CHAPTER XXV.

_Julian performs the parts of a knight and a dancing-master_ 122

BOOK XIX.

CHAPTER VII.

_Wherein Anna Boleyn relates the history of her life_ 125

THE JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE TO

LISBON.

PAGE

DEDICATION TO THE PUBLIC 145

PREFACE 147

INTRODUCTION 156

THE VOYAGE 169

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FIELDING'S TOMB AT LISBON _Frontispiece_

I DESIRED HIM MUCH TO NAME A PRICE _Page 3_

HE ABJECTLY IMPLORED FOR MERCY _" 258_

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INTRODUCTION.

When it was determined to extend the present edition of Fielding, not

merely by the addition of _Jonathan Wild_ to the three universally

popular novels, but by two volumes of _Miscellanies_, there could be no

doubt about at least one of the contents of these latter. The _Journal

of a Voyage to Lisbon_, if it does not rank in my estimation anywhere

near to _Jonathan Wild_ as an example of our author's genius, is an

invaluable and delightful document for his character and memory. It is

indeed, as has been pointed out in the General Introduction to this

series, our main source of indisputable information as to Fielding _dans

son naturel_, and its value, so far as it goes, is of the very highest.

The gentle and unaffected stoicism which the author displays under a

disease which he knew well was probably, if not certainly, mortal, and

which, whether mortal or not, must cause him much actual pain and

discomfort of a kind more intolerable than pain itself; his affectionate

care for his family; even little personal touches, less admirable, but

hardly less pleasant than these, showing an Englishman's dislike to be

"done" and an Englishman's determination to be treated with proper

respect, are scarcely less noticeable and important on the biographical

side than the unimpaired brilliancy of his satiric and yet kindly

observation of life and character is on the side of literature.

There is, as is now well known since Mr Dobson's separate edition of the

_Voyage_, a little bibliographical problem about the first appearance of

this _Journal_ in 1755. The best known issue of that year is much

shorter than the version inserted by Murphy and reprinted here, the

passages omitted being chiefly those reflecting on the captain, &c., and

so likely to seem invidious in a book published just after the author's

death, and for the benefit, as was expressly announced, of his family.

But the curious thing is that there is _another_ edition, of date so

early that some argument is necessary to determine the priority, which

does give these passages and is identical with the later or standard

version. For satisfaction on this point, however, I must refer readers

to Mr Dobson himself.

There might have been a little, but not much, doubt as to a companion

piece for the _Journal_; for indeed, after we close this (with or

without its "Fragment on Bolingbroke"), the remainder of Fielding's work

lies on a distinctly lower level of interest. It is still interesting,

or it would not be given here. It still has--at least that part which

here appears seems to its editor to have--interest intrinsic and "simple

of itself." But it is impossible for anybody who speaks critically to

deny that we now get into the region where work is more interesting

because of its authorship than it would be if its authorship were

different or unknown. To put the same thing in a sharper antithesis,

Fielding is interesting, first of all, because he is the author of

_Joseph Andrews_, of _Tom Jones_, of _Amelia_, of _Jonathan Wild_, of

the _Journal_. His plays, his essays, his miscellanies generally are

interesting, first of all, because they were written by Fielding.

Yet of these works, the _Journey from this World to the Next_ (which, by

a grim trick of fortune, might have served as a title for the more

interesting _Voyage_ with which we have yoked it) stands clearly first

both in scale and merit. It is indeed very unequal, and as the author

was to leave it unfinished, it is a pity that he did not leave it

unfinished much sooner than he actually did. The first ten chapters, if

of a kind of satire which has now grown rather obsolete for the nonce,

are of a good kind and good in their kind; the history of the

metempsychoses of Julian is of a less good kind, and less good in that

kind. The date of composition of the piece is not known, but it appeared

in the _Miscellanies_ of 1743, and may represent almost any period of

its author's development prior to that year. Its form was a very common

form at the time, and continued to be so. I do not know that it is

necessary to assign any very special origin to it, though Lucian, its

chief practitioner, was evidently and almost avowedly a favourite study

of Fielding's. The Spanish romancers, whether borrowing it from Lucian

or not, had been fond of it; their French followers, of whom the chief

were Fontenelle and Le Sage, had carried it northwards; the English

essayists had almost from the beginning continued the process of

acclimatisation. Fielding therefore found it ready to his hand, though

the present condition of this example would lead us to suppose that he

did not find his hand quite ready to it. Still, in the actual "journey,"

there are touches enough of the master--not yet quite in his stage of

mastery.

It seemed particularly desirable not to close the series without some

representation of the work to which Fielding gave the prime of his

manhood, and from which, had he not, fortunately for English literature,

been driven decidedly against his will, we had had in all probability no

_Joseph Andrews_ and pretty certainly no _Tom Jones_. Fielding's

periodical and dramatic work has been comparatively seldom reprinted,

and has never yet been reprinted as a whole. The dramas indeed are open

to two objections--the first, that they are not very "proper;" the

second, and much more serious, that they do not redeem this want of

propriety by the possession of any remarkable literary merit. Three (or

two and part of a third) seemed to escape this double censure--the first

two acts of the _Author's Farce_ (practically a piece to themselves, for

the _Puppet Show_ which follows is almost entirely independent); the

famous burlesque of _Tom Thumb_, which stands between the _Rehearsal_

and the _Critic_, but nearer to the former; and _Pasquin_, the maturest

example of Fielding's satiric work in drama. These accordingly have been

selected; the rest I have read, and he who likes may read. I have read

many worse things than even the worst of them, but not often worse

things by so good a writer as Henry Fielding.

The next question concerned the selection of writings more miscellaneous

still, so as to give in little a complete idea of Fielding's various

powers and experiments. Two difficulties beset this part of the

task--want of space and the absence of anything so markedly good as

absolutely to insist on inclusion. The _Essay on Conversation_, however,

seemed pretty peremptorily to challenge a place. It is in a style which

Fielding was very slow to abandon, which indeed has left strong traces

even on his great novels; and if its mannerism is not now very

attractive, the separate traits in it are often sharp and well-drawn.

The book would not have been complete without a specimen or two of

Fielding's journalism. _The Champion_, his first attempt of this kind,

has not been drawn upon in consequence of the extreme difficulty of

fixing with absolute certainty on Fielding's part in it. I do not know

whether political prejudice interferes, more than I have usually found

it interfere, with my judgement of the two Hanoverian-partisan papers

of the '45 time. But they certainly seem to me to fail in redeeming

their dose of rancour and misrepresentation by any sufficient evidence

of genius such as, to my taste, saves not only the party journalism in

verse and prose of Swift and Canning and Praed on one side, but that of

Wolcot and Moore and Sydney Smith on the other. Even the often-quoted

journal of events in London under the Chevalier is overwrought and

tedious. The best thing in the _True Patriot_ seems to me to be Parson

Adams' letter describing his adventure with a young "bowe" of his day;

and this I select, together with one or two numbers of the _Covent

Garden Journal_. I have not found in this latter anything more

characteristic than Murphy's selection, though Mr Dobson, with his

unfailing kindness, lent me an original and unusually complete set of

the _Journal_ itself.

It is to the same kindness that I owe the opportunity of presenting the

reader with something indisputably Fielding's and very characteristic of

him, which Murphy did not print, and which has not, so far as I know,

ever appeared either in a collection or a selection of Fielding's work.

After the success of _David Simple_, Fielding gave his sister, for whom

he had already written a preface to that novel, another preface for a

set of _Familiar Letters_ between the characters of _David Simple_ and

others. This preface Murphy reprinted; but he either did not notice, or

did not choose to attend to, a note towards the end of the book

attributing certain of the letters to the author of the preface, the

attribution being accompanied by an agreeably warm and sisterly

denunciation of those who ascribed to Fielding matter unworthy of him.

From these the letter which I have chosen, describing a row on the

Thames, seems to me not only characteristic, but, like all this

miscellaneous work, interesting no less for its weakness than for its

strength. In hardly any other instance known to me can we trace so

clearly the influence of a suitable medium and form on the genius of the

artist. There are some writers--Dryden is perhaps the greatest of

them--to whom form and medium seem almost indifferent, their all-round

craftsmanship being such that they can turn any kind and every style to

their purpose. There are others, of whom I think our present author is

the chief, who are never really at home but in one kind. In Fielding's

case that kind was narrative of a peculiar sort, half-sentimental,

half-satirical, and almost wholly sympathetic--narrative which has the

singular gift of portraying the liveliest character and yet of admitting

the widest digression and soliloquy.

Until comparatively late in his too short life, when he found this

special path of his (and it is impossible to say whether the actual

finding was in the case of _Jonathan_ or in the case of _Joseph_), he

did but flounder and slip. When he had found it, and was content to walk

in it, he strode with as sure and steady a step as any other, even the

greatest, of those who carry and hand on the torch of literature through

the ages. But it is impossible to derive full satisfaction from his

feats in this part of the race without some notion of his performances

elsewhere; and I believe that such a notion will be supplied to the

readers of his novels by the following volumes, in a very large number

of cases, for the first time.

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A Journey from

This World to the Next,

_ETC. ETC._

INTRODUCTION.

Whether the ensuing pages were really the dream or vision of some very

pious and holy person; or whether they were really written in the other

world, and sent back to this, which is the opinion of many (though I

think too much inclining to superstition); or lastly, whether, as

infinitely the greatest part imagine, they were really the production of

some choice inhabitant of New Bethlehem, is not necessary nor easy to

determine. It will be abundantly sufficient if I give the reader an

account by what means they came into my possession.

