy and sulphur|ious clouds, to a Deity who knows the weakness of his creatures, and can, in his omnipotence, as well protect me us a world.'

'But do you think,' said Frederick, 'that he re|gards at all the actions of human beings? If he did▪ why in the shipwreck of a vessel shall perhaps every man be drowned, except the most execrable villain amongst them?'

'Because that the good and the bad are so con|nected, that a storm cannot fall upon one without touching the other, and to a good man drowning, is a very trifling evil.'

'How so? You speak now like a philosopher. Is ••t a trifle to be annihilated to self-consciousness, to lose all the pleasures of life, and become no more than the stone or vegetating shrub?'

'Indeed,' answered Laura, 'if such are your sen|timents, death is to you the most tremendous of evils—you must shudder at the idea, and to secure yourself some paltry, transient gratifications, per|petrate unnumbered crimes. But, amidst this storm, when the next moment may whelm us beneath the deep, see how calm a woman can be, whose mind is acted upon by the cheering hopes of religion▪ and who expects hereafter to live to a beatified eternity.'

'But I have no ideas of such a state, and we know that the vulgar notion of an heaven above us cannot physically be true.'

'And why not?' said Laura;—'you will tell me perhaps, that beyond our system there are other systems, and beyond these others, reaching to dis|tances

surpassing comprehension. But, is space bounded by our imagination, or is all space filled with systems? Beyond all these systems may there not be a surrounding space, where every idea of heaven may be realized, where new regions of in|conceivable formation and glory may exist, for who shall limit the Supreme? Even suppose all space to be filled with systems and worlds, may not these stars be so many different paradises, fitting the dis|position of different spirits?'

'These things,' said Frederick, 'may not be im|possible; but they are very contrary to the doctrine of the great Stupeo. What a grand scene is he losing!—I will go and call him.'

The storm now raged with such violence, that the ship was given to the winds, driving between the furrows of the rushing waves. The great Stu|peo laid upon the cabin floor, uttering the most horrid execrations—swearing that all hell was broke loose, and that the black demons of the air were running the ship into the clouds.

'That is a very sublime idea,' said Frederick, 'but I hope not literal, for if there be an hell, what will become of us?'

'O God!' cried Doctor Alogos, 'I do ac|knowledge thy power, I was a fool ever to doubt it.'

Laura endeavoured to comfort poor Susan and the rest of the passengers in the cabin; and the better to prevent reflection, she desired them to sing some psalms, setting the example by beginning the 104th. The novelty of such an action in so despairing a situation gained their attention, and many joining in, the terror of the danger was damp|ed, and they felt a something of conscious satisfac|tion, which is unknown to any but those who have been in some similar situation, or have felt the tran|quillity of a quiet conscience;—even Stupeo him|self

changed his execrations into groans, and Fre|derick hung down his head in silent reflection.

The storm gradually subsiding by degrees, the several characters of the company returned, with this difference, that Stupeo maintained with more obstinacy than ever his doctrine of chance and scep|ticism. Frederick wavered in his mind according to the impulse of his passions; and Doctor Alogos became convinced that there was more in religion and common-place maxims of good and evil, than the great Stupeo would allow.

In this disposition they arrived at Philadelphia, and rejoiced at the prospect of having reached a place where truth and justice had erected the stan|dard of reason. Frederick was surprised to find the renowned city not so large as that part of Mary-le-Bone which is built; but consoled himself with the loss of one of the finest cities in the world, as he could look over the ground where it was to stand.

As they passed along the streets, they were hoot|ed at by the children, and called vagabond Eng|lish, with other opprobrious names. 'This is very strange,' said Frederick: 'I thought the Americans made no distinctions of country; but we are only strangers yet—they will respect us when they know us better.'

They procured lodgings at an extravagant rate, and calling for refreshment, received some very coarse cakes, wretched butter, and salt meat, for in summer no fresh meat will keep a day; and for this they paid more than the best articles would have cost in London.

'Things are not quite as they should be even here,' said the Doctor.

'What do you mean by that?' said an American

waiter. 'Do you mean to stigmatize Congress?'

'Heaven forbid,' replied the Doctor: 'I should like to speak to your master about my bag|gage.'

'My master! I dont know such a man. Do you think I am a slave?—I am a republican, a free|born American. But who are you? some lousy, beggarly emigré, come here to cut wood and hew stone for us.'

Doctor Alogos looked in silent amazement.— Frederick was rising to kick the republican down stairs; but Stupeo observed that this was the gen|uine blunt spirit of freedom; that, like Spartans, the Americans took perfect liberty of speech.

'But they do not seem to allow it to others,' said Laura.

The heat was extremely intense, so much so, that the whole company confined themselves within doors, deliberating on the mode they should adopt in pro|moting their pastoral scheme. Laura amused her|self at the windows: to her it had an air of novelty to see every third person a black; but she was aston|ished to see the people labouring notwithstanding the violent heat, which was almost suffocating to those who remained inactive; and the swarms of musquetoes were to Englishmen a perfect plague.

'These labourers,' said a waiting maid, 'are Scotch, Irish, and German emigrants, who earn eleven shillings a day currency.

'Eleven shillings a day!' exclaimed Frederick; 'it is more than our peasants in England earn in a week: they must live like noblemen. But what do you call currency?'

'Why it is about six and six-pence English; but they are very badly off for all that, for every thing

is so dear they can hardly live upon it, and one half of them soon die of fevers and agues.'

The landlord's daughter was a prettyish girl, and night coming on, Frederick requested her to bundle with him. 'If you insult me,' said she, 'our Mat|thew shall bundle you into the Delaware.'

Frederick was astonished at this frankness. It is very different here, said he to himself; but I do not know whether it is all for the better.

In the night Frederick was disturbed by the rum|bling of carts:—It is very strange, thought he, that so many nightmen are at work at once in such a lit|tle city, or perhaps they all come through this street. The Americans surely do not go in carts to balls. In the morning he inquired, and was informed it was only the dead carts that carried away those who died in the course of the day.

'That is strange,' said he, 'I counted near twen|ty, and this city is of very narrow extent.' 'It is a very magnificent city, and the largest in all the union,' said the landlord;—'but the yellow fever carries off some dozens in a day; however, we don't mind these things since we have got our inde|pendence.'

'Very true,' replied the Doctor: 'liberty sweetens every thing, and it is a glorious epoch in the annals of man, that property ceases in this great western continent to influence the actions of men.'

The landlord gazed with surprise. 'Property,' said he, 'is the only stimulus to commerce—com|merce is the support of arts and sciences, and no man will be above trade: we have no honest gen|tlemen here—no idle hands—if a man will not work, he may starve.'

'That is a detestable system,' said Stupeo; 'the ancient Spartans never degraded themselves with work. Man, in a state of nature, does not work,

he has few wants, and these the waters or the woods supply.'

'That may be, friend; but our motto is, endure, but hope, and that of all new-comers is, work, or starve. I see you are a green-one yet, and unsea|soned; all you people from the old world think money is made for nothing here— but it is all a farce.'

'Where in the world,' said the Doctor, 'shall we find the genuine principles of liberty and equali|ty?'

'As to liberty,' said the American, 'every man has liberty to follow any trade he pleases, and to vote for the Congress, if he is a naturalized citizen; and as to equality, we have no titles except 'squire, but for equality of property, as some of our own people would like it, it is a mere fire-fly of a dark evening.'

The idea of the yellow fever had damped the spirits of the whole company, and it was resolved to quit the city of Philadelphia with all convenient speed. This matter was under consideration when a thin man entered the room.

'My good friends,' said he, 'I understand you intend settling upon an agricultural plan. Agri|culture is the most noble pursuit of independent man, and a sure source of wealth.' 'How did you know our intention?' said the Doctor: 'we have not yet been twenty-four hours in the city.'

'My desire to serve all mankind,' replied he, 'and to prevent the schemes of impostors, who, taking advantage of their local knowledge, often deceive and cheat strangers, has led me to intrude upon you.'

'Indeed,' said Alogos, 'I thought all the people of the new world had been disinterested and benev|olent

towards all mankind, who fly from the old world to be free of its crimes.'

'Human nature, Sir, is not yet arrived at per|fection: It is true we are advancing rapidly forward —witness the great public roads and canals which intersect the country.'

'Why are these roads?' said Frederick: 'You ought to throw every impediment in the way of commerce—it is thence arises all our evils.'

'That is very true, Sir, but in this country to talk disrespectfully of commerce is high treason: we are a commercial people. By means of these roads and canals, we have peopled the great wil|derness, and planted settlements where only rattle|snakes used to bask. To what part of the continent do you intend journeying?'

'That we are undetermined upon,' said the Doc|tor: 'we would be as far from society as we can, and in a country where we can enjoy the advanta|ges of nature.'

'Then Kentucky is your object; it is the most delectable spot on the face of the earth; it is a second Arcadia—a continued scene of romantic delight, and picturesque prospects. An author of undoubted veracity has given an history of that heavenly re|gion. Sympathy, says he, is regarded as the es|sence of the human ••oul, participating of celestial matter, and as a spark engendered to warm our be|nevolence, and lead to the raptures of love and ra|tional felicity.

'With such sentiments our amusements flow from the interchange of civilities, and a reciprocal desire of pleasing. That sameness may not cloy, and make us dull, we vary the scene as the nature of circum|stances will permit. The opening spring brings with it the prospects of our summer's labour, and the bril|liant

sun actively warms into life the vegetable world which blooms and yields a profusion of aromatic odours. A creation of beauty is now a feast of joy, and to look for amusement beyond this genial tor|rent of sweets would be a perversion of nature, and a sacrilege against heaven.'

The season of sugar making occupies the women, whose mornings are cheered by the modulated buf|foonery of the mocking-bird, the tuneful song of the thrush, and the gaudy plumage of the paroquet. Festive mirth crowns the evening. The business of the day being over, the men join the women in the sugar-groves, where enchantment seems to dwell. The lofty trees wave their spreading branches over a green turf, on whose soft down the mildness of the evening invites the neighbouring youth to sportive play, while our rural Nestors, with calculating minds contemplate the boyish gambols of a growing proge|ny; they recount the exploits of their early age, and in their enthusiasm, forget there are such things as decripitude and misery. Perhaps a convivial song, or a pleasant narration closes the scene* 1.65.'

'Or perhaps,' said Laura, with a smile, 'the Fairy strikes with her silver wand, and the whole vanishes, leaving behind an uncultivated wilder|ness.'

'It is every word true,' said Citizen Common: 'I have not told you half what Mr. Im—y says of it. I am a surveyor, and can point you out the most eligible situations, which, out of my respect for your characters, I will do without reward.— Here are plans of eight different estates, from one hundred acres to five thousand. There are three qualities of land, but I suppose you would prefer the

best, which will be parted with prodigiously cheap— twelves guineas for the hundred acres.'

'Twelve guineas for the hundred acres!' ex|claimed the Doctor: 'why you mistake, you are giving the land away. Ah! if all the poor vaga|bonds in the old world knew that here they could have a portion of earth for almost nothing, they would beg, borrow, or steal, to procure a passage to this land of milk and honey.'

'There are thousands every year,' said the stran|ger, 'who benefit by our hospitality. If I might advise, this plat of ground, situated on the north fork of the Elkhorn, is the most eligible for a first settlement.

'Well,' said the Doctor, 'if you bring me the title deeds and witnesses, I will purchase that: A thousand acres is just an hundred and eight guineas, and that is a mere song.'

'Indeed,' said Common, with a stare, 'you shall have the deeds drawn out and registered with pre|cision.'—This being settled, he observed, that at such a distance, they would require to take with them various implements of husbandry, and articles of ne|cessity, every thing being tripled in expence beyond the Alleghany mountains.

'But why,' said Frederick, 'should we encumber ourselves with articles of luxury? We intend to quit society, and will not load ourselves with its inconve|niences.'

'My dear Sir,' said Common, 'you advance be|yond the mark; so much do we depend upon each other, that we can neither begin nor proceed with|out the co-operations of our fellows: For instance, how will you cultivate the earth? Will you tear down the trees with your bodily prowess? or will you turn the sod with your nails? You must have

spades and ploughs, and a variety of other articles.'

'We are obliged to have all these in England,' said Frederick: 'I do not see that labour is less or more easy in the new world than the old.'

'Infinitely so,' cried Common; 'farmers here work for themselves, wages are so high that they cannot afford to hire men, and land is so cheap that servants soon become masters.'

'That is as it should be,' said Stupeo, 'that is something like equality. In our country, a farmer, with a few hundred acres does little more than over|look his servants.'

Under the directions of Common, near a thousand pounds were expended in articles necessary for a set|tlement—the patent was made out at the regular office, and four waggons waited the pleasure of these great men, who quitted the haunts of luxury in search of virtue and liberty in an howling wilder|ness.

