THE SECOND PRAYER WAS WRITTEN NOV. 6, 1727.


O Merciful Father, who never afflictest Thy children but for their own
good, and with justice, over which Thy mercy always prevaileth, either to
turn them to repentance, or to punish them in the present life, in order
to reward them in a better; take pity, we beseech Thee, upon this Thy
poor afflicted servant, languishing so long and so grievously under the
weight of Thy Hand.  Give her strength, O Lord, to support her weakness,
and patience to endure her pains, without repining at Thy correction.
Forgive every rash and inconsiderate expression which her anguish may at
any time force from her tongue, while her heart continueth in an entire
submission to Thy Will.  Suppress in her, O Lord, all eager desires of
life, and lesson her fears of death, by inspiring into her an humble yet
assured hope of Thy mercy.  Give her a sincere repentance for all her
transgressions and omissions, and a firm resolution to pass the remainder
of her life in endeavouring to her utmost to observe all thy precepts.  We
beseech Thee likewise to compose her thoughts, and preserve to her the
use of her memory and reason during the course of her sickness.  Give her
a true conception of the vanity, folly, and insignificancy of all human
things; and strengthen her so as to beget in her a sincere love of Thee
in the midst of her sufferings.  Accept and impute all her good deeds,
and forgive her all those offences against Thee, which she hath sincerely
repented of, or through the frailty of memory hath forgot.  And now, O
Lord, we turn to Thee in behalf of ourselves, and the rest of her
sorrowful friends.  Let not our grief afflict her mind, and thereby have
an ill effect on her present distemper.  Forgive the sorrow and weakness
of those among us who sink under the grief and terror of losing so dear
and useful a friend.  Accept and pardon our most earnest prayers and
wishes for her longer continuance in this evil world, to do what Thou art
pleased to call Thy service, and is only her bounden duty; that she may
be still a comfort to us, and to all others, who will want the benefit of
her conversation, her advice, her good offices, or her charity.  And
since Thou hast promised that where two or three are gathered together in
Thy Name, Thou wilt be in the midst of them to grant their request, O
Gracious Lord, grant to us who are here met in Thy Name, that those
requests, which in the utmost sincerity and earnestness of our hearts we
have now made in behalf of this Thy distressed servant, and of ourselves,
may effectually be answered; through the merits of Jesus Christ our Lord.
_Amen_.




THE BEASTS' CONFESSION (1732).


When beasts could speak (the learned say
They still can do so every day),
It seems, they had religion then,
As much as now we find in men.
It happened when a plague broke out
(Which therefore made them more devout)
The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of quadrupeds I only mean),
By proclamation gave command,
That every subject in the land
Should to the priest confess their sins;
And thus the pious wolf begins:

Good father, I must own with shame,
That, often I have been to blame:
I must confess, on Friday last,
Wretch that I was, I broke my fast:
But I defy the basest tongue
To prove I did my neighbour wrong;
Or ever went to seek my food
By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood.

The ass approaching next, confessed,
That in his heart he loved a jest:
A wag he was, he needs must own,
And could not let a dunce alone:
Sometimes his friend he would not spare,
And might perhaps be too severe:
But yet, the worst that could be said,
He was a wit both born and bred;
And, if it be a sin or shame,
Nature alone must bear the blame:
One fault he hath, is sorry for't,
His ears are half a foot too short;
Which could he to the standard bring,
He'd show his face before the king:
Then, for his voice, there's none disputes
That he's the nightingale of brutes.

The swine with contrite heart allowed,
His shape and beauty made him proud:
In diet was perhaps too nice,
But gluttony was ne'er his vice:
In every turn of life content,
And meekly took what fortune sent:
Enquire through all the parish round,
A better neighbour ne'er was found:
His vigilance might seine displease;
'Tis true, he hated sloth like pease.

The mimic ape began his chatter,
How evil tongues his life bespatter:
Much of the cens'ring world complained,
Who said his gravity was feigned:
Indeed, the strictness of his morals
Engaged him in a hundred quarrels:
He saw, and he was grieved to see't,
His zeal was sometimes indiscreet:
He found his virtues too severe
For our corrupted times to bear:
Yet, such a lewd licentious age
Might well excuse a stoic's rage.