Mr Robert Powney, stationer, who dwells opposite to Catherine-street in

the Strand, a very honest man and of great gravity of countenance; who,

among other excellent stationary commodities, is particularly eminent

for his pens, which I am abundantly bound to acknowledge, as I owe to

their peculiar goodness that my manuscripts have by any means been

legible: this gentleman, I say, furnished me some time since with a

bundle of those pens, wrapped up with great care and caution, in a very

large sheet of paper full of characters, written as it seemed in a very

bad hand. Now, I have a surprising curiosity to read everything which is

almost illegible; partly perhaps from the sweet remembrance of the dear

Scrawls, Skrawls, or Skrales (for the word is variously spelt), which I

have in my youth received from that lovely part of the creation for

which I have the tenderest regard; and partly from that temper of mind

which makes men set an immense value on old manuscripts so effaced,

bustoes so maimed, and pictures so black that no one can tell what to

make of them. I therefore perused this sheet with wonderful application,

and in about a day's time discovered that I could not understand it. I

immediately repaired to Mr Powney, and inquired very eagerly whether he

had not more of the same manuscript? He produced about one hundred

pages, acquainting me that he had saved no more; but that the book was

originally a huge folio, had been left in his garret by a gentleman who

lodged there, and who had left him no other satisfaction for nine

months' lodging. He proceeded to inform me that the manuscript had been

hawked about (as he phrased it) among all the booksellers, who refused

to meddle; some alledged that they could not read, others that they

could not understand it. Some would have it to be an atheistical book,

and some that it was a libel on the government; for one or other of

which reasons they all refused to print it. That it had been likewise

shewn to the R--l Society, but they shook their heads, saying, there was

nothing in it wonderful enough for them. That, hearing the gentleman was

gone to the West-Indies, and believing it to be good for nothing else,

he had used it as waste paper. He said I was welcome to what remained,

and he was heartily sorry for what was missing, as I seemed to set some

value on it.

[Illustration: '_I desired him to name a price_']

I desired him much to name a price: but he would receive no

consideration farther than the payment of a small bill I owed him, which

at that time he said he looked on as so much money given him.

I presently communicated this manuscript to my friend parson Abraham

Adams, who, after a long and careful perusal, returned it me with his

opinion that there was more in it than at first appeared; that the

author seemed not entirely unacquainted with the writings of Plato; but

he wished he had quoted him sometimes in his margin, that I might be

sure (said he) he had read him in the original: for nothing, continued

the parson, is commoner than for men now-a-days to pretend to have read

Greek authors, who have met with them only in translations, and cannot

conjugate a verb in _mi_.

To deliver my own sentiments on the occasion, I think the author

discovers a philosophical turn of thinking, with some little knowledge

of the world, and no very inadequate value of it. There are some indeed

who, from the vivacity of their temper and the happiness of their

station, are willing to consider its blessings as more substantial, and

the whole to be a scene of more consequence than it is here represented:

but, without controverting their opinions at present, the number of wise

and good men who have thought with our author are sufficient to keep him

in countenance: nor can this be attended with any ill inference, since

he everywhere teaches this moral: That the greatest and truest happiness

which this world affords, is to be found only in the possession of

goodness and virtue; a doctrine which, as it is undoubtedly true, so

hath it so noble and practical a tendency, that it can never be too

often or too strongly inculcated on the minds of men.

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BOOK I.

Chapter i.

_The author dies, meets with Mercury, and is by him conducted to the

stage which sets out for the other world._

On the first day of December 1741[A] I departed this life at my lodgings

in Cheapside. My body had been some time dead before I was at liberty to

quit it, lest it should by any accident return to life: this is an

injunction imposed on all souls by the eternal law of fate, to prevent

the inconveniences which would follow. As soon as the destined period

was expired (being no longer than till the body is become perfectly cold

and stiff) I began to move; but found myself under a difficulty of

making my escape, for the mouth or door was shut, so that it was

impossible for me to go out at it; and the windows, vulgarly called the

eyes, were so closely pulled down by the fingers of a nurse, that I

could by no means open them. At last I perceived a beam of light

glimmering at the top of the house (for such I may call the body I had

been inclosed in), whither ascending, I gently let myself down through a

kind of chimney, and issued out at the nostrils.

No prisoner discharged from a long confinement ever tasted the sweets of

liberty with a more exquisite relish than I enjoyed in this delivery

from a dungeon wherein I had been detained upwards of forty years, and

with much the same kind of regard I cast my eyes[B] backwards upon it.

My friends and relations had all quitted the room, being all (as I

plainly overheard) very loudly quarrelling below stairs about my will;

there was only an old woman left above to guard the body, as I

apprehend. She was in a fast sleep, occasioned, as from her savour it

seemed, by a comfortable dose of gin. I had no pleasure in this company,

and, therefore, as the window was wide open, I sallied forth into the

open air: but, to my great astonishment, found myself unable to fly,

which I had always during my habitation in the body conceived of

spirits; however, I came so lightly to the ground that I did not hurt

myself; and, though I had not the gift of flying (owing probably to my

having neither feathers nor wings), I was capable of hopping such a

prodigious way at once, that it served my turn almost as well.

I had not hopped far before I perceived a tall young gentleman in a silk

waistcoat, with a wing on his left heel, a garland on his head, and a

caduceus in his right hand.[C] I thought I had seen this person before,

but had not time to recollect where, when he called out to me and asked

me how long I had been departed. I answered I was just come forth. "You

must not stay here," replied he, "unless you had been murdered: in which

case, indeed, you might have been suffered to walk some time; but if you

died a natural death you must set out for the other world immediately."

I desired to know the way. "O," cried the gentleman, "I will show you to

the inn whence the stage proceeds; for I am the porter. Perhaps you

never heard of me--my name is Mercury." "Sure, sir," said I, "I have

seen you at the playhouse." Upon which he smiled, and, without

satisfying me as to that point, walked directly forward, bidding me hop

after him. I obeyed him, and soon found myself in Warwick-lane; where

Mercury, making a full stop, pointed at a particular house, where he bad

me enquire for the stage, and, wishing me a good journey, took his

leave, saying he must go seek after other customers.

I arrived just as the coach was setting out, and found I had no reason

for enquiry; for every person seemed to know my business the moment I

appeared at the door: the coachman told me his horses were to, but that

he had no place left; however, though there were already six, the

passengers offered to make room for me. I thanked them, and ascended

without much ceremony. We immediately began our journey, being seven in

number; for, as the women wore no hoops, three of them were but equal to

two men.

Perhaps, reader, thou mayest be pleased with an account of this whole

equipage, as peradventure thou wilt not, while alive, see any such. The

coach was made by an eminent toyman, who is well known to deal in

immaterial substance, that being the matter of which it was compounded.

The work was so extremely fine, that it was entirely invisible to the

human eye. The horses which drew this extraordinary vehicle were all

spiritual, as well as the passengers. They had, indeed, all died in the

service of a certain post-master; and as for the coachman, who was a

very thin piece of immaterial substance, he had the honour while alive

of driving the Great Peter, or Peter the Great, in whose service his

soul, as well as body, was almost starved to death.

Such was the vehicle in which I set out, and now, those who are not

willing to travel on with me may, if they please, stop here; those who

are, must proceed to the subsequent chapters, in which this journey is

continued.

Chapter ii.

_In which the author first refutes some idle opinions concerning

spirits, and then the passengers relate their several deaths._

It is the common opinion that spirits, like owls, can see in the dark;

nay, and can then most easily be perceived by others. For which reason,

many persons of good understanding, to prevent being terrified with such

objects, usually keep a candle burning by them, that the light may

prevent their seeing. Mr Locke, in direct opposition to this, hath not

doubted to assert that you may see a spirit in open daylight full as

well as in the darkest night.

It was very dark when we set out from the inn, nor could we see any more

than if every soul of us had been alive. We had travelled a good way

before any one offered to open his mouth; indeed, most of the company

were fast asleep,[D] but, as I could not close my own eyes, and

perceived the spirit who sat opposite to me to be likewise awake, I

began to make overtures of conversation, by complaining _how dark it

was_. "And extremely cold too," answered my fellow-traveller; "though, I

thank God, as I have no body, I feel no inconvenience from it: but you

will believe, sir, that this frosty air must seem very sharp to one just

issued forth out of an oven; for such was the inflamed habitation I am

lately departed from." "How did you come to your end, sir?" said I. "I

was murdered, sir," answered the gentleman. "I am surprized then,"

replied I, "that you did not divert yourself by walking up and down and

playing some merry tricks with the murderer." "Oh, sir," returned he, "I

had not that privilege, I was lawfully put to death. In short, a

physician set me on fire, by giving me medicines to throw out my

distemper. I died of a hot regimen, as they call it, in the small-pox."

One of the spirits at that word started up and cried out, "The

small-pox! bless me! I hope I am not in company with that distemper,

which I have all my life with such caution avoided, and have so happily

escaped hitherto!" This fright set all the passengers who were awake

into a loud laughter; and the gentleman, recollecting himself, with some

confusion, and not without blushing, asked pardon, crying, "I protest I

dreamt that I was alive." "Perhaps, sir," said I, "you died of that

distemper, which therefore made so strong an impression on you." "No,

sir," answered he, "I never had it in my life; but the continual and

dreadful apprehension it kept me so long under cannot, I see, be so

immediately eradicated. You must know, sir, I avoided coming to London

for thirty years together, for fear of the small-pox, till the most

urgent business brought me thither about five days ago. I was so

dreadfully afraid of this disease that I refused the second night of my

arrival to sup with a friend whose wife had recovered of it several

months before, and the same evening got a surfeit by eating too many

muscles, which brought me into this good company."

"I will lay a wager," cried the spirit who sat next him, "there is not

one in the coach able to guess my distemper." I desired the favour of

him to acquaint us with it, if it was so uncommon. "Why, sir," said he,

"I died of honour."--"Of honour, sir!" repeated I, with some surprize.

"Yes, sir," answered the spirit, "of honour, for I was killed in a

duel."

"For my part," said a fair spirit, "I was inoculated last summer, and

had the good fortune to escape with a very few marks on my face. I

esteemed myself now perfectly happy, as I imagined I had no restraint to

a full enjoyment of the diversions of the town; but within a few days

after my coming up I caught cold by overdancing myself at a ball, and

last night died of a violent fever."