Every article as they passed along the road was exorbitantly dear, seventeen dollars being charged for a common dinner for themselves and their hor|ses; but what more astonished them, was the im|pertinence of the inn-keepers, who being all agricul|tural men, did not altogether depend on their inns, and conceived travellers to be the obliged par|ties.

'This is very singular hospitality,' said the Doc|tor: 'I have read a book which informed me it was customary to travel from farm-house to farm-house, and from New-England to Maryland, almost free of expense.'

'Republicans,' said Stupeo, 'are independent people, they do not cringe and fawn upon you for a shilling like your traders in Europe; they possess a conscious manly dignity.'

'The dignity of an inn-keeper is certainly very great,' said Laura; 'but I prefer the slavish Euro|pean, where people seem obliged to you at least.'

As they advanced over the mountains to Fort Pitt, they were charmed with the scenery, and the majestic river Ohio, down which they sailed, be|tween extensive savannas and high-towering for|ests, where scarcely the beams of day, much less the foot of man, ever penetrated.

Stupeo, who was a man of profound reflection, was frequently subject to melancholy, to dissipate which, he had recourse to peach brandy and Amer|ican rum, (indeed these mingled with water are the common drink); but though he was no milksop, he was soon seized with a dysentery, which to his com|fort he found was very usual to new comers.

Being arrived at Lexington, the metropolis of the finest country in the world, they were a little sur|prised at sight of about thirty ill-looking wooden houses, but they had seen so many wonders in the new world, that they were not altogether confound|ed, and Stupeo declared that he was delighted at the prospect of coming nearer a state of nature than they had even hoped or expected.

Their large train of baggage was a sufficient sign of importance to procure them several visitors▪ by this means the place of their intended settlement was quickly known, and a great deal of unnecessary trouble avoided, there being already a family at Lexington, come from Virginia, with a grant for the same land, which they were unable to settle, it being already in the possession of another holder.

'This is inconceivable,' said Doctor Alogos; 'one had need possess a share of suffering philosophy to endure this; but how am I to be righted?'

'You may go to law,' replied the informant. 'I am an attorney, and will do you justice; for

though the other purchaser has been at law this twelve-month, and has lost his cause, that was be|cause he did not employ me.'

'Go to law!' cried the Doctor with horror; 'what are there laws and lawyers in a wilderness? I expected to have found nothing worse than rattle|snakes and tigers.'

'The world could not exist without law,' said the lawyer. 'Why, it is almost impossible to purchase a lot of land here without a law-suit entailed, for at the office they grant patent upon patent, so that any man may choose what part he prefers of the whole country, and when he is here he cannot easily return.'

'That is right,' cried Stupeo, 'that is exactly my system of argument, the greatest resulting good is the first to be defined; the wilderness must be peo|pled, and the human race expanded over the sur|face of the earth.'

'But can we have no land?' said Frederick; 'surely this prodigious country is not all monopoli|zed?'

'You may have thousands of acres,' replied the lawyer; 'but, if you would be safe, you must purchase at second-hand—that is, a lot from the great farmers. You may have good uncultivated land at six guineas the hundred acres—Mr. Com|mon imposed upon you more than one half, but I am an honest man.'

CHAPTER XV. The Pleasures of bending Nature to the rules of art— Stupeo and Susan determine to People the wilderness— the Superiority of savage life exemplified.

HAVING made a purchase of three hundred acres, about one hundred and fifty miles from Lex|ington, nearer the Ohio, containing two fine mill-seats, with water-carriage for timber, they began their march through the wilderness. Every ten or twelve miles along the road a little plantation was begun. Laura looked in vain for the blooming orchards and sugar-groves, with fine lawns beneath them; she saw indeed some clusters of sugar-maple trees at intervals in the woods, where Nature had planted them; but as to the velvet meadows, no|thing of that sort appeared, the native grass being several feet high, matted so as to be almost impassable, and too rank for any use. The weather was insuf|ferably hot—millions of insects tormented them night and day—snakes curled along the tracks (called roads) and prodigious large frogs and toads wallow|ed in every little tank of stagnant water, which the impenetrable forest prevented the sun from evapo|rating.

Neither milk nor butter were procurable at any price, and they were under the necessity of drink|ing spirits and water, which threw them all into s••ight fevers, and added strength to the disease of Stupeo.

Being arrived at the place where they were to

settle, they were a little surprised to find it covered with prodigious large trees, which seemed to bid defiance to human labour. A thick cane brake over-ran half the surface, and was so matted and entangled with the trees, that they could not even clear a path through. The ground, which was not thus covered, was apparently so barren, that the black heaths of England were a sort of comparative garden.

'It is plain to me,' said Stupeo, 'that cultivat|ing the ground is a deviation from the state of na|ture. Has she not spread her wide extended branches to shelter us from heat and from rain? Has she not scattered various fruits and shrubs with|in our reach, and what do we want more? When we shall have spent our strength in destroying these trees, and laboured to raise the rotten sods into life, shall we not set some value on the earth? We shall become proud, selfish and tyrannical—we shall not readily yield it to another, and thus we give birth to all the horrors of civil life.'

'It is too late now to retract,' said Laura; 'surely the resources of philosophy are not exhaust|ed, reason and truth have now full power to expand unchecked in the desert wild.'

'To be perfectly free,' said Stupeo, 'we should be|come like the roaming Indians; let us give to man|kind a great and glorious example? Let us cast aside our cloths, they are an incumbrance beneath the dignity of virtue, let us live like the wild In|dians.'

'You may if you like' said Laura, laughing, 'but I fear you will not easily do without brandy, and that is a forbidden article in the big book of Na|ture.'

'For my part,' said Frederick, 'I will try the inconveniences of a detached life before I wholly en|ter

into a state of ••avagism; we have contracted so many unnatural wants, which reason knows to be useless, that it requires time to root out our habits and prejudices.'

In about a week's time, an uncomfortable hovel was erected, with the help of some neighbours; but these philosophers had so little resolution in encoun|tering great difficulties, that these three great men were another week before they had cut off the low|er boughs of a few trees, where they had planned a kitchen garden.

Stupeo was thrown off his legs with the little ex|ertion he had made, the heat and the bad provisions, no meat, keeping without salt. No physician was within many miles, except one, an ignorant quack, whose whole knowledge was drawn from Salmon's Dispensatory, and the London Complete Art of Healing.

Stupeo pretended he rejoiced that Nature would have her course; but she soon so reduced him, that it was evident the great man would quit the world without having caused one revolution; and the Doctor dispatched a messenger for the surgeon, who, on his arrival, prescribed some common medicines, which greatly relieved the patient.

Doctor Alogos lamented the want of books, though he had very little time to read; what leisure he had was spent in idle repining, and cursing the day he ever set his foot on the new world, which to his eyes appeared only half formed. He had anoth|er subject of disquiet in Susan, who was every day reproaching him with having carried her out of the world to die in a desart. Laura was the only one any way contented, for the sweetness of her dispo|sition, and her affection for her uncle, overlooked ma|ny difficulties. Surely, thought the Doctor, there is something at least very pleasant in the attachment

of kindred, and though she may love me as an in|dividual, contrary to the new philosophy, I do not perceive any great evil in it.

The progress they made in cultivation served only to shew them the futility of their undertaking and a whole family happening to die of a fever occasioned by over-labour, they purchased the farm, which had been brought into some degree of cultivation.— The ground, which had never been turned up to the air, being composed of rotten vegetable sub|stance, was loaded with febrile particles and noxious vapour, the effects of which are frequently seen in the deaths of new comers; nor did the Doctor and Frederick escape without a severe fit of the ague, which disabled them from labour.

The great Stupeo seemed here buried in unwor|thy obscurity; he saw his genius and talents unem|ployed, and mankind unbenefited by his labours. He had fruitlessly attempted to injure the innocence of Laura, who detested him even more than Fred|erick; and he resolved no longer to suffer the un|just monoply which Doctor Alogos practised in the person of Susan. The latter was heartily tired of the Doctor, who was not so young as Stupeo, and having imbibed the real principles of equality, she made very little difficulty of aiding to people this wilderness, where, it must be confe••sed, there was a little too much of solitude.

The Doctor beheld, as a singular phenomenon, the change of Susan's shape, which neither reason nor argument could account for, though it was evi|dent there must have been a cause superior to chance.

'It may be nothing more than an idea,' said Stupeo; 'but at any rate it does not signify who is the parent of the child—the resul••ing good is equal; it is of no consequence to the child because under

the protection of philosophy, its mind will gradually expand to the genial beams of truth. I am of opin|ion, that children should be brought up indifferently by the male or female, as it may happen. Why, I would ask, in the name of common sense, are not men as well calculated for nurses as wo|men?'

'Because,' said Laura, 'they are not so domes|tic, and because Providence has provided the female with a nutriment adapted to the tenderness of in|fancy.'

'That arises from mere repletion,' said the great philosopher, 'and is the source of all our diseases— we draw in corruption at the breast, and if we would one day become immortal, I am of opinion we should be educated independent from the birth, and fed upon something more natural than milk, which is of all substances soonest corrupted.'

'Of course upon brandy,' said Laura: 'brandy is one of the least corruptible of fluids.'

Susan, in due time, brought a man child into the world; but no physician or person of skill being within reach, an ignorant old woman officiated, and the poor wretch expired in agony.

'Such,' cried Stupeo, 'are the consequences of being neither in or out of society:—Here we are in a desart, abandoned by our species, with all the habits we contracted in society, and no means to sat|isfy them;—if we had been in a state of nature, nature would have accomplished every thing.'

The Doctor was shocked at the event, though satisfied she had not been constant to himself; and he more than ever began to doubt the reality and practicability of the sublime doctrines of the new philosophy. Stupeo undertook the education of the boy, whom he insisted should enjoy perfect freedom,

and be allowed to crawl about the house like any other animal.

'He shall not be thwarted in any thing,' said he: 'The great Rousseau tells us that we only implan vices into children by pretending to teach them justice, and destroy the temper by checking the sal|lies of imagination.' Unfortunately for the enlight|ened system of education, this grand experiment proved abortive. The tender infant sickened and died of a consumption.

Frederick, however, maintained that it was the kindness of Laura which killed it;. and Stupeo dis|covered that it was stung to death by musquetoes, its body being delicate, and not plaistered over with unguents of grease, like the infants of Indians; and the Doctor swore that Stupeo had poisoned it with brandy. Thus these three great men could not agree upon so insignificant a thing as the death of a child under a grand philosophical experiment: Where then is the wonder that men are daily outting each others throats for difference of political opin|ion?

One day when these three philosophers were la|bouring in the field, sometimes uttering execrations, and sometimes disputing, not a little to the prejudice of immutible truth, which often appeared in differ|ent shapes, a troop of Miama Indians crossed the Ohio in their punts, and carried off all the portable articles at the little farm, which they had dignified with the name of Clarens. Poor Laura shared the fate of the rest of the stock, and it was not known to the philosophers till their return home.

'Black forever be the day!' exclaimed the Doctor, 'when I left England with all its evils— there, persons and property enjoy some protection. Alas! my dear Laura, my beloved child is murder|ed and scalped!'

'Nothing more natural,' said Stupeo, coolly; 'savages do not make those childish distinctions we do between beauty and ugliness—revenge is all they seek, for the unjust usurpation of the Europeans:— Are we not driving them from their ancient posses|sions, and daily narrowing their bounds and power to live?'

'What have they done,' said the Doctor, 'in the course of some thousand years? The utmost ex|tent of their knowledge in agriculture, is the plant|ing of a few slips of maize and tobacco.'

'But they enjoy perfect liberty,' said Frederick; 'they have few vices; and few wants— they roam at will over the face of the creation:—I feel myself enamoured of savage life* 1.66?

'I see plainly, returned the Doctor, 'that very

few men can exist in a savage state: I see we must have made a progress in arts and sciences before we can pretend to civil life. Thus arts and sciences, with all their defects, tend to increase the numbers of mankind. Indeed, I begin to perceive philosophy has not every claim I supposed to universal accep|tance.'

'The new philosophy is immutable,' cried Stu|peo; 'and notwithstanding every check from sel|fishness, it will in time sap all society, and depopu|late those hot-houses of vice and disease—large ci|ties.'

'My life,' cried Alogos, 'is a burden in this wilderness:—I have no books to amuse and instruct me—no intercourse of polished friendship, all is rugged and rude. There is no market for commod|ities that might stimulate avarice. I feel a thou|sand wants I cannot gratify, and even common ne|cessaries I cannot procure.—Affection, which I once thought a blind partiality, I now find like a balm amidst the evils of life; and as I have lost my Laura, I am completely wretched. I am not now equal to the task of cultivating the ground; and I might have procured more comforts, conveniences, and luxuries in England, as a day labourer, than in this wild with all its freedom.'

'I must grant,' said Frederick, 'that we have too much labour: this is not a state congenial to human nature—this is solitude without its concomitants, plenty, liberty, and ease. What signifies my being at liberty to w••nder in a forest and shoot deer, when I must till the ground or starve; this is not genuine equality, and I am determined to seek it in a savage state.'

