{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_2051/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_2051","id":"gutenberg_2051","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2051","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Didactic fiction","Philosophers -- Fiction"],"text":"Transcribed form the 1889 George Bell and Sons edition by David Price,\nemail ccx074@coventry.ac.uk\n\n\n\n\n\nDICKORY CRONKE\n\n\nTHE\nDUMB PHILOSOPHER,\nOR,\nGREAT BRITAIN'S WONDER;\nCONTAINING:\n\nI.  A faithful and very surprising Account how Dickory Cronke, a Tinner's\nson, in the County of Cornwall, was born Dumb, and continued so for Fifty-\neight years; and how, some days before he died, he came to his Speech;\nwith Memoirs of his Life, and the Manner of his Death.\n\nII.  A Declaration of his Faith and Principles in Religion; with a\nCollection of Select Meditations, composed in his Retirement.\n\nIII.  His Prophetical Observations upon the Affairs of Europe, more\nparticularly of Great Britain, from 1720 to 1729.  The whole extracted\nfrom his Original Papers, and confirmed by unquestionable Authority.\n\nTO WHICH IS ANNEXED HIS ELEGY,\nWRITTEN BY A YOUNG CORNISH GENTLEMAN, OF\nEXETER COLLEGE IN OXFORD.\n\nWITH\n\nAN EPITAPH BY ANOTHER HAND.\n\n   \"Non quis, sed quid.\"\n\nLONDON:\nPrinted for and Sold by THOMAS BICKERTON, at\nthe Crown, in Paternoster Row.  1719.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe formality of a preface to this little book might have been very well\nomitted, if it were not to gratify the curiosity of some inquisitive\npeople, who, I foresee, will be apt to make objections against the\nreality of the narrative.\n\nIndeed the public has too often been imposed upon by fictitious stories,\nand some of a very late date, so that I think myself obliged by the usual\nrespect which is paid to candid and impartial readers, to acquaint them,\nby way of introduction, with what they are to expect, and what they may\ndepend upon, and yet with this caution too, that it is an indication of\nill nature or ill manners, if not both, to pry into a secret that is\nindustriously concealed.\n\nHowever, that there may be nothing wanting on my part, I do hereby assure\nthe reader, that the papers from whence the following sheets were\nextracted, are now in town, in the custody of a person of unquestionable\nreputation, who, I will be bold to say, will not only be ready, but\nproud, to produce them upon a good occasion, and that I think is as much\nsatisfaction as the nature of this case requires.\n\nAs to the performance, it can signify little now to make an apology upon\nthat account, any farther than this, that if the reader pleases he may\ntake notice that what he has now before him was collected from a large\nbundle of papers, most of which were writ in shorthand, and very\nill-digested.  However, this may be relied upon, that though the language\nis something altered, and now and then a word thrown in to help the\nexpression, yet strict care has been taken to speak the author's mind,\nand keep as close as possible to the meaning of the original.  For the\ndesign, I think there is nothing need be said in vindication of that.\nHere is a dumb philosopher introduced to a wicked and degenerate\ngeneration, as a proper emblem of virtue and morality; and if the world\ncould be persuaded to look upon him with candour and impartiality, and\nthen to copy after him, the editor has gained his end, and would think\nhimself sufficiently recompensed for his present trouble.\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\n\nAmong the many strange and surprising events that help to fill the\naccounts of this last century, I know none that merit more an entire\ncredit, or are more fit to be preserved and handed to posterity than\nthose I am now going to lay before the public.\n\nDickory Cronke, the subject of the following narrative, was born at a\nlittle hamlet, near St. Columb, in Cornwall, on the 29th of May, 1660,\nbeing the day and year in which King Charles the Second was restored.  His\nparents were of mean extraction, but honest, industrious people, and well\nbeloved in their neighbourhood.  His father's chief business was to work\nat the tin mines; his mother stayed at home to look after the children,\nof which they had several living at the same time.  Our Dickory was the\nyoungest, and being but a sickly child, had always a double portion of\nher care and tenderness.\n\nIt was upwards of three years before it was discovered that he was born\ndumb, the knowledge of which at first gave his mother great uneasiness,\nbut finding soon after that he had his hearing, and all his other senses\nto the greatest perfection, her grief began to abate, and she resolved to\nhave him brought up as well as their circumstances and his capacity would\npermit.\n\nAs he grew, notwithstanding his want of speech, he every day gave some\ninstance of a ready genius, and a genius much superior to the country\nchildren, insomuch that several gentlemen in the neighbourhood took\nparticular notice of him, and would often call him Restoration Dick, and\ngive him money, &c.\n\nWhen he came to be eight years of age, his mother agreed with a person in\nthe next village, to teach him to read and write, both which, in a very\nshort time, he acquired to such perfection, especially the latter, that\nhe not only taught his own brothers and sisters, but likewise several\nyoung men and women in the neighbourhood, which often brought him in\nsmall sums, which he always laid out in such necessaries as he stood most\nin need of.\n\nIn this state he continued till he was about twenty, and then he began to\nreflect how scandalous it was for a young man of his age and\ncircumstances to live idle at home, and so resolves to go with his father\nto the mines, to try if he could get something towards the support of\nhimself and the family; but being of a tender constitution, and often\nsick, he soon perceived that sort of business was too hard for him, so\nwas forced to return home and continue in his former station; upon which\nhe grew exceeding melancholy, which his mother observing, she comforted\nhim in the best manner she could, telling him that if it should please\nGod to take her away, she had something left in store for him, which\nwould preserve him against public want.\n\nThis kind assurance from a mother whom he so dearly loved gave him some,\nthough not an entire satisfaction; however, he resolves to acquiesce\nunder it till Providence should order something for him more to his\ncontent and advantage, which, in a short time happened according to his\nwish.  The manner was thus:--\n\nOne Mr. Owen Parry, a Welsh gentleman of good repute, coming from Bristol\nto Padstow, a little seaport in the county of Cornwall, near the place\nwhere Dickory dwelt, and hearing much of this dumb man's perfections,\nwould needs have him sent for; and finding, by his significant gestures\nand all outward appearances that he much exceeded the character that the\ncountry gave of him, took a mighty liking to him, insomuch that he told\nhim, if he would go with him into Pembrokeshire, he would be kind to him,\nand take care of him as long as he lived.\n\nThis kind and unexpected offer was so welcome to poor Dickory, that\nwithout any farther consideration, he got a pen and ink and writ a note,\nand in a very handsome and submissive manner returned him thanks for his\nfavour, assuring him he would do his best to continue and improve it; and\nthat he would be ready to wait upon him whenever he should be pleased to\ncommand.