CHAPTER VIII.

But before we proceed to our disquisitions concerning the power and

efficacy of natural magic, and examine what mysterious operations may be

brought about and compassed by magical practises, and before we take a

farther survey of what Mr. Campbell has performed in this kind, that

relates to his profession and the public part of his life, which

concerns other people as well as himself; I shall here relate some

singular adventures that he passed through in his private life, and

which regard only his own person. In order to this, I must return back

to the year 1702, about which time some unaccountable turns of fortune

attended him in his own private capacity, which must be very surprising

and entertaining to my readers, when they find a man, whose foresight

was always so great a help and assistance to others, who consulted him

in their own future affairs, helpless, as it has been an observation

concerning all such men in the account of the second-sight, and blind in

his own future affairs, tossed up and down by inevitable and spiteful

accidents of fortune, and made the may-game of chance and hazard, as if

that wayward and inconstant goddess, was resolved to punish him, when

she catched him on the blind side, for having such a quick insight and

penetrating faculty in other people's matters, and scrutinizing too

narrowly into her mysteries, and so sometimes preventing those fatal

intentions of hers, into which she would fain lead many mortals

hood-winked, and before they knew where they were. In this light, these

mighty and famous seers seem to be born for the benefit and felicity of

others, but at the same time to be born to unhappiness themselves. And

certainly, inasmuch as we consider them as useful and beneficial often,

but always satisfactory to persons who are curious in their enquiries

about their fortunes, it will be natural to those of us who have the

least share of generosity in our minds, to yield our pity and compassion

to them, when they are remarkably unfortunate themselves; especially

when that calamity seems more particularly to light upon them for their

ability, and endeavour to consult the good fortune of other folks.

About the above-mentioned year, 1702, Duncan Campbell grew a little

tired of his profession; such a multitude of followers troubled him,

several of whom were wild youths, and came to banter him, and many more

too inquisitive females to tease him with endless impertinences, and

who, the more he told them, had still the more to ask, and whose

curiosity was never to be satisfied: and besides this, he was so much

envied, and had so many malicious artifices daily practised against him,

that he resolved to leave off his profession. He had, I know, followed

it pretty closely from the time I first saw him in London, which was, I

think, in the beginning of the year 1698, till the year 1702, with very

good success; and in those few years he had got together a pretty round

sum of money. Our young seer was now at man's estate, and had learned

the notion that he was to be his own governor, so far as to be his own

counsellor too in what road of life he was to take, and this

consideration no doubt worked with a deeper impression on his mind, than

it usually does on others that are in the same blossom and pride of

manhood, because it might appear more natural for him to believe that he

had a sufficient ability to be his own proper adviser, who had given so

many others, and some more aged than himself, counsel, with very good

success. Now every experienced person knows, that when manhood is yet

green, it is still in the same dangerous condition as a young plant,

which is liable to be warped by a thousand cross fortuitous accidents,

if good measures be not taken to support it against all the contingent

shocks it may meet with from the weather or otherwise. Now, it was his

misfortune to be made averse to business, which he loved before, by

having too much of it, and to be so soured by meeting with numerous

perplexities and malicious rubs laid in his way by invidious people,

(who are the useless and injurious busy-bodies that always repine at the

good of others, and rejoice to do harm to the diligent and assiduous,

though they reap no profit by it themselves), that he was disgusted and

deterred entirely from the prosecution of a profession by which he got

not only a competent but a copious and plentiful subsistence. Nay,

indeed, this was another mischief arising to him from his having so much

business, that he had got money enough to leave it off, when the

perplexities of it had made him willing to do so, and to live very

comfortably and handsomely, like a gentleman, without it, for a time;

and we know the youngest men are not wont to look the farthest before

them, in matters that concern their own welfare. Now, inasmuch as he had

thus taken a disgust to business and application, and was surfeited, as

I may say, with the perplexities of it, it must be as natural for him,

we know, to search for repose in the contrary extreme, viz., recreation

and idleness, as it is for a man to seek rest after toil, to sleep after

a day's labour, or to sit down after a long and tiresome walk. But there

are two very distinct sorts of idleness, and two very different kinds of

recreation; there is a shameful idleness which is no better than

downright sloth; and there is a splendid kind of indolence, where a man

having taken an aversion to the wearisomeness of a business which

properly belongs to him, neglects not however to employ his thoughts,

when they are vacant from what they ought more chiefly to be about, in

other matters not entirely unprofitable in life, the exercise of which

he finds he can follow with more abundant ease and satisfaction. There

are some sorts of recreations, too, that are mean, sordid, and base;

others that are very innocent, though very diverting, and that will give

one the very next most valuable qualifications of a gentleman, after

those which are obtained by a more serious application of the mind. The

idea which I have already given my readers of our Duncan Campbell, will

easily make them judge, before I tell them, which way, in these two

ways, his genius would naturally lead him; and that, when he grew an

idle man, he would rather indulge himself with applying his mind to the

shining trifles of life, than be wholly slothful and inactive; and that

when he diverted himself he would not do it after a sordid, base

manner, as having a better taste and a relish for good company; but that

his recreations would still be the recreations of a gentleman. And just,

accordingly, as my readers would naturally judge beforehand in his case,

so it really happened. The moment he shook off business, and dismissed

the thoughts of it, his genius led him to a very gallant way of life; in

his lodgings, in his entertainments, in paying and receiving visits, in

coffee-houses, in taverns, in fencing-schools, in balls, and other

public assemblies, in all ways, in fine, both at home and abroad, Duncan

Campbell was a well-comported and civil fine gentleman; he was a man of

pleasure, and nothing of the man of business appeared about him. But a

gentleman's life, without a gentleman's estate, however shining and

pleasant it may be for a time, will certainly end in sorrow, if not in

infamy; and comparing life, as moralists do, to a day, one may safely

pronounce this truth to all the splendid idlers I have mentioned, that

if they have sunshiny weather till noon, yet the afternoon of their life

will be very stormy, rainy and uncomfortable, and perhaps just at the

end of their journey, to carry on the metaphor throughout, close in the

darkest kind of night. Of this, as I was a man of years and more

experienced in the world than he, I took upon me to forewarn Mr.

Campbell, as soon as I perceived the first dangerous fit of this elegant

idleness had seized him. But when will young men, by so much the more

headstrong as they have less of the beard, be guided and brought to

learn! and when shall we see that happy age, in which the grey heads of

old men shall be clapped upon the shoulders of youth! I told him, that

in this one thing he ought to consult me, and acknowledge me to be a

true prophet, if I told him the end of the seeming merry steps in life

he was now taking, would infallibly bring him to a labyrinth of

difficulties, out of which if he extricated himself at all, he would at

least find it a laborious piece of work. His taste had been already

vitiated with the sweets which lay at the top of the bitter draught of

fortune, and my honest rugged counsel came too late to prevail, when his

fancy had decoyed and debauched his judgment, and carried it over into

another interest. I remember I writ down to him the moral story, where

vicious Pleasure and Virtue are pictured by the philosopher to appear

before Hercules, to court him into two several paths. I told him more

particularly, since he had not an estate to go through with the

gentlemanly life, as he called it, that, if he followed the alluring

pleasures which endeavoured to tempt Hercules, he would involve himself

at last in a whole heap of miseries, out of which it would be more than

an Herculean labour for him to disentangle himself again. If he had been

a man that could have ever heard with either, I would have told the

reader in a very familiar idiom, that he turned the deaf ear to me; for

he did not mind one syllable or tittle of the prescriptions I set down

for him, no more than if he had never read them; but, varying the phrase

a little, I may say at least, when he should have looked upon my counsel

with all the eyes he had, he turned the blind side upon it. I was

resolved to make use of the revenge natural to a man of years, and

therefore applied that reproachful proverb to him, which we ancients

delight much in making use of to youths that follow their own false and

hot imaginations, and will not heed the cooler dictates of age,

experience, and wisdom. Accordingly, I wrote down to him these words,

and left him in a seeming passion: I am very well assured, young man,

you think me that am old, to be a fool; but I that am old, absolutely

know you, who are a young fellow, to be a downright fool, and so I leave

you to follow your own ways, till sad and woful experience teaches you

to know it your own self, and makes you come to me to own it of your own

accord. As I was going away, after this tart admonition and severe

reprimand, I had a mind to observe his countenance, and I saw him smile,

which I rightly construed to be done in contempt of the advice of age,

and in the gaiety and fulness of conceit, which youth entertains of its

own fond opinions and hair-brained rash resolves. He was got into the

company of a very pretty set of gentlemen, whose fortunes were far

superior to his; but he followed the same genteel exercises, as fencing,

&c., and made one at all their public entertainments; and so being at an

equal expense with those who could well afford to spend what they did

out of their estates, he went on very pleasantly for a time, still

spending and never getting, without ever considering that it must, by

inevitable consequence, fall to his lot at last to be entirely reduced

to a state of indigence and want. And what commonly heightens the

misfortune of such men, and so of all gentlemen's younger brothers, who

live upon the ready money that is given them for their portions, is,

that the prosperity they live in for a time gains them credit enough

just to bring them in debt, and render them more miserable than those

very wretches who never had either any money or credit at all. They run

themselves into debt out of shame, and to put off the evil day of

appearing ruined men as long as they can, and then, when their tempers

are soured by adversity, they grow tired of their own lives; and then,

in a quarrel, they or some other gentleman, may be, is run through, or

else being hunted by bailiffs, they exercise their swords upon those

pursuers. Thus, where gentlemen will not consider their circumstances,

their very prosperity is a cause of, and aggravates their misery; their

very pride, which was a decent pride at first, in keeping up and

maintaining their credit, subjects them too often to the lowest and the

meanest acts, and their courage, which was of a laudable kind, turns

into a brutish and savage rage; and all the fine, esteemed, flourishing,

and happy gentleman ends, and is lost in the contemned, poor and

miserable desperado, whose portion at last is confinement and a gaol,

and sometimes even worse, and what I shall not so much as name here.