'For me,' said the Doctor, 'I am so completely wretched, that I will seek no further for a bauble — I will die here.'

'The great moralist, Rousseau,' said Stupeo,

'has said, by rendering life insupportable, God orders one to quit it. Now you believe in a Deity, and surely you may trust his mercy.'

'I will not provoke his anger, thou fiend of dark|ness,' said Doctor Alogos, with more energy than he usually displayed: 'do I suffer one single incon|venience I have not brought upon myself, and you would have me close the account with murder. The Deity does not act by evils, nor are the consequen|ces of our head-strong passions, our follies, and our crimes to be laid to his charge. Rousseau was a fool, with all his rants and declamations, and many of his followers shew their long ears.'

A black slave, whom these advocates for univer|sal freedom had purchased, his labour being cheap|er than an hired servant, now entered the hut, with the tidings that Laura had been seen cross|ing the Ohio, with the Indians, in a western direc|tion.

Doctor Alogos, at this intelligence, roused him|self to action, and the two philosophers proposed to accompany him, more from an expectance of novel|ty, than any desire to recover Laura, who would never attend to the lectures of these great men.

They set out on horseback well armed, pursuing the track pointed out to them. For four days they followed the Indians, till their provisions were ex|hausted, and their horses nearby jaded out. They subsisted upon the wild berries and fruit in the for|ests, still continuing their rout, and having plenty of powder the birds supplied them a frequent re|past.

By degrees they lost all knowledge of the direc|tion of the country. Their horses fell beneath them, and the underwood became almost impenetrable.— A council of war was called, in which Frederick pleaded strenuously that they should join the first band of Indians they might meet, and cast away

every trace of society; he even proposed that they should abandon their arms and clothes, and trust wholly to chance.

This he was prevailed upon to give up, by the observance that the Indians were not so divested of all art as to be without arms, these being necessa|ry in a roaming life to procure themselves food.

Doctor Alogos, who had no wish to return with|out his niece, complied with all the sublime whims of these great men; and though he was far from being in perfect health, he attended them through the dreary labyrinths of an almost impassable forest, where hunger and thirst were their constant com|panions.

For near ten days they did not see a single human being except themselves. They had fallen in with a drove of buffaloes, on one of which they made a plentiful repast. Their shoes were already worn out, and the green hide bound with thongs supplied the place; though they now ran considerable haz|ard from the swarms of snakes which basked in the sun, or hung from the trees like caterpillars in an English hedge. Frederick being the tallest, had re|ceived several severe confusions from the boughs of the trees, and the infinite swarms of musquetoes which seemed to fill the air, goaded the whole party incessantly.

Some Indians they accidentally fell in with, ran away from them in terror. In the woods they found several skeletons, which, from their mutilated state, appeared to have been killed in battle.

'It is very singular,' said Frederick, 'that even these savages, who are very little more advanced in civil life than an Ouran-outang, should delight so much in war.

'War,' replied Stupeo, 'is congenial to human nature:—what, are all the civilized states that now exist immersed in voluptuousness and ••oth?—All

the manly virtues are lost, when arts and sciences are cultivated. Look back to the ancients—the Celtae, the Danes, the Goths, the Scythians, and all those hardy tribes who lived only in war, we shall there find all the heroic virtues, the contempt of danger, the bravery of seasons, the generosity of friendship, and the gallantry to the fair, so peculiar to the times of chivalry — all these are the children of a state of perpetual war.'

'I thought,' said the Doctor, 'you held gallan|try in contempt, as a pusillanimous trifling, unwor|thy a great mind; and that particular friendships are an outrage against political justice.'

'So I do,' cried Stupeo? 'and whoever knew me retract what I once advanced?'

'But how do you reconcile the contradiction?'

'A philosopher can reconcile every thing.—The new philosophy is founded upon the broad expanded basis of universal truth; it establishes principles not all the powers of kings and priests shall overthrow, much less a few contradictions.'

This warm debate was interrupted by some fe|male screams. The Doctor cocked his rifle piece, and the whole company moved towards the place, where, in a little retreat, they saw an Indian severe|ly beating two women with a cane.

'This is very astonishing gallantry,' said Doctor Alogos, 'this is a warlike people; but let us in|quire what is the reason of this usage.'

Their black servant, Mungo, who understood the dialect of the five nations, inquired the meaning of the chastisement.

'Because I choose it,' said the Indian: 'I have a great mind to shoot them both with my arrow.'

'Well, but you have some cause for your anger,'

said the Doctor, through the medium of Mungo.— 'To be sure I have:—I ordered them to shoot some plovers for my dinner, while I was painting myself with this delightful blue, and they return to tell me they can find none.'

'I suppose,' said the Doctor, 'you are related to them?'—'They are my wives.'—'One of them is very young.'—'She is my daughter.'* 1.67—'What, do you use your daughter as a wife?'—To be sure I do—have not I the most right to my own? Does not Nature and the great Manetaw of the lakes tell us to do so?'

'We must acknowledge,' said the Doctor, 'this is very strange;—the women appear universally to be slaves to the men; but, alas! what a mere brute is man, when some greater law than his own will does not curb his passions. If this be liberty, bind me forever to a galley oar.'

'I find nothing strange in all this,' said Stupeo. 'These men are ignorant of the sublime doctrines of philosophy—they do things without seeing their fitness, and therefore may err a little in promoting universal good; for instance, what is there unnatur|al in this revolution of kindred; is it not a com|mon practice with animals?'

'What horrid principles,' said Alogos: 'how would it be possible to rear brothers and sisters to maturity?'

'That is none of my business,' replied Stupeo; 'I do not concern myself with trifles.'

Doctor Alogos felt the truth of this reply; and having witnessed the brilliant virtues of a warlike nation in the savage state, he concluded that the whole human species was under some dreadful

••urse, for insanity seemed to influence all their ac|tions.

The following day they crossed a large savanna, where they could not procure the smallest suste|nance, and in the evening tired and exhausted, they arrived at a little settlement of Indians.

'Now,' cried Frederick; in rapture, 'we shall behold genuine hospitality; we shall see pure nature, unsophisticated by the vices of society?

They requested of an Indian, in an humble tone, some hoe-cake, but received for answer, that they had scarcely sufficient for themselves, and a demand of some of their arms.

This was very unexpected to these philosophers, who, notwithstanding their knowledge of human nature, often made egregious mistakes, and finding pity and hospitality alike unknown, they bargained for a supply of provisions, in exchange for a brace of pistols and some shot.

'These men,' said Stupeo, 'must have been con|taminated by trading with Europeans, at least they possess the virtues of sacred friendship; with them the security of oaths is unnecessary.'

'Sacred friendship!' said Doctor Alogos; 'you are a profound philosopher— you can acknowledge what you stand in need of:—you deny and affirm just as it suits your then convenience.'

'And what is the use of words,' returned the other, 'if we are not to turn them to our own ad|vantage?'

Having with difficulty procured leave to repose in one of the wigwams, they made many inquiries into the situation of the country, but received no satisfactory answer, and from the tone of their dia|lect, they appeared to be a tribe beyond any that had immediate connexion with Europeans. They lay down upon some long grass; their weariness

caused them to sleep particularly sound, and they were not a little amazed to find in the morning most of their clothes stolen, with two of their fowl|ing pieces.

'So much for savage honesty and justice,' said Alogos: 'they are a parcel of rascally thieves, and where is their sacred hospitality in leaving us here to perish in a wild, without arms or clothes; for we have saved nothing but what we kept on our backs, or concealed beneath the grass at the request of Mungo.'

'In the first place,' said Stupeo, 'we have no right to complain, they have not taken our lives, which, from our imprudence, was in their power; and in the second, we mistake terms. In society, I grant this would be called a robbery, but, amongst the children of nature, it is only taking from anoth|er what they want to use themselves; they have not our ideas of particular property.'

'It seems to me however,' said Frederick, 'that they were conscious of injustice, or they would not all have departed in this sneaking way. I begin to think the savage state of man is not conducted on philosophical principles.'

'That is what I have been saying all the time,' cried Stupeo. 'Listen while I explain to you the progress of human nature, from gross darkness to superstition; from superstition to the great light of truth; and from thence to philosophical ignorance, which is the genuine state of real felicity.'

'You might as well talk of the light darkness of the full noon of night,' cried the Doctor in a rage. 'I will demonstrate it,' cried Stupeo.—'You contra|dict yourself,' said Frederick; 'I will prove that phi|losophy—

'You may prove the devil,' said Stupeo, 'if you will, but ••u shall not overturn my arrangement,

which is founded on the broad basis of truth and universal man.'

'What, will you have eatee masses?' said Mun|go:—and the three great philosophers arose to pro|vide themselves breakfast from a neighbouring brook, where they gathered some herbs.

CHAPTER XVI. The Vagabonds arrive at a perfect Republic on the principles of equality and political justice.

OUR troop of philosophical vagabonds set out, they knew not whither, and had not gone far before they found, exposed beneath a tree, an Indian child, puny, weak, and almost expiring.

'Behold,' cried Alogos, 'the humanity of sava|ges! this, I suppose, is parental care. This poor wretch is so ill-formed, that it will take too much trouble to rear; and savages have too many wants to supply, and are too ignorant of physic to encum|ber themselves with a sickly infant.'

'It is a glorious practice,' exclaimed Stupeo; 'and shews them to be, in fact, more humane than ourselves. Of what value is life with an unheal|thy or deformed person? We are, in such a case, a burden to ourselves and to others.'

'But how many great heroes and philosophers have had very little persons,' said Doctor Alogos. 'I do not apprehend the human mind to be in ad|measurement

to the prowess of the body—so far from it, that men of brilliant genius, have most fre|q••ently been of weak constitutions; the hardy and robust being too full of animal spirits to be con|tented with speculations, and why may we not find, in this very custom, the reason that Indians remain in a stationary state, as they deprive themselves of these persons of intellect.

'It explains to me,' said Frederick, 'what I had attributed to their manner of life and want of luxuries. It is easy to have none but people of strength and vigour, if all that are otherwise be de|stroyed in infancy.'

'Experience,' replied Alogos, with a deep sigh, 'is the best school, but the mischief is, that those who are yet well, will not take warning by example, till they suffer themselves.'

For forty days they continued to wander, more than once encountering a few straggling Indians, who attempted to convince them, that in a state of nature, force was the only law, and passion the on|ly standard of right. They came at length to a great chain of mountains, extremely barren, and placed in such confusion, that they appeared scatter|ed by the hand of tempest.

They had continued their journey, merely from the restless spirit of rambling, and the dread they felt of returning to their delightful farm of Clarens.— They now debated whether they should climb the summit, or take some other route; but the expec|tation of beholding an entire new country, invited them to labour at the steep. They were by this time so accustomed to hardship, that a trifle could not intimidate them, and in three days they gained the elevation of the mountains.

They gazed upon the prospect beneath them, which was much superior to their expectation. A

fine level country, interspersed with gentle swellings, and intersected with limpid streams, watering ex|tensive groves, presented itself. Amongst the groves appeared high spires and lofty domes, evidently the workmanship of ingenious artists.

The philosophers were enraptured, and wearied themselves in conjectures of what region they could be advanced to. They waited impatiently for the morning, when they began to unravel the mazes which wound down from the mountains, and it was the ensuing day before they reached the base.

They then refreshed themselves with some fine fruit, which seemed to grow neglected, and pro|ceeded forward towards the great piles of buildings which they had seen from far. They overtook a man who was slowly walking, with his eyes bent up|on the ground, as if in deep study, and totally nak|ed. Our philosophers were therefore not put out of countenance by their own ragged appearance.

Doctor Alogos accosted him in various languages, but without being understood, when the man in|quired in Hebrew what they were, and how they came into that country.—'Why do you walk nak|ed?' said the Doctor.

'Because we have nobody to make clothes.'— 'How do you employ yourselves?'—'I am study|ing the public good.'

'Studying the public good!' repeated the Doc|tor: 'you are then a legislator of the country?'— 'No, I am a private individual; but it is the place of every man to study to promote the public good.'

Having passed this politician, who seemed un|willing to speak much, our vagabonds disputed with themselves, on the nature of the country, which they thought very strange, especially as they met

several persons employed studying the public good. A man striking a tree sometimes with his fist, and then with his head, induced the Doctor to inquire the meaning of so singular an action. 'What are you doing?' said the Doctor. 'I am endeavouring to drive this idea out of my path.' 'That is not an idea,' said the Doctor, 'that is a reality.'—'All things are ideas,' replied the man: 'every thing which appears to exist, is merely an idea; we can|not prove that there is reality, body, substance, ex|tension, or any such quality.'