After a short silence which now ensued, the fair spirit who spoke last,

it being now daylight, addressed herself to a female who sat next her,

and asked her to what chance they owed the happiness of her company. She

answered, she apprehended to a consumption, but the physicians were not

agreed concerning her distemper, for she left two of them in a very hot

dispute about it when she came out of her body. "And pray, madam," said

the same spirit to the sixth passenger, "How came you to leave the other

world?" But that female spirit, screwing up her mouth, answered, she

wondered at the curiosity of some people; that perhaps persons had

already heard some reports of her death, which were far from being true;

that, whatever was the occasion of it, she was glad at being delivered

from a world in which she had no pleasure, and where there was nothing

but nonsense and impertinence; particularly among her own sex, whose

loose conduct she had long been entirely ashamed of.

The beauteous spirit, perceiving her question gave offence, pursued it

no farther. She had indeed all the sweetness and good-humour which are

so extremely amiable (when found) in that sex which tenderness most

exquisitely becomes. Her countenance displayed all the cheerfulness, the

good-nature, and the modesty, which diffuse such brightness round the

beauty of Seraphina,[E] awing every beholder with respect, and, at the

same time, ravishing him with admiration. Had it not been indeed for our

conversation on the small-pox, I should have imagined we had been

honoured with her identical presence. This opinion might have been

heightened by the good sense she uttered whenever she spoke, by the

delicacy of her sentiments, and the complacence of her behaviour,

together with a certain dignity which attended every look, word, and

gesture; qualities which could not fail making an impression on a

heart[F] so capable of receiving it as mine, nor was she long in raising

in me a very violent degree of seraphic love. I do not intend by this,

that sort of love which men are very properly said to make to women in

the lower world, and which seldom lasts any longer than while it is

making. I mean by seraphic love an extreme delicacy and tenderness of

friendship, of which, my worthy reader, if thou hast no conception, as

it is probable thou mayest not, my endeavour to instruct thee would be

as fruitless as it would be to explain the most difficult problems of

Sir Isaac Newton to one ignorant of vulgar arithmetic.

To return therefore to matters comprehensible by all understandings: the

discourse now turned on the vanity, folly, and misery of the lower

world, from which every passenger in the coach expressed the highest

satisfaction in being delivered; though it was very remarkable that,

notwithstanding the joy we declared at our death, there was not one of

us who did not mention the accident which occasioned it as a thing we

would have avoided if we could. Nay, the very grave lady herself, who

was the forwardest in testifying her delight, confessed inadvertently

that she left a physician by her bedside; and the gentleman who died of

honour very liberally cursed both his folly and his fencing. While we

were entertaining ourselves with these matters, on a sudden a most

offensive smell began to invade our nostrils. This very much resembled

the savour which travellers in summer perceive at their approach to that

beautiful village of the Hague, arising from those delicious canals

which, as they consist of standing water, do at that time emit odours

greatly agreeable to a Dutch taste, but not so pleasant to any other.

Those perfumes, with the assistance of a fair wind, begin to affect

persons of quick olfactory nerves at a league's distance, and increase

gradually as you approach. In the same manner did the smell I have just

mentioned, more and more invade us, till one of the spirits, looking out

of the coach-window, declared we were just arrived at a very large city;

and indeed he had scarce said so before we found ourselves in the

suburbs, and, at the same time, the coachman, being asked by another,

informed us that the name of this place was the City of Diseases. The

road to it was extremely smooth, and, excepting the above-mentioned

savour, delightfully pleasant. The streets of the suburbs were lined

with bagnios, taverns, and cooks' shops: in the first we saw several

beautiful women, but in tawdry dresses, looking out at the windows; and

in the latter were visibly exposed all kinds of the richest dainties;

but on our entering the city we found, contrary to all we had seen in

the other world, that the suburbs were infinitely pleasanter than the

city itself. It was indeed a very dull, dark, and melancholy place. Few

people appeared in the streets, and these, for the most part, were old

women, and here and there a formal grave gentleman, who seemed to be

thinking, with large tie-wigs on, and amber-headed canes in their hands.

We were all in hopes that our vehicle would not stop here; but, to our

sorrow, the coach soon drove into an inn, and we were obliged to alight.

Chapter iii.

_The adventures we met with in the City of Diseases._

We had not been long arrived in our inn, where it seems we were to spend

the remainder of the day, before our host acquainted us that it was

customary for all spirits, in their passage through that city, to pay

their respects to that lady Disease, to whose assistance they had owed

their deliverance from the lower world. We answered we should not fail

in any complacence which was usual to others; upon which our host

replied he would immediately send porters to conduct us. He had not long

quitted the room before we were attended by some of those grave persons

whom I have before described in large tie-wigs with amber-headed canes.

These gentlemen are the ticket-porters in the city, and their canes are

the _insignia_, or tickets, denoting their office. We informed them of

the several ladies to whom we were obliged, and were preparing to follow

them, when on a sudden they all stared at one another, and left us in a

hurry, with a frown on every countenance. We were surprized at this

behaviour, and presently summoned the host, who was no sooner acquainted

with it than he burst into an hearty laugh, and told us the reason was,

because we did not fee the gentlemen the moment they came in, according

to the custom of the place. We answered, with some confusion, we had

brought nothing with us from the other world, which we had been all our

lives informed was not lawful to do. "No, no, master," replied the host;

"I am apprized of that, and indeed it was my fault. I should have first

sent you to my lord Scrape,[G] who would have supplied you with what you

want." "My lord Scrape supply us!" said I, with astonishment: "sure you

must know we cannot give him security; and I am convinced he never lent

a shilling without it in his life." "No, sir," answered the host, "and

for that reason he is obliged to do it here, where he is sentenced to

keep a bank, and to distribute money _gratis_ to all passengers. This

bank originally consisted of just that sum, which he had miserably

hoarded up in the other world, and he is to perceive it decrease visibly

one shilling a-day, till it is totally exhausted; after which he is to

return to the other world, and perform the part of a miser for seventy

years; then, being purified in the body of a hog, he is to enter the

human species again, and take a second trial." "Sir," said I, "you tell

me wonders: but if his bank be to decrease only a shilling a day, how

can he furnish all passengers?" "The rest," answered the host, "is

supplied again; but in a manner which I cannot easily explain to you."

"I apprehend," said I, "this distribution of his money is inflicted on

him as a punishment; but I do not see how it can answer that end, when

he knows it is to be restored to him again. Would it not serve the

purpose as well if he parted only with the single shilling, which it

seems is all he is really to lose?" "Sir," cries the host, "when you

observe the agonies with which he parts with every guinea, you will be

of another opinion. No prisoner condemned to death ever begged so

heartily for transportation as he, when he received his sentence, did to

go to hell, provided he might carry his money with him. But you will

know more of these things when you arrive at the upper world; and now,

if you please, I will attend you to my lord's, who is obliged to supply

you with whatever you desire."

We found his lordship sitting at the upper end of a table, on which was

an immense sum of money, disposed in several heaps, every one of which

would have purchased the honour of some patriots and the chastity of

some prudes. The moment he saw us he turned pale, and sighed, as well

apprehending our business. Mine host accosted him with a familiar air,

which at first surprized me, who so well remembered the respect I had

formerly seen paid this lord by men infinitely superior in quality to

the person who now saluted him in the following manner: "Here, you lord,

and be dam--d to your little sneaking soul, tell out your money, and

supply your betters with what they want. Be quick, sirrah, or I'll fetch

the beadle to you. Don't fancy yourself in the lower world again, with

your privilege at your a--." He then shook a cane at his lordship, who

immediately began to tell out his money, with the same miserable air

and face which the miser on our stage wears while he delivers his

bank-bills. This affected some of us so much that we had certainly

returned with no more than what would have been sufficient to fee the

porters, had not our host, perceiving our compassion, begged us not to

spare a fellow who, in the midst of immense wealth, had always refused

the least contribution to charity. Our hearts were hardened with this

reflection, and we all filled our pockets with his money. I remarked a

poetical spirit, in particular, who swore he would have a hearty gripe

at him: "For," says he, "the rascal not only refused to subscribe to my

works, but sent back my letter unanswered, though I am a better

gentleman than himself."

We now returned from this miserable object, greatly admiring the

propriety as well as justice of his punishment, which consisted, as our

host informed us, merely in the delivering forth his money; and, he

observed, we could not wonder at the pain this gave him, since it was as

reasonable that the bare parting with money should make him miserable as

that the bare having money without using it should have made him happy.

Other tie-wig porters (for those we had summoned before refused to visit

us again) now attended us; and we having fee'd them the instant they

entered the room, according to the instructions of our host, they bowed

and smiled, and offered to introduce us to whatever disease we pleased.

We set out several ways, as we were all to pay our respects to different

ladies. I directed my porter to shew me to the Fever on the Spirits,

being the disease which had delivered me from the flesh. My guide and I

traversed many streets, and knocked at several doors, but to no purpose.

At one, we were told, lived the Consumption; at another, the Maladie

Alamode, a French lady; at the third, the Dropsy; at the fourth, the

Rheumatism; at the fifth, Intemperance; at the sixth, Misfortune. I was

tired, and had exhausted my patience, and almost my purse; for I gave my

porter a new fee at every blunder he made: when my guide, with a solemn

countenance, told me he could do no more; and marched off without any

farther ceremony.

He was no sooner gone than I met another gentleman with a ticket,

_i.e._, an amber-headed cane in his hand. I first fee'd him, and then

acquainted him with the name of the disease. He cast himself for two or

three minutes into a thoughtful posture, then pulled a piece of paper

out of his pocket, on which he writ something in one of the Oriental

languages, I believe, for I could not read a syllable: he bade me carry

it to such a particular shop, and, telling me it would do my business,

he took his leave.

Secure, as I now thought myself, of my direction, I went to the shop,

which very much resembled an apothecary's. The person who officiated,

having read the paper, took down about twenty different jars, and,

pouring something out of every one of them, made a mixture, which he

delivered to me in a bottle, having first tied a paper round the neck of

it, on which were written three or four words, the last containing

eleven syllables. I mentioned the name of the disease I wanted to find

out, but received no other answer than that he had done as he was

ordered, and the drugs were excellent.