Into many of these calamities Mr. Campbell had brought himself before it

was long, by his heedlessness, and running, according to the wild

dictates of youth, counter to all sound and wholesome advice. He had, it

seems, run himself into debt, and one day as he was at a coffee-house,

the sign of the Three Crowns, in Great Queen-street, in rushed four

bailiffs upon him, who being directed by the creditor's wife, had

watched him into that house, and told him they had a warrant against

him, and upon his not answering, they being unacquainted with his being

deaf and dumb, offered to seize his sword. He startled at their offering

of violence, and taking them for ruffians, which he had often met with,

repelled the assaulters, and drawing his sword, as one man, more bold

than the rest, closed in with him, he shortened his blade, and in the

fall pinned the fellow through the shoulder, and himself through the

leg, to the floor. After that he stood at bay with all the four

officers, when the most mischievous assailant of them all, the

creditor's wife, ventured to step into the fray, and very barbarously

took hold of that nameless part of the man, for which, as she was a

married woman, nature methinks should have taught her to have a greater

tenderness, and almost squeezed and crushed those vitals to death. But

at last he got free from them all, and was going away as fast as he

could, not knowing what consequences might ensue. But the woman who

aimed herself at committing murder, in the most savage and inhuman

manner, ran out after him, crying out, Murder! murder! as loud as she

could, and alarmed the whole street. The bailiffs following the woman,

and being bloody from head to foot, by means of the wound he received,

gave credit to the outcry. The late Earl Rivers's footmen happening to

be at the door, ran immediately to stop the supposed murderer, and they

indeed did take him at last, but perceived their mistake, and discovered

that instead of being assistants in taking a man whom they thought to be

a murderer endeavouring to make his escape from the hands of justice,

they had only been tricked in by that false cry to be adjutants to a

bailiff in retaking a gentleman, who, by so gallant a defence, had

rescued himself from the dangers of a prison; and when they had

discovered this their mistake they were mighty sorry for what they had

done. The most active and busy among the earl's footmen was a Dutchman,

and the earl happening to be in a room next the street, and hearing the

outcry of murder, stepped to the window, and seeing his own servants in

the midst of the bustle, examined the Dutchman how the matter was, and,

being told it, he chid the man for being concerned in stopping a

gentleman that was getting free from such troublesome companions. But

the Dutchman excused himself, like a Dutchman, by making a very merry

blunder for a reply; _Sacramente_, said he, to his lord, if I had

thought they were bailiffs, I would have fought for the poor dumb

gentlemen, but then why had he not told me they were bailiffs, my lord?

In short, Duncan Campbell was carried off as their prisoner; but the

bailiff that was wounded was led back to the coffee-house, where he

pretended the wound was mortal, and that he despaired of living an hour.

The proverb, however, was of the fellow's side, and he recovered sooner

than other people expected he could. As soon as all danger was over, an

action for damages and smart money, as their term is, was brought

against Mr. Campbell; the damages were exaggerated and the demand was so

extravagant, that Duncan Campbell was neither able, just at that time,

nor willing, had he been able, to pay so much, as he thought, in his

own wrong, and having no bail, and being ashamed to make his case known

to his better sort of friends, who were both able and willing to help

him at a dead lift, he was hurried away to gaol by the bailiffs, who

showed such a malignant and insolent pleasure, as commonly attends

powerful revenge, when they put him into the Marshalsea. There he lay in

confinement six weeks, till at last four or five of his chief friends

came by mere chance to hear of it; immediately they consulted about his

deliverance, and unanimously resolved to contribute for his enlargement,

and they accordingly went across the water together, and procured it out

of hand.

Two of his benefactors were officers, and were just then going over to

Flanders. Duncan Campbell, to whom they communicated their design, was

resolved to try his fortune in a military way, out of a roving kind of

humour, raised in him partly by his having taken a sort of aversion to

his own profession in town, and partly by his finding that he could not

live, without following a profession, as he had done, any longer. He,

over a bottle, frankly imparted his mind to them at large; he signified

to them that he hoped, since they had lately done him so great a favour

in freeing him from one captivity, they would not think him too urgent

if he pressed for one favour farther, upon natures so generous as

theirs, by whom he took as great a pleasure in being obliged, as he

could receive in being capable of obliging others. He wrote to them that

the favour he meant was to redeem him from another captivity, almost as

irksome to him as that out of which they had lately ransomed him. This

captivity, continued he, is being either forced to follow my old

profession, which I have taken an entire disgust to, for a maintenance,

or being forced to live in a narrower way than suits with my genius, and

the better taste I have of higher life. Such a state, gentlemen, you

know, is more unpalatable than half-pay; it is like either being forced

to go upon the forlorn hope, or else like a man's being an entirely

cashiered and broken officer, that had no younger brother's fortune, and

no other support but his commission. Thus, though you have set my body

at liberty, my soul is still under an imprisonment, and will be till I

leave England, and can find means of visiting Flanders, which I can do

no otherwise than by the advantage of having you for my convoy. I have

a mighty longing to experience some part of a military life, and I

fancy, if you will grant me your interest, and introduce me to the

valiant young Lord Lorne, and be spokesmen for a dumb man, I shall meet

with a favourable reception; and as for you, gentlemen, after having

named that great patron and pattern of courage and conduct in the field,

I can't doubt but the very name I bear, if you had not known me, would

have made you take me for a person of a military genius, and that I

should do nothing but what would become a British soldier, and a

gentleman; nothing, in fine, that should make you repent the

recommendation.

These generous and gallant friends of his, it seems, complied with his

request, and promised they would make application for him to the Lord

Lorne, and Duncan Campbell had nothing to do but to get his bag and

baggage ready, and provide himself with a pass. His baggage was not very

long a getting together, and he had it in tolerable good order, and as

for his pass, a brother of the Lord Forbes was so kind as to procure him

one upon the first application Duncan made to him.

Accordingly, in a few days afterwards, they went on board, and having a

speedy and an easy passage, arrived soon at Rotterdam. Duncan met with

some of his English acquaintance in that town, and his mind being pretty

much bent upon rambling, and seeing all the curiosities, customs, and

humours he could, in all the foreign places he was to pass through, he

went, out of a frolic, with some gentlemen, next day, in a boat to an

adjacent village, to make merry over a homely Dutch entertainment, the

intended repast being to consist of what the boors there count a great

delicacy, brown bread and white beer. He walked out of sight from his

company, and they lost one another; and strolling about by himself at an

unseasonable hour, as they call it there after the bell has tolled,

Duncan Campbell, who neither knew their laws, nor if he had, was capable

of being guided by the notice which their laws ordain, was taken into

custody in the village, for that night, and carried away the next day to

Williamstadt, where he was taken for a spy, and put into a close

imprisonment for three or four days.

But some Scotch gentlemen, who had been in company with Mr. Campbell at

Mr. Cloysterman's, a painter in Covent-garden, made their application to

the magistrate and got him released; he knew his friends the officers,

that carried him over, were gone forward to the camp, and that there was

no hope of finding them at Rotterdam, if he should go thither, and so he

resolved, since he had had so many days punishment in Williamstadt, to

have three or four days pleasure there too, by way of amends, before he

would set out on his journey after his friends. But on the third night

he got very much in drink; and as he went very boisterously and

disorderly along, a sentry challenged him; and the want of the sense of

hearing had like to have occasioned the loss of his life. The sentry

fired at him and narrowly missed him; he was taken prisoner, not without

some resistance, which was so far innocent, as that he knew not any

reason why he should be seized; but very troublesome and unwarrantable

in so orderly a town; so the governor's secretary, after the matter was

examined into, judging it better for the unhappy gentleman's future

safety, advised him to return home to his own country, and accordingly

bespoke him a place in a Dutch ship called Yowfrow Catherine, for his

passage to England.