'Very good,' said the Doctor: 'I fancy before you have beat that idea, in form of a tree, out of your way, you will have an idea of a fractured skull.* 1.68'

As they advanced along the high road, the hedges of which were fallen into decay, they over|took a troop of people, who were moving a tree by means of a machine; the greater part stood idle, while five or six furthered the work. Doctor Alo|gos inquired of the nearest what was the name of the country. The man paused for some time, at length replied, 'I do not think it for the public good to answer you—I will reflect upon it.' While he stood reflecting, he was called by his comrades; the first gang or labourers retiring for another to take their places.

The travellers proceeded onwards towards the great city. They perceived some builders repairing an house, which, from its singular construction, en|gaged their attention. While they stood admiring, all the labourers gave over work. A man, who was half way up a ladder, fixed his burden on an

hook, which seemed there on purpose. Some men winding up a crane, fixed the pulley upon a catch, and left the beam hanging in the air. The whole party sauntered away different ways, and a new set advancing, began to labour. The travellers reflected on this incident, remaining stationary for some time. In half an hour this new set of builders retired like the former, and another troop advanced.

'This is a curious mode of building,' said the Doctor. 'It seems an equal division of labour,' said Stupeo; 'I dare say we are arrived at last in a country of philosophers.'

'But at this rate an house will not be finished in ten years:—the public good does not seem much promoted by this means.'

They proceeded on, and saw on one side of the road a smith's shop. They paused to see if labour was here equally divided. Some iron in the fire was heated to a proper heat, taken out and laid upon the anvil, when the man who was working left it there and marched away. Another took his place, but the welding heat was lost, and the iron was returned again to the fire.

A man drew near them in deep thought, and the Doctor ventured to inquire the subject of his reflection. 'I am debating,' replied he, 'whether it will be most to the public good, that I should help half an hour at getting in the harvest, or la|bour half an hour at building the new granary; I have spent all the morning in considering, and can|not determine.'

'Then it is necessary to do one?'—'Yes, it has been proved in a voluminous book of political jus|tice: that, in the old system of things, the labour which was performed by a certain number of the lower people, could be done in half an hour's labour

for each individual per diem* 1.69. But I do not know how it is, since we are all equal, and all labourers, and all studying the public good, our country is going rapidly to decay. An house that used to be built in three months, is not now done in as many years; and as to works of genius, it was found ut|terly impossible for different sets of workmen to paint a picture, write a book, or finish a device.'

'At least,' observed the Doctor, 'you might pro|vide yourselves clothes.'

'We do manufacture some coarse canvass, but it is a matter of prodigious difficulty, for no man will work more than half an hour; and the hands wanted from the sowing of the seed, till it is finish|ed in the web and fashioned to the body, is astonish|ing, for it is strange how stupid the people grow since one man knows every thing.'

'That is an excellent remark,' said the Doctor; 'more good is produced in society, by the diversi|ty of genius, than if each individual were endowed with a small but equal proportion.'

A stately personage, with a small piece of coarse canvass round his waist, advanced, and seeing the travellers, courteously inquired whence they came, and whither they were going.

'We have a curiosity,' said the Doctor, 'to visit that great city which rises before us—we are stran|gers, and not a little surprised at the customs of your country.'

'You see then,' said the stranger, whose name was Parecho, '••e utmost limits of human perfec|tion: you see a people who had arrived at the height in various arts and sciences, so much so, that

scarcely a peasant who laboured in the field, but could read the divine books of our ancestors; we were surrounded with mountains, which prevented the invasions of an hostile foe, but still we were not happy.—It was thought that the rich lived in vo|luptuous idleness on the labours of the poor, and that we should never be happy till the most perfect equality was established.

'It would be endless to enumerate the devices of a set of madmen and knaves, who stunned the peo|ples' ears perpetually with systems so impracticable, that mankind must have been re-modelled to suit them; and indeed several treatises were written, and several experiments tried to change the very constitution of the human nature. It was proved that no man could die if fear and prejudice had not prepared his mind for death; and consequently it followed, that to divest our minds of this prejudice was to become immortal.

'It was proved clearly, by some systemisers, that the people ought, without exemption, to have a right of voting and sending delegates to our Coun|cil of the Elders, and that new representatives should be chosen every year. Not to say any thing of the riots, debauchery, and excess, which dis|graced the whole nation at those periods, it was soon found that scarce any man of real worth and learning was returned to the Council. Those who were most extravagant, and could tickle the rude humours of a mob, were chosen representatives.— The lower orders likewise took pleasure in sending some of their own class, and persons of the meanest description were elected in a drunken frolic. These representatives would, however, have been cyphers, if any proportion had been preserved, and would very ably have represented their constituents:—but the great mischief arose from the middle class of so|ciety,

who in point of numbers were nearly equal, and in point of influence more than equal; for, if a man had any domestics or journeymen, these were necessitated to vote with their master, and then masters were universally influenced by the powers of oratory. Any man who could rant and declaim was certain of their support, and our great Council became like the forum of the ancients, where a demagogue could work the people into passion, and lead them to any preposterous scheme he fancied.

'The influence of the crown was soon overturn|ed:—the people were deluded with the ostensible prospect of liberty, which none of them could de|scribe: and their leaders throwing off the mask, a 〈…〉〈…〉 ensued, in which near a million of people perished. The royal family was destroyed; the ••y nearly annihilated, for the nobles adher|ed to the crown, from which their honours were derived; and the rich were compelled to divide their property, or were proscribed, and the most sho••king excesses took place; during which, all men of any property were in danger of destruction.* 1.70 Equality in every sense of the word was to be established, and

all laws, sacred and civil, were abrogated. All things valuable and curious lost their worth, because there was no longer a market. If a man worked, or if he remained idle, food and raiment was all he had to expect; and genius in one hour seemed blast|ed from the land.

'No man would work for his neighbour, because the reward destroyed the just balance of equality. —It was found that no work could be done without having some subordinate class, like the Helots, who did the drudgery of the Spartans. This in our country not being practicable, and the women hav|ing declared themselves no longer dependents on the men, but equal in every point, it was resolved to subject them by force to the labour necessary for providing food, raiment, and shelter for the com|munity, while the men should be employed study|ing the public good.

'The female sex soon drooped under this usage, and intreated to be reinstated in the ancient sla|very, for they found the rough employments not on|ly spoil their features, and render them objects of indifference, but they were incapable of building houses, and other laborious exertions. The whole labour of the nation was now at a stand, till a pro|digious great philosopher observed, that were all men necessitated to work, the labour would scarcely be felt by any.

'It was computed, that under the old regimen, ••e twentieth of the people had been employed in

agriculture. If then this were divided, it would amount to half an hour a day: no one would shrink from this—nothing could be fairer—but, how was this to be enforced? For it had been proved by this same great man, in a very elaborate and verhose book of political justice, that no people could repre|sent or be represented;* 1.71 that no man could give his vote away by delegation, and the people believed him.'

'I have no doubt of it,' said Doctor Alogos.— 'My companions are very great philosophers, and made me believe wonderful impracticabilities.'

'Well,' continued Parecho, 'anarchy and mas|sacre would have been the consequence, if a few men had not seized themselves the helm of business, and declared themselves censors general. This was by no means difficult, for they had only to talk more about the public good, and profess principles more hyperbolical than the philosophers, to lead the people any way.'

'It might naturally have been supposed, that genius would have roused itself from the torpor of an equality with dulness; but there remained no stimulant, no man being allowed to enjoy greater conveniences or luxuries than another, and there|fore labours of ingenuity lost their reward. Every species of trade was crushed at once, because it is the nature of trade to a••ass, and the nature of equa|lity to destroy.'

'Our metropolis, to which we are advancing, is daily sinking into decay. Nothing new is pro|jected—all our arts are falling into oblivion, as children are not allowed to employ their atention

on any one thing in particular, but to be provided at five-and-twenty, well regulated, active, and prepared to learn* 1.72; thus while they pretend to learn every thing, they learn nothing, for the human mind is of narrow extent, and the next generation will be within a shade of actual savag|ism.

During this discourse, they had reached the pre|cincts of a large and venerable city, but evidently under a rapid decay. The most disgusting filth cov|ered the streets, emitting a shocking and mephitic vapour. The people were all naked, marked with extreme dejection, and half the houses were shut up.† 1.73

'What is the reason of this,' said the Doctor; 'we generally impute the decrease of population to the pernicious effects of sedentary and mechanical employ.'

'It is disease,' replied Pa••echo: 'our physicians have forgot their skill, and no new students can be reared from the want of ostensible reward, and some distinction to talent.'

'But common humanity, one would suppose, should stimulate them to promote the public good,' said the Doctor.

'Very likely,' answered Parecho,' 'but com|mon humanity will not teach men still, there must be a laborious exertion of mind, and that cannot be the case when we have so many other demands, and the man of genius is lost in the promiscuous

crowd. We were told indeed that genius was to be the only claim to distinction; but it was soon found, that where all was equal, there could be no distinction, and genius had no means of expanding.'

'I begin to think,' said the Doctor, 'that at least there must be two orders in society, those who pro|ject, and those who execute; for no man will pro|ject, when he must execute himself, and where no re|ward is to be gained superior to food and raiment.'

'But if you allow rewards,' said Parecho, 'equal|ity is sapped to the foundation; you introduce lux|ury, and property rises to its old standard. Beside, how many fools would share it with the men of genius, without any merit of their own.'

'Surely,' replied Alogos, 'have I not a right to do what I will with the wealth I have honestly ac|quired? May not the chief stimulus to my actions have been this very privilege of rendering a foolish thick-brain son my heir?—It strikes me that your present system cannot possibly continue—your peo|ple will no•• be sufficient to the task of gathering in a plentiful harvest.'

'Indolence in the extreme,' replied Parecho, 'possesses every man, so much so, that the very cares of connubial affection are become burthen|some, and I have actually heard a man debate with his wife, whether half an hour was not too much labour for the human oeconomy.'

'My companions,' said the Doctor, 'are two very great philosophers, and not quite so sublime in their ideas.—Their system of equality goes to a right of possessing any of the sex, and I dare say they will not object to the custom of your country, in labouring half an hour for the public good.'

By this time they arrived in a great square, it was about noon, and our travellers began to be hun|gry at sight of some large piles of loaves, cakes, and

fruits.—'We do not eat in common, said Parecho, 'because we are not obliged to be hungry at the same time, but each comes to this repository, and takes what he wants.'

'Some may eat double to others,' observed the Doctor; 'how do you manage that?'

'At first there were many debates, but it being urged that the labour of all being equal, those who eat little could not be injured, as they could do no|thing with their superfluous earnings.'

'It is very singular,' said Stupeo, (the Doctor in|terpreting) 'that such an admirable institution should have such a strange effect. Is your government patriarchial, monarchical, tyrannical, aristocratical, oligarchial, or republican?'

'It is republican,' replied Parecho.—'Then I will maintain,' said Stupeo, 'that it is the best possi|ble form; every thing is for and by the people them|selves, and they are not taxed to provide for others.'

'Taxes,' replied Parecho, 'if within moderation, and not sent out of the country, are like the return|ing moisture of the dews.' Titles, wealth, and ho|nours, are incentives to exertion, like prizes amongst school-boys;—and, to speak a truth, the mass of mankind are only grown-up children.'

'And why?' cried Stupeo, in triumph; 'because they are held in profound ignorance.'

'I will maintain,' said Frederick, 'that men are more happy ignorant than half learned; they will then follow the pursuits of real life, and are satisfied with the comforts within their reach. I am almost tired of speculation.'

'It is true,' said Parecho, with a languid smile, 'that your greatest sticklers for freedom, if they see their folly, become as great champions for slavery, always in extremes. Under our former govern|ment, which was a limited monarchy, we had every

gradation in society. It was observed, that the very rich, and the very poor ranks rarely produced great men. It was from the various shades of middle life these arose, and to judge of our real liberty, I will observe to you the general routine of property. A man of talents, in humble life, generally raised him|self to independence; his son continuing his track, or pursuing his maxims, became rich; his grandson claimed titles and honours, and blazed in the zenith of power; but his great-grand-son generally squan|dered the estates, and the family again sunk, to rise after two or three generations.'

'That is exactly as it is in Great Britain,' said Doctor Alogos.

'But truth,' cried Stupeo. 'is omnipotent. It is self-demonstrated that that government which is in|stituted by and for the people, is for the benefit of the people, and equality* 1.74 is as necessary to genuine liberty as air is to life.'

'But here,' said the Doctor, 'is an example.'— 'Examples have nothing to do with rational princi|ples and metaphysical arguments.'

'Do the people always prefer their own good?' inquired Parecho. 'Do they not cut each others throats to-day, for what they despise to-morrow? Are they ever constant to one point? Is it possible then that such a mass of contradiction should govern itself? Look at this wretched half-peopled city, abandoned to idleness and vice, for it is necessary the human mind should be employed, and when it is not in good, it is in evil. It is only indolence prevents this people cutting each others throats;

as it is, there scarcely passes a day without some vio|lent atrocity, and two or three suicides.'