\n\nTo shorten the account as much as possible, all things were concluded to\ntheir mutual satisfaction, and in about a fortnight's time they set\nforward for Wales, where Dickory, notwithstanding his dumbness, behaved\nhimself with so much diligence and affability, that he not only gained\nthe love of the family where he lived, but of everybody round him.\n\nIn this station he continued till the death of his master, which happened\nabout twenty years afterwards; in all which time, as has been confirmed\nby several of the family, he was never observed to be any ways disguised\nby drinking, or to be guilty of any of the follies and irregularities\nincident to servants in gentlemen's houses.  On the contrary, when he had\nany spare time, his constant custom was to retire with some good book\ninto a private place within call, and there employ himself in reading,\nand then writing down his observations upon what he read.\n\nAfter the death of his master, whose loss afflicted him to the last\ndegree, one Mrs. Mary Mordant, a gentlewoman of great virtue and piety,\nand a very good fortune, took him into her service, and carried him with\nher, first to Bath, and then to Bristol, where, after a lingering\ndistemper, which continued for about four years, she died likewise.\n\nUpon the loss of his mistress, Dickory grew again exceeding melancholy\nand disconsolate; at length, reflecting that death is but a common debt\nwhich all mortals owe to nature, and must be paid sooner or later, he\nbecame a little better satisfied, and so determines to get together what\nhe had saved in his service, and then to return to his native country,\nand there finish his life in privacy and retirement.\n\nHaving been, as has been mentioned, about twenty-four years a servant,\nand having, in the interim, received two legacies, viz., one of thirty\npounds, left him by his master, and another of fifteen pounds by his\nmistress, and being always very frugal, he had got by him in the whole\nupwards of sixty pounds.  This, thinks he, with prudent management, will\nbe enough to support me as long as I live, and so I'll e'en lay aside all\nthoughts of future business, and make the best of my way to Cornwall, and\nthere find out some safe and solitary retreat, where I may have liberty\nto meditate and make my melancholy observations upon the several\noccurrences of human life.\n\nThis resolution prevailed so far, that no time was let slip to get\neverything in readiness to go with the first ship.  As to his money, he\nalways kept that locked up by him, unless he sometimes lent it to a\nfriend without interest, for he had a mortal hatred to all sorts of usury\nor extortion.  His books, of which he had a considerable quantity, and\nsome of them very good ones, together with his other equipage, he got\npacked up, that nothing might be wanting against the first opportunity.\n\nIn a few days he heard of a vessel bound to Padstow, the very port he\nwished to go to, being within four or five miles of the place where he\nwas born.  When he came thither, which was in less than a week, his first\nbusiness was to inquire after the state of his family.  It was some time\nbefore he could get any information of them, until an old man that knew\nhis father and mother, and remembered they had a son was born dumb,\nrecollected him, and after a great deal of difficulty, made him\nunderstand that all his family except his youngest sister were dead, and\nthat she was a widow, and lived at a little town called St. Helen's,\nabout ten miles farther in the country.\n\nThis doleful news, we must imagine, must be extremely shocking, and add a\nnew sting to his former affliction; and here it was that he began to\nexercise the philosopher, and to demonstrate himself both a wise and a\ngood man.  All these things, thinks he, are the will of Providence, and\nmust not be disputed; and so he bore up under them with an entire\nresignation, resolving that, as soon as he could find a place where he\nmight deposit his trunk and boxes with safety, he would go to St. Helen's\nin quest of his sister.\n\nHow his sister and he met, and how transported they were to see each\nother after so long an interval, I think is not very material.  It is\nenough for the present purpose that Dickory soon recollected his sister,\nand she him; and after a great many endearing tokens of love and\ntenderness, he wrote to her, telling her that he believed Providence had\nbestowed on him as much as would support him as long as he lived, and\nthat if she thought proper he would come and spend the remainder of his\ndays with her.\n\nThe good woman no sooner read his proposal than she accepted it, adding,\nwithal, that she could wish her entertainment was better; but if he would\naccept of it as it was, she would do her best to make everything easy,\nand that he should be welcome upon his own terms, to stay with her as\nlong as he pleased.\n\nThis affair being so happily settled to his full satisfaction, he returns\nto Padstow to fetch the things he had left behind him, and the next day\ncame back to St. Helen's, where, according to his own proposal, he\ncontinued to the day of his death, which happened upon the 29th of May,\n1718, about the same hour in which he was born.\n\nHaving thus given a short detail of the several periods of his life,\nextracted chiefly from the papers which he left behind him, I come in the\nnext place to make a few observations how he managed himself and spent\nhis time toward the latter part of it.\n\nHis constant practice, both winter and summer, was to rise and set with\nthe sun; and if the weather would permit, he never failed to walk in some\nunfrequented place, for three hours, both morning and evening, and there\nit is supposed he composed the following meditations.  The chief part of\nhis sustenance was milk, with a little bread boiled in it, of which in\nthe morning, after his walk, he would eat the quantity of a pint, and\nsometimes more.  Dinners he never eat any; and at night he would only\nhave a pretty large piece of bread, and drink a draught of good spring\nwater; and after this method he lived during the whole time he was at St.\nHelen's.  It is observed of him that he never slept out of a bed, nor\nnever lay awake in one; which I take to be an argument, not only of a\nstrong and healthful constitution, but of a mind composed and calm, and\nentirely free from the ordinary disturbances of human life.  He never\ngave the least signs of complaint or dissatisfaction at anything, unless\nit was when he heard the tinners swear, or saw them drunk; and then, too,\nhe would get out of the way as soon as he had let them see, by some\nsignificant signs, how scandalous and ridiculous they made themselves;\nand against the next time he met them, would be sure to have a paper\nready written, wherein he would represent the folly of drunkenness, and\nthe dangerous consequences that generally attended it.\n\nIdleness was his utter aversion, and if at any time he had finished the\nbusiness of the day, and was grown weary of reading and writing, in which\nhe daily spent six hours at least, he would certainly find something\neither within doors or without, to employ himself.\n\nMuch might be said both with regard to the wise and regular management,\nand the prudent methods he took to spend his time well towards the\ndeclension of his life; but, as his history may perhaps be shortly\npublished at large by a better hand, I shall only observe in the general,\nthat he was a person of great wisdom and sagacity.  