The goat advanced with decent pace:
And first excused his youthful face;
Forgiveness begged, that he appeared
('Twas nature's fault) without a beard.
'Tis true, he was not much inclined
To fondness for the female kind;
Not, as his enemies object,
From chance or natural defect;
Not by his frigid constitution,
But through a pious resolution;
For he had made a holy vow
Of chastity, as monks do now;
Which he resolved to keep for ever hence,
As strictly, too, as doth his reverence. {5}

Apply the tale, and you shall find
How just it suits with human kind.
Some faults we own: but, can you guess?
Why?--virtue's carried to excess;
Wherewith our vanity endows us,
Though neither foe nor friend allows us.

The lawyer swears, you may rely on't,
He never squeezed a needy client:
And this he makes his constant rule,
For which his brethren call him fool;
His conscience always was so nice,
He freely gave the poor advice;
By which he lost, he may affirm,
A hundred fees last Easter term.
While others of the learned robe
Would break the patience of a Job;
No pleader at the bar could match
His diligence and quick despatch;
Ne'er kept a cause, he well may boast,
Above a term or two at most.

The cringing knave, who seeks a place
Without success, thus tells his case:
Why should he longer mince the matter?
He failed because he could not flatter:
He had not learned to turn his coat,
Nor for a party give his vote.
His crime he quickly understood;
Too zealous for the nation's good:
He found the ministers resent it,
Yet could not for his heart repent it.

The chaplain vows he cannot fawn,
Though it would raise him to the lawn:
He passed his hours among his books;
You find it in his meagre looks:
He might, if he were worldly-wise,
Preferment get, and spare his eyes:
But owned he had a stubborn spirit,
That made him trust alone in merit:
Would rise by merit to promotion;
Alas! a mere chimeric notion.

The doctor, if you will believe him,
Confessed a sin, and God forgive him:
Called up at midnight, ran to save
A blind old beggar from the grave:
But, see how Satan spreads his snares;
He quite forgot to say his prayers.
He cannot help it, for his heart,
Sometimes to act the parson's part,
Quotes from the Bible many a sentence
That moves his patients to repentance:
And, when his medicines do no good,
Supports their minds with heavenly food.
At which, however well intended,
He hears the clergy are offended;
And grown so bold behind his back,
To call him hypocrite and quack.
In his own church he keeps a seat;
Says grace before and after meat;
And calls, without affecting airs,
His household twice a day to prayers.
He shuns apothecaries' shops;
And hates to cram the sick with slops:
He scorns to make his art a trade,
Nor bribes my lady's favourite maid.
Old nurse-keepers would never hire
To recommend him to the Squire;
Which others, whom he will not name,
Have often practised to their shame.

The statesman tells you with a sneer,
His fault is to be too sincere;
And, having no sinister ends,
Is apt to disoblige his friends.
The nation's good, his Master's glory,
Without regard to Whig or Tory,
Were all the schemes he had in view;
Yet he was seconded by few:
Though some had spread a thousand lies,
'Twas he defeated the Excise.
'Twas known, though he had borne aspersion,
That standing troops were his aversion:
His practice was, in every station,
To serve the king, and please the nation.
Though hard to find in every case
The fittest man to fill a place:
His promises he ne'er forgot,
But took memorials on the spot:
His enemies, for want of charity,
Said he affected popularity:
'Tis true, the people understood,
That all he did was for their good;
Their kind affections he has tried;
No love is lost on either side.
He came to court with fortune clear,
Which now he runs out every year;
Must, at the rate that he goes on,
Inevitably be undone.
Oh! if his Majesty would please
To give him but a writ of ease,
Would grant him license to retire,
As it hath long been his desire,
By fair accounts it would be found,
He's poorer by ten thousand pound.
He owns, and hopes it is no sin,
He ne'er was partial to his kin;
He thought it base for men in stations
To crowd the court with their relations:
His country was his dearest mother,
And every virtuous man his brother:
Through modesty or awkward shame
(For which he owns himself to blame),
He found the wisest men he could,
Without respect to friends or blood;
Nor never acts on private views,
When he hath liberty to choose.

The sharper swore he hated play,
Except to pass an hour away:
And well he might; for to his cost,
By want of skill, he always lost.
He heard there was a club of cheats,
Who had contrived a thousand feats;
Could change the stock, or cog a dye,
And thus deceive the sharpest eye:
No wonder how his fortune sunk,
His brothers fleece him when he's drunk.