'But is there no means to stimulate them to some great action?' said the Doctor; 'and again intro|ducing aristocracy, for to me aristocracy appears the universal government; for, most certainly the select possessors of the greatest power and connexion, govern the monarch by their strength and advice, or the people by their influence and intrigues.'

'A government,' replied Parecho, 'to be invul|nerable against the attacks of time, and for the be|nefit of every individual, must be like a pyramid, rising from a broad base to a point. The greatest portion of mankind will of necessity he mean: these are the base, and every advance higher is to the be|nefit of the class or structure, till we rise to a soli|tary point, which finishes the work. We may in|deed make other forms of structure, but no one without a base: if it is all base, all equality, there can be no building, and of all buildings, the pyra|midical is found to resist longest the destruction of the elements. Had Nature designed men to be equal, (in exception to all other productions,) she would have endowed them with equal stature, prow|ess, and intellect.'

Turning the corner of the street, they saw a man standing on a tub, declaiming to a concourse of nak|ed people.—'This,' said Parecho, 'is one of our philosophers—we will hear him a moment.'

'Citizens!' said the rhetorician, 'let us never forget the glorious day of our emancipation from slavery, when a new aera, a new epoch, ever to be cel|ebrated in the annals of man, began; when a great people set aside at once every species of government, allotted each individual his share in the terrestrial globe, and set their feet upon the necks of trade and commerce. These two monsters are happily strang|led,

and exulting men heard their expiring groans. Now, citizens, no man labours for others, it is all for himself, and he may enjoy the fruits of it beneath his own vine, and under his own fig-tree. The sun of science has arisen, and darkness flies before her to the borders of the universe. Where shall we stop? Who shall set bounds to our pursuits? Yes, you will wonder at the discoveries of in|tellect. This earth upon which we stand, is prov|ed to be no bigger in reality than an apricot, so wonderful are the deceptions of our senses. What is matter composed of but particles ad infinitum▪ And these are united by attraction, so that attraction is, in fact, the only cause of bulk or extension. But, have we not magnifying glasses, which make an insect appear as big as a cart-horse? And what are our eyes but magnifying-glasses, which so deceive us, that what we take for men six feet, and forests rising to ••he clouds, are nothing more than imper|ceptible animals upon a peach, to whom the down appears in their eyes, large trees? Who after this will give credit to their senses? Who will not doubt every thing?—Citizens, I have an amazing improvement to offer to your reflection—it requires your assistance, as the artist will not be able to com|plete it in less than a thousand days, with six chan|ges of twenty hands per day, which will only be one hundred and twenty, a number that will do lit|tle more than plant an acre of garlic. This grand invention is a plough, which will work by itself, ploughs three acres of ground in ten minutes, reaps it at the same time, and threshes it out into bi••s. Thus, citizens, we see the effects of the human mind when untrammelled by tyrants, and thus shall mind overcome matter, insomuch, that I will venture to pronounce a solemn fact, that we shall shortly be

able to make automatons, to do every act of labour the human species are now necessitated to perform.'

'Is it possible,' said the Doctor, 'the orator be|lieves himself?'

'The people must be fools to believe him,' said Frederick: 'he will persuade them next that he will thresh the corn before it grows.'

'And I should not wonder if they gave him cre|dit,' answered Parecho. 'This man was an apo|thecary before he commenced orator, but his elo|quence gaining him applause, he left the rattle of the pestle, for the clatter of his own tongue, and he is now so great a favorite, that any thing he utters is received with applause. Have you no men in your country, who are heard with delight while they speak nonsense?'

'Yes,' replied the Doctor mournfully, 'we have too many: I fear our country will one day be like yours, or even worse, for my countrymen▪ are of so restless a disposition, that, were they equal to-day, like your citizens, to-morrow they would be plung|ed in anarchy.'

'I hope,' said Parecho, 'they will not quit the reality of felicity with some natural evils, for the shade with every possible ill.'

CHAPTER XVII. Moral virtues, theory and practice—Stupeo is convinced there are other existences besides his own ideas, by a tremendous Phenomenon in nature.

OUR philosophers were invited to the house of their guide, which had once heen extremely mag|nificent, and yet bore the vestiges of fading gran|deur; it contained some rich furniture, which time had not devoured, for as to any thing new, it was impossible to be procured.

'What you see here,' said Parecho, 'is only the fragments of what I once possessed—my whole prop|erty is divided, and of this house I could only claim two rooms, a chimney-sweeper, and several other equally important personages possessing the others; but since the mortality in the city, I am allowed my whole house—I had a library of ancient Syriac and Egyptian manuscripts containing an account of the most early ages, together with thirteen thou|sand modern productions. But these enlighteners of the human race, during their struggle for liberty, and the promotion of general knowledge, being in want of cases for their fire-powder and ball, con|demned all the libraries to that purpose.'* 1.75

'How is it possible,' said the Doctor, 'you should be acquainted with gun-powder, which is a very modern invention, and only a few years introduced into America.'

Parecho smiled.—'My friend,' said he, 'as our great ancestor said, there is nothing new under the sun.—This art we learnt from a people of India, called Oxydracae: Alexander the Great feared to march against this people, and pretended it was on account of religion, but had he passed the Hyphasis, he might doubtless have made himself master of the coun•• ••ll round th••; but their cities he could neve•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 taken, though 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had led a thousand as brave 〈…〉〈…〉 o•• th•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 such as Ajax to the assault. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they came not in••o the field to fight those who are ••••ked there: ••••t these holy men, beloved by the gods, overthrew their enemies with tempests, thunder-bolts, and lightening from the walls* 1.76.

'It is very singular, indeed,' replied the Doctor, 'but by no means surprising: but pray of what race of people are you, since you seem acquainted with the old world?'

'We are part of the tribes of Abraham,' said Parecho; 'we crossed the great deserts of Tartary and China, travelling those regions of desolation and eternal ice which unite the Continents, and in about one hundred years wandering, discovered this valley, where we were happy as it is possible for

the transient and perishable existence of man to be.'

'Have you no religion?' inquired the Doctor.

'To-morrow,' answered their host, 'you shall visit our temple, it is sabbath.'

The philosophers retired to their room, where some clean straw was laid upon the floor, the beds having been sequestered for the public pur|poses.

'It must be owned,' said Frederick, 'these people are a whimsical set, and do not seem much better for their liberty.'

'This is a philosophical republic,' said Alogos; 'the ancient republics were fighting republics;— the Americans and the Hollanders are trading re|publics, but men seemed neither better satisfied, bet|ter governed, or better fed in any of them; nor in fact, do they enjoy so many benefits as in a limited monarchy.'

'But I insist upon it,' said Stupeo, 'monarchy is unnatural. It is one tyrant usurping the privileges of the whole people, contrary to the sacred majesty of the body politic.'

'But how came that body politic into being?' said the Doctor. 'The roaming families of men,' replied the great politician, 'found the need of mu|tual assistance and defence, and they united into nations.'

'No▪' replied the Doctor▪ 'you talk absurd▪ it is contrary to the nature of man—man is a rapa|cious animal, and is perpetually (if not curbed by laws and subordination) seeking objects of rapine and violence. Let us look back to the origin of any people, to the remote annals of heroic ages, and we shall find an herd of robbers gathering together for the sake of plunder. The boldest becomes their

leader and chief; the weak tribes submit and join them, till their power is irresistible, and they found extensive empires. Conquest is at first the only compact, and the people, little better than an herd of murderers, directed by a chief. The ambition of this chief to excel in splendour, introduces luxury, and softens the ferocious habits of his followers; the arts of peace follow a court. The fermenta|tion subsides, or is let off by continual wars, while the peaceable remain at home; and this is the his|tory of man in reality. To talk of a people assem|bling from the woods, and forming general laws and social compacts is as absurd as it is false. In all established governments, the origin was the same, whether they were republican or monarchical; though, for a thousand reasons, a limited monarchy seems to me the best calculated for man, as d••ffusing the most general good, and in fact, the greatest pro|portion of real freedom.'

'I am still convinced,' cried Stupeo, 'that a state of nature is the more eligible. It signifies nothing that the human species may be multiplied in society. The happiness, and not the numbers of mankind is to be considered; and the greatest possible good would be, to let one family reside up|on a thousand acres, in the most perfect freedom and happiness, rather than have a family upon every acre, with the present consequences of society.'

'You talk strange contradictions,' said the Doc|tor. 'You are never consistent in your opinions: do you not know, that in society we must barter some privileges for a portion of social happiness.'

'But truth, eternal truth,' cried Stupeo, 'is—'

'What we have heard an hundred times,' said

Frederick, 'in as many different definitions; for my part I am disgusted with every thing.' These philosophers were here interrupted by the snoring of Mungo, who had quietly laid down upon the straw, untroubled with the nature of truth or metaphysical disquisitions; and the three great men concluded, that ignorance was in some measure necessary to happiness. The next morning, Parecho attended his guests to a large hall, where they found a great number of people sitting upon benches: in the midd of the hall was a square platform, railed round simi|lar to a small stage. There was no ornament to fix the eye, nor any music to catch the ear, a pro|found silence remained.'

'Why,' said Alogos to Parecho, 'is the place painted black. Have you no priests—no music?'

'There was once very fine paintings,' said Pare|cho, 'representing the miracles in Egppt and the Wilderness, but it was feared by the philosophers that these symbols would recall to mind the God of their fathers, which they wished to expunge from the human soul.—We used to have fine mu|sic; but the musicians could not be paid, and the whole art sell rapidily to decay, for who would or could attend to the acquirement of skill, when all their reward was a bare existence. As to the old priests they were deemed to have enslaved the peo|ple, by darkening their minds with superstition, and indulging themselves in licentiousness; so that they were most of them destroyed, and the rest mingled with the people.'

A person now moved from the crowd, and mounting the stage, made an oration for half an hour upon morality, political justice, and the great book of Nature, where he asserted every thing was to be learnt that was worth knowing: he concluded

with declaring against the power of revealed religi|on, to check the crimes of men, asserting, that mo|rality was every thing, and the light of nature the real standard of virtue.

The people then waited some time; and no one else coming forward, they dispersed to walk in the fields, the day being an holiday.

Our philosophers likewise quitted the city, follow|ing at a distance the orator, who had harangued a|bout morality. They entered a grove of trees where they sat down, conversing on politics. A young woman was walking in the grove, to whom the mor|alist advanced, and seemed to press her to something she objected. He was proceeding to violence, when a young man sprung upon him; they both fell to the ground, but the orator being the strongest, rose, and with a long knife stabbed the youth to the heart, and ran away.

'Horrid!' cried Doctor Alogos, 'is there no means of punishing the monster?'

'This man,' said Parecho, indignantly, 'is a re|former of the people, and such the consequence of his doctrine. If you destroy in the minds of men the belief of an avenging and infinite Power, you give loose to every passion in the corrupted heart of man. It is not possible to bring this wretch to justice, be|cause no individual has the power of life and death, unless it is done in a private manner, by way of re|taliation;—besides, it is contrary to political justice, that any past offence should be punished with coer|cion.

'Very true,' said Stupeo, 'that I taught the peo|ple of England. But he might be fined—no man, or body of men, can have a right to punish with death.'

'But how will you fine a man who has no prop|erty, and where all are equal—and what could be

done with the fine? You would soon destroy equal|ity.'

'But you might imprison him,' said Frederick, 'to prevent his doing the same again.'

'Impossible,' replied Parecho.—'My dear Sir, hear the opinions of our great philosophers. The body is perpetually changing—the soul of man be|comes every moment a different being; so that were we to put this man in prison, to-morrow we should be confining a totally different being wholly innocent of the crime.'

'Very good,' replied Doctor Alogos, 'the fash|ionable Mr. Hume has made most of the young men converts to these very doctrines in my country. So that, notwithstanding I can recollect a friend or a wife for twenty years back, they are not the same persons. I and they are changed, transformed, and renewed, nobody knows how often; and Mr. Hume, who finished the essays, was not the Mr. Hume who wrote the treatise on Human Nature. So Alex|ander the Great, who was the son of Philip of Macedon, was not the Alexander the Great who subdued Greece by his flatteries, nor him who over|threw the Persians.'

'Such being the case,' said Parecho, 'it is plain▪ that there can be no punishments without they are corporeal, nor any corporeal punishment without infringing political justice: you cannot restore the injury done to society by committing an outrage in the article of punishment.'

'Then crimes may be done with impunity,' said Doctor Alogos.

'What a delightful country,' cried Stupeo. 'I will never quit it. The human mind is here in perfect freedom. At length, my dear Frederick, we have found the place where our principles are practicable, where truth and philosophy shine with

beams of irradiating splendour, and the dignity of human nature is unsophisticated in its pursuits.'

'Would that I were once more in England with my dear Laura, if the children of nature have not murdered her,' said the Doctor, with a deep sigh.

Frederick knew not what to think: his senses frequently contradicted the profound Stupeo, and often led him to think his tutor in the wrong; but the philosophical disquisitions, the grand doc|trines of the greatest good, and the elegant Ro|mance of Political Justice, inclined him again to the new philosophy.