Duncan Campbell had taken up this humour of rambling, first, of his own

accord, and the troubles which he had run himself into by it, we may

reasonably suppose had pretty well cured him of that extravagant itch;

and there is little doubt to be made but that he rejoiced very heartily

when he was got on board the ship to return to England; and that in his

new resolutions he had reconciled himself to the prosecution of his

former profession, and intended to set up for a predictor again as soon

as he could arrive at London. But now fortune had not a mind to let him

go off so; he had had his own fancy for rambling, and now she was

resolved to have hers, and to give him his bellyful of caprice.

Accordingly, when the Dutch ship, called Yowfrow Catherine, was making

the best of her road for London, and each person in the vessel was

making merry, filled with the hopes of a quick and prosperous passage, a

French privateer appeared in sight, crowding all the sails she could,

and bearing towards them with all haste and diligence. The privateer was

double-manned, and carried thirty guns; the Dutch vessel was defenceless

in comparison; and the people on board had scarce time to think, and to

deplore that they should be made a prey of, before they actually were

so, and had reason enough given them for their sorrow. All the

passengers, to a single man, were stripped, and had French seamen's

jackets in exchange for their clothes. Duncan Campbell had now a taste

given him of the fate of war, as well as of the humour of travelling,

and wished himself again, I warrant him, among his greatest crowd of

consulters, as tiresome as he thought business to be, instead of being

in the middle of a crew of sea savages. The town where the dumb prisoner

was at last confined was Denain. There happened to be some English

friars there, who were told by the others who he was, and to them he

applied himself in writing, and received from them a great deal of civil

treatment. But a certain man of the order of Recollects, happening to

see him there, who had known him in England, and what profession he

followed, caused him to be called to question, as a man that made use of

ill means to tell fortunes. When he was questioned by a whole society of

these religious men, he made them such pertinent and satisfactory

answers in writing, that he convinced them he had done nothing for which

he deserved their reprimand; and they unanimously acquitted him. The

heads of his defence, as I have been informed, were these:--

First, he alleged that the second-sight was inborn and inbred in some

men; and that every country had had examples of it more or less; but

that the country of Scotland, in which he was educated from an infant,

abounded the most of any with those sort of people; and from thence he

said he thought he might very naturally draw this conclusion, that a

faculty that was inborn and inbred to men, and grown almost a national

faculty among a people who were remarkably honest, upright, and

well-meaning people, could not, without some impiety, be imputed to the

possessors of it as a sin; and when one of the fathers rejoined that it

was remarked by several writers of the second-sight, that it must be

therefore sinful, because it remained no longer among the people when

the doctrines of Christianity were fully propagated, and the light of

the gospel increased among them; and that afterwards it affected none

but persons of vicious lives and an ill character; to this objection Mr.

Campbell replied, that he knew most (even ingenious) writers had made

that remark concerning the second-sight, but begged leave to be excused,

if he ventured to declare that it was no better than a vulgar and

common error; and the reasons were these, which he alleged in his own

behalf; and to confirm his assertion, he told them men of undoubted

probity, virtue, and learning, both of their own religion, viz., the

Roman Catholic, and also of the reformed religion, and in several

nations, had been affected, and continued all their lives to be

affected, with this second-sighted power, and that there could be,

therefore, no room to fix upon it the odious character of being a sinful

and vicious, not to say that some called it still worse, a diabolical

talent. He said he would content himself with making but two instances,

because he believed those two would be enough to give content to them,

his judges too, in that case. In his first instance he told them that

they might find somewhat relating to this in Nicolaus Hemingius, who, in

his tracts _de Superstitionibus Magicis_, printed at Copenhagen, anno

1575, informs the world, that Petrus Palladius, a bishop of See-landt,

and professor of divinity at Copenhagen, could, from a part of his body

affected, foretell from what part of the heavens tempests would come,

and was seldom deceived. One of the fathers immediately asked him if he

understood Latin? To this Duncan Campbell replied, No. Oh! said the

friar, then, I don't remember that book was ever translated into

English, that you mention. But, rejoined Duncan Campbell, the passage I

mentioned to you, I have read in an English book, and word for word,

according to the best of my memory, as I have written it down to you. In

what English book? said the friar. I don't remember the name of the

book, Duncan Campbell answered, but very well remember the passages, and

that it was in a book of authority, and which bore a credit and good

repute in the world; and you, being scholars, may, if you please, have

recourse to the learned original, and I doubt not but you'll find what I

say to be a truth. For the second instance, he told them, that in Spain,

there are those they call Saludadores, that have this kind of gift.

There was, continued he, in writing, one of your own religion, venerable

fathers, and of a religious order, nay, a friar too, that had this gift.

He was a noted Dominican, said he, and though I forget his name, you

may, by writing a letter to England, learn his name. He was a devout

Portuguese, belonging to Queen Catherine Dowager's chapel, and had the

second-sight to a great degree, and was famous and eminent for it. They

then asked him what was the full power he had to do by the

second-sight. He answered, that as they had intimated that they had

perused some of the skilful writers concerning the second-sight, he did

not doubt but they had found, as well as he could tell them, that as to

the extent of people's knowledge in that secret way, it reached both

present, past, and future events. They foresee murders, drownings,

weddings, burials, combats, manslaughters, &c., all of which there are

many instances to be given. They commonly foresee sad events a little

while before they happen; for instance, if a man's fatal end be hanging,

they will see a gibbet, or rope about his neck; if beheading, they will

see a man without a head; if drowning, they will see water up to his

throat; if stabbing, they will see a dagger in his breast; if unexpected

death in his bed, they will see a windingsheet about his head. They

foretell not only marriages, but of good children; what kind of life men

shall lead, and in what condition they shall die; also riches, honours,

preferments, peace, plenty, and good weather. It is likewise usual with

persons that have lost anything to go to some of these men, by whom they

are directed how, with what persons, and in what place they shall find

their goods. It is also to be noted that these gifts bear a latitude, so

that some have it in a far more eminent degree than others; and what I

have here written down to you, you need not take as a truth from me; but

as it concerned me so nearly, I remember the passage by heart, and you

will find it very near word for word in Dr. Beaumont's book Of Familiar

Spirits. Aye, said the friars, but you have a genius too that attends

you, as we are informed. So, replied Duncan Campbell, have all persons

that have the second-sight in any eminent degree; and to prove this I

will bring no less a witness than King James, who, in his Demonology,

book the third and chapter the second, mentions also a spirit called

Brownie, that was wont formerly to haunt divers houses, without doing

any evil, but doing, as it were, necessary turns up and down the house;

he appeared like a rough man, nay, some believed that their house was

all the 'sonsier,' as they called it, that is, the more lucky or

fortunate, that such spirits resorted there. With these replies the

friars began to own they were very well satisfied, and acquiesced in the

account he had given of himself as a very good, true, and honest

account; but they told him they had still a farther accusation against

him, and that was, that he practised magic arts, and that he used, as

they had been informed, unlawful incantations. To this he made answer,

that there were two kinds of magic, of which he knew they that were men

of learning could not be ignorant. The art of magic, which is wicked and

impious, continued he, is that which is professed, and has been

professed at all times in the world, by witches, magicians, diviners,

enchanters, and such like notorious profligates; who, by having an

unnatural commerce with the devil, do many strange, prodigious, and

preternatural acts, above and beyond all human wisdom; and all the

arguments I ever did, or ever will deduce, continued he, from that black

art, is a good and shining argument; it is this, O fathers: I draw a

reason from these prodigious practices of wizards, magicians,

enchanters, &c, and from all the heathen idolatry and superstition, to

prove that there is a Deity; for from these acts of theirs, being

preternatural and above human wisdom, we may consequently infer that

they proceed from a supernatural and immaterial cause, such as demons

are. And this is all the knowledge I ever did or ever will draw from

that black hellish art. But, fathers, there is another kind of art

magic, called natural magic, which is directly opposite to theirs, and

the object of which art is to do spiritual good to mankind, as the

object of theirs is to torment them, and induce them to evil. They

afflict people with torments, and my art relieves them from the torments

they cause. The public profession of these magical arts has, as you

know, fathers, it is a common distinction, between black and white

magic, been tolerated in some of the most famous universities of

Christendom, though afterwards for a very good reason in politics,

making it a public study to such a degree was very wisely retrenched by

prohibition. If this, therefore, be a fault in your own opinions, hear

my accusers, but if not, you will not only excuse, but commend me.