I own the moral not exact;
Besides, the tale is false in fact;
And so absurd, that, could I raise up
From fields Elysian, fabling AEsop;
I would accuse him to his face,
For libelling the four-foot race.
Creatures of every kind but ours
Well comprehend their natural powers;
While we, whom reason ought to sway,
Mistake our talents every day:
The ass was never known so stupid
To act the part of Tray or Cupid;
Nor leaps upon his master's lap,
There to be stroked, and fed with pap:
As AEsop would the world persuade;
He better understands his trade:
Nor comes whene'er his lady whistles,
But carries loads, and feeds on thistles;
Our author's meaning, I presume, is
A creature _bipes et implumis_;
Wherein the moralist designed
A compliment on human-kind:
For, here he owns, that now and then
Beasts may degenerate into men.




AN ARGUMENT TO PROVE THAT THE ABOLISHING OF CHRISTIANITY IN ENGLAND MAY,
AS THINGS NOW STAND, BE ATTENDED WITH SOME INCONVENIENCES, AND PERHAPS
NOT PRODUCE THOSE MANY GOOD EFFECTS PROPOSED THEREBY.


_Written in the year 1708_.

I am very sensible what a weakness and presumption it is to reason
against the general humour and disposition of the world.  I remember it
was with great justice, and a due regard to the freedom, both of the
public and the press, forbidden upon several penalties to write, or
discourse, or lay wagers against the --- even before it was confirmed by
Parliament; because that was looked upon as a design to oppose the
current of the people, which, besides the folly of it, is a manifest
breach of the fundamental law, that makes this majority of opinions the
voice of God.  In like manner, and for the very same reasons, it may
perhaps be neither safe nor prudent to argue against the abolishing of
Christianity, at a juncture when all parties seem so unanimously
determined upon the point, as we cannot but allow from their actions,
their discourses, and their writings.  However, I know not how, whether
from the affectation of singularity, or the perverseness of human nature,
but so it unhappily falls out, that I cannot be entirely of this opinion.
Nay, though I were sure an order were issued for my immediate prosecution
by the Attorney-General, I should still confess, that in the present
posture of our affairs at home or abroad, I do not yet see the absolute
necessity of extirpating the Christian religion from among us.

This perhaps may appear too great a paradox even for our wise and
paxodoxical age to endure; therefore I shall handle it with all
tenderness, and with the utmost deference to that great and profound
majority which is of another sentiment.

And yet the curious may please to observe, how much the genius of a
nation is liable to alter in half an age.  I have heard it affirmed for
certain by some very odd people, that the contrary opinion was even in
their memories as much in vogue as the other is now; and that a project
for the abolishing of Christianity would then have appeared as singular,
and been thought as absurd, as it would be at this time to write or
discourse in its defence.

Therefore I freely own, that all appearances are against me.  The system
of the Gospel, after the fate of other systems, is generally antiquated
and exploded, and the mass or body of the common people, among whom it
seems to have had its latest credit, are now grown as much ashamed of it
as their betters; opinions, like fashions, always descending from those
of quality to the middle sort, and thence to the vulgar, where at length
they are dropped and vanish.

But here I would not be mistaken, and must therefore be so bold as to
borrow a distinction from the writers on the other side, when they make a
difference betwixt nominal and real Trinitarians.  I hope no reader
imagines me so weak to stand up in the defence of real Christianity, such
as used in primitive times (if we may believe the authors of those ages)
to have an influence upon men's belief and actions.  To offer at the
restoring of that, would indeed be a wild project: it would be to dig up
foundations; to destroy at one blow all the wit, and half the learning of
the kingdom; to break the entire frame and constitution of things; to
ruin trade, extinguish arts and sciences, with the professors of them; in
short, to turn our courts, exchanges, and shops into deserts; and would
be full as absurd as the proposal of Horace, where he advises the Romans,
all in a body, to leave their city, and seek a new seat in some remote
part of the world, by way of a cure for the corruption of their manners.

Therefore I think this caution was in itself altogether unnecessary
(which I have inserted only to prevent all possibility of cavilling),
since every candid reader will easily understand my discourse to be
intended only in defence of nominal Christianity, the other having been
for some time wholly laid aside by general consent, as utterly
inconsistent with all our present schemes of wealth and power.

But why we should therefore cut off the name and title of Christians,
although the general opinion and resolution be so violent for it, I
confess I cannot (with submission) apprehend the consequence necessary.
However, since the undertakers propose such wonderful advantages to the
nation by this project, and advance many plausible objections against the
system of Christianity, I shall briefly consider the strength of both,
fairly allow them their greatest weight, and offer such answers as I
think most reasonable.  After which I will beg leave to show what
inconveniences may possibly happen by such an innovation, in the present
posture of our affairs.