He understood nature\nbeyond the ordinary capacity, and, if he had had a competency of learning\nsuitable to his genius, neither this nor the former ages would have\nproduced a better philosopher or a greater man.\n\nI come next to speak of the manner of his death and the consequences\nthereof, which are, indeed, very surprising, and, perhaps, not altogether\nunworthy a general observation.  I shall relate them as briefly as I can,\nand leave every one to believe or disbelieve as he thinks proper.\n\nUpon the 26th of May, 1718, according to his usual method, about four in\nthe afternoon, he went out to take his evening walk; but before he could\nreach the place he intended, he was siezed with an apoplectic fit, which\nonly gave him liberty to sit down under a tree, where, in an instant, he\nwas deprived of all manner of sense and motion, and so he continued, as\nappears by his own confession afterwards, for more than fourteen hours.\n\nHis sister, who knew how exact he was in all his methods, finding him\nstay a considerable time beyond the usual hour, concludes that some\nmisfortune must needs have happened to him, or he would certainly have\nbeen at home before.  In short, she went immediately to all the places he\nwas wont to frequent, but nothing could be heard or seen of him till the\nnext morning, when a young man, as he was going to work, discovered him,\nand went home and told his sister that her brother lay in such a place,\nunder a tree, and, as he believed had been robbed and murdered.\n\nThe poor woman, who had all night been under the most dreadful\napprehensions, was now frightened and confounded to the last degree.\nHowever, recollecting herself, and finding there was no remedy, she got\ntwo or three of her neighbours to bear her company, and so hastened with\nthe young man to the tree, where she found her brother lying in the same\nposture that he had described.\n\nThe dismal object at first view startled and surprised everybody present,\nand filled them full of different notions and conjectures.  But some of\nthe company going nearer to him, and finding that he had lost nothing,\nand that there were no marks of any violence to be discovered about him,\nthey conclude that it must be an apoplectic or some other sudden fit that\nhad surprised him in his walk, upon which his sister and the rest began\nto feel his hands and face, and observing that he was still warm, and\nthat there were some symptoms of life yet remaining, they conclude that\nthe best way was to carry him home to bed, which was accordingly done\nwith the utmost expedition.\n\nWhen they had got him into the bed, nothing was omitted that they could\nthink of to bring him to himself, but still he continued utterly\ninsensible for about six hours.  At the sixth hour's end he began to move\na little, and in a very short time was so far recovered, to the great\nastonishment of everybody about him, that he was able to look up, and to\nmake a sign to his sister to bring him a cup of water.\n\nAfter he had drunk the water he soon perceived that all his faculties\nwere returned to their former stations, and though his strength was very\nmuch abated by the length and rigour of the fit, yet his intellects were\nas strong and vigorous as ever.\n\nHis sister observing him to look earnestly upon the company, as if he had\nsomething extraordinary to communicate to them, fetched him a pen and ink\nand a sheet of paper, which, after a short pause, he took, and wrote as\nfollows:--\n\n   \"Dear sister,\n\n   \"I have now no need of pen, ink, and paper, to tell you my meaning.  I\n   find the strings that bound up my tongue, and hindered me from\n   speaking, are unloosed, and I have words to express myself as freely\n   and distinctly as any other person.  From whence this strange and\n   unexpected event should proceed, I must not pretend to say, any\n   farther than this, that it is doubtless the hand of Providence that\n   has done it, and in that I ought to acquiesce.  Pray let me be alone\n   for two or three hours, that I may be at liberty to compose myself,\n   and put my thoughts in the best order I can before I leave them behind\n   me.\"\n\nThe poor woman, though extremely startled at what her brother had\nwritten, yet took care to conceal it from the neighbours, who, she knew,\nas well as she, must be mightily surprised at a thing so utterly\nunexpected.  Says she, my brother desires to be alone; I believe he may\nhave something in his mind that disturbs him.  Upon which the neighbours\ntook their leave and returned home, and his sister shut the door, and\nleft him alone to his private contemplations.\n\nAfter the company were withdrawn he fell into a sound sleep, which lasted\nfrom two till six, and his sister, being apprehensive of the return of\nhis fit, came to the bedside, and, asking softly if he wanted anything,\nhe turned about to her and spoke to this effect: Dear sister, you see me\nnot only recovered out of a terrible fit, but likewise that I have the\nliberty of speech, a blessing that I have been deprived of almost sixty\nyears, and I am satisfied you are sincerely joyful to find me in the\nstate I now am in; but, alas! it is but a mistaken kindness.  These are\nthings but of short duration, and if they were to continue for a hundred\nyears longer, I can't see how I should be anyways the better.\n\nI know the world too well to be fond of it, and am fully satisfied that\nthe difference between a long and a short life is insignificant,\nespecially when I consider the accidents and company I am to encounter.\nDo but look seriously and impartially upon the astonishing notion of time\nand eternity, what an immense deal has run out already, and how infinite\nit is still in the future; do but seriously and deliberately consider\nthis, and you will find, upon the whole, that three days and three ages\nof life come much to the same measure and reckoning.\n\nAs soon as he had ended his discourse upon the vanity and uncertainty of\nhuman life, he looked steadfastly upon her.  Sister, says he, I conjure\nyou not to be disturbed at what I am going to tell you, which you will\nundoubtedly find to be true in every particular.  I perceive my glass is\nrun, and I have now no more to do in this world but to take my leave of\nit; for to-morrow about this time my speech will be again taken from me,\nand, in a short time, my fit will return; and the next day, which I\nunderstand is the day on which I came into this troublesome world, I\nshall exchange it for another, where, for the future, I shall for ever be\nfree from all manner of sin and sufferings.\n\nThe good woman would have made him a reply, but he prevented her by\ntelling her he had no time to hearken to unnecessary complaints or\nanimadversions.  I have a great many things in my mind, says he, that\nrequire a speedy and serious consideration.  The time I have to stay is\nbut short, and I have a great deal of important business to do in it.\nTime and death are both in my view, and seem both to call aloud to me to\nmake no delay.  I beg of you, therefore, not to disquiet yourself or me.\nWhat must be, must be.  The decrees of Providence are eternal and\nunalterable; why, then, should we torment ourselves about that which we\ncannot remedy?\n\nI must confess, my dear sister, I owe you many obligations for your\nexemplary fondness to me, and do solemnly assure you I shall retain the\nsense of them to the last moment.  