I began now to be enraged, and, quitting the shop with some anger in my

countenance, I intended to find out my inn, but, meeting in the way a

porter whose countenance had in it something more pleasing than

ordinary, I resolved to try once more, and clapped a fee into his hand.

As soon as I mentioned the disease to him he laughed heartily, and told

me I had been imposed on, for in reality no such disease was to be

found in that city. He then enquired into the particulars of my case,

and was no sooner acquainted with them than he informed me that the

Maladie Alamode was the lady to whom I was obliged. I thanked him, and

immediately went to pay my respects to her.

The house, or rather palace, of this lady was one of the most beautiful

and magnificent in the city. The avenue to it was planted with

sycamore-trees, with beds of flowers on each side; it was extremely

pleasant but short. I was conducted through a magnificent hall, adorned

with several statues and bustoes, most of them maimed, whence I

concluded them all to be true antiques; but was informed they were the

figures of several modern heroes, who had died martyrs to her ladyship's

cause. I next mounted through a large painted staircase, where several

persons were depictured in caricatura; and, upon enquiry, was told they

were the portraits of those who had distinguished themselves against the

lady in the lower world. I suppose I should have known the faces of many

physicians and surgeons, had they not been so violently distorted by the

painter. Indeed, he had exerted so much malice in his work, that I

believe he had himself received some particular favours from the lady of

this mansion: it is difficult to conceive a group of stranger figures. I

then entered a long room, hung round with the pictures of women of such

exact shapes and features that I should have thought myself in a gallery

of beauties, had not a certain sallow paleness in their complexions

given me a more distasteful idea. Through this I proceeded to a second

apartment, adorned, if I may so call it, with the figures of old ladies.

Upon my seeming to admire at this furniture, the servant told me with a

smile that these had been very good friends of his lady, and had done

her eminent service in the lower world. I immediately recollected the

faces of one or two of my acquaintance, who had formerly kept bagnios;

but was very much surprized to see the resemblance of a lady of great

distinction in such company. The servant, upon my mentioning this, made

no other answer than that his lady had pictures of all degrees.

I was now introduced into the presence of the lady herself. She was a

thin, or rather meagre, person, very wan in the countenance, had no

nose, and many pimples in her face. She offered to rise at my entrance,

but could not stand. After many compliments, much congratulation on her

side, and the most fervent expressions of gratitude on mine, she asked

me many questions concerning the situation of her affairs in the lower

world; most of which I answered to her intire satisfaction. At last,

with a kind of forced smile, she said, "I suppose the pill and drop go

on swimmingly?" I told her they were reported to have done great cures.

She replied she could apprehend no danger from any person who was not of

regular practice; "for, however simple mankind are," said she, "or

however afraid they are of death, they prefer dying in a regular manner

to being cured by a nostrum." She then expressed great pleasure at the

account I gave her of the beau monde. She said she had herself removed

the hundreds of Drury to the hundreds of Charing-cross, and was very

much delighted to find they had spread into St James's; that she imputed

this chiefly to several of her dear and worthy friends, who had lately

published their excellent works, endeavouring to extirpate all notions

of religion and virtue; and particularly to the deserving author of the

Bachelor's Estimate; "to whom," said she, "if I had not reason to think

he was a surgeon, and had therefore written from mercenary views, I

could never sufficiently own my obligations." She spoke likewise

greatly in approbation of the method, so generally used by parents, of

marrying children very young, and without the least affection between

the parties; and concluded by saying that, if these fashions continued

to spread, she doubted not but she should shortly be the only disease

who would ever receive a visit from any person of considerable rank.

While we were discoursing her three daughters entered the room. They

were all called by hard names; the eldest was named Lepra, the second

Chæras, and the third Scorbutia.[H] They were all genteel, but ugly. I

could not help observing the little respect they paid their parent,

which the old lady remarking in my countenance, as soon as they quitted

the room, which soon happened, acquainted me with her unhappiness in her

offspring, every one of which had the confidence to deny themselves to

be her children, though she said she had been a very indulgent mother

and had plentifully provided for them all. As family complaints

generally as much tire the hearer as they relieve him who makes them,

when I found her launching farther into this subject I resolved to put

an end to my visit, and, taking my leave with many thanks for the favour

she had done me, I returned to the inn, where I found my

fellow-travellers just mounting into their vehicle. I shook hands with

my host and accompanied them into the coach, which immediately after

proceeded on its journey.

Chapter iv.

_Discourses on the road, and a description of the palace of Death._

We were all silent for some minutes, till, being well shaken into our

several seats, I opened my mouth first, and related what had happened to

me after our separation in the city we had just left. The rest of the

company, except the grave female spirit whom our reader may remember to

have refused giving an account of the distemper which occasioned her

dissolution, did the same. It might be tedious to relate these at large;

we shall therefore only mention a very remarkable inveteracy which the

Surfeit declared to all the other diseases, especially to the Fever,

who, she said, by the roguery of the porters, received acknowledgments

from numberless passengers which were due to herself. "Indeed," says

she, "those cane-headed fellows" (for so she called them, alluding, I

suppose, to their ticket) "are constantly making such mistakes; there is

no gratitude in those fellows; for I am sure they have greater

obligations to me than to any other disease, except the Vapours." These

relations were no sooner over than one of the company informed us we

were approaching to the most noble building he had ever beheld, and

which we learnt from our coachman was the palace of Death. Its outside,

indeed, appeared extremely magnificent. Its structure was of the Gothic

order; vast beyond imagination, the whole pile consisting of black

marble. Rows of immense yews form an amphitheatre round it of such

height and thickness that no ray of the sun ever perforates this grove,

where black eternal darkness would reign was it not excluded by

innumerable lamps which are placed in pyramids round the grove; so that

the distant reflection they cast on the palace, which is plentifully

gilt with gold on the outside, is inconceivably solemn. To this I may

add the hollow murmur of winds constantly heard from the grove, and the

very remote sound of roaring waters. Indeed, every circumstance seems to

conspire to fill the mind with horrour and consternation as we approach

to this palace, which we had scarce time to admire before our vehicle

stopped at the gate, and we were desired to alight in order to pay our

respects to his most mortal majesty (this being the title which it seems

he assumes). The outward court was full of soldiers, and, indeed, the

whole very much resembled the state of an earthly monarch, only more

magnificent. We past through several courts into a vast hall, which led

to a spacious staircase, at the bottom of which stood two pages, with

very grave countenances, whom I recollected afterwards to have formerly

been very eminent undertakers, and were in reality the only dismal faces

I saw here; for this palace, so awful and tremendous without, is all gay

and sprightly within; so that we soon lost all those dismal and gloomy

ideas we had contracted in approaching it. Indeed, the still silence

maintained among the guards and attendants resembled rather the stately

pomp of eastern courts; but there was on every face such symptoms of

content and happiness that diffused an air of chearfulness all round. We

ascended the staircase and past through many noble apartments whose

walls were adorned with various battle-pieces in tapistry, and which we

spent some time in observing. These brought to my mind those beautiful

ones I had in my lifetime seen at Blenheim, nor could I prevent my

curiosity from enquiring where the Duke of Marlborough's victories were

placed (for I think they were almost the only battles of any eminence I

had read of which I did not meet with); when the skeleton of a

beef-eater, shaking his head, told me a certain gentleman, one Lewis

XIV., who had great interest with his most mortal majesty, had prevented

any such from being hung up there. "Besides," says he, "his majesty hath

no great respect for that duke, for he never sent him a subject he could

keep from him, nor did he ever get a single subject by his means but he

lost 1000 others for him." We found the presence-chamber at our entrance

very full, and a buz ran through it, as in all assemblies, before the

principal figure enters; for his majesty was not yet come out. At the

bottom of the room were two persons in close conference, one with a

square black cap on his head, and the other with a robe embroidered with

flames of fire. These, I was informed, were a judge long since dead, and

an inquisitor-general. I overheard them disputing with great eagerness

whether the one had hanged or the other burnt the most. While I was

listening to this dispute, which seemed to be in no likelihood of a

speedy decision, the emperor entered the room and placed himself between

two figures, one of which was remarkable for the roughness, and the

other for the beauty of his appearance. These were, it seems, Charles

XII. of Sweden and Alexander of Macedon. I was at too great a distance

to hear any of the conversation, so could only satisfy my curiosity by

contemplating the several personages present, of whose names I informed

myself by a page, who looked as pale and meagre as any court-page in the

other world, but was somewhat more modest. He shewed me here two or

three Turkish emperors, to whom his most mortal majesty seemed to

express much civility. Here were likewise several of the Roman emperors,

among whom none seemed so much caressed as Caligula, on account, as the

page told me, of his pious wish that he could send all the Romans hither

at one blow. The reader may be perhaps surprized that I saw no

physicians here; as indeed I was myself, till informed that they were

all departed to the city of Diseases, where they were busy in an

experiment to purge away the immortality of the soul.

It would be tedious to recollect the many individuals I saw here, but I

cannot omit a fat figure, well drest in the French fashion, who was

received with extraordinary complacence by the emperor, and whom I

imagined to be Lewis XIV. himself; but the page acquainted me he was a

celebrated French cook.

We were at length introduced to the royal presence, and had the honour

to kiss hands. His majesty asked, us a few questions, not very material

to relate, and soon after retired.

When we returned into the yard we found our caravan ready to set out, at

which we all declared ourselves well pleased; for we were sufficiently

tired with the formality of a court, notwithstanding its outward

splendour and magnificence.

Chapter v.

_The travellers proceed on their journey, and meet several spirits who

are coming into the flesh._

We now came to the banks of the great river Cocytus, where we quitted

our vehicle, and past the water in a boat, after which we were obliged

to travel on foot the rest of our journey; and now we met, for the first

time, several passengers travelling to the world we had left, who

informed us they were souls going into the flesh.