The friars were extremely well pleased with his defence, but one of them

had a mind to frighten him a little if he could, and asked him what he

would say if he could produce some witches lately seized, that would

swear he had been frequently at their unlawful assemblies, where they

were making their waxen images and other odd mischievous inventions in

black magic, to torment folks; what if I can produce such evidence

against you, wrote the father to him, by way of strengthening the

question, will you not own that we have convicted you then? And when he

had wrote the note, he gave it Duncan Campbell, with a look that seemed

to express his warmth and eagerness in the expostulation. Duncan

Campbell took the paper and read it, and far from being startled,

returned this answer, with a smile continuing in his face while he wrote

it. No, said he, fathers, by your leave, they will only prove me a good

magician by that oath, and themselves more plainly witches. They will

prove their love to torment good folks, and only show their hatred to

me, an innocent man, but wise enough to torment them by hindering them

from tormenting others. The fathers were well pleased with the

shrewdness of the answer; but Duncan Campbell had a mind to exert his

genius a little farther with the good friar, who thought likewise he had

put him a very shrewd question; so taking up another sheet of paper,

Fathers, said he, shall I entertain you with a story of what passed upon

this head, between two religious fathers, as you all of you are, and a

prince of Germany, in which you will find that mine ought to be reputed

a full answer to the question the last learned father was pleased to

propose to me? The story is somewhat long, but very much to the purpose

and entertaining; I remember it perfectly by heart, and if you will have

patience while I am writing it, I do not doubt but that I shall not only

satisfy you, but please you and oblige you with the relation. The author

I found it in, quotes it from Fromannus, (I think the man's name was so,

and I am sure my author calls him a very learned man,) in his third book

of Magical Incantation, and though I do not understand the language the

original is writ in, yet I dare venture to say upon the credit of my

English author, from whom I got the story by heart, that you will find

me right whenever you shall be pleased to search.

The friars were earnest for the story, and expressed a desire that he

would write it down for them to read, which he did in the following

words. Note--that I have since compared Mr. Duncan Campbell's manuscript

with the author's page out of which he took it, and find it word for

word the same; which shows how incomparable a memory this deaf and dumb

gentleman has got, besides his other extraordinary qualifications. The

story is this:--

A prince of Germany invited two religious fathers, of eminent virtue

and learning, to a dinner. The prince, at table, said to one of them:

Father, think you we do right in hanging persons, who are accused by ten

or twelve witches, to have appeared at their meetings or sabbaths? I

somewhat fear we are imposed on by the devil, and that it is not a safe

way to truth, that we walk in by these accusations; especially since

many great and learned men everywhere begin to cry out against it, and

to charge our consciences with it; tell me, therefore, your opinion. To

whom the fathers, being somewhat of an eager spirit, said; What should

make us doubtful in this case? Or what should touch our consciences,

being convicted by so many testimonies? Can we make it a scruple,

whether God will permit innocent persons should be so traduced? there is

no cause for a judge to stick at such a number of accusations, but he

may proceed with safety. To which, when the prince had replied, and much

had been said _pro_ and _con_ on both sides about it, and the father

seemed wholly to carry the point, the prince at length concluded the

dispute; saying, I am sorry for you, father, that in a capital cause you

have condemned yourself, and you cannot complain if I commit you to

custody; for no less than fifteen witches have deposed that they have

seen you, ay, start not! you your ownself, at their meetings; and to

show you that I am not in jest, I will presently cause the public acts

to be brought for you to read them. The father stood in a maze, and with

a dejected countenance had nothing here to oppose but confusion and

silence, for all his learned eloquence.

As soon as Mr. Campbell had wrote down the story, the fathers perused

it, and seemed mightily entertained with it. It put an end to all

farther questions, and the man whom they had been trying for a conjuror,

they joined in desiring, upon distinct pieces of paper, under their

several hands, to come frequently and visit them, as being not only a

harmless and innocent, but an extraordinary well-meaning, good, and

diverting companion. They treated him for some time afterwards during

his stay, with the friendship due to a countryman, with the civility

that is owing to a gentleman, and with the assistance and support which

belonged to a person of merit in distress. Money they had none

themselves, it seems, to give him, being Mendicants by their own

profession; but they had interest enough to get him quite free from

being prisoner; he participated of their eleemosynary table, had a cell

allowed him among them in what they call their Dormitory; he had an odd

coat and a pair of trowsers made out of some of their brown coarse

habits, by the poor unfashionable tailor, or botcher, belonging to the

convent, and at last they found means of recommending him to a master of

a French vessel that was ready to set sail, to give him a cast over the

channel to England; and to provide him with the necessaries of life till

he got to the port. This French vessel was luckier than the Dutch one

had been before to our dumb gentleman; it had a quick and prosperous

passage, and arrived at Portsmouth; and as soon as he landed there, he

having experienced the misfortunes and casualties that a man in his

condition, wanting both speech and hearing, was liable to, in places

where he was an utter stranger to everybody, resolved to make no stay,

but move on as fast as he could towards London. When he came to Hampton

town, considering the indifferent figure he made in those odd kind of

clothes, which the poor friars had equipped him with, and that his long

beard and an uncombed wig added much to the disguise, he was resolved to

put on the best face he could, in those awkward circumstances, and

stepped into the first barber's shop he came at to be trimmed and get

his wig combed and powdered. This proved a very lucky thought to him;

for as soon as he stepped into the first barber's shop, who should prove

to be the master of it, but one Tobit Yeats, who had served him in the

same capacity at London, and was but newly set up in the trade of a

barber-surgeon, at Hampton town, and followed likewise the profession of

schoolmaster. This Tobit Yeats had shaved him quite, before he knew him

in that disguise; and Mr. Campbell, though he knew him presently, had a

mind to try if he should be known himself first; at length the barber

finding him to be a dumb man, by his ordering everything with motions of

the hand and gestures of the body, looked at him very earnestly,

remembered him, and in a great surprise called for pen, ink, and paper,

and begged to know how he came to be in that disguise; whether he was

under any misfortune, and apprehension of being discovered, that made

him go in so poor and so clownish a habit, and tendered him any

services, as far as his little capacity would reach, and desired him to

be free, and command him; if he was able to assist him in anything.

These were the most comfortable words that Duncan Campbell had read a

great while. He took the pen and paper in his turn; related to him his

whole story, gave the poor barber thanks for his good natured offer, and

said he would make so much use of it, as to be indebted to him for so

much money as would pay the stage-coach, and bear him in his travelling

expenses up to London, from whence he would speedily return the favour

with interest. The poor honest fellow, out of gratitude to a master

whose liberality he had formerly experienced, immediately furnished Mr.

Duncan Campbell with that little supply, expressing the gladness of his

heart that it lay in his power; and the stage-coach being to set out

within but a few hours, he ran instantly to the inn to see if he could

get him a place. By good luck, there was room, and but just room for one

more, which pleased Duncan Campbell mightily, when he was acquainted

with it by his true and trusty servant the barber; for he was as

impatient to see London again, it seems, as he had been before to quit

it. Well, he had his wish; and when he came to London, he had one wish

more for Fortune to bestow upon him, which appeared to begin to grow

kind again, after her fickle fit of cruelty was over; and this wish was,

that he might find his former lodgings empty, and live in the same house

as he did when he followed his profession. This too succeeded according

to his desire, and he was happily fixed once more to his heart's content

in his old residence, with the same people of the house round about him,

who bore him all that respect and affection, and showed all that

readiness and willingness to serve him on every occasion and at every

turn, which could be expected from persons that let lodgings in town to

a gentleman, whom they esteemed the best tenant they ever had in their

lives, or ever could have.

Immediately the tidings of the dumb gentleman's being returned home from

beyond sea, spread throughout all the neighbourhood; and it was noised

about from one neighbourhood to another, till it went through all ranks

and conditions, and was known as well in a day or two's time, all the

town over, as if he had been some great man belonging to the state, and

his arrival had been notified to the public in the gazette, as a person

of the last importance. And such a person he appeared indeed to be taken

for, especially among the fair sex, who thronged to his doors, crowd

after crowd, to consult with him about their future occurrences in life.

These curious tribes of people were as various in their persons, sex,

age, quality, profession, art, trade, as they were in the curiosity of

their minds, and the questions they had intended to propound to this

dumb predictor of strange events, that lay yet as embryos in the womb of

time, and were not to come, some of them, to a maturity for birth, for

very many years after; just as porcelain clay is stored up in the earth

by good artificers, which their heirs make china of, half a century, and

sometimes more than an age, afterwards.

These shoals of customers, who were to fee him well for his advice, as

we may suppose, now he stood in need of raising a fresh stock, were

unquestionably as welcome and acceptable to him as they appeared too

troublesome to him before, when he was in a state of more wealth and

plenty.