All that I have to request of you is,\nthat I may be alone for this night.  I have it in my thoughts to leave\nsome short observations behind me, and likewise to discover some things\nof great weight which have been revealed to me, which may perhaps be of\nsome use hereafter to you and your friends.  What credit they may meet\nwith I cannot say, but depend the consequence, according to their\nrespective periods, will account for them, and vindicate them against the\nsupposition of falsity and mere suggestion.\n\nUpon this, his sister left him till about four in the morning, when\ncoming to his bedside to know if he wanted anything, and how he had\nrested, he made her this answer; I have been taking a cursory view of my\nlife, and though I find myself exceedingly deficient in several\nparticulars, yet I bless God I cannot find I have any just grounds to\nsuspect my pardon.  In short, says he, I have spent this night with more\ninward pleasure and true satisfaction than ever I spent a night through\nthe whole course of my life.\n\nAfter he had concluded what he had to say upon the satisfaction that\nattended an innocent and well-spent life, and observed what a mighty\nconsolation it was to persons, not only under the apprehension, but even\nin the very agonies of death itself, he desired her to bring him his\nusual cup of water, and then to help him on with his clothes, that he\nmight sit up, and so be in a better posture to take his leave of her and\nher friends.\n\nWhen she had taken him up, and placed him at a table where he usually\nsat, he desired her to bring him his box of papers, and after he had\ncollected those he intended should be preserved, he ordered her to bring\na candle, that he might see the rest burnt.  The good woman seemed at\nfirst to oppose the burning of his papers, till he told her they were\nonly useless trifles, some unfinished observations which he had made in\nhis youthful days, and were not fit to be seen by her, or anybody that\nshould come after him.\n\nAfter he had seen his papers burnt, and placed the rest in their proper\norder, and had likewise settled all his other affairs, which was only fit\nto be done between himself and his sister, he desired her to call two or\nthree of the most reputable neighbours, not only to be witnesses of his\nwill, but likewise to hear what he had farther to communicate before the\nreturn of his fit, which he expected very speedily.\n\nHis sister, who had beforehand acquainted two or three of her confidants\nwith all that had happened, was very much rejoiced to hear her brother\nmake so unexpected a concession; and accordingly, without any delay or\nhesitation, went directly into the neighbourhood, and brought home her\ntwo select friends, upon whose secrecy and sincerity she knew she might\ndepend upon all accounts.\n\nIn her absence he felt several symptoms of the approach of his fit, which\nmade him a little uneasy, lest it should entirely seize him before he had\nperfected his will, but that apprehension was quickly removed by her\nspeedy return.  After she had introduced her friends into his chamber, he\nproceeded to express himself in the following manner; Dear sister, you\nnow see your brother upon the brink of eternity; and as the words of\ndying persons are commonly the most regarded, and make deepest\nimpressions, I cannot suspect but you will suffer the few I am about to\nsay to have always some place in your thoughts, that they may be ready\nfor you to make use of upon any occasion.\n\nDo not be fond of anything on this side of eternity, or suffer your\ninterest to incline you to break your word, quit your modesty, or to do\nanything that will not bear the light, and look the world in the face.\nFor be assured of this; the person that values the virtue of his mind and\nthe dignity of his reason, is always easy and well fortified both against\ndeath and misfortune, and is perfectly indifferent about the length or\nshortness of his life.  Such a one is solicitous about nothing but his\nown conduct, and for fear he should be deficient in the duties of\nreligion, and the respective functions of reason and prudence.\n\nAlways go the nearest way to work.  Now, the nearest way through all the\nbusiness of human life, are the paths of religion and honesty, and\nkeeping those as directly as you can, you avoid all the dangerous\nprecipices that often lie in the road, and sometimes block up the passage\nentirely.\n\nRemember that life was but lent at first, and that the remainder is more\nthan you have reason to expect, and consequently ought to be managed with\nmore than ordinary diligence.  A wise man spends every day as if it were\nhis last; his hourglass is always in his hand, and he is never guilty of\nsluggishness or insincerity.\n\nHe was about to proceed, when a sudden symptom of the return of his fit\nput him in mind that it was time to get his will witnessed, which was no\nsooner done but he took it up and gave it to his sister, telling her that\nthough all he had was hers of right, yet he thought it proper, to prevent\neven a possibility of a dispute, to write down his mind in the nature of\na will, wherein I have given you, says he, the little that I have left,\nexcept my books and papers, which, as soon as I am dead, I desire may be\ndelivered to Mr. Anthony Barlow, a near relation of my worthy master, Mr.\nOwen Parry.\n\nThis Mr. Anthony Barlow was an old contemplative Welsh gentleman, who,\nbeing under some difficulties in his own country, was forced to come into\nCornwall and take sanctuary among the tinners.  Dickory, though he kept\nhimself as retired as possible, happened to meet him one day upon his\nwalks, and presently remembered that he was the very person that used\nfrequently to come to visit his master while he lived in Pembrokeshire,\nand so went to him, and by signs made him understand who he was.\n\nThe old gentleman, though at first surprised at this unexpected\ninterview, soon recollected that he had formerly seen at Mr. Parry's a\ndumb man, whom they used to call the dumb philosopher, so concludes\nimmediately that consequently this must be he.  In short, they soon made\nthemselves known to each other; and from that time contracted a strict\nfriendship and a correspondence by letters, which for the future they\nmutually managed with the greatest exactness and familiarity.\n\nBut to leave this as a matter not much material, and to return to our\nnarrative.  By this time Dickory's speech began to falter, which his\nsister observing, put him in mind that he would do well to make some\ndeclaration of his faith and principles of religion, because some\nreflections had been made upon him upon the account of his neglect, or\nrather his refusal, to appear at any place of public worship.\n\n   \"Dear sister,\" says he, \"you observe very well, and I wish the\n   continuance of my speech for a few moments, that I might make an ample\n   declaration upon that account.  But I find that cannot be; my speech\n   is leaving me so fast that I can only tell you that I have always\n   lived, and now die, an unworthy member of the ancient catholic and\n   apostolic church; and as to my faith and principles, I refer you to my\n   papers, which, I hope, will in some measure vindicate me against the\n   reflections you mention.