The two first we met were walking arm-in-arm, in very close and friendly

conference; they informed us that one of them was intended for a duke,

and the other for a hackney-coachman. As we had not yet arrived at the

place where we were to deposit our passions, we were all surprized at

the familiarity which subsisted between persons of such different

degrees; nor could the grave lady help expressing her astonishment at

it. The future coachman then replied, with a laugh, that they had

exchanged lots; for that the duke had with his dukedom drawn a shrew for

a wife, and the coachman only a single state.

As we proceeded on our journey we met a solemn spirit walking alone with

great gravity in his countenance: our curiosity invited us,

notwithstanding his reserve, to ask what lot he had drawn. He answered,

with a smile, he was to have the reputation of a wise man with £100,000

in his pocket, and was practising the solemnity which he was to act in

the other world.

A little farther we met a company of very merry spirits, whom we

imagined by their mirth to have drawn some mighty lot, but, on enquiry,

they informed us they were to be beggars.

The farther we advanced, the greater numbers we met; and now we

discovered two large roads leading different ways, and of very different

appearance; the one all craggy with rocks, full as it seemed of boggy

grounds, and everywhere beset with briars, so that it was impossible to

pass through it without the utmost danger and difficulty; the other, the

most delightful imaginable, leading through the most verdant meadows,

painted and perfumed with all kinds of beautiful flowers; in short, the

most wanton imagination could imagine nothing more lovely.

Notwithstanding which, we were surprized to see great numbers crowding

into the former, and only one or two solitary spirits chusing the

latter. On enquiry, we were acquainted that the bad road was the way to

greatness, and the other to goodness. When we expressed our surprize at

the preference given to the former we were acquainted that it was chosen

for the sake of the music of drums and trumpets, and the perpetual

acclamations of the mob, with which those who travelled this way were

constantly saluted. We were told likewise that there were several noble

palaces to be seen, and lodged in, on this road, by those who had past

through the difficulties of it (which indeed many were not able to

surmount), and great quantities of all sorts of treasure to be found in

it; whereas the other had little inviting more than the beauty of the

way, scarce a handsome building, save one greatly resembling a certain

house by the Bath, to be seen during that whole journey; and, lastly,

that it was thought very scandalous and mean-spirited to travel through

this, and as highly honourable and noble to pass by the other.

We now heard a violent noise, when, casting our eyes forwards, we

perceived a vast number of spirits advancing in pursuit of one whom they

mocked and insulted with all kinds of scorn. I cannot give my reader a

more adequate idea of this scene than by comparing it to an English mob

conducting a pickpocket to the water; or by supposing that an incensed

audience at a playhouse had unhappily possessed themselves of the

miserable damned poet. Some laughed, some hissed, some squawled, some

groaned, some bawled, some spit at him, some threw dirt at him. It was

impossible not to ask who or what the wretched spirit was whom they

treated in this barbarous manner; when, to our great surprize, we were

informed that it was a king: we were likewise told that this manner of

behaviour was usual among the spirits to those who drew the lots of

emperors, kings, and other great men, not from envy or anger, but mere

derision and contempt of earthly grandeur; that nothing was more common

than for those who had drawn these great prizes (as to us they seemed)

to exchange them with taylors and coblers; and that Alexander the Great

and Diogenes had formerly done so; he that was afterwards Diogenes

having originally fallen on the lot of Alexander.

And now, on a sudden, the mockery ceased, and the king-spirit, having

obtained a hearing, began to speak as follows; for we were now near

enough to hear him distinctly:--

"GENTLEMEN,--I am justly surprized at your treating me in this manner,

since whatever lot I have drawn, I did not chuse: if, therefore, it be

worthy of derision, you should compassionate me, for it might have

fallen to any of your shares. I know in how low a light the station to

which fate hath assigned me is considered here, and that, when ambition

doth not support it, it becomes generally so intollerable, that there is

scarce any other condition for which it is not gladly exchanged: for

what portion, in the world to which we are going, is so miserable as

that of care? Should I therefore consider myself as become by this lot

essentially your superior, and of a higher order of being than the rest

of my fellow-creatures; should I foolishly imagine myself without wisdom

superior to the wise, without knowledge to the learned, without courage

to the brave, and without goodness and virtue to the good and virtuous;

surely so preposterous, so absurd a pride, would justly render me the

object of ridicule. But far be it from me to entertain it. And yet,

gentlemen, I prize the lot I have drawn, nor would I exchange it with

any of yours, seeing it is in my eye so much greater than the rest.

Ambition, which I own myself possest of, teaches me this; ambition,

which makes me covet praise, assures me that I shall enjoy a much larger

proportion of it than can fall within your power either to deserve or

obtain. I am then superior to you all, when I am able to do more good,

and when I execute that power. What the father is to the son, the

guardian to the orphan, or the patron to his client, that am I to you.

You are my children, to whom I will be a father, a guardian, and a

patron. Not one evening in my long reign (for so it is to be) will I

repose myself to rest without the glorious, the heartwarming

consideration, that thousands that night owe their sweetest rest to me.

What a delicious fortune is it to him whose strongest appetite is doing

good, to have every day the opportunity and the power of satisfying it!

If such a man hath ambition, how happy is it for him to be seated so on

high, that every act blazes abroad, and attracts to him praises tainted

with neither sarcasm nor adulation, but such as the nicest and most

delicate mind may relish! Thus, therefore, while you derive your good

from me, I am your superior. If to my strict distribution of justice you

owe the safety of your property from domestic enemies; if by my

vigilance and valour you are protected from foreign foes; if by my

encouragement of genuine industry, every science, every art which can

embellish or sweeten life, is produced and flourishes among you; will

any of you be so insensible or ungrateful as to deny praise and respect

to him by whose care and conduct you enjoy these blessings? I wonder not

at the censure which so frequently falls on those in my station; but I

wonder that those in my station so frequently deserve it. What strange

perverseness of nature! What wanton delight in mischief must taint his

composition, who prefers dangers, difficulty, and disgrace, by doing

evil, to safety, ease, and honour, by doing good! who refuses happiness

in the other world, and heaven in this, for misery there and hell here!

But, be assured, my intentions are different. I shall always endeavour

the ease, the happiness, and the glory of my people, being confident

that, by so doing, I take the most certain method of procuring them all

to myself."--He then struck directly into the road of goodness, and

received such a shout of applause as I never remember to have heard

equalled.

He was gone a little way when a spirit limped after him, swearing he

would fetch him back. This spirit, I was presently informed, was one who

had drawn the lot of his prime minister.

Chapter vi.

_An account of the wheel of fortune, with a method of preparing a spirit

for this world._

We now proceeded on our journey, without staying to see whether he

fulfilled his word or no; and without encountering anything worth

mentioning, came to the place where the spirits on their passage to the

other world were obliged to decide by lot the station in which every one

was to act there. Here was a monstrous wheel, infinitely larger than

those in which I had formerly seen lottery-tickets deposited. This was

called the WHEEL OF FORTUNE. The goddess herself was present. She was

one of the most deformed females I ever beheld; nor could I help

observing the frowns she expressed when any beautiful spirit of her own

sex passed by her, nor the affability which smiled in her countenance

on the approach of any handsome male spirits. Hence I accounted for the

truth of an observation I had often made on earth, that nothing is more

fortunate than handsome men, nor more unfortunate than handsome women.

The reader may be perhaps pleased with an account of the whole method of

equipping a spirit for his entrance into the flesh.

First, then, he receives from a very sage person, whose look much

resembled that of an apothecary (his warehouse likewise bearing an

affinity to an apothecary's shop), a small phial inscribed, THE PATHETIC

POTION, to be taken just before you are born. This potion is a mixture

of all the passions, but in no exact proportion, so that sometimes one

predominates, and sometimes another; nay, often in the hurry of making

up, one particular ingredient is, as we were informed, left out. The

spirit receiveth at the same time another medicine called the NOUSPHORIC

DECOCTION, of which he is to drink _ad libitum_. This decoction is an

extract from the faculties of the mind, sometimes extremely strong and

spirituous, and sometimes altogether as weak; for very little care is

taken in the preparation. This decoction is so extremely bitter and

unpleasant, that, notwithstanding its wholesomeness, several spirits

will not be persuaded to swallow a drop of it, but throw it away, or

give it to any other who will receive it; by which means some who were

not disgusted by the nauseousness drank double and treble portions. I

observed a beautiful young female, who, tasting it immediately from

curiosity, screwed up her face and cast it from her with great disdain,

whence advancing presently to the wheel, she drew a coronet, which she

clapped up so eagerly that I could not distinguish the degree; and

indeed I observed several of the same sex, after a very small sip, throw

the bottles away.

As soon as the spirit is dismissed by the operator, or apothecary, he is

at liberty to approach the wheel, where he hath a right to extract a

single lot: but those whom Fortune favours she permits sometimes

secretly to draw three or four. I observed a comical kind of figure who

drew forth a handful, which, when he opened, were a bishop, a general, a

privy-counsellor, a player, and a poet-laureate, and, returning the

three first, he walked off, smiling, with the two last.

Every single lot contained two more articles, which were generally

disposed so as to render the lots as equal as possible to each other; on

one was written, _earl_, _riches_, _health_, _disquietude_; on another,

_cobbler_, _sickness_, _good-humour_; on a third, _poet_, _contempt_,

_self-satisfaction_; on a fourth, _general_, _honour_, _discontent_; on

a fifth, _cottage_, _happy love_; on a sixth, _coach and six_, _impotent

jealous husband_; on a seventh, _prime minister_, _disgrace_; on an

eighth, _patriot_, _glory_; on a ninth, _philosopher_, _poverty_,

_ease_; on a tenth, _merchant_, _riches_, _care_. And indeed the whole

seemed to contain such a mixture of good and evil, that it would have

puzzled me which to chuse. I must not omit here that in every lot was

directed whether the drawer should marry or remain in celibacy, the

married lots being all marked with a large pair of horns.