Our vagabonds returned to the city, when they became hungry. Stupeo grumbled very much to find only coarse bread and fruits, with clear water. 'Have you no fermented liquors,' said he, 'no spirits?'

'No,' answered Parecho: 'spirits could not be the universal drink, independent of the labour to procure them; they are, therefore, unallowable in a state of equality. At first, when they were distributed according to every one's pleasure, the streets were filled with drunkards. Nature never designed men to drink liquid fire.'

'At least,' said Frederick, 'I should think ani|mal food would give variety to your table.'

'What,' replied Parecho, 'rear animals on pur|pose to destroy them. Nature never tells us any such thing—we used formerly to have excellent oxen, but since labour has been equally divided, no body will undertake to breed them; and the species is become almost extinct: besides, no one would take the unpleasant office of butcher, where there was no reward.'

'Human life,' said the Doctor, 'is not worth

enjoying, when we thus limit our pursuits—the very peasants in my country enjoy infinitely more advantages: and what does any government signi|fy, if in reality men are not benefitted, the intel|lects expanded, and their gratifications increased?'

'It is a false taste,' said Stupeo, 'which has in|troduced animal food: and if we do indulge in it, why not eat it raw?—Nature, had she intended we should feed upon dressed dishes, would have produc|ed animals ready roasted and boiled.'

'And why not,' said Parecho, 'have loaves and cakes ready baked, grow upon stalks in the field: all this is a deviation from nature, and very absurd in great philosophers to follow. But seriously, what is this jargon about nature?—What is na|ture?'

'Why, nature,' answered Stupeo, 'is that which every man sees with his eyes—it is visible at first view to all understandings—it is the influence of rational principles impinging upon men, actions palpable to every comprehension:—It is derived from the single letter N.—Take the Latin words nascor, natus, natura, and the French né for born, analyse them, and you will find that Ascor being but a frequentive, Atus a common idiomatic expression, Atura the same, é the same, reduces all these words to the single letter N, which offers no sense: restore the eliptic syllable ge, cut off by the usual tendency of languages to contrac|tion, or to euphony, you have geN-ascor, geN-atu••, geN-atura, geN-é; in which gen, the radical of generative, of kind, of beginning, and of hundreds more, gives a clear sense, and consequently are de|rived

from 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉* 1.77 thus nature signifies beginning, or begetting, so that to act according to nature, is to begin, to beget, to produce, which is according to the light of reason and nature.'

'But what is the light of nature?' cried Doctor Alogos▪—'We know the genuine meaning of the word, bat you apply to nature a personality; you make a mere action an active being; such are the consequences of applying terms, when the real mean|ing of the word is not understood; and thus we go to deny a Creator, and place in his stead not a pow|er, not a being, but an absolute action, called a be|ginning or a begetting. Thus to express ourselves clearly, we should say, The act of beginning teaches us to prefer good for evil. The act of beginning has produced all things. Thus we should avoid the ab|surdity of confounding an act with the person of the actor, for even a new philosopher would startle, if, in place of saying man can be no longer happy than while he lives according to nature, we were to say —man can be no longer happy than while he lives according to the act of beginning. Let the worship|pers of the act of beginning, or nature, remember the advice of Mr. Lock, to be perfectly acquainted with the meaning of words they begin to dispute about, and not overthrow society with a cant jargon of e|quivocal expressions. But we are now plunging into the profound and muddy abyss of metaphysics, and shall lose ourselves in the darkness.'

'How do you marry in this country of equality?' said Frederick: 'Is it a civil or religious ceremony?'

'It cannot well be called either, replied Pare|cho. 'At the first establishment of equality, eve|ry

man gave a full sway to his passions, and in one week there was scarcely a maid above fourteen. The labour of the females, as I informed you before, rendered them very indifferent objects to the young men, and it was judged a deviation from equality, that one should have a pretty wife, and another an ordinary one. It was proposed that all young peo|ple, arrived at the age of marriage, should once a year assemble, and the nearest of stature divided into parcels, each casting lots for his partner;—they are then deemed marr••ed, and if they have children, cannot be disunited; but if they have not, they may, by mutual consent, change every year, because the number of the people are the strength of the repub|lic; thus we attempt to increase population, while we smother the principles of vitality.'

'Have you any mode of punishing adultery?' in|quired Stupeo.

'No; the will of the sex is free, and were it not a matter of policy, no man would marry.'

'That is as it should be,' said Stupeo: 'if the rich of the old world knew of this blessed spot, you would have no reason to complain of the decay of your people.'

'No grass grows in our highways,' says Parecho: 'licentiousness and debauchery will never increase or improve the human species; the people must have a taste for domestic enjoyments: a hope must be ex|cited of reward for the rearing of an offspring, or natural affection will do very little.'

'You shall go with me to England,' said Doc|tor Alogos; 'you shall see there the remains of conjugal affection, and virtues which still linger in Europe; you shall tell the people the effects of this horrid and impracticable system of equality.'

'Impossible,' said Parecho; 'a man who is real|ly a patriot, will not abandon his country when it is in danger. The hour may come when the people will awake, and they will need some one to direct their rising hopes.'

'I will return,' cried the Doctor, 'that I may at least set my example before them, and would to God they could see the precipice to which they are blindly straying, and open their eyes to the private views and interests of those misereants who are shaking the torch of sedition in their face, while they seek only an opportunity of picking their pockets.'

Stupeo made a long oration against leaving the country, where the new philosophy completely tri|umphed, protesting if they had but a little brandy, he would prefer it to any spot on the earth; and Frederick, who was nearly ashamed of his former opinions, consented to follow the Doctor.

Having taken leave of Parecho, they returned by the way they came, not a little amused with those naked philosophers, who were studying the public good, and working in ratio for the support of equal|ity.

'It seems to me,' said the Doctor, 'that to study private good would be more advantageous: it is impossible the public good can be established upon private evils.'

They clambered the rugged mountains with dif|ficulty, descending again to the forests of America. The day was extremely sultry, not a breath of air whispered amongst the trees, and a strong sulphur|ous smell exhaled around them. A thick haze overspread the face of the heavens, through which the sun appeared one moment purple, and the next violet.'

'Oh horrible!' cried Stupeo: 'what do I see?

The phenomena of nature are changing—the deso|lation of all things is at hand.'

'What desolation?' said the Doctor, calmly; 'are you frightened at your own ideas? or do you think this terrene habitation will dissolve? Do you believe in the revelations and prophecy?'

'Is this a moment to talk of such things,' said Stupeo, 'when an instant may swallow us alive into the gulph of hell? Do you not feel the ground trem|ble beneath you?'

'The ground tremble!' said the Doctor; 'what have you an idea in your head of the ground being in convulsions?'

'An idea?' cried Stupeo▪ 'can any man in his senses call this an idea? Look at the dreadful appear|ance of the sun, and say if that's an idea: see how the trees bend—the earth moves like the waves of the ocean:—O God! what will become of us?'

At these words, Stupeo cast himself upon the ground, which was agitated by an earthquake, and exhibited a scene tremendously grand. The moun|tains, over which they had passed, split with dread|ful chasms, tumbling fragments of rock broke from their beds, and rushed into the plains, tearing all before them. The earth undulated like a moving lake—at the intervals of a few minutes, yawning with a frightful rent, and closing with a dreadful concus|sion: a large savanna sunk at a distance, and a body of water overwhelmed it forever.

'Oh! omnipotent Being,' cried Doctor Alogos, falling on his knees, 'protect us from the surround|ing ruin — if such, O Preserver of mankind, be the consequence of some trif••ing disorder in nature, what would this world be if governed alone by chance? —It depends upon thee forever for its existence,

and, if thy power be withdrawn, every atom will disunite, and the wind bear them like chaff through the regions of space.'

'I acknowledge,' said Frederick, his eye gazing upon the dun face of the heavens; 'I acknowledge there is a great and ETERNAL POWER. The phenomena of nature must convince us, if we are not fools, but it is easy in a calm region, where the seasons are scarcely ruffled by a storm, to doubt the existence of a God, as men frequently doubt in their own minds, whether they shall die before they ar|rive at an hundred while health floats in their veins.'

'It is not sufficient,' said Doctor Alogos, 'that we behold the wonders of nature, these can only in|spire our minds with the sublime and the terrific; we must be taught first by revelation, the great truths of religion, and then shall we find a confir|mation in every particle of matter.'

For half an hour the shocks of the earth continu|ed, and the profoundest silence sealed the lips of these philosophers. Horror chilled their veins, and they expected that the hour of final vengeance was come, when the Most High should judge the world. By degrees the undulations became fainter; the sta••ing rocks remained in their beds, and the phi|losophers found sufficient courage to seat themselves upon fragment.

'At this moment,' said Frederick, 'a solemn awe, a strange sensation trembles through my frame—I feel that I am re-assured, and I do not fear this scene of desolation:—I would at this moment that I could believe in the immortality of the soul; but we are told in the eighteenth century, that it is a modern invention of Christianity.'

'Like many other falsehoods which are delivered dogmatically,' said the Doctor; 'there are none

greater than this. There is scarcely a nation or a people under the heavens who have not believed in it, though some of their ignorant young men have pretended to set it aside, merely because it did not agree with the excess of their passions. Those peo|ple we call heathens, in the Elysian fields, plainly testify their belief, which is as ancient as record can refer to.—Homer was no philosopher of the eigh|teenth century—but we might go higher than Homer, we might travel to the ages immediately succeeding the deluge when the Noahchidae settled in the Median mountains, when the Cushites hewed out the mountains of Thebes into caverns, which exist to this day, an everlasting memorial of that great devastation. In these caverns, safe, as they hoped, from another flood, and before they dared venture into the plains (where they built the city of Thebes) they invented the mysteries of hierogly|phics to convey the sacred doctrines of their religion, which, doubtless they received by traditions prior to the deluge* 1.78. In these hieroglyphics the The|baic beetle had principal part, and was the em|blem of immortality for two reasons: the first, be|cause, after the waters of the Nile subside, and leave the mud behind, this insect is the first which ap|pears, and is thence emblematic of the resurrection; and the second, because the beetle is the longest liv|ed of any insect known, far exceeding the age of man. From these people descended the Egyptians, the fathers of science. A colony also spread east|ward, and were the founders of the Hindoo nations, professing the religion of Buddha or Boodh, who was the Hermes, or Mercury of the western, and the Woden, Odin, or Gwoden of the northern

world* 1.79. It is remarkable that all the primitive my|thologies agree in every grand point, as the existence of a great Supreme, the creation, the immortality of the soul, and future rewards and punishments. The 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 or Druids, who, according to Pliny, took their name from 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 an oak, though inhabiting the regions of the North, yet agree in these points of religion with the people of the torrid zone. Were I to enter into the astonishing discussion, which, of itself must strike the mind with amazement, we should perceive that the first inhabitants of the earth had a pure religion, unmixed with fable, and that i•• is time which has introduced amongst them so many fictitious deities: but, to prove to you what I have said, I will repeat to you part of a passage relative to a future heaven, which is taken from the Icelandic, and was the tradition of the ancient Cel••e, Danes, Scytheans, &c. from whom the nations of Europe are descended.

Speaking of the destruction of the world:—The fire consumes every thing, and the flame reaches up to hea|ven; but presently after, a new earth springs up from the bosom of the waves, adorned with green meadows; the fields there bring forth, without culture; calamities are there unknown; a palace is there raised more shining than the sun, all covered with gold: this is the place that the just inhabit, and enjoy delights for ever more. Then the powerful, the valiant, He who governs all things, comes forth from his lofty abodes to render divine justice —He pronounces decrees—He establishes the sacred des|tinies which shall endure forever.† 1.80

'Such is the doctrine of those men we call heath|ens, whom we are told only invented deities through

fear. But let us one moment now, when the earth ceases its concussions, ask, if the point-blank assertion of the new philosophers be true, when they tell us that the immortality of the soul cannot be traced from the Old Testament.'

'Prove that it can,' said Stupeo;—'prove that, and I will believe any thing.'

'What do you say of Saul, and the Witch of Endor?' said the Doctor. 'The very identical spirit of Samuel was supposed to appear, which could not have been, if they believed the soul either a bun|dle of transient ideas with Hume, or mere matter. What do you say of charmers and dealers with fa|miliar spirits? or, in the Ecclesiastes, chap. 3. v. 21, where Solomon asks, who knoweth the spirit of a man that goeth upward, and the spirit of a beast that go|eth downward to the earth? But even more plain than all this, we read in the twelfth chaper of Daniel, Many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth, shall a|wake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame, and everlasting contempt.—In the 4th chapter of Job, he says, Then a spirit passed before my face, and the hair of my head stood up* 1.81.

'But why,' said Stupeo, 'is not the Old Testa|ment as full in this point as the New? And why did not Moses' law declare future rewards and pun|ishments?'