\"\n\nHe had hardly finished his discourse to his sister and her two friends,\nand given some short directions relating to his burial, but his speech\nleft him; and what makes the thing the more remarkable, it went away, in\nall appearance, without giving him any sort of pain or uneasiness.\n\nWhen he perceived that his speech was entirely vanished, and that he was\nagain in his original state of dumbness, he took his pen as formerly and\nwrote to his sister, signifying that whereas the sudden loss of his\nspeech had deprived him of the opportunity to speak to her and her\nfriends what he intended, he would leave it for them in writing, and so\ndesired he might not be disturbed till the return of his fit, which he\nexpected in six hours at farthest.  According to his desire they all left\nhim, and then, with the greatest resignation imaginable, he wrote down\nthe meditations following:\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\n\nAn Abstract of his Faith, and the Principles of his Religion &c., which\nbegins thus:\n\nDear Sister; I thank you for putting me in mind to make a declaration of\nmy faith, and the principles of my religion.  I find, as you very well\nobserve, I have been under some reflections upon that account, and\ntherefore I think it highly requisite that I set that matter right in the\nfirst place.  To begin, therefore, with my faith, in which I intend to be\nas short and as comprehensive as I can:\n\n1.  I most firmly believe that it was the eternal will of God, and the\nresult of his infinite wisdom, to create a world, and for the glory of\nhis majesty to make several sorts of creatures in order and degree one\nafter another; that is to say, angels, or pure immortal spirits; men,\nconsisting of immortal spirits and matter, having rational and sensitive\nsouls; brutes, having mortal and sensitive souls; and mere vegetatives,\nsuch as trees, plants, &c.; and these creatures so made do, as it were,\nclasp the higher and lower world together.\n\n2.  I believe the holy Scriptures, and everything therein contained, to\nbe the pure and essential word of God; and that, according to these\nsacred writings, man, the lord and prince of the creation, by his\ndisobedience in Paradise, forfeited his innocence and the dignity of his\nnature, and subjected himself and all his posterity to sin and misery.\n\n3.  I believe and am fully and entirely satisfied, that God the Father,\nout of his infinite goodness and compassion to mankind, was pleased to\nsend his only Son, the second person in the holy and undivided Trinity,\nto meditate for him, and to procure his redemption and eternal salvation.\n\n4.  I believe that God the Son, out of his infinite love, and for the\nglory of the Deity, was pleased voluntarily and freely to descend from\nheaven, and to take our nature upon him, and to lead an exemplary life of\npurity, holiness, and perfect obedience, and at last to suffer an\nignominious death upon the cross, for the sins of the whole world, and to\nrise again the third day for our justification.\n\n5.  I believe that the Holy Ghost out of his infinite goodness was\npleased to undertake the office of sanctifying us with his divine grace,\nand thereby assisting us with faith to believe, will to desire, and power\nto do all those things that are required of us in this world, in order to\nentitle us to the blessings of just men made perfect in the world to\ncome.\n\n6.  I believe that these three persons are of equal power, majesty, and\nduration, and that the Godhead of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy\nGhost is all one, and that they are equally uncreate, incomprehensible,\neternal, and almighty; and that none is greater or less than the other,\nbut that every one hath one and the same divine nature and perfections.\n\nThese, sister, are the doctrines which have been received and practised\nby the best men of every age, from the beginning of the Christian\nreligion to this day, and it is upon this I ground my faith and hopes of\nsalvation, not doubting but, if my life and practice have been answerable\nto them, that I shall be quickly translated out of this kingdom of\ndarkness, out of this world of sorrow, vexation and confusion, into that\nblessed kingdom, where I shall cease to grieve and to suffer, and shall\nbe happy to all eternity.\n\nAs to my principles in religion, to be as brief as I can, I declare\nmyself to be a member of Christ's church, which I take to be a universal\nsociety of all Christian people, distributed under lawful governors and\npastors into particular churches, holding communion with each other in\nall the essentials of the Christian faith, worship, and discipline; and\namong these I look upon the Church of England to be the chief and best\nconstituted.\n\nThe Church of England is doubtless the great bulwark of the ancient\nCatholic or Apostolic faith all over the world; a church that has all the\nspiritual advantages that the nature of a church is capable of.  From the\ndoctrine and principles of the Church of England, we are taught loyalty\nto our prince, fidelity to our country, and justice to all mankind; and\ntherefore, as I look upon this to be one of the most excellent branches\nof the Church Universal, and stands, as it were, between superstition and\nhypocrisy, I therefore declare, for the satisfaction of you and your\nfriends, as I have always lived so I now die, a true and sincere, though\na most unworthy member of it.  And as to my discontinuance of my\nattendance at the public worship, I refer you to my papers, which I have\nleft with my worthy friend, Mr. Barlow.  And thus, my dear sister, I have\ngiven you a short account of my faith, and the principles of my religion.\nI come, in the next place, to lay before you a few meditations and\nobservations I have at several times collected together, more\nparticularly those since my retirement to St. Helen's.\n\n\n\nMeditations and Observations relating to the Conduct of Human Life in\ngeneral.\n\n\n1.  Remember how often you have neglected the great duties of religion\nand virtue, and slighted the opportunities that Providence has put into\nyour hands; and, withal, that you have a set period assigned you for the\nmanagement of the affairs of human life; and then reflect seriously that,\nunless you resolve immediately to improve the little remains, the whole\nmust necessarily slip away insensibly, and then you are lost beyond\nrecovery.\n\n2.  Let an unaffected gravity, freedom, justice, and sincerity shine\nthrough all your actions, and let no fancies and chimeras give the least\ncheck to those excellent qualities.  This is an easy task, if you will\nbut suppose everything you do to be your last, and if you can keep your\npassions and appetites from crossing your reason.  Stand clear of\nrashness, and have nothing of insincerity or self-love to infect you.\n\n3.  Manage all your thoughts and actions with such prudence and\ncircumspection as if you were sensible you were just going to step into\nthe grave.  A little thinking will show a man the vanity and uncertainty\nof all sublunary things, and enable him to examine maturely the manner of\ndying; which, if duly abstracted from the terror of the idea, will appear\nnothing more than an unavoidable appendix of life itself, and a pure\nnatural action.\n\n4.  Consider that ill-usage from some sort of people is in a manner\nnecessary, and therefore do not be disquieted about it, but rather\nconclude that you and your enemy are both marching off the stage\ntogether, and that in a little time your very memories will be\nextinguished.\n\n5.  