We were obliged, before we quitted this place, to take each of us an

emetic from the apothecary, which immediately purged us of all our

earthly passions, and presently the cloud forsook our eyes, as it doth

those of Æneas in Virgil, when removed by Venus; and we discerned things

in a much clearer light than before. We began to compassionate those

spirits who were making their entry into the flesh, whom we had till

then secretly envied, and to long eagerly for those delightful plains

which now opened themselves to our eyes, and to which we now hastened

with the utmost eagerness. On our way we met with several spirits with

very dejected countenances; but our expedition would not suffer us to

ask any questions.

At length we arrived at the gate of Elysium. Here was a prodigious crowd

of spirits waiting for admittance, some of whom were admitted, and some

were rejected; for all were strictly examined by the porter, whom I soon

discovered to be the celebrated judge Minos.

Chapter vii.

_The proceedings of judge Minos at the gate of Elysium._

I now got near enough to the gate to hear the several claims of those

who endeavoured to pass. The first, among other pretensions, set forth

that he had been very liberal to an hospital; but Minos answered,

"Ostentation," and repulsed him. The second exhibited that he had

constantly frequented his church, been a rigid observer of fast-days: he

likewise represented the great animosity he had shewn to vice in others,

which never escaped his severest censure; and as to his own behaviour,

he had never been once guilty of whoring, drinking, gluttony, or any

other excess. He said he had disinherited his son for getting a bastard.

"Have you so?" said Minos; "then pray return into the other world and

beget another; for such an unnatural rascal shall never pass this gate."

A dozen others, who had advanced with very confident countenances,

seeing him rejected, turned about of their own accord, declaring, if he

could not pass, they had no expectation, and accordingly they followed

him back to earth; which was the fate of all who were repulsed, they

being obliged to take a further purification, unless those who were

guilty of some very heinous crimes, who were hustled in at a little

back gate, whence they tumbled immediately into the bottomless pit.

The next spirit that came up declared he had done neither good nor evil

in the world; for that since his arrival at man's estate he had spent

his whole time in search of curiosities; and particularly in the study

of butterflies, of which he had collected an immense number. Minos made

him no answer, but with great scorn pushed him back.

There now advanced a very beautiful spirit indeed. She began to ogle

Minos the moment she saw him. She said she hoped there was some merit in

refusing a great number of lovers, and dying a maid, though she had had

the choice of a hundred. Minos told her she had not refused enow yet,

and turned her back.

She was succeeded by a spirit who told the judge he believed his works

would speak for him. "What works?" answered Minos. "My dramatic works,"

replied the other, "which have done so much good in recommending virtue

and punishing vice." "Very well," said the judge; "if you please to

stand by, the first person who passes the gate by your means shall carry

you in with him; but, if you will take my advice, I think, for

expedition sake, you had better return, and live another life upon

earth." The bard grumbled at this, and replied that, besides his

poetical works, he had done some other good things: for that he had once

lent the whole profits of a benefit-night to a friend, and by that means

had saved him and his family from destruction. Upon this the gate flew

open, and Minos desired him to walk in, telling him, if he had mentioned

this at first, he might have spared the remembrance of his plays. The

poet answered, he believed, if Minos had read his works, he would set a

higher value on them. He was then beginning to repeat, but Minos pushed

him forward, and, turning his back to him, applied himself to the next

passenger, a very genteel spirit, who made a very low bow to Minos, and

then threw himself into an erect attitude, and imitated the motion of

taking snuff with his right hand. Minos asked him what he had to say for

himself. He answered, he would dance a minuet with any spirit in

Elysium: that he could likewise perform all his other exercises very

well, and hoped he had in his life deserved the character of a perfect

fine gentleman. Minos replied it would be great pity to rob the world of

so fine a gentleman, and therefore desired him to take the other trip.

The beau bowed, thanked the judge, and said he desired no better.

Several spirits expressed much astonishment at this his satisfaction;

but we were afterwards informed he had not taken the emetic above

mentioned.

A miserable old spirit now crawled forwards, whose face I thought I had

formerly seen near Westminster Abbey. He entertained Minos with a long

harangue of what he had done when in the HOUSE; and then proceeded to

inform him how much he was worth, without attempting to produce a single

instance of any one good action. Minos stopt the career of his

discourse, and acquainted him he must take a trip back again. "What! to

S---- house?" said the spirit in an ecstasy; but the judge, without

making him any answer, turned to another, who, with a very solemn air

and great dignity, acquainted him he was a duke. "To the right-about, Mr

Duke," cried Minos, "you are infinitely too great a man for Elysium;"

and then, giving him a kick on the b--- ch, he addressed himself to a

spirit who, with fear and trembling, begged he might not go to the

bottomless pit: he said he hoped Minos would consider that, though he

had gone astray, he had suffered for it--that it was necessity which

drove him to the robbery of eighteenpence, which he had committed, and

for which he was hanged--that he had done some good actions in his

life--that he had supported an aged parent with his labour--that he had

been a very tender husband and a kind father--and that he had ruined

himself by being bail for his friend. At which words the gate opened,

and Minos bid him enter, giving him a slap on the back as he passed by

him.

A great number of spirits now came forwards, who all declared they had

the same claim, and that the captain should speak for them. He

acquainted the judge that they had been all slain in the service of

their country. Minos was going to admit them, but had the curiosity to

ask who had been the invader, in order, as he said, to prepare the back

gate for him. The captain answered they had been the invaders

themselves--that they had entered the enemy's country, and burnt and

plundered several cities. "And for what reason?" said Minos. "By the

command of him who paid us," said the captain; "that is the reason of a

soldier. We are to execute whatever we are commanded, or we should be a

disgrace to the army, and very little deserve our pay." "You are brave

fellows indeed," said Minos; "but be pleased to face about, and obey my

command for once, in returning back to the other world: for what should

such fellows as you do where there are no cities to be burnt, nor people

to be destroyed? But let me advise you to have a stricter regard to

truth for the future, and not call the depopulating other countries the

service of your own." The captain answered in a rage, "D--n me! do you

give me the lie?" and was going to take Minos by the nose, had not his

guards prevented him, and immediately turned him and all his followers

back the same road they came.

Four spirits informed the judge that they had been starved to death

through poverty--being the father, mother, and two children; that they

had been honest and as industrious as possible, till sickness had

prevented the man from labour. "All that is very true," cried a grave

spirit who stood by. "I know the fact; for these poor people were under

my cure." "You was, I suppose, the parson of the parish," cries Minos;

"I hope you had a good living, sir." "That was but a small one," replied

the spirit; "but I had another a little better."--"Very well," said

Minos; "let the poor people pass." At which the parson was stepping

forwards with a stately gait before them; but Minos caught hold of him

and pulled him back, saying, "Not so fast, doctor--you must take one

step more into the other world first; for no man enters that gate

without charity."

A very stately figure now presented himself, and, informing Minos he was

a patriot, began a very florid harangue on public virtue and the

liberties of his country. Upon which Minos shewed him the utmost

respect, and ordered the gate to be opened. The patriot was not

contented with this applause; he said he had behaved as well in place as

he had done in the opposition; and that, though he was now obliged to

embrace the court measures, yet he had behaved very honestly to his

friends, and brought as many in as was possible. "Hold a moment," says

Minos: "on second consideration, Mr Patriot, I think a man of your great

virtue and abilities will be so much missed by your country, that, if I

might advise you, you should take a journey back again. I am sure you

will not decline it; for I am certain you will, with great readiness,

sacrifice your own happiness to the public good." The patriot smiled,

and told Minos he believed he was in jest; and was offering to enter

the gate, but the judge laid fast hold of him and insisted on his

return, which the patriot still declining, he at last ordered his guards

to seize him and conduct him back.

A spirit now advanced, and the gate was immediately thrown open to him

before he had spoken a word. I heard some whisper, "That is our last

lord mayor."

It now came to our company's turn. The fair spirit which I mentioned

with so much applause in the beginning of my journey passed through very

easily; but the grave lady was rejected on her first appearance, Minos

declaring there was not a single prude in Elysium.

The judge then addressed himself to me, who little expected to pass this

fiery trial. I confessed I had indulged myself very freely with wine and

women in my youth, but had never done an injury to any man living, nor

avoided an opportunity of doing good; that I pretended to very little

virtue more than general philanthropy and private friendship. I was

proceeding, when Minos bid me enter the gate, and not indulge myself

with trumpeting forth my virtues. I accordingly passed forward with my

lovely companion, and, embracing her with vast eagerness, but spiritual

innocence, she returned my embrace in the same manner, and we both

congratulated ourselves on our arrival in this happy region, whose

beauty no painting of the imagination can describe.

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Chapter viii.

_The adventures which the author met on his first entrance into

Elysium._

We pursued our way through a delicious grove of orange-trees, where I

saw infinite numbers of spirits, every one of whom I knew, and was known

by them (for spirits here know one another by intuition). I presently

met a little daughter whom I had lost several years before. Good gods!

what words can describe the raptures, the melting passionate tenderness,

with which we kissed each other, continuing in our embrace, with the

most ecstatic joy, a space which, if time had been measured here as on

earth, could not be less than half a year.

The first spirit with whom I entered into discourse was the famous

Leonidas of Sparta. I acquainted him with the honours which had been

done him by a celebrated poet of our nation; to which he answered he was

very much obliged to him.

We were presently afterwards entertained with the most delicious voice I

had ever heard, accompanied by a violin, equal to Signior Piantinida. I

presently discovered the musician and songster to be Orpheus and Sappho.

Old Homer was present at this concert (if I may so call it), and Madam

Dacier sat in his lap. He asked much after Mr Pope, and said he was very

desirous of seeing him; for that he had read his Iliad in his

translation with almost as much delight as he believed he had given

others in the original. I had the curiosity to enquire whether he had

really writ that poem in detached pieces, and sung it about as ballads

all over Greece, according to the report which went of him. He smiled at

my question, and asked me whether there appeared any connexion in the

poem; for if there did he thought I might answer myself. I then

importuned him to acquaint me in which of the cities which contended for

the honour of his birth he was really born? To which he answered, "Upon

my soul I can't tell."