Fortune, that does nothing moderately, seemed now resolved, as she had

been extremely cruel before, to be extremely kind to him. He had nothing

to do from early in the morning till late at night, but to read

questions, and resolve them as fast as much-frequented doctors write

their prescriptions and recipes, and like them also to receive fees as

fast. Fortune was indeed mightily indulgent to the wants she had so

suddenly reduced him to, and relieved him as suddenly by these knots of

curiosos, who brought him a glut of money. But one single fair lady,

that was one of his very first consulters after his return, and who had

received satisfactory answers from him in other points, before he went

abroad, proved, so good fortune would have it, worth all the rest of his

customers together, as numerous as they were, and as I have accordingly

represented them.

This lady was the relict or widow of a gentleman of a good estate, and

of a very good family, whose name was Digby, and a handsome jointure she

had out of the estate. This lady, it seems, having been with him in

former days, and seen him in a more shining way of life, (for he had

taken a humour to appear before all his company in that coarse odd dress

made out of the friar's habit, and would not be persuaded by the people

of the house to put on a nightgown till he could provide himself with a

new suit,) was so curious, among other questions, as to ask him whether

he had met with any misfortunes, and how he came to be in so slovenly

and wretched a habit? Here Mr. Campbell related the whole story of his

travels to her, and the crosses and disappointments he had met with

abroad. The tears, he observed, would start every now and then into her

eyes when she came to any doleful passage, and she appeared to have a

mighty compassionate kind of feeling, when she read of any hardship more

than ordinarily melancholy that had befallen him. Mr. Campbell, it is

certain, had then a very good presence, and was a handsome and portly

young man; and as a great many young gentlemen derive the seeming

agreeableness of their persons from the tailor and peruke-maker, the

shoemaker and hosier, so Mr. Campbell's person, on the other hand, gave

a good air and a good look to the awkward garb he had on; and I believe

it was from seeing him in this odd trim, as they called it, the ladies

first took up the humour of calling him 'the handsome sloven:' add to

this that he looked his misfortune in the face with a jolly countenance,

and smiled even while he was penning the relation of his calamities; all

which are certainly circumstances that first sooth a generous mind into

a state of compassion, and afterwards heighten it in the breast wherein

it is conceived. Hence it came that this pretty and good natured widow,

Mrs. Digby, when she had expressed her commiseration of him by her

looks, began to take the pen and express it in very tender terms.

Neither did she think that expression in words a sufficient testimony of

the compassion she bore to him; the generosity of her mind did lead her

to express it in a more substantial manner still, and that was to show

it plainly by a very benevolous action. She laid a purse of twenty

guineas before the table, and at the same time smiling, pointed to the

table, as signifying her desire that he would accept it, and running to

the door, dropped a curtsy, and skuttled away; and by the same civil act

as she obliged him, she put it out of his power to refuse being so

obliged; so that, though the present was very handsome, the manner of

giving it was still handsomer. If being a handsome young man of merit in

distress, and bearing his misfortunes with an equal mind, are powerful

motives to excite compassion in the mind of a generous lady, so the

generosity of a young agreeable widow, expressed in so kind and so

benevolous a way, to a young gentleman, when he had been tasting nothing

but the bitter draughts of fortune before, must stir up an affection in

a mind that had any sense of gratitude; and truly just such was the

effect that this lady's civility had upon Mr. Duncan Campbell. He

conceived from that moment a very great affection for her; and resolved

to try whether he could gain her, which he had no small grounds to hope,

from the esteem which she appeared to bear towards him already. I

remember Mr. Dryden makes a very beautiful observation of the near

alliance there is between the two passions of pity and love in a woman's

breast, in one of his plays. His words are these; For pity still

foreruns approaching love, as lightning does the thunder. Mr. Bruyere, a

most ingenious member of the French Academy, has made another remark,

which comes home to our present purpose. He says, That many women love

their money better than their friends; but yet value their lovers more

than their money. According to the two reflections of these fine writers

upon the tempers of the fair, Mr. Campbell had hopes enough to ground

his courtship upon; and it appeared so in the end, by his proving

successful; she from being a very liberal and friendly client, became at

last a most affectionate wife. He then began to be a housekeeper, and

accordingly took a little neat one, and very commodious for his

profession, in Monmouth-court. Here I must take leave to make this

observation; that if Mr. Campbell inherited the talents of his

second-sighted mother, he seemed likewise to be an heir to his father,

Mr. Archibald Campbell, both in his strange and accidental sufferings by

sea, and likewise in his being relieved from them after as accidental

and strange a manner, by an unexpected marriage, just like his father's.

And here we return again to take a new survey of him in the course of

his public practice as a predictor. The accounts I shall give of his

actions here, will be very various in their nature from any I have yet

presented to the reader; they are more mysterious in themselves, and yet

I shall endeavour to make the manner of his operating in this kind as

plain as I think I have the foregoing ones, and then I flatter myself

they must afford a fresh entertainment for every reader that has any

curiosity and a good taste for things of so extraordinary a kind. For

what I have all along propounded to myself from the beginning and in the

progress to the end of this history, is to interweave entertaining and

surprising narratives of what Mr. Campbell has done, with curious and

instructive inquiries into the nature of those actions, for which he has

rendered himself so singularly famous. It was not, therefore, suitable

to my purpose, to clog the reader with numerous adventures, almost all

of the same kind, but out of a vast number of them to single some few of

those that were most remarkable, and that were mysteries, but mysteries

of very different sorts. I leave that method of swelling distorted and

commented trifles into volumes, to the writers of fable and romance; if

I was to tell his adventures, with regard, for example, to women, that

came to consult him, I might perhaps have not only written the stories

of eleven thousand virgins that died maids, but have had relations to

give of as many married women and widows, and the work would have been

endless. All that I shall do therefore is to pick out one particular,

each of a different kind, that there may be variety in the

entertainment. Upon application to this dumb man, one is told in the

middle of her health, that she shall die at such a time; another, that

she shall sicken, and upon the moment of her recovery, have a suitor and

a husband; a third, who is a celebrated beauty with a multitude of

admirers round about her, that she shall never become a wife; a fourth,

that is married, when she shall get rid of an uneasy husband; a fifth,

that hath lost her goods, who stole them, where and when they shall be

restored; a sixth, that is a merchant, when he shall be undone, and how

and when he shall recover his losses, and be as great on the Exchange as

ever; a seventh, that is a gamester, which will be his winning, and

which his losing hour; an eighth, how he shall be involved in a

law-suit, and whether the suit will have an adverse or a prosperous

issue; a ninth, that is a woman, with choice of lovers, which she shall

be most happy with for life; and so on to many others, where every

prediction is perfectly new and surprising, and differs from the other

in almost every circumstance. When a man has so extensive a genius as

this at foretelling the future occurrences of life, one narrative of a

sort is enough in conscience to present the reader with, and several of

each kind would not methinks be entertaining, but tiresome; for he that

can do one thing in these kinds by the power of prediction, can do ten

thousand; and those who are obstinate in extenuating his talents, and

calling his capacity in question, and that will not be convinced by one

instance of his judgment, would not own the conviction if ten thousand

instances were given them. The best passages I can recommend to their

perusal are those where persons who came purposely to banter him under

the colour of consulting him, and covered over their sly intentions with

borrowed disguises, and came in masquerades, found all the jest turned

upon themselves in the end, which they meant to our famous predictor,

and had the discouragement of seeing their most concealed and deepest

laid plots discovered, and all their most witty fetches and wily

contrivances defeated, till they were compelled universally to

acknowledge, that endeavouring to impose upon the judgment of our seer

by any hidden artifice and cunning whatsoever, was effectually imposing

upon their own. His unusual talent in this kind was so openly known, and

so generally confessed, that his knowledge was celebrated in some of the

most witty weekly papers that ever appeared in public. Isaac

Bickerstaff, who diverted all the _beau monde_, for a long space of time

with his lucubrations, takes occasion in several of his papers to

applaud the speculations of this dumb gentleman in an admirable vein of

pleasantry and humour, peculiar to the writer, and to the subject he

writ upon. And when that bright author, who joined the uttermost

facetiousness with the most solid improvements of morality and learning

in his works, laid aside the title of a Tatler, and assumed the name of

a Spectator and censor of men's actions, he still, every now and then,

thought our Duncan Campbell a subject worthy enough to employ his

farther considerations upon. I must take notice of one letter sent

concerning him to the Spectator, in the year 1712, which was at a time

when a lady wanted him, after he had removed from Monmouth-street to

Drury-lane.

MR. SPECTATOR,--

About two years ago I was called upon by the younger part of a

country family, by my mother's side related to me, to visit Mr.