Among your principal observations upon human life, let it be always\none to take notice what a great deal both of time and ease that man gains\nwho is not troubled with the spirit of curiosity, who lets his\nneighbours' affairs alone, and confines his inspections to himself, and\nonly takes care of honesty and a good conscience.\n\n6.  If you would live at your ease, and as much as possible be free from\nthe incumbrances of life, manage but a few things at once, and let those,\ntoo, be such as are absolutely necessary.  By this rule you will draw the\nbulk of your business into a narrow compass, and have the double pleasure\nof making your actions good, and few into the bargain.\n\n7.  He that torments himself because things do not happen just as he\nwould have them, is but a sort of ulcer in the world; and he that is\nselfish, narrow-souled, and sets up for a separate interest, is a kind of\nvoluntary outlaw, and disincorporates himself from mankind.\n\n8.  Never think anything below you which reason and your own\ncircumstances require, and never suffer yourself to be deterred by the\nill-grounded notions of censure and reproach; but when honesty and\nconscience prompt you to say or do anything, do it boldly; never balk\nyour resolution or start at the consequence.\n\n9.  If a man does me an injury, what is that to me?  It is his own\naction, and let him account for it.  As for me, I am in my proper\nstation, and only doing the business that Providence has allotted; and\nwithal, I ought to consider that the best way to revenge, is not to\nimitate the injury.\n\n10.  When you happen to be ruffled and put out of humour by any cross\naccident, retire immediately into your reason, and do not suffer your\npassion to overrule you a moment; for the sooner you recover yourself\nnow, the better you will be able to guard yourself for the future.\n\n11.  Do not be like those ill-natured people that, though they do not\nlove to give a good word to their contemporaries, yet are mighty fond of\ntheir own commendations.  This argues a perverse and unjust temper, and\noften exposes the authors to scorn and contempt.\n\n12.  If any one convinces you of an error, change your opinion and thank\nhim for it: truth and information are your business, and can never hurt\nanybody.  On the contrary, he that is proud and stubborn, and wilfully\ncontinues in a mistake, it is he that receives the mischief.\n\n13.  Because you see a thing difficult, do not instantly conclude it to\nbe impossible to master it.  Diligence and industry are seldom defeated.\nLook, therefore, narrowly into the thing itself, and what you observe\nproper and practicable in another, conclude likewise within your own\npower.\n\n14.  The principal business of human life is run through within the short\ncompass of twenty-four hours; and when you have taken a deliberate view\nof the present age, you have seen as much as if you had begun with the\nworld, the rest being nothing else but an endless round of the same thing\nover and over again.\n\n15.  Bring your will to your fate, and suit your mind to your\ncircumstances.  Love your friends and forgive your enemies, and do\njustice to all mankind, and you will be secure to make your passage easy,\nand enjoy most of the comforts human life is capable to afford you.\n\n16.  When you have a mind to entertain yourself in your retirements, let\nit be with the good qualifications of your friends and acquaintance.\nThink with pleasure and satisfaction upon the honour and bravery of one,\nthe modesty of another, the generosity of a third, and so on; there being\nnothing more pleasant and diverting than the lively images and the\nadvantages of those we love and converse with.\n\n17.  As nothing can deprive you of the privileges of your nature, or\ncompel you to act counter to your reason, so nothing can happen to you\nbut what comes from Providence, and consists with the interest of the\nuniverse.\n\n18.  Let people's tongues and actions be what they will, your business is\nto have honour and honesty in your view.  Let them rail, revile, censure,\nand condemn, or make you the subject of their scorn and ridicule, what\ndoes it all signify?  You have one certain remedy against all their\nmalice and folly, and that is, to live so that nobody shall believe them.\n\n19.  Alas, poor mortals! did we rightly consider our own state and\ncondition, we should find it would not be long before we have forgot all\nthe world, and to be even, that all the world will have forgot us\nlikewise.\n\n20.  He that would recommend himself to the public, let him do it by the\ncandour and modesty of his behaviour, and by a generous indifference to\nexternal advantages.  Let him love mankind, and resign to Providence, and\nthen his works will follow him, and his good actions will praise him in\nthe gate.\n\n21.  When you hear a discourse, let your understanding, as far as\npossible, keep pace with it, and lead you forward to those things which\nfall most within the compass of your own observations.\n\n22.  When vice and treachery shall be rewarded, and virtue and ability\nslighted and discountenanced; when ministers of state shall rather fear\nman than God, and to screen themselves run into parties and factions;\nwhen noise and clamour, and scandalous reports shall carry everything\nbefore them, it is natural to conclude that a nation in such a state of\ninfatuation stands upon the brink of destruction, and without the\nintervention of some unforeseen accident, must be inevitably ruined.\n\n23.  When a prince is guarded by wise and honest men, and when all public\nofficers are sure to be rewarded if they do well, and punished if they do\nevil, the consequence is plain; justice and honesty will flourish, and\nmen will be always contriving, not for themselves, but for the honour and\ninterest of their king and country.\n\n24.  Wicked men may sometimes go unpunished in this world, but wicked\nnations never do; because this world is the only place of punishment of\nwicked nations, though not for private and particular persons.\n\n25.  An administration that is merely founded upon human policy must be\nalways subject to human chance; but that which is founded on the divine\nwisdom can no more miscarry than the government of heaven.  To govern by\nparties and factions is the advice of an atheist, and sets up a\ngovernment by the spirit of Satan.  In such a government the prince can\nnever be secure under the greatest promises, since, as men's interest\nchanges, so will their duty and affections likewise.\n\n26.  It is a very ancient observation, and a very true one, that people\ngenerally despise where they flatter, and cringe to those they design to\nbetray; so that truth and ceremony are, and always will be, two distinct\nthings.\n\n27.  When you find your friend in an error, undeceive him with secrecy\nand civility, and let him see his oversight first by hints and glances;\nand if you cannot convince him, leave him with respect, and lay the fault\nupon your own management.\n\n28.  When you are under the greatest vexations, then consider that human\nlife lasts but for a moment; and do not forget but that you are like the\nrest of the world, and faulty yourself in many instances; and withal,\nremember that anger and impatience often prove more mischievous than the\nprovocation.\n\n29.  Gentleness and good humour are invincible, provided they are without\nhypocrisy and design; they disarm the most barbarous and savage tempers,\nand make even malice ashamed of itself.