Virgil then came up to me, with Mr Addison under his arm. "Well, sir,"

said he, "how many translations have these few last years produced of my

Æneid?" I told him I believed several, but I could not possibly

remember; for that I had never read any but Dr Trapp's. "Ay," said he,

"that is a curious piece indeed!" I then acquainted him with the

discovery made by Mr Warburton of the Elusinian mysteries couched in his

sixth book. "What mysteries?" said Mr Addison. "The Elusinian," answered

Virgil, "which I have disclosed in my sixth book." "How!" replied

Addison. "You never mentioned a word of any such mysteries to me in all

our acquaintance." "I thought it was unnecessary," cried the other, "to

a man of your infinite learning: besides, you always told me you

perfectly understood my meaning." Upon this I thought the critic looked

a little out of countenance, and turned aside to a very merry spirit,

one Dick Steele, who embraced him, and told him he had been the greatest

man upon earth; that he readily resigned up all the merit of his own

works to him. Upon which Addison gave him a gracious smile, and,

clapping him on the back with much solemnity, cried out, "Well said,

Dick!"

I then observed Shakspeare standing between Betterton and Booth, and

deciding a difference between those two great actors concerning the

placing an accent in one of his lines: this was disputed on both sides

with a warmth which surprized me in Elysium, till I discovered by

intuition that every soul retained its principal characteristic, being,

indeed, its very essence. The line was that celebrated one in Othello--

_Put out the light, and then put out the light._

according to Betterton. Mr Booth contended to have it thus:--

_Put out the light, and then put out_ THE _light._

I could not help offering my conjecture on this occasion, and suggested

it might perhaps be--

_Put out the light, and then put out_ THY _light._

Another hinted a reading very sophisticated in my opinion--

_Put out the light, and then put out_ THEE, _light._

making light to be the vocative case. Another would have altered the

last word, and read--

_Put out thy light, and then put out thy sight._

But Betterton said, if the text was to be disturbed, he saw no reason

why a word might not be changed as well as a letter, and, instead of

"put out thy light," you may read "put out thy eyes." At last it was

agreed on all sides to refer the matter to the decision of Shakspeare

himself, who delivered his sentiments as follows: "Faith, gentlemen, it

is so long since I wrote the line, I have forgot my meaning. This I

know, could I have dreamt so much nonsense would have been talked and

writ about it, I would have blotted it out of my works; for I am sure,

if any of these be my meaning, it doth me very little honour."

He was then interrogated concerning some other ambiguous passages in his

works; but he declined any satisfactory answer; saying, if Mr Theobald

had not writ about it sufficiently, there were three or four more new

editions of his plays coming out, which he hoped would satisfy every

one: concluding, "I marvel nothing so much as that men will gird

themselves at discovering obscure beauties in an author. Certes the

greatest and most pregnant beauties are ever the plainest and most

evidently striking; and when two meanings of a passage can in the least

ballance our judgments which to prefer, I hold it matter of

unquestionable certainty that neither of them is worth a farthing."

From his works our conversation turned on his monument; upon which,

Shakspeare, shaking his sides, and addressing himself to Milton, cried

out, "On my word, brother Milton, they have brought a noble set of poets

together; they would have been hanged erst have [ere they had] convened

such a company at their tables when alive." "True, brother," answered

Milton, "unless we had been as incapable of eating then as we are now."

Chapter ix.

_More adventures in Elysium._

A crowd of spirits now joined us, whom I soon perceived to be the

heroes, who here frequently pay their respects to the several bards the

recorders of their actions. I now saw Achilles and Ulysses addressing

themselves to Homer, and Æneas and Julius Caesar to Virgil: Adam went up

to Milton, upon which I whispered Mr Dryden that I thought the devil

should have paid his compliments there, according to his opinion. Dryden

only answered, "I believe the devil was in me when I said so." Several

applied themselves to Shakspeare, amongst whom Henry V. made a very

distinguishing appearance. While my eyes were fixed on that monarch a

very small spirit came up to me, shook me heartily by the hand, and told

me his name was THOMAS THUMB. I expressed great satisfaction in seeing

him, nor could I help speaking my resentment against the historian, who

had done such injustice to the stature of this great little man, which

he represented to be no bigger than a span, whereas I plainly perceived

at first sight he was full a foot and a half (and the 37th part of an

inch more, as he himself informed me), being indeed little shorter than

some considerable beaus of the present age.

I asked this little hero concerning the truth of those stories related

of him, viz., of the pudding, and the cow's belly. As to the former, he

said it was a ridiculous legend, worthy to be laughed at; but as to the

latter, he could not help owning there was some truth in it: nor had he

any reason to be ashamed of it, as he was swallowed by surprize; adding,

with great fierceness, that if he had had any weapon in his hand the cow

should have as soon swallowed the devil.

He spoke the last word with so much fury, and seemed so confounded,

that, perceiving the effect it had on him, I immediately waved the

story, and, passing to other matters, we had much conversation touching

giants. He said, so far from killing any, he had never seen one alive;

that he believed those actions were by mistake recorded of him, instead

of Jack the giant-killer, whom he knew very well, and who had, he

fancied, extirpated the race. I assured him to the contrary, and told

him I had myself seen a huge tame giant, who very complacently stayed in

London a whole winter, at the special request of several gentlemen and

ladies; though the affairs of his family called him home to Sweden.

I now beheld a stern-looking spirit leaning on the shoulder of another

spirit, and presently discerned the former to be Oliver Cromwell, and

the latter Charles Martel. I own I was a little surprized at seeing

Cromwell here, for I had been taught by my grandmother that he was

carried away by the devil himself in a tempest; but he assured me, on

his honour, there was not the least truth in that story. However, he

confessed he had narrowly escaped the bottomless pit; and, if the former

part of his conduct had not been more to his honour than the latter, he

had been certainly soused into it. He was, nevertheless, sent back to

the upper world with this lot:--_Army_, _cavalier_, _distress_.

He was born, for the second time, the day of Charles II.'s restoration,

into a family which had lost a very considerable fortune in the service

of that prince and his father, for which they received the reward very

often conferred by princes on real merit, viz.--000. At 16 his father

bought a small commission for him in the army, in which he served

without any promotion all the reigns of Charles II. and of his brother.

At the Revolution he quitted his regiment, and followed the fortunes of

his former master, and was in his service dangerously wounded at the

famous battle of the Boyne, where he fought in the capacity of a private

soldier. He recovered of this wound, and retired after the unfortunate

king to Paris, where he was reduced to support a wife and seven children

(for his lot had horns in it) by cleaning shoes and snuffing candles at

the opera. In which situation, after he had spent a few miserable years,

he died half-starved and broken-hearted. He then revisited Minos, who,

compassionating his sufferings by means of that family, to whom he had

been in his former capacity so bitter an enemy, suffered him to enter

here.

My curiosity would not refrain asking him one question, _i.e._, whether

in reality he had any desire to obtain the crown? He smiled, and said,

"No more than an ecclesiastic hath to the mitre, when he cries _Nolo

episcopari_." Indeed, he seemed to express some contempt at the

question, and presently turned away.

A venerable spirit appeared next, whom I found to be the great historian

Livy. Alexander the Great, who was just arrived from the palace of

death, past by him with a frown. The historian, observing it, said, "Ay,

you may frown; but those troops which conquered the base Asiatic slaves

would have made no figure against the Romans." We then privately

lamented the loss of the most valuable part of his history; after which

he took occasion to commend the judicious collection made by Mr Hook,

which, he said, was infinitely preferable to all others; and at my

mentioning Echard's he gave a bounce, not unlike the going off of a

squib, and was departing from me, when I begged him to satisfy my

curiosity in one point--whether he was really superstitious or no? For I

had always believed he was till Mr Leibnitz had assured me to the

contrary. He answered sullenly, "Doth Mr Leibnitz know my mind better

than myself?" and then walked away.

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Chapter x.

_The author is surprised at meeting Julian the apostate in Elysium; but

is satisfied by him by what means he procured his entrance there. Julian

relates his adventures in the character of a slave._

As he was departing I heard him salute a spirit by the name of Mr Julian

the apostate. This exceedingly amazed me; for I had concluded that no

man ever had a better title to the bottomless pit than he. But I soon

found that this same Julian the apostate was also the very individual

archbishop Latimer. He told me that several lies had been raised on him

in his former capacity, nor was he so bad a man as he had been

represented. However, he had been denied admittance, and forced to

undergo several subsequent pilgrimages on earth, and to act in the

different characters of a slave, a Jew, a general, an heir, a carpenter,

a beau, a monk, a fiddler, a wise man, a king, a fool, a beggar, a

prince, a statesman, a soldier, a taylor, an alderman, a poet, a knight,

a dancing-master, and three times a bishop, before his martyrdom, which,

together with his other behaviour in this last character, satisfied the

judge, and procured him a passage to the blessed regions.

I told him such various characters must have produced incidents

extremely entertaining; and if he remembered all, as I supposed he did,

and had leisure, I should be obliged to him for the recital. He answered

he perfectly recollected every circumstance; and as to leisure, the only

business of that happy place was to contribute to the happiness of each

other. He therefore thanked me for adding to his, in proposing to him a

method of increasing mine. I then took my little darling in one hand,

and my favourite fellow-traveller in the other, and, going with him to

a sunny bank of flowers, we all sat down, and he began as follows:--

"I suppose you are sufficiently acquainted with my story during the time

I acted the part of the emperor Julian, though I assure you all which

hath been related of me is not true, particularly with regard to the

many prodigies forerunning my death. However, they are now very little

worth disputing; and if they can serve any purpose of the historian they

are extremely at his service.