Campbell, the dumb man; for they told me that was chiefly what

brought them to town, having heard wonders of him in Essex. I,

who always wanted faith in such matters, was not easily prevailed

on to go; but lest they should take it ill, I went with them,

when, to my own surprise, Mr. Campbell related all their past

life; in short, had he not been prevented, such a discovery would

have come out, as would have ruined their next design of coming

to town, viz., buying wedding clothes. Our names, though he had

never heard of us before, and we endeavoured to conceal, were as

familiar to him as to ourselves. To be sure, Mr. Spectator, he is

a very learned and wise man. Being impatient to know my fortune,

having paid my respects in a family Jacobus, he told me, after

his manner, among several other things, that in a year and nine

months I should fall ill of a new fever, be given over by my

physicians, but should with much difficulty recover; that the

first time I took the air afterwards, I should be addressed to by

a young gentleman of a plentiful fortune, good sense, and a

generous spirit. Mr. Spectator, he is the purest man in the

world, for all he said is come to pass, and I am the happiest she

in Kent. I have been in quest of Mr. Campbell these three months,

and cannot find him out; now hearing you are a dumb man too, I

thought you might correspond and be able to tell me something;

for I think myself highly obliged to make his fortune, as he has

mine. It is very possible your worship, who has spies all over

this town, can inform me how to send to him; if you can, I

beseech you be as speedy as possible, and you will highly oblige

your constant reader and admirer,

DULCIBELLA THANKLEY.

THE SPECTATOR'S ANSWER.

Ordered, that the inspector I employ about wonders, inquire at

the Golden-lion opposite to the Half-moon tavern, in Drury-lane,

into the merit of this silent sage, and report accordingly. Vide

the 7th volume of Spectators, No. 474, being on Wednesday,

September the 3rd, 1712.

But now let us come to those passages of his life the most surprising of

all, during the time that he enjoyed this reputation, and when he proved

that he deserved the fame he enjoyed. Let us take a survey of him while

he is wonderfully curing persons labouring under the misfortune of

witchcraft, of which the following story will be an eminent instance,

and likewise clear up how he came by his reputation in Essex, as

mentioned in the above-mentioned letter to the Spectator.

In the year 1709, Susanna Johnson, daughter to one Captain Johnson, who

lived at a place adjacent to Rumford, in Essex, going one morning to

that town to buy butter at the market, was met there by an old miserable

looking woman, just as she had taken some of her change of the

marketwoman, in copper, and this old woman rather demanded than begged

the gentlewoman to give her a penny. Miss Johnson reputing her to be one

of those hateful people that are called sturdy beggars, refused it her,

as thinking it to be no act of charity, and that it would be rather

gratifying and indulging her impudence, than supplying or satisfying her

indigence. Upon the refusal, the old hag, with a face more wrinkled

still, if possible, by anger, than it was by age, took upon her to storm

at young Miss Johnson very loudly, and to threaten and menace her; but

when she found her common threats and menaces were of no avail, she

swore she would be revenged of the young creature in so signal a manner,

that she should repent the denial of that penny from her heart before

she got home, and that it should cost her many pounds to get rid of the

consequences of that denial and her anger. The poor innocent girl

despised these last words likewise, and, getting up on horseback,

returned homewards; but just as she got about half way, her horse

stopped, and no means that she could use would make him advance one

single step; but she stayed awhile, to see if that would humour him to

go on. At last the beast began to grow unruly, and snorted and trembled

as if he had seen or smelt something that frightened him, and so fell a

kicking desperately, till he threw the girl from the saddle, not being

able to cling to it any longer, though a pretty good horsewoman of her

years; so much were the horse's motions and plungings more than

ordinarily violent.

As Providence would have it, she got not much harm by the fall,

receiving only a little bruise in the right shoulder; but she was

dreadfully frightened. This fear added wings to her feet, and brought

her home as speedily of herself as she usually came on horseback. She

immediately, without any other sign of illness than the palid colour

with which fear had disordered the complexion of her face, alarmed all

the family at home with the story, took her bed upon it, complained of

inward rackings of the belly, and was never at ease unless she lay

doubled up together, her head to her knees, and her heels to her rump,

just like a figure of 8. She could not be a single moment out of that

posture without shrieking out with the violence of anxious torments and

racking pains.

In this condition of misery, amidst this agony of suffering, and in this

double posture, was the poor wretched young gentlewoman brought to town;

physicians were consulted about her, but in vain; she was carried to

different hospitals for assistance, but their endeavours likewise proved

ineffectual; at last she was conducted to the College of Physicians; and

even the collective wisdom of the greatest sages and adepts in the

science of physic was posed to give her any prescription that would do

her service, and relieve her from the inexplicable malady she laboured

under. The poor incurable creature was one constant subject of her

complaining mother's discourse in every company she came into. It

happened at last, and very providentially truly, that the mother was

thus condoling the misfortune of her child among five or six ladies, and

telling them, among other things, that by the most skilful persons she

was looked upon to be bewitched, and that it was not within the power of

physic to compass her recovery. They all having been acquainted with our

Mr. Duncan Campbell, unanimously advised her to carry her daughter to

his house, and consult with him about her. The mother was overjoyed at

these tidings, and purposed to let no time slip where her child's health

was so deeply concerned. She got the ladies to go with her and her

child, to be eye-witnesses of so extraordinary a piece of practice, and

so eminent a trial of skill.

As soon as this dismal object was brought into his room, Mr. Duncan

Campbell lifted up her head and looked earnestly in her face, and in

less than a minute's time signified to the company, that she was not

only bewitched, but in as dreadful a condition almost as the man that

had a legion of fiends within him.

At the reading of these words the unhappy creature raised up her head,

turned her eyes upwards, and a smile, a thing she had been a stranger to

for many months, overspread her whole face, and such a kind of colour as

is the flushing of joy and gladness, and with an innocent tone of voice

she said, she now had a firm belief she should shortly be delivered. The

mother and the rest of the company were all in tears, but Mr. Campbell

wrote to them that they should be of good heart, be easy and quiet for a

few moments, and they should be convinced that it was witchcraft, but

happily convinced by seeing her so suddenly well again. This brought the

company into pretty good temper; and a little after, Mr. Campbell

desired she might be led up stairs into his chamber and left there alone

with him for a little while; this occasioned some small female

speculation, and as much mirth as their late sorrow, alleviated with the

hopes of her cure, would permit.

This you may be sure was but a snatch of mirth, just as the nature of

the thing would allow of; and all sorts of waggery being laid instantly

aside, and removed almost as soon as conceived, the poor young thing was

carried in that double posture up stairs. She had not been much above

half an hour there, when by the help only of Mr. Campbell's arm she was

led down stairs, and descended into that roomful of company as a miracle

appearing in a machine from above; she was led backward and forward in

the room, while all gazed at her for awhile with joyful astonishment,

for no arrow was ever more straight than she. Mr. Campbell then

prevailed with her to drink a glass of wine, and immediately after she

evacuated wind, which she had not done for some months before, and found

herself still more amended and easy; and then the mother making Mr.

Campbell some small acknowledgment at that time, with the promise of

more, and her daughter giving thanks, and all the company commending his

skill, took their leaves and departed, with great demonstrations of joy.

I shall here, to cut the story short, signify, that she came frequently

afterwards to make her testimonials of gratitude to him, and continues

to enjoy her health to this very day, at Greenwich, where she now lives,

and will at any time, if called upon, make oath of the truth of this

little history, as she told me herself with her own mouth.

The next thing, therefore, it behoves me to do in this chapter, is, to

give some satisfactory account of magic, by which such seeming

mysterious cures and operations are brought about.

This task I would perform in the most perspicuous and most convincing

manner I can; for magic, I know, is held to be a very hard and difficult

study by those learned, and universally unlawful and diabolical by those

unlearned, who believe there is such a science attainable by human

genius. On the other hand, by some learned men, who believe there is no

such science, it is represented as an inconsistent system of

superstitions and chimeras; and again laughed at as such by the

unlearned, who are of an incredulous temper; what I would therefore

undertake to do in this place is to show the learned men, who believe

there is such an art, that the attainment to a tolerable knowledge of

the manner how magical practices may be brought about, is no such

difficult matter as they have represented it to themselves; and by doing

this I shall make the system of it so plain, that while the learned

approve of it, the unlearned too, who are not of an unbelieving kind,

may understand clearly what I say; and the learned men who have rejected

this science as chimerical, may be clearly convinced it is real; and

then there is nothing left but obstinate unbelieving ignorance, which I

shall not here pretend by arguments to lead into sense, but leave it to

the work of time. In fine, I will endeavour to induce men of sense to

say, that what has been accounted mysterious, is delivered in a plain,

easy, and convincing manner, and to own that they approve, while men of

the lower class of understanding shall confess and acknowledge that they

themselves understand it; and that what has hitherto been represented as

arduous and difficult to a great genius, is adapted and rendered not

only clear, but familiar to persons of middling talents. In this work,

therefore, I shall follow the strictest order I can, which of all things

render a discourse upon any subject the most clear; and that it may be

plain to the commonest capacity, I will first set down what order I

intend to follow.

First, I will speak of magic in general.

Secondly, Of magic under its several divisions and subdivisions.