\n\n30.  In all the actions of life let it be your first and principal care\nto guard against anger on the one hand, and flattery on the other, for\nthey are both unserviceable qualities, and do a great deal of mischief in\nthe government of human life.\n\n31.  When a man turns knave or libertine, and gives way to fear,\njealousy, and fits of the spleen; when his mind complains of his fortune,\nand he quits the station in which Providence has placed him, he acts\nperfectly counter to humanity, deserts his own nature, and, as it were,\nruns away from himself.\n\n32.  Be not heavy in business, disturbed in conversation, nor impertinent\nin your thoughts.  Let your judgment be right, your actions friendly, and\nyour mind contented; let them curse you, threaten you, or despise you;\nlet them go on; they can never injure your reason or your virtue, and\nthen all the rest that they can do to you signifies nothing.\n\n33.  The only pleasure of human life is doing the business of the\ncreation; and which way is that to be compassed very easily?  Most\ncertainly by the practice of general kindness, by rejecting the\nimportunity of our senses, by distinguishing truth from falsehood, and by\ncontemplating the works of the Almighty.\n\n34.  Be sure to mind that which lies before you, whether it be thought,\nword, or action; and never postpone an opportunity, or make virtue wait\nfor you till to-morrow.\n\n35.  Whatever tends neither to the improvement of your reason nor the\nbenefit of society, think it below you; and when you have done any\nconsiderable service to mankind, do not lessen it by your folly in gaping\nafter reputation and requital.\n\n36.  When you find yourself sleepy in a morning, rouse yourself, and\nconsider that you are born to business, and that in doing good in your\ngeneration, you answer your character and act like a man; whereas sleep\nand idleness do but degrade you, and sink you down to a brute.\n\n37.  A mind that has nothing of hope, or fear, or aversion, or desire, to\nweaken and disturb it, is the most impregnable security.  Hither we may\nwith safety retire and defy our enemies; and he that sees not this\nadvantage must be extremely ignorant, and he that forgets it unhappy.\n\n38.  Do not disturb yourself about the faults of other people, but let\neverybody's crimes be at their own door.  Have always this great maxim in\nyour remembrance, that to play the knave is to rebel against religion;\nall sorts of injustice being no less than high treason against Heaven\nitself.\n\n39.  Do not contemn death, but meet it with a decent and religious\nfortitude, and look upon it as one of those things which Providence has\nordered.  If you want a cordial to make the apprehensions of dying go\ndown a little the more easily, consider what sort of world and what sort\nof company you will part with.  To conclude, do but look seriously into\nthe world, and there you will see multitudes of people preparing for\nfunerals, and mourning for their friends and acquaintances; and look out\nagain a little afterwards, and you will see others doing the very same\nthing for them.\n\n40.  In short, men are but poor transitory things.  To-day they are busy\nand harassed with the affairs of human life; and to-morrow life itself is\ntaken from them, and they are returned to their original dust and ashes.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\n\nContaining prophetic observations relating to the affairs of Europe and\nof Great Britain, more particularly from 1720 to 1729.\n\n1.  In the latter end of 1720, an eminent old lady shall bring forth five\nsons at a birth; the youngest shall live and grow up to maturity, but the\nfour eldest shall either die in the nursery, or be all carried off by one\nsudden and unexpected accident.\n\n2.  About this time a man with a double head shall arrive in Britain from\nthe south.  One of these heads shall deliver messages of great importance\nto the governing party, and the other to the party that is opposite to\nthem.  The first shall believe the monster, but the last shall discover\nthe impostor, and so happily disengage themselves from a snare that was\nlaid to destroy them and their posterity.  After this the two heads shall\nunite, and the monster shall appear in his proper shape.\n\n3.  In the year 1721, a philosopher from Lower Germany shall come, first\nto Amsterdam in Holland, and afterwards to London.  He will bring with\nhim a world of curiosities, and among them a pretended secret for the\ntransmutation of metals.  Under the umbrage of this mighty secret he\nshall pass upon the world for some time; but at length he shall be\ndetected, and proved to be nothing but an empiric and a cheat, and so\nforced to sneak off, and leave the people he has deluded, either to\nbemoan their loss, or laugh at their own folly.  N.B.--This will be the\nlast of his sect that will ever venture in this part of the world upon\nthe same errand.\n\n4.  In this year great endeavours will be used for procuring a general\npeace, which shall be so near a conclusion that public rejoicings shall\nbe made at the courts of several great potentates upon that account; but\njust in the critical juncture, a certain neighbouring prince shall come\nto a violent death, which shall occasion new war and commotion all over\nEurope; but these shall continue but for a short time, and at last\nterminate in the utter destruction of the first aggressors.\n\n5.  Towards the close of this year of mysteries, a person that was born\nblind shall have his sight restored, and shall see ravens perch upon the\nheads of traitors, among which the head of a notorious prelate shall\nstand upon the highest pole.\n\n6.  In the year 1722, there shall be a grand congress, and new overtures\nof peace offered by most of the principal parties concerned in the war,\nwhich shall have so good effect that a cessation of arms shall be agreed\nupon for six months, which shall be kept inviolable till a certain\ngeneral, either through treachery or inadvertency, shall begin\nhostilities before the expiration of the term; upon which the injured\nprince shall draw his sword, and throw the scabbard into the sea, vowing\nnever to return it till he shall obtain satisfaction for himself, and\ndone justice to all that were oppressed.\n\n7.  At the close of this year, a famous bridge shall be broken down, and\nthe water that runs under it shall be tinctured with the blood of two\nnotorious malefactors, whose unexpected death shall make mighty\nalterations in the present state of affairs, and put a stop to the ruin\nof a nation, which must otherwise have been unavoidable.\n\n8.  1723 begins with plots, conspiracies, and intestine commotions in\nseveral countries; nor shall Great Britain itself be free from the\ncalamity.  These shall continue till a certain young prince shall take\nthe reins of government into his own hands; and after that, a marriage\nshall be proposed, and an alliance concluded between two great\npotentates, who shall join their forces, and endeavour, in good earnest,\nto set all matters upon a right foundation.\n\n9.  This year several cardinals and prelates shall be publicly censured\nfor heretical principles, and shall narrowly escape from being torn to\npieces by the common people, who still look upon them as the grand\ndisturbers of public tranquillity, perfect incendiaries, and the chief\npromoters of their former, present, and future calamities.\n\n10.  