'The Old Testament,' answered the Doctor, 'contains only the civil code of the Jews, holding up to them a deity who held sin in so much abhor|rence, that its effects were entailed to the fourth gen|eration. The sublime doctrines of Christianity were reserved for a greater than Moses to promul|gate; though it was evident the Jews, as well as other nations, believed the immortality of the soul.'

'Why,' said Frederick, 'could you ever doubt, when you seem so capable of removing the doubts of others?'

'Because,' answered Doctor Alogos, 'the human mind is charmed with novelty, and loses solid reason in the glare of plausible hypothesis. It requires reflection to perceive that the philosophers of the present day are supremely ignorant, and to cover which, they pretend to deny and discredit every relic of antiquity, by which they would plunge the world again into ignorance. What are the dead languag|es, is a common cry—they teach us nothing—we should be studying man; but, how pray are we to study man:—man, who is a creature of experience, when we destroy the experience of ages? I have act|ually heard a public character, a man of the literary world maintain, that all the classics were mere forg|eries of the fifth century, and that he did not be|lieve there ever existed such persons as Homer, Demosthenes, &c.'

The face of the sky by degrees became serene, and the vagabonds bent their course by the attitude of the sun. Stupeo supported his principles with more vehemence than ever, and ridiculing his late trepidation, he asserted that it was a mere acciden|tal impulsion of the animal oeconomy, arising from the action of the air in its perturbid state, and had nothing in common with his rational faculties, and the grand principles of truth and reason, and uni|versal man.

Frederick revolved in silence the words of Doctor Alogos—he shuddered at the remembrance of his former actions, and would have openly derelicted from his professions, had he not been ashamed of the reproaches of Stupeo, who perpetually declaimed against that imbecility of mind, which, having once

felt the force of reason, and the grand light of truth, returned again to superstition and ignorance.

To these taunts, Doctor Alogos steadily replied, that, to say he had changed his opinion, was only to say, he was wiser to day than he was yesterday.

CHAPTER XVIII. Stupeo quits the world in a blazing idea—an unexpected meeting, and the conclusion of what is not concluded.

DURING many days these philosophers wander|ed in the woods, till their ammunition was expend|ed, and their spirits exhausted. They had no means of making a fire, and had for some time devoured all their game raw, to the no small prejudice of a state of nature—for even Stupeo himself allowed, that the idea of provisions dressed, was better than the idea of them raw. Their bodies were worn out with fatigue and want; and they were so miserable, as to desire death as a relief.

For three days they tasted nothing but water, and a few berries which grew wild. Their clothes were partly worn from their backs, and the remnants were animated with living multitudes:—a severe fever burnt in the veins of Frederick, and but for the stea|dy encouragement of the Doctor, he would have sunk by the way;—their beards were grown to philosophical length, and take them all in all, they appeared truly the vagabond children of nature.

In this forlorn condition, Stupeo uttered curses with volubility, arraigning the conduct of Provi|dence, if such there really were.

Doctor Alogos endeavoured to inspire him with patience, observing, that Providence was not to blame, as themselves had wilfully plunged into the wilderness in search of an ignus fatuus.

When they were all nearly at the last exertion, they were overtaken by a tribe of Indians returning from an expedition against another tribe; and as they could make no defence, they became prisoners with|out a struggle. These men of nature having fed them with a paste of pounded Indian corn, tied their hands behind them, and, notwithstanding they were every moment at the point of fainting, urged them forward in a rapid march—poor Mungo fell down and expired, with the over-exertion; but his fate did not move with false pity the callous bosoms of these children of nature.

Stupeo was almost distracted at his condition, though he obstinately insisted that pity was a false feeling of weakness in the human heart. Frederick now remembered that Rousseau had said, 'That pity was a natural sentiment, which moderates in each individual the activity of self-love, concurring to the mutual preservation of all the species. So wonderfully do great philosophers contradict each other in the grand affair of immutable truth.

On the following day they reached a little Indian village. On setting up the war-whoop, a number of women and children came out to meet them, with screams and yells, surpassing in variety and sublimi|ty of tone, a chorus of an hundred cats howling by moonlight.

'This is the music of a natural ear,' said the Doctor—but Stupeo was too much absorbed in

his execrations, to reply. These great men were con|fined in a little hut, and had a plentiful repast of bruised Indian wheat and water.—'After all,' said Stupeo, 'these savages are better than men in civ|ilized life; this hut or prison is wholesome and clean, we are not confined in a loathsome dungeon —the light of nature is always pure, and the ac|tions of simple men cannot fail to be just. We only become monsters when we condemn each other to eternal flames for a bug-bear, or drag each other to stakes for the sake of religion. I am more than ever a sceptic; all existence is to my eyes a farce, a folly, an idea. Pain, pleasure, life, death, every thing is an idea, or Hume must be wrong.'

While he thus spoke to his silent companions, an hideous howl and continued roar of joy advanced towards them. It was night, and the Indians drew near, dancing in rude figures, with torches of pitch-pine, blazing in the air.

'These are very singular ideas,' said the Doctor; 'if your ideas and my perceptions are alike, we shall have a comfortable idea of roasting.'

'I maintain,' said Stupeo:—the door of the hut at that instant was opened, and several black chil|dren of reason dragged out the miserable philoso|pher, and bore him triumphantly to a green, in the centre of the village. There they fastened him to a stake, and sticking his body full of pine-knots, set fire to the whole, which consumed the miserable wretch with the most agonizing tortures, while the sons of nature danced around him, mocking his cries, and encouraging their children to dart at him little pointed arrows* 1.82.

Such was the termination of that enlightened great man, who, while he lived, endeavoured to kindle the world, and set society in a flame, but expired himself in the midst of a blaze.

'Alas!' cried Frederick, in extreme agitation, 'What is man? A being influenced by cruelty and rapine:—he is worse than the savage hyena of the desert, or the untamed tyger of the burning sands. I see with bitter conviction, that coercion and laws are necessary to restrain the arm of destruction and violence: in the imperfect nature of all terrene ex|istences, no law can be made to deter the wicked, without being a restraint, or in some instances, a grievance to some who are innocent.—I see that so|ciety, with all its drawbacks, possesses the greatest portion of real happiness; and that half our mise|ries we bring on ourselves, by endeavouring to raise human nature superior to itself.'

'I am afraid,' said the Doctor, 'it will be our turn next. These wretches are ignorant of the laws of nations; and they have not sufficient religion to teach them the duties of man to man.'

Thus these two vagabonds, turncoats, unworthy the great name, or glorious martyrdom of the im|mortal Stupeo, who perished in the heat of his own ideas, bewailed the accident of a gentle roasting.

But the Indians had no sooner perfectly reduced the great philosopher, metaphysician, and politician, to the idea of a few cinders, than they advanced to the cottage, and dragged out the two prisoners to re|new their pastime.

As they approached the stakes, they were buffet|ted on every side by severe blows from the delicate fists of the ladies, who out of spite at the fair skin of the dirty, lousy, Frederick, bit and pinched him with a very agreeable and sportive air. Indeed, if one might judge by their cries, they were even more de|lighted than the tender European ladies who crowd to see some poor wretches extended on a gibbet, or run screaming to contemplate an house in flames; or, than the fair daughters of France, who danced the Carmagnole round the guillotine.

While they were tying their victims to the stake, and dancing round with their blazing torches, the report of a gun struck them with consternation, and a loud yell bespoke their despair:—a second fire, which sent a bullet whistling amongst them, urged them to flight, and our heroes remained exposed to whatever might ensue—a large fire gleamed on one side of them, by the light of which they perceived several persons advancing, dressed in▪ frocks, like American hunters.

They drew near with their rifles in their hands, and seemed to start with astonishment when they saw two white men naked, and covered with dirt. 'Whoever you are,' said Frederick, in a doleful voice, 'have pity upon our situation, and release us before these monsters return.'

'Who are you?' said one of the strangers, whose hat was adorned with a feather—'Surely, I am no stranger to your voice.'

'My name is Fredrick Fenton.'

'Frederick Fenton!' exclaimed the stranger; 'O! eternal Providence, what mysteries involve us finite beings?—Hast thou brought into the wilder|ness of America 'the man I had most reason to ab|hor, and made me the instrument of his preserva|tion. Me, whom he so cruelly injured in the person of my Amelia?'

'What,' cried Frederick, 'are you Vernon? Point your rifle at me, and finish at once the days of a miscreant.'

'No,' replied Vernon; 'it is not for me to wrest vengeance to myself; but how are you in this situa|tion? Gratitude to your father makes me almost re|joice that I have saved his son.'

'Gratitude,' sighed Frederick. 'Ah, Vernon! had I but felt it more early; had I listened to the common claims of nature and of society, I might have been a worthy member. But the new sophis|ticated jargon of philosophy and impracticable liber|ty, had rendered me insane. I have, however, been the pupil of experience, and have seen the ashes of Stupeo scatterred by the wind.'

'I will return to society,' said Vernon: 'it was the loss of a woman which embittered it to me, and drove me a forlorn wanderer in these woods; where I have fortunately found another to supply her lost, and lead me again into the world. I fancy, Fred|erick, she is not unknown to you; and if I may judge right, this is Doctor Alogos her uncle.'

'Can it be,' cried the enraptured man, 'that my dear Laura yet lives—is it possible she has escaped from these horrid savages?'

'She now, I hope, waits us at your plantation,' replied Vernon, 'where I left her to search for you, in company with these my friends; though I confess with very little expectation of finding you.'

'Thou art too good: O Providence!' cried Alogos, shedding tears, 'what is man, that thou art mindful of him?'

'I am glad,' said Frederick:—'I feel at this mo|ment more satisfaction than I have felt for years— surely, there is something in virtue not be described, —you will be happy, Vernon, with Laura—she is formed for you, and I rejoice that I did not succeed in debasing her purity. I am tired with philosophy; I detest politics; and I perceive that an equality, the most exact and perfect in respect of every moral and social obligation, springs from inequality itself.'

'Have you heard lately from Europe?' inquired Doctor Alogos. 'Yes,' replied Vernon: 'I have news, that in Frederick's present sentiments, will increase his satisfaction. His mother yet lives; she recovered with much difficulty from her wounds— but she mourns with, her husband the deviation of their son.'

'I will fly,' cried Frederick—'I will cast myself at their feet, and implore them to pardon me.'

In less than a month, they arrived again in Ken|tucky, where they found population increasing with the numerous emigrations, but unhappiness and dis|content prevailed: for though the grounds which were cultivated were productive, there was no chan|nel for trade—and it signifies nothing to a farmer, that his harvest is plentiful, if he has no market to meet his commodities.

Taxes increased, and every man was obliged to learn the military exercise, and keep in check the predatory Indians.

Doctor Alogos remarked, that the people of America was equally dissatisfied with the people of England; and saw clearly, that no government would be universally approved, which was not to the exact model and interest of every private individual.

At Philadelphia he settled his accounts, and drew his money from the bank.—Laura gave her hand to Vernon; and Frederick could not but feel a wish, that he had some amiable maid to unite her destiny with his—and by mutual good offices, smooth the rugged road of life. He felt at that moment, that the endearing and tender smile of a modest woman has more real pleasure, than the most wanton bland|ishments of promiscuous intercourse.

The wind favoured their return to the land of genuine liberty, where there is not one man so ob|scure as not to possess a right, nor one man so high, as not to be subject to the laws.

Where the noble and the peasant are upon equality in the penal code, and no man can suffer for his crimes, but with the consent of twelve of his equals,—a right unknown to every government heretofore existing— a right which checks at once the arm of power, brib|ery, or malice.

Doctor Alogos threw himself upon the beach, while tears of pleasure gushed from his eyes.—'Hap|py, happy shores,' exclaimed he, 'how few compar|itive evils do you know. Unvisited by savage war —insulated from a treacherous and rapacious foe— untainted by pestilence, and at a distance from the climes, where earthquakes and tornados in one mo|ment swallow up, or sweep away the exertions of a century.—Thy lands are never parched with the beams of a torrid sun, or gelid with the frosts of the polar circles: thou never fe••est the blaze of perpet|ual day, or the stillness of constant twilight. Thy fields never fail in their produce, and half the world brings the tributes of commerce to thy shores— though the smallest nation on earth in local territory, thy situation and the valor of thy genuine children, renders thee impregnable. Nor is there a spot up|on

the universal globe, so favoured by Nature, and so blessed by Heaven.

May then thy fair face never be blasted by the in|sidious attacks of self-interested and ignorant empirics; may the mania of impracticable political dreams be dispersed by the surges of thy rocky shores; and may thy fair daughters know, that modesty and maternal feelings are the chief ornaments of a celestial mind. Experience has qualified me to judge of learning, whose researches have taught me the paucity of the human mind! taught me, that in this age of reason, in the eighteenth century, I may exclaim with the learned and polished Socrates—'All that I know is that I know nothing.'