Thirdly, Concerning the object of art, as it is good or bad.

Fourthly, Of the persons exercising that art in either capacity, of good

or bad, and by what means they become capacitated to exercise it.

In the fifth place, I shall come to the several objections against the

art of magic, and the refutation of those objections.

The first objection shall be against the existence of good and bad

spirits; the refutation of which will consist in my proving the

existence of spirits, both good and bad, by reason and by experience.

The second objection that will be brought, is to contain an allegation

that there are no such persons as witches now, and an argument to

support that allegation, drawn from the incapacity and impossibility of

any thing's making, while itself is incarnate, a contract with a spirit.

This objection will be answered by proving the reality of witches from

almost universal experience, and by explaining rationally the manner how

the devils hold commerce with witches; which explanation is backed and

authorised by the opinion of the most eminent divines, and the most

learned physicians.

From hence, sixthly and lastly, We shall conclude on the side of the

good magic, that as there are witches on the one hand that may afflict

and torment persons with demons, so on the other hand there are lawful

and good magicians that may cast out demons from people that are

possessed with them.

And first as to magic in general. Magic consists in the spirit by faith,

for faith is that magnet of the magicians by which they draw spirits to

them, and by which spirits they do great things, that appear like

miracles.

Secondly, Magic is divided into three sorts, viz., divine, natural, and

diabolical. And natural magic is again subdivided into two kinds, simple

and compound; and natural compound magic is again likewise divided into

two kinds, viz., natural-divine magic, and natural-diabolical magic.

Now, to give the reader a clear and a distinct notion of each several

species of magic here mentioned, I set down the following definitions:

Divine magic is a celestial science, in which all operations that are

wonderfully brought about, are performed by the Spirit of God. Natural

magic is a science in which all the mysterious acts that are wrought,

are compassed by natural spirits. But as this natural magic may be

exercised about things either in a manner indifferent in themselves, or

mere morally good, and then it is mere natural magic; or else about

things theologically good, and transcendently bad; and then it is not

merely and natural magic, but mixed and compound. If natural magic be

exercised about the most holy operations, it is then mixed with the

divine, and may then be called, not improperly, natural-divine magic.

But if natural magic troubles itself about compassing the wickedest

practices, then is it promiscuous with the demoniacal, and may not

improperly be called natural-diabolical magic.

Thirdly, The object of this art is doing wonders out of the ordinary

appearing course of nature, which tend either to great good or bad, by

the help and mediation of spirits good and bad.

Fourthly, As to the persons exercising that art in either way, whether

good or bad, and by what means they become capacitated to act it, the

notion of this may be easily deduced from the notions of the art itself,

as considered above in its each different species; for as all magic

consists in a spirit, every magician acts by a spirit.

Divine magicians, that are of God, are spoke of in the sacred Book, and

therefore I shall not mention the passages here, but pass them over, as

I ought in a book like this, with a profound and reverential silence, as

well as the other passages which speak of natural and demoniacal

magicians; and in all I shall speak of them in this place, I shall only

speak of them with regard to human reason and experience, and conclude

this head with saying, that natural magicians work all things by the

natural spirits of the elements; but that witches and demoniacal

magicians, as Jannes and Jambres in Egypt were, work their magical

performances by the spirit of demons, and it is by the means of these

different spirits that these different magicians perform their different

operations.

These things thus distinctly settled and explained, it is now we must

come and ground the dispute between those who believe there are no such

things as magicians of any kind, and those who assert there are of all

the kinds above specified.

Those who contend there are, have recourse to experience, and relate

many well-witnessed narratives, to prove that there have been in all

times, and that there are still, magicians of all these kinds. But those

who contend that there are no such persons, will give no ear to what the

others call plain experience; they call the stories, let whatever

witnesses appear to justify them, either fabulous legends invented by

the authors, or else tricks of intellectual legerdemain imposed by the

actors, upon the relators of those actions. Since, therefore, they say,

though the believers in magic brag of experience never so much, it may

be but a fallible experience; they reasonably desire to know whether

these gentlemen that stand for magic can answer the objections which

they propose, to prove that the practice of magic, according to the

system laid down, is inconsistent with reason, before they will yield

their assent. Let the stories be never so numerous, appear never so

credible, these unbelieving gentlemen desire to be tried by reason, and

aver till that reason is given they will not be convinced by the number

of stories, because, though numerous, they are stories still; neither

will they believe them because they appear credible, because seeming so

is not being so, and appearances, though never so fair, when they

contradict reason, are not to be swallowed down with an implicit faith

as so many realities. And thus far, no doubt, the gentlemen who are on

the unbelieving side are very much in the right of it. The learned

gentlemen, on the other hand, who are persuaded of this mighty

mysterious power being lodged in the hands of magicians, answer, that

they will take upon them to refute the most subtle objections brought by

the learned unbelievers, and to reconcile the practicability of magical

mysteries by the capacity of men who study that art, to right rules and

laws of reasoning, and to show that some stories, though never so

prodigious, which are told of magicians, demand the belief of wise men

on two accounts; because as experience backs reason on the one hand,

reason backs experience on the other, and so the issue of the whole

argument, whether there are magicians or not, is thrown upon both

experience and reason. These arguments on each side, I shall draw up

fairly _pro_ and _con_; for I do not pretend to be the inventor of them

myself, they belong to other authors many years ago; be it enough for me

to boast of, if I can draw them up in a better and closer form together

than they have yet appeared in. In that I take upon myself a very great

task; I erect myself as it were into a kind of a judge; I will sum up

the evidences on both sides, and I shall, wherever I see occasion,

intimate which side of the argument bears the most weight with me; but

when I have enforced my opinion as far as I think needful, my readers,

like a jury, are still at liberty to bring in their verdict just as they

themselves shall see fit; and this naturally leads me where I promised

to come to in the fifth part of this discourse, to the several

objections against the power of art magic, and the refutation of those

objections.

_The First Objections being against the Existence of Spirits, and the

Refutations thereof._

The first objection which they who reject magic make use of, is, denying

that there are any such things as spirits, about which, since those who

defend the art say it entirely exerciseth itself, the objectors contend,

that if they can make out that there are no such beings as spirits, all

pretensions to the art must be entirely groundless, and for the future

exploded.

To make this part out, that there are no spirits, the first man they

produce on their side is undoubtedly one of very great credit and

authority, inasmuch as he has justly borne for many centuries the title

of a prince of philosophers. They say that Aristotle in his book _de

Mundo_, reasons thus against the existence of spirits, viz., That since

God can do all things of himself, he doth not stand in need of

ministering angels and demons. A multitude of servants showing the

weakness of a prince.

The gentlemen who defend the science make this reply, they allow the

credit and authority of Aristotle as much as the objectors; but as the

objectors themselves deny all the authorities for the spirits, and

desire that reason may be the only ground they go upon, so the refuters,

on their parts desire, that Aristotle's _ipse dixit_ may not be

absolutely passed upon them for argument; but that his words may be

brought to the same touchstone of reason, and proved if they are

standard. If this argument, say they, will hold good, Aristotle should

not suppose intelligences moving the celestial spheres; for God

sufficeth to move all without ministering spirits; nor would there be

need of a sun in the world, for God can enlighten all things by himself,

and so all second causes were to be taken away; therefore, there are

angels and ministering spirits in the world, for the majesty of God, not

for his want of them, and for order, not for his omnipotency. And here

if the objectors return and say, who told you that there are spirits; Is

not yours a precarious hypothesis? May not we have leave to recriminate

in this place? Pray, who told Aristotle that there were intelligences

that moved the celestial spheres? Is not this hypothesis as precarious

as any man may pretend that of spirits to be? And we believe there are

few philosophers at present who agree with Aristotle in that opinion;

and we dare pronounce this to be ours, that Aristotle took his

intelligences from the Hebrews, who went according to the same

whimsical, though pretty notion, which first gave rise to the fiction of

the nine muses. But more than all this, it is a very great doubt among

learned men, whether this book _de Mundo_ be Aristotle's or no.

