The author dies, meets with Mercury, and is by him conducted to
the stage which sets out for the other world
CHAPTER II.
In which the author first refutes some idle opinions concerning
spirits, and then the passengers relate their several deaths.
CHAPTER III.
The adventures we met with in the City of Diseases
CHAPTER IV.
Discourses on the road, and a description of the palace of Death
CHAPTER V.
The travelers proceed on their journey, and meet several spirits
who are coming into the flesh
CHAPTER VI.
An account of the wheel of fortune, with a method of preparing a
spirit for this world
CHAPTER VII.
The proceedings of judge Minos at the gate of Elysium
CHAPTER VIII.
The adventures which the author met on his first entrance into Elysium
CHAPTER IX.
More adventures in Elysium
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
CHAPTER XI.
In which Julian relates his adventures in the character of an
avaricious Jew
CHAPTER XII.
What happened to Julian in the characters of a general, an heir,
a carpenter, and a beau
CHAPTER XIII.
Julian passes into a fop
CHAPTER XIV.
Adventures in the person of a monk
CHAPTER XV.
Julian passes into the character of a fiddler
CHAPTER XVI.
The history of the wise man
CHAPTER XVII.
Julian enters into the person of a king
CHAPTER XVIII.
Julian passes into a fool
CHAPTER XIX.
Julian appears in the character of a beggar
CHAPTER XX.
Julian performs the part of a statesman
CHAPTER XXI.
Julian’s adventures in the post of a soldier
CHAPTER XXII.
What happened to Julian in the person of a tailor
CHAPTER XXIII.
The life of alderman Julian
CHAPTER XXIV.
Julian recounts what happened to him while he was a poet
CHAPTER XXV.
Julian performs the parts of a knight and a dancing-master
BOOK II.
CHAPTER VII.
Wherein Anna Boleyn relates the history of her life
A JOURNEY FROM THIS WORLD TO THE NEXT
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 stationery 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 spelled), 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 alleged that they could not read, others that they could
not understand it. Some would haze 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 shown 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.
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.
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 [1] 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 [2] backwards upon it.
My friends and relations had all quitted the room, being all (as I
plainly overheard) very loudly quarreling 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 savor 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. [3] 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 play-house.” 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
bade 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 inquiry; 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 postmaster; and as for the
coachman, who was a very thin piece of immaterial substance, he had the
honor 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.