FINIS

Notes

• * 1.1

  See page 132 and 161 of Political Justice, where the two last contradictory absurdities will be found verbatim.
• * 1.2

  Political Justice.
• * 1.3

  Rousseau.
• † 1.4

  Godwin.
• ‡ 1.5

  Hume on Human Nature, vol. i. page 168.
• * 1.6

  Paine.
• * 1.7

  It may not be unworthy observation, that the French Repub|lic has conquered all the little republics round them, and only the two monarchies of Sardinia and Naples.
• * 1.8

  This inconsistent sentence makes a brilliant figure in the Social Contract. The reader is not to be surprised if he finds these great men contradict themselves in the course of the work; if they did not, they would not be modern philosophers.
• † 1.9

  Hume on Human Nature, vol. i. page 361 and 438.
• * 1.10

  Hume on Human Nature, vol. i. page 361 and 438.
• † 1.11

  See Beattie's excellent Treatise on Truth.
• * 1.12

  Political Justice.
• * 1.13

  Political Justice.
• * 1.14

  Busson.
• * 1.15

  Hume on Human Nature, vol. i. page 468 and 434.
• * 1.16

  A cant phrase of all Reformers.
• * 1.17

  The modern doctrine of Godwin and Co.
• † 1.18

  I have been accused of pleading for duelling. Let any man, who calls himself a gentleman judge.
• * 1.19

  Political Justice, page 86.
• * 1.20

  It is to be lamented that the Government party do not en|deavour to counteract this method of propagating French principles, by distributing books of religious and moral duty
• * 1.21

  Political Justice, vol. i. page 156 to 160.
• * 1.22

  Rousseau's Confessions.
• * 1.23

  Godwin's Political Justice, page 84.
• * 1.24

  Vol. i. page 469.
• * 1.25

  This very assertion, among many others, was made to a London audience by a London Political Lecturer.
• † 1.26

  Meeting at Chalk Farm.
• † 1.27

  Meeting at Copenhagen House.
• * 1.28

  The conductors of the Co••responding Society will perfectly remember the genuine le•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the society from places where no clubs existed. But these are secrets in all trades.
• † 1.29

  Rights of Man.
• * 1.30

  No man who has the smallest affection for genuine liberty would for a moment wish the establishment of affiliated clubs, under whatever pretence. The Jacobine club has deluged France with blood. But not to mention what every one knows, and to suppose that their ostensible motives were good, still they have no right to dictate to the nation at large: and it is well known that a few daring and needy men may by this coalition domineer over a whole people. The words of the Emperor Trajan to Pliny may here be applied. When the latter re|quested permission to institute a company of firemen, the for|mer consented with these words: "But it is to be remember|ed, that this sort of societies have greatly disturbed the peace of that province in general, and of those cities in particular. Whatever name we give them, and for whatever purposes they may be founded, they will not fail to form themselves into as|semblies, however short their meetings may be." So political clubs for whatever purpose instituted, will not fall in the end to produce anarchy, and take the reins of government into their own hands.
• * 1.31

  Political Justice.
• * 1.32

  A post-master's son at Louvain, of the name of Wolfe, whose intellects were deranged, had for many years imagined himself to be a prince. As his madness was harmless, his friends did not confine him, and he used to sign his name the Prince de Wolfe, and to wear stars and ribbons of different orders. This Prince wrote a letter to the Assembly, testifying his admiration of the wisdom and philosophy of their decrees, and promising to imitate so great and good an example in his own territories, —The letter was received, and read with enthusiasm in the Assembly and the President was ordered to write an answer to the Prince de Wolfe.
• * 1.33

  One would be apt to think the ignorance of the twelfth cen|tury was returned, when the geography of Brabant was un|known in France.

  PLAYE ••'s History of Jac••binism, page 346.
• * 1.34

  Godwin.
• † 1.35

  Godwin's Political Justice, page 761.
• * 1.36

  See the elegant reasons for boxing in Anna St. Ives and Hugh Trevor: two Novels, which the Democratic Reviews hold up as samples of virtue and morality. It is true, if blas|phemy and curses are virtue and morality, these offsprings of the new school have an ample claim.
• * 1.37

  An article in the Jacobin Creed.
• * 1.38

  The cant word for no principles but those of profligacy, irreligion, &c.
• † 1.39

  See the Political Magazine for 1780.
• * 1.40

  Paine and Godwin on Revolutions and Anarchy.
• * 1.41

  One would be tempted to suppose the man insane, who should maintain that the human soul was a material substance, and had no existence after death, but that he had no doubt when we had east away our prejudices, we should become im|mortal in this present world. Such consistency is the doctrine of Godwin, Holcrost, &c. &c.
• * 1.42

  Political Magazine, 1780.
• * 1.43

  See Godwin's Political Justice. In one page he declaims against war, with all the fire of words, and in another he tells us he hopes it will one day become a generous, manly, and o|pen system. So much for consistency.—It may not be unwor|thy to remark the eternal babble kept up by the new philoso|phers concerning war. War is savage, war is inhuman, war is despotic, &c. &c. Granted. Who does not know this. But there are wars which are inevitable, in which, to be passive, would be came submission to destruction. The people fortunately begin to open their eyes, and see into the hypocrisy of these friends to the human race. They see that a republic can outstretch the farthest stride of kingly ambition, and grasp at universal domin|ion.
• * 1.44

  The reader may find many of these sentiments in the Life of Mrs. Wolstonecraft.
• * 1.45

  Rights of Women. Part I.
• * 1.46

  We are told in the Life of Mrs. Wolstonecraft, that she reasoned little; those who reason much will easily believe the fact.
• * 1.47

  Godwin's Enquirer, page 27.
• * 1.48

  Godwin's Political Justice, page 89
• * 1.49

  Enquirer, page 175.
• * 1.50

  See the excellent Treatise on the Police of the Metropo|lis, which, though certainly exaggerated in some of the calcula|tions, deserves the attention of every man.
• * 1.51

  The reader must observe the difference of the Vagabond's sentiments, which is the exact language of modern Jacobins. If one of their own party suffers for his crimes, it is a massa|cre, and must be revenged by the most sanguine examples; but if thousands are murdered by their own party, it is then a pet|ty ebullition of liberty—nothing, compared to the great object they aim at.
• * 1.52

  I would observe, that I never personally knew a republi|can who did not support this doctrine; there may be those who do not, but I never found them.
• * 1.53

  Godwin's Political Justice, 410 page 852.
• * 1.54

  After such a sentence as this, which is in Godwin's Politi|cal Justice, 410. page 851, the reader will not accuse the au|thor of exaggerating facts.
• * 1.55

  Memoirs of Mrs. Woolstonecraft Godwin. A Democrat|ic Review says, my treatment of Mrs. Godwin, in these vol|umes, is brutal. If repeating verbatim her own sentiments be brutality, then am I guilty. But if they mean that such senti|ments brutalize a woman, I cannot help that.
• * 1.56

  For the sake of the English reader, these words may be found in Johnson's Dictionary.
• * 1.57

  To this may now be added the Monk.
• * 1.58

  Godwin's Political Justice, page 36.
• * 1.59

  I believe this is an observation of Hume, in his History of England, but only quoting from memory cannot be certain.
• * 1.60

  It is a known fact, that every part of the human body has a regular price. No person can deny the necessity of dis|sections, but as at present conducted, they are a disgrace and an outrage on society;—nor are the jests and levity of some of the young surgeons becoming, over the body of an human being.
• * 1.61

  Priestly on Matter and Spirit, vol. i. page 74.
• * 1.62

  One of the pursuits pointed out to females; ••ide Rights of Women.
• * 1.63

  Let the reader reflect upon this. Nothing is annihilated, though the form may be changed. What then becomes of the soul?—Are the laws of nature suspended in this one in|stance? If not, the soul must still exist—it must be somewhere.
• * 1.64

  Godwin's Political Justice, page 804.
• * 1.65

  See Imley's Romantic account of Kentucky.
• * 1.66

  It is the practice of the new school to exalt every thing savage. An Indian is with them the most virtuous of human beings; and they make him utter sentiments he never heard, and perform actions which never were witnessed. Why is all this but to loosen men from the reciprocal bonds of society, and to sap the foundations of human governments. So far in|deed are the Indians removed from, these sentimental phantoms, that they are totally the contrary; though the emancipation of the negroes, and the inhumanity of Christians, is an excel|lent stalking horse, for those who pretend to ••er feelings than the rest of mankind. The following note will illustrate the tenderness of the emancipated negroes, and the fine feelings of their deliverers. See the note in Playfair's History of Jacobin|ism, page 341.

  'The insurrections, massacres, and cruelties of St. Domingo, would make a large volume, were they to be detailed. The Abbe Gregoire and Brissot were too of the most active instiga|tors of the revolt of the negroes and mulattoes. Gregoire, who was member of the Assembly, when he heard of a terri|ble massacre, in which the negroes, had for their bloody stand|ard a white infant, impaled on a spear, declared it was the pius beau jour de sa vie. This philosophic cannibal was at supper when the news was brought, and he and his friends finished the evening with mutual congratulations and joy, on the suc|cess of their plans.'
• * 1.67

  See Byron's Narrative, Cook's Voyages. Loss of the Gros|venor. &c.
• * 1.68

  It is astonishing how ridiculous and even irrational the new doctrines appear, when taken from the page of metaphy|sics, and contrasted with practice.
• * 1.69

  Godwin's Political Justice, 8 vo. edition, chap. VI. also En|quirer▪ page 163.
• * 1.70

  For the information of the reader, I will transcribe a pic|ture of the domiciliary visits at Paris, from Mr. Pel••r's Der••ier, Tableaux de Paris, printed in London. 'At ten o'clock at night groups of soldiers placed at the angles of all the streets, arrested whoever was yet found s••ying about. Two hours had not yet been sufficient for those who sought a place of secrecy and surely against the formidable inquisition. The husband ••led from his wife, and the father from his children▪ whom he pressed to his bosom, thinking it was for the last time Every one thinks himself accused: every one fears that amongst their visitors will be found an enemy or a spy, or a servant who will discov|er his place of refuge. One flies to the most distant quarter of the city, here one is received, there one is repulsed, and the fatal moment which approaches, doubles the inquietude and anxiety. Decency is in a degree violated by friendship:—here the brother shares the bed of his sister, and there chastity and virtue implores an asylum from vice; and many whose lives had been without a stain, seek security under the curtains of prostitution.—Every where persons and property are conceal|ed, every where the interrupted sounds of the muffled ham|mer are heard striking with a slow and fearful stroke.'
• * 1.71

  What will the advocates for a representative government say to this doctrine of Mr. Godwin?
• * 1.72

  Godwin's Enquirer, page 5.
• † 1.73

  The reader is referred to Dr. Me•• ••g••s for Paris, translated into French by Dum••urier, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••e will find a true but wretched description of a counts ••ouring under the practice of the new philosophy.
• * 1.74

  I know many of the new school will say that I misrepre|sent the meaning of equality, that they do not mean equality of property, but equality of rights; the truth is, they mean both, though the fairest pretence is held out. Are not titles and dis|tinctions property? But that is not where they would stop, as every man of common intelligence knows.
• * 1.75

  At Narbonne the books have been sent to the arsenal; and at Fontaine le Dijon, the library of the Fuillants has been thrown aside as waste, in the hall of old papers. Horace and Virgil have been condemned not only for acknowledging ty|rants, but for having been often printed for the use of tyrants, and by the permission of tyrants. The meridian circles made by Butterfield, for the globes of Coronelli, and the medals which are at the national library, were calculated to amount to half a little cannon. At Lyons, Cassenet threw into the crucible 800 antique medals of gold. Notes at the end of Playfair's History, where the new philosopher will find a catalogue of glorious exploits of a similar nature.
• * 1.76

  See this extraordinary passage in the life of Appollonius Tyananus, by Phylostratus, Lib. ii. Cap. 14.
• * 1.77

  Etymological Dictionary.
• * 1.78

  Bruce's Travels.
• * 1.79

  See Maurice's very curious work of Indian Antiquities.
• † 1.80

  See this passage▪ amongst many very singular remains of antiquity, in Mallet's Northern Antiquities.
• * 1.81

  The book of Job is reckoned one of the most ancient by canonists.
• * 1.82

  Note from Playfair's History of Jacobinism, page 496— 'Amongst these prisoners (i. e. 200 whom the new philoso|phers murdered at the grand Chatelet) was a woman who for|merly sold flowers, and who in a fit of jealousy, had mutilated her lover, one of the French guards, in a very barbarous and shameful manner.—She had been condemned, but obtained a respite for some time.—The rage of the murderers was redou|bled on seeing the woman who had thus murdered one of their companions:—she was tied to a stake, her feet nailed to the ground, her breasts cut off with a sabre, and then tortured with lighted torches and pointed instruments, in a more cruel and brutal manner than it would be fit to describe.'

  The learned may infer that savages are much alike, all over the world.