"My next entrance into the world was at Laodicea, in Syria, in a Roman

family of no great note; and, being of a roving disposition, I came at

the age of seventeen to Constantinople, where, after about a year's

stay, I set out for Thrace, at the time when the emperor Valens admitted

the Goths into that country. I was there so captivated with the beauty

of a Gothic lady, the wife of one Rodoric, a captain, whose name, out of

the most delicate tenderness for her lovely sex, I shall even at this

distance conceal; since her behaviour to me was more consistent with

good-nature than with that virtue which women are obliged to preserve

against every assailant. In order to procure an intimacy with this woman

I sold myself a slave to her husband, who, being of a nation not

over-inclined to jealousy, presented me to his wife, for those very

reasons which would have induced one of a jealous complexion to have

withheld me from her, namely, for that I was young and handsome.

"Matters succeeded so far according to my wish, and the sequel answered

those hopes which this beginning had raised. I soon perceived my service

was very acceptable to her; I often met her eyes, nor did she withdraw

them without a confusion which is scarce consistent with entire purity

of heart. Indeed, she gave me every day fresh encouragement; but the

unhappy distance which circumstances had placed between us deterred me

long from making any direct attack; and she was too strict an observer

of decorum to violate the severe rules of modesty by advancing first;

but passion at last got the better of my respect, and I resolved to make

one bold attempt, whatever was the consequence. Accordingly, laying hold

of the first kind opportunity, when she was alone and my master abroad,

I stoutly assailed the citadel and carried it by storm. Well may I say

by storm; for the resistance I met was extremely resolute, and indeed as

much as the most perfect decency would require. She swore often she

would cry out for help; but I answered it was in vain, seeing there was

no person near to assist her; and probably she believed me, for she did

not once actually cry out, which if she had, I might very likely have

been prevented.

"When she found her virtue thus subdued against her will she patiently

submitted to her fate, and quietly suffered me a long time to enjoy the

most delicious fruits of my victory; but envious fortune resolved to

make me pay a dear price for my pleasure. One day in the midst of our

happiness we were suddenly surprized by the unexpected return of her

husband, who, coming directly into his wife's apartment, just allowed me

time to creep under the bed. The disorder in which he found his wife

might have surprized a jealous temper; but his was so far otherwise,

that possibly no mischief might have happened had he not by a cross

accident discovered my legs, which were not well hid. He immediately

drew me out by them, and then, turning to his wife with a stern

countenance, began to handle a weapon he wore by his side, with which I

am persuaded he would have instantly despatched her, had I not very

gallantly, and with many imprecations, asserted her innocence and my

own guilt; which, however, I protested had hitherto gone no farther than

design. She so well seconded my plea (for she was a woman of wonderful

art), that he was at length imposed upon; and now all his rage was

directed against me, threatening all manner of tortures, which the poor

lady was in too great a fright and confusion to dissuade him from

executing; and perhaps, if her concern for me had made her attempt it,

it would have raised a jealousy in him not afterwards to be removed.

"After some hesitation Rodoric cried out he had luckily hit on the most

proper punishment for me in the world, by a method which would at once

do severe justice on me for my criminal intention, and at the same time

prevent me from any danger of executing my wicked purpose hereafter.

This cruel resolution was immediately executed, and I was no longer

worthy the name of a man.

"Having thus disqualified me from doing him any future injury, he still

retained me in his family; but the lady, very probably repenting of what

she had done, and looking on me as the author of her guilt, would never

for the future give me either a kind word or look: and shortly after, a

great exchange being made between the Romans and the Goths of dogs for

men, my lady exchanged me with a Roman widow for a small lap-dog, giving

a considerable sum of money to boot.

"In this widow's service I remained seven years, during all which time I

was very barbarously treated. I was worked without the least mercy, and

often severely beat by a swinging maid-servant, who never called me by

any other names than those of the Thing and the Animal. Though I used my

utmost industry to please, it never was in my power. Neither the lady

nor her woman would eat anything I touched, saying they did not believe

me wholesome. It is unnecessary to repeat particulars; in a word, you

can imagine no kind of ill usage which I did not suffer in this family.

"At last an heathen priest, an acquaintance of my lady's, obtained me of

her for a present. The scene was now totally changed, and I had as much

reason to be satisfied with my present situation as I had to lament my

former. I was so absolutely my master's favourite, that the rest of the

slaves paid me almost as much regard as they shewed to him, well knowing

that it was entirely in my power to command and treat them as I pleased.

I was intrusted with all my master's secrets, and used to assist him in

privately conveying away by night the sacrifices from the altars, which

the people believed the deities themselves devoured. Upon these we

feasted very elegantly, nor could invention suggest a rarity which we

did not pamper ourselves with. Perhaps you may admire at the close union

between this priest and his slave, but we lived in an intimacy which the

Christians thought criminal; but my master, who knew the will of the

gods, with whom he told me he often conversed, assured me it was

perfectly innocent.

"This happy life continued about four years, when my master's death,

occasioned by a surfeit got by overfeeding on several exquisite

dainties, put an end to it.

"I now fell into the hands of one of a very different disposition, and

this was no other than the celebrated St Chrysostom, who dieted me with

sermons instead of sacrifices, and filled my ears with good things, but

not my belly. Instead of high food to fatten and pamper my flesh, I had

receipts to mortify and reduce it. With these I edified so well, that

within a few months I became a skeleton. However, as he had converted

me to his faith, I was well enough satisfied with this new manner of

living, by which he taught me I might ensure myself an eternal reward in

a future state. The saint was a good-natured man, and never gave me an

ill word but once, which was occasioned by my neglecting to place

Aristophanes, which was his constant bedfellow, on his pillow. He was,

indeed, extremely fond of that Greek poet, and frequently made me read

his comedies to him. When I came to any of the loose passages he would

smile, and say. 'It was pity his matter was not as pure as his style;'

of which latter he was so immoderately fond that, notwithstanding the

detestation he expressed for obscenity, he hath made me repeat those

passages ten times over. The character of this good man hath been very

unjustly attacked by his heathen contemporaries, particularly with

regard to women; but his severe invectives against that sex are his

sufficient justification.

"From the service of this saint, from whom I received manumission, I

entered into the family of Timasius, a leader of great eminence in the

imperial army, into whose favour I so far insinuated myself that he

preferred me to a good command, and soon made me partaker of both his

company and his secrets. I soon grew intoxicated with this preferment,

and the more he loaded me with benefits the more he raised my opinion of

my own merit, which, still outstripping the rewards he conferred on me,

inspired me rather with dissatisfaction than gratitude. And thus, by

preferring me beyond my merit or first expectation, he made me an

envious aspiring enemy, whom perhaps a more moderate bounty would have

preserved a dutiful servant.

"I fell now acquainted with one Lucilius, a creature of the prime

minister Eutropius, who had by his favour been raised to the post of a

tribune; a man of low morals, and eminent only in that meanest of

qualities, cunning. This gentleman, imagining me a fit tool for the

minister's purpose, having often sounded my principles of honour and

honesty, both which he declared to me were words without meaning, and

finding my ready concurrence in his sentiments, recommended me to

Eutropius as very proper to execute some wicked purposes he had

contrived against my friend Timasius. The minister embraced this

recommendation, and I was accordingly acquainted by Lucilius (after some

previous accounts of the great esteem Eutropius entertained of me, from

the testimony he had borne of my parts) that he would introduce me to

him; adding that he was a great encourager of merit, and that I might

depend upon his favour.

"I was with little difficulty prevailed on to accept of this invitation.

A late hour therefore the next evening being appointed, I attended my

friend Lucilius to the minister's house. He received me with the utmost

civility and chearfulness, and affected so much regard to me, that I,

who knew nothing of these high scenes of life, concluded I had in him a

most disinterested friend, owing to the favourable report which Lucilius

had made of me. I was however soon cured of this opinion; for

immediately after supper our discourse turned on the injustice which the

generality of the world were guilty of in their conduct to great men,

expecting that they should reward their private merit, without ever

endeavouring to apply it to their use. 'What avail,' said Eutropius,

'the learning, wit, courage, or any virtue which a man may be possest

of, to me, unless I receive some benefit from them? Hath he not more

merit to me who doth my business and obeys my commands, without any of

these qualities?' I gave such entire satisfaction in my answers on this

head, that both the minister and his creature grew bolder, and after

some preface began to accuse Timasius. At last, finding I did not

attempt to defend him, Lucilius swore a great oath that he was not fit

to live, and that he would destroy him. Eutropius answered that it would

be too dangerous a task: 'Indeed' says he, 'his crimes are of so black a

die, and so well known to the emperor, that his death must be a very

acceptable service, and could not fail meeting a proper reward: but I

question whether you are capable of executing it.' 'If he is not,' cried

I, 'I am; and surely no man can have greater motives to destroy him than

myself: for, besides his disloyalty to my prince, for whom I have so

perfect a duty, I have private disobligations to him. I have had fellows

put over my head, to the great scandal of the service in general, and to

my own prejudice and disappointment in particular.' I will not repeat

you my whole speech; but, to be as concise as possible, when we parted

that evening the minister squeezed me heartily by the hand, and with

great commendation of my honesty and assurances of his favour, he

appointed me the next evening to come to him alone; when, finding me,

after a little more scrutiny, ready for his purpose, he proposed to me

to accuse Timasius of high treason, promising me the highest rewards if

I would undertake it. The consequence to him, I suppose you know, was

ruin; but what was it to me? Why, truly, when I waited on Eutropius for

the fulfilling his promises, he received me with great distance and

coldness; and, on my dropping some hints of my expectations from him, he

affected not to understand me; saying he thought impunity was the utmost

I could hope for on discovering my accomplice, whose offence was only

greater than mine, as he was in a higher station; and telling me he had

great difficulty to obtain a pardon for me from the emperor, which, he

said, he had struggled very hardly for, as he had worked the discovery

out of me. He turned away, and addressed himself to another person.

"I was so incensed at this treatment, that I resolved revenge, and

should certainly have pursued it, had he not cautiously prevented me by

taking effectual means to despatch me soon after out of the world.