In 1724-5 there will be many treaties and negociations, and Great\nBritain, particularly, will be crowded with foreign ministers and\nambassadors from remote princes and states.  Trade and commerce will\nbegin to flourish and revive, and everything will have a comfortable\nprospect, until some desperadoes, assisted by a monster with many heads,\nshall start new difficulties, and put the world again into a flame; but\nthese shall be but of short duration.\n\n11.  Before the expiration of 1725, an eagle from the north shall fly\ndirectly to the south, and perch upon the palace of a prince, and first\nunravel the bloody projects and designs of a wicked set of people, and\nthen publicly discover the murder of a great king, and the intended\nassassination of another greater than he.\n\n12.  In 1726, three princes will be born that will grow up to be men, and\ninherit the crowns of three of the greatest monarchies in Europe.\n\n13.  About this time the pope will die, and after a great many intrigues\nand struggles, a Spanish cardinal shall be elected, who shall decline the\ndignity, and declare his marriage with a great lady, heiress of one of\nthe chief principalities in Italy, which may occasion new troubles in\nEurope, if not timely prevented.\n\n14.  In 1727, new troubles shall break out in the north, occasioned by\nthe sudden death of a certain prince, and the avarice and ambition of\nanother.  Poor Poland seems to be pointed at; but the princes of the\nsouth shall enter into a confederacy to preserve her, and shall at length\nrestore her peace, and prevent the perpetual ruin of her constitution.\n\n15.  Great endeavours will be used about this time for a comprehension in\nreligion, supported by crafty and designing men, and a party of mistaken\nzealots, which they shall artfully draw in to join with them; but as the\nproject is ill-concerted, and will be worse managed, it will come to\nnothing; and soon afterwards an effectual mode will be taken to prevent\nthe like attempt for the future.\n\n16. 1728 will be a year of inquiry and retrospection.  Many exorbitant\ngrants will be reassumed, and several persons who thought themselves\nsecure will be called before the senate, and compelled to disgorge what\nthey have unjustly pillaged either from the crown or the public.\n\n17.  About this time a new scaffold will be erected upon the confines of\na certain great city, where an old count of a new extraction, that has\nbeen of all parties and true to none, will be doomed by his peers to make\nhis first appearance.  After this an old lady who has often been exposed\nto danger and disgrace, and sometimes brought to the very brink of\ndestruction, will be brought to bed of three daughters at once, which\nthey shall call Plenty, Peace, and Union; and these three shall live and\ngrow up together, be the glory of their mother, and the comfort of\nposterity for many generations.\n\n* * * * *\n\nThis is the substance of what he either writ or extracted from his papers\nin the interval between the loss of his speech and the return of his fit,\nwhich happened exactly at the time he had computed.\n\nUpon the approach of his fit, he made signs to be put to bed, which was\nno sooner done but he was seized with extreme agonies, which he bore up\nunder with the greatest steadfastness, and after a severe conflict, that\nlasted near eight hours, he expired.\n\nThus lived and thus died this extraordinary person; a person, though of\nmean extraction and obscure life, yet when his character comes to be\nfully and truly known, it will be read with pleasure, profit, and\nadmiration.\n\nHis perfections at large would be the work of a volume, and inconsistent\nwith the intention of these papers.  I will, therefore, only add, for a\nconclusion, that he was a man of uncommon thought and judgment, and\nalways kept his appetites and inclinations within their just limits.\n\nHis reason was strong and manly, his understanding sound and active, and\nhis temper so easy, equal, and complaisant, that he never fell out,\neither with men or accidents.  He bore all things with the highest\naffability, and computed justly upon their value and consequence, and\nthen applied them to their proper uses.\n\n\n\n\nA LETTER FROM OXFORD\n\n\nSir,\n\nBeing informed that you speedily intend to publish some memoirs relating\nto our dumb countryman, Dickory Cronke, I send you herewith a few lines,\nin the nature of an elegy, which I leave you to dispose of as you think\nfit.  I knew and admired the man; and if I were capable, his character\nshould be the first thing I would attempt.\n\nYours. &c.\n\n\n\nAN ELEGY,\nIN MEMORY OF DICKORY CRONKE,\nTHE DUMB PHILOSOPHER.\n\n\n   Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille est,\n   Qui minimus urgetur.--HORACE.\n\nIf virtuous actions emulation raise,\nThen this good man deserves immortal praise.\nWhen nature such extensive wisdom lent,\nShe sure designed him for our precedent.\nSuch great endowments in a man unknown,\nDeclare the blessings were not all his own;\nBut rather granted for a time to show\nWhat the wise hand of Providence can do.\nIn him we may a bright example see\nOf nature, justice, and morality;\nA mind not subject to the frowns of fate,\nBut calm and easy in a servile state.\nHe always kept a guard upon his will\nAnd feared no harm because he knew no ill.\nA decent posture and an humble mien,\nIn every action of his life were seen.\nThrough all the different stages that he went,\nHe still appeared both wise and diligent:\nFirm to his word, and punctual to his trust,\nSagacious, frugal, arable, and just.\nNo gainful views his bounded hopes could sway,\nNo wanton thought led his chaste soul astray.\nIn short, his thoughts and actions both declare,\nNature designed him her philosopher;\nThat all mankind, by his example taught,\nMight learn to live, and manage every thought.\nOh! could my muse the wondrous subject grace,\nAnd, from his youth, his virtuous actions trace;\nCould I in just and equal numbers tell\nHow well he lived, and how devoutly fell,\nI boldly might your strict attention claim,\nAnd bid you learn, and copy out the man.\n\nJ. P.\n\nExeter College, August 25th, 1719.\n\n\n\n\nEPITAPH\n\n\nThe occasion of this epitaph was briefly thus:--A gentleman, who had\nheard much in commendation of this dumb man, going accidentally to the\nchurchyard where he was buried, and finding his grave without a\ntombstone, or any manner of memorandum of his death, he pulled out his\npencil, and writ as follows:--\n\n   PAUPER UBIQUE JACET.\n\n   Near to this lonely unfrequented place,\n   Mixed with the common dust, neglected lies\n   The man that every muse should strive to grace,\n   And all the world should for his virtue prize.\n   Stop, gentle passenger, and drop a tear,\n   Truth, justice, wisdom, all lie buried here.\n\n   What, though he wants a monumental stone,\n   The common pomp of every fool or knave,\n   Those virtues which through all his actions shone\n   Proclaim his worth, and praise him in the grave.\n   His merits will a bright example give,\n   Which shall both time and envy too outlive.\n\n   Oh, had I power but equal to my mind,\n   A decent tomb should soon this place adorn,\n   With this inscription: Lo, here lies confined\n   A wondrous man, although obscurely born;\n   A man, though dumb, yet he was nature's care,\n   Who marked him out her own philosopher.","title":"Dickory Cronke: The Dumb Philosopher, or, Great Britain's Wonder","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":10477}