The next thing the objectors bring against the existence of spirits, is,

that it is nonsense for men to say that there are such beings of which

it is impossible for a man to have any notion, and they insist upon it

that it is impossible for any man to form an idea of a spiritual

substance. As to this part, the defendants rejoin, that they think our

late most judicious Mr. Locke, in his elaborate and finished Essay on

the Human Understanding, has fairly made out, that men have as clear a

notion of a spiritual substance as they have of any corporeal substance,

matter, or body; and that there is as much reason for admitting the

existence of the one, as of the other; for that if they admit the

latter, it is but humour in them to deny the former. It is in book the

2nd, chap. 29, where he reasons thus: "If a man will examine himself

concerning his notion of pure substance in general he will find he has

no other idea of it, but only a supposition of he knows not what support

of such quality which are capable of producing simple ideas in us, which

qualities are commonly called accidents. Thus, if we talk or think of

any particular sort of corporeal substance, as horse, stone, &c., though

the idea we have of either of them be but the complication or collection

of those several simple ideas, or sensible qualities which we use to

find united in the thing called horse, or stone; yet because we cannot

conceive how they should subsist alone, not one in another, we suppose

them to exist in, and be supported by some common subject; which support

we denote by the name of substance, though it be certain we have no

clear or distinct idea of that thing we suppose a support. The same

happens concerning the operations of our mind, viz., thinking,

reasoning, and fearing, &c., which we concluding not to subsist of

themselves, and not apprehending how they can belong to body, we are apt

to think these the actions of some substance which we call spirit;

whereby it is evident, that having no other notion of matter, but

something wherein those many sensible qualities which affect our senses

do subsist, by supposing a substance wherein thinking, knowing,

doubting, and a power of moving, &c., do subsist, we have as clear a

notion of the nature or substance of spirit, as we have of body: the one

being supposed to be, without knowing what is, the substratum to those

simple ideas which we have from without; and the other supposed, with a

like ignorance of what it is, to be the substratum of these operations

which we experiment in ourselves within. It is plain, then, that the

idea of corporeal substance in matter, is as remote from our conceptions

and apprehensions as that of spiritual substance, and therefore from our

not having any notion of the substance of spirit, we can no more

conclude its not existence, than we can for the same reason deny the

existence of body; it being as rational to affirm there is no body,

because we cannot know its essence, as it is called, or have the idea of

the substance of matter, as to say, there is no spirit, because we know

not its essence, or have no idea of a spiritual substance." Mr. Locke

also, comparing our idea of spirit with our idea of body, thinks there

may seem rather less obscurity in the former than the latter. Our idea

of body he takes to be an extended solid substance, capable of

communicating motion by impulse; and our idea of soul is a substance

that thinks, and has a power of exciting motion in body by will or

thought. Now, some perhaps will say they comprehend a thinking thing,

which perhaps is true; but, he says, if they consider it well, they can

no more comprehend an extended thing; and if they say, they know not

what it is thinks in them, they mean they know not what the substance is

of that thinking thing; no more, says he, do they know what the

substance is of that solid thing; and if they say they know how not how

they think, he says, neither do they know how they are extended, how the

solid parts are united, or where to make extension, &c.

The learned Monsieur le Clerc, who generally knows how far human reason

can bear, argues consonantly to what is before delivered by Mr. Locke,

in his _Coronis_, added to the end of the fourth volume of his

Philosophical Works, in the third edition of them, where he writes as

followeth:--

"When we contemplate the corporeal nature, we can see nothing in it but

extension, divisibility, solidity, mobility, and various determinations

of quantity, or figures; which being so, it were a rash thing, and

contrary to the laws of right reasoning, to affirm other things of

bodies; and consequently from mere body nothing can be deduced by us,

which is not joined in a necessary connection with the said properties;

therefore those who have thought the properties of perceiving by sense,

of understanding, willing, imagining, remembering, and others the like,

which have no affinity with corporeal things, to have risen from the

body, have greatly transgressed in the method of right reasoning and

philosophising, which hath been done by Epicurus, and those who have

thought as he did, having affirmed our minds to be composed of corporeal

atoms: but whence shall we say they have had their rise? truly, they do

not owe their rise to matter, which is wholly destitute of sense and

thought, nor are they spontaneously sprung up from nothing, it being an

ontological maxim of most evident truth, that nothing springs from

nothing."

Having thus given the reader the first objections made against the

existence of spirits, and the refutations thereof, I must now frankly

own on which side my opinion leans; and for my part, it seems manifest

to me that there are two beings; we conceive very plainly and

distinctly, viz., body and spirit, and that it would be as absurd and

ridiculous to deny the existence of the one as of the other; and really,

if the refuters have got the better in their way of reasoning, they have

still a much greater advantage over the objectors, when they come to

back these reasons with fresh arguments drawn from experience. Of this,

there having been many undoubted narratives given in the foregoing

pages, concerning the apparitions of spirits, I shall refer the reader

back again to them, and only subjoin here one or two instances, which

may, if required, be proved upon oath, of spirits seen by two persons of

our Duncan Campbell's own acquaintance. In the year 1711, one Mrs.

Stephens and her daughter were together with Mr. Campbell, at the house

of Mr Ramell, a very great and noted weaver at Haggerstone, where the

rainy weather detained them till late at night. Just after the clock

struck twelve, they all of them went to the door to see if the rain had

ceased, being extremely desirous to get home. As soon as ever they had

opened the door and where all got together, there appeared before them a

thing all in white, the face seemed of a dismal palid hue, but the eyes

thereof fiery and flaming, like beacons, and of a saucer size. It made

its approaches to them till it came up within the space of about three

yards of them, there it fixed and stood like a figure agaze, for some

minutes; and they all stood likewise stiff, like the figure, frozen with

fear, motionless, and speechless; when all of a sudden it vanished from

their eyes, and that apparition to the sight was succeeded by a noise,

or the appearance of a noise, like that which is occasioned by the

fighting of twenty mastiff dogs.

Not long after, Mrs. Anne Stephens, who lived in Spitalfields, a woman

well known by her great dealings with mercers upon Ludgate-hill, sitting

in her house alone, and musing upon business, happened by accident to

look behind her, and saw a dead corpse, to her thinking, lie extended

upon the floor, just as a dead corpse should be, excepting that the foot

of one leg was fixed on the ground, as it is in a bed when one lies with

one knee up; she looked at it a long while, and by degrees at last stole

her eyes from so unpleasing and unexpected an object. However, a strange

kind of a curiosity overcame her fears, and she ventured a second time

to turn her head that way, and saw it, as before, fixed for a

considerable time longer, but durst not stir from her seat; she again

withdrew her eyes from the horrible and melancholy spectacle, and

resumed the courage, after a little reflection, of viewing it again, and

resolved to ascertain herself if the vision was real, by getting up from

her seat and going to it, but upon this third retrospection she found it

vanished. This relation she writ down to Mr. Duncan Campbell, and has

told before Mrs. Ramell, her own sister, and many other very creditable

persons. Now as to these arguments from experience, I shall also deliver

my opinion; I dispute not but that learned men, who have obstinate

prepossessions, may produce plausible arguments why all things should be

thought to be done by imposture which seem strange to them, and

interfere with their belief; and truly thus far their humour may be

indulged, that if only one person relates a very strange and surprising

story, a man may be more apt to think it is possible for that person to

lie, than that so strange a relation should be true; but if a

considerable number of persons, of several countries, several religious,

several professions, several ages, and those persons looked upon to be

of as great sagacity as any the country afford, agree in relations of

the same kind, thought very strange and are ready to vouch the truth of

them upon oath, after having well considered circumstances, I think it a

violation of the law of nature to reject all these relations as

fabulous, merely upon a self-presuming conceit, unless a man can fairly

show the things to be impossible, or can demonstrate wherein those

persons were imposed on; for from hence I form the following conclusive

argument. What is possible according to reason, grows probable according

to belief; where the possibility is attested to have reduced itself into

action by persons of known credit and integrity. Now, not only the

possibility of the existence of spirits, but the actual existence

thereof is proved above by logical demonstration; therefore are we to

believe both by the course of logical reason and moral faith, that those

existences have appeared to men of credit, who have attested the reality

thereof upon oath.

_Second Objection against the Existence of Witches._

These objectors go on to say, that provided they should allow there is

an existence of spirits, yet that would be still no argument how magic

should subsist, because they deny that it is impossible for a man in his

body to have a commerce, much less make a contract, with spirits; but

here again the refuters allege they have both experience and reason on

their sides. As a joint argument of reason and experience, they tell

you, that the numerous witches which have in all countries been

arraigned and condemned upon this occasion, are evident testimonies of

this commerce and contract being held and made with spirits. They

pretend to say, that these objectors call not their, the refuters,

judgment so much in question, who contend that there is a magic art, as

they call in question the judgment of all the wisest legislative powers

in Christendom, who have universally agreed in enacting penal laws

against such capital offenders.

But here the objectors return and say, that it being impossible for us

to show the manner how such a contract should be made, we can never, but

without reason, believe a thing to be, of which we can form no perfect

idea. The refuters, on the other hand, reply with the learned Father le

Brune, it is manifest that we can see but two sorts of beings, spirits

and bodies; and that since we can reason but according to our ideas, we

ought to ascribe to spirits what cannot be produced by bodies. Indeed

the author of the Republic of Learning, in the month of August, anno

1686, has given us a rough draught for writing a good tract of

witchcraft, which he looks upon as a desideratum; where among other

things, he writes thus: Since this age is the true time of systems, one

should be contrived concerning the commerce that may be betwixt demons

and men.