First, one great advantage proposed by the abolishing of Christianity is,
that it would very much enlarge and establish liberty of conscience, that
great bulwark of our nation, and of the Protestant religion, which is
still too much limited by priestcraft, notwithstanding all the good
intentions of the legislature, as we have lately found by a severe
instance.  For it is confidently reported, that two young gentlemen of
real hopes, bright wit, and profound judgment, who, upon a thorough
examination of causes and effects, and by the mere force of natural
abilities, without the least tincture of learning, having made a
discovery that there was no God, and generously communicating their
thoughts for the good of the public, were some time ago, by an
unparalleled severity, and upon I know not what obsolete law, broke for
blasphemy.  And as it has been wisely observed, if persecution once
begins, no man alive knows how far it may reach, or where it will end.

In answer to all which, with deference to wiser judgments, I think this
rather shows the necessity of a nominal religion among us.  Great wits
love to be free with the highest objects; and if they cannot be allowed a
god to revile or renounce, they will speak evil of dignities, abuse the
government, and reflect upon the ministry, which I am sure few will deny
to be of much more pernicious consequence, according to the saying of
Tiberius, _deorum offensa diis curoe_.  As to the particular fact
related, I think it is not fair to argue from one instance, perhaps
another cannot be produced: yet (to the comfort of all those who may be
apprehensive of persecution) blasphemy we know is freely spoke a million
of times in every coffee-house and tavern, or wherever else good company
meet.  It must be allowed, indeed, that to break an English free-born
officer only for blasphemy was, to speak the gentlest of such an action,
a very high strain of absolute power.  Little can be said in excuse for
the general; perhaps he was afraid it might give offence to the allies,
among whom, for aught we know, it may be the custom of the country to
believe a God.  But if he argued, as some have done, upon a mistaken
principle, that an officer who is guilty of speaking blasphemy may, some
time or other, proceed so far as to raise a mutiny, the consequence is by
no means to be admitted: for surely the commander of an English army is
like to be but ill obeyed whose soldiers fear and reverence him as little
as they do a Deity.

It is further objected against the Gospel system that it obliges men to
the belief of things too difficult for Freethinkers, and such who have
shook off the prejudices that usually cling to a confined education.  To
which I answer, that men should be cautious how they raise objections
which reflect upon the wisdom of the nation.  Is not everybody freely
allowed to believe whatever he pleases, and to publish his belief to the
world whenever he thinks fit, especially if it serves to strengthen the
party which is in the right?  Would any indifferent foreigner, who should
read the trumpery lately written by Asgil, Tindal, Toland, Coward, and
forty more, imagine the Gospel to be our rule of faith, and to be
confirmed by Parliaments?  Does any man either believe, or say he
believes, or desire to have it thought that he says he believes, one
syllable of the matter?  And is any man worse received upon that score,
or does he find his want of nominal faith a disadvantage to him in the
pursuit of any civil or military employment?  What if there be an old
dormant statute or two against him, are they not now obsolete, to a
degree, that Empson and Dudley themselves, if they were now alive, would
find it impossible to put them in execution?

It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, in this kingdom,
above ten thousand parsons, whose revenues, added to those of my lords
the bishops, would suffice to maintain at least two hundred young
gentlemen of wit and pleasure, and free-thinking, enemies to priestcraft,
narrow principles, pedantry, and prejudices, who might be an ornament to
the court and town: and then again, so a great number of able [bodied]
divines might be a recruit to our fleet and armies.  This indeed appears
to be a consideration of some weight; but then, on the other side,
several things deserve to be considered likewise: as, first, whether it
may not be thought necessary that in certain tracts of country, like what
we call parishes, there should be one man at least of abilities to read
and write.  Then it seems a wrong computation that the revenues of the
Church throughout this island would be large enough to maintain two
hundred young gentlemen, or even half that number, after the present
refined way of living, that is, to allow each of them such a rent as, in
the modern form of speech, would make them easy.  But still there is in
this project a greater mischief behind; and we ought to beware of the
woman's folly, who killed the hen that every morning laid her a golden
egg.  For, pray what would become of the race of men in the next age, if
we had nothing to trust to beside the scrofulous consumptive production
furnished by our men of wit and pleasure, when, having squandered away
their vigour, health, and estates, they are forced, by some disagreeable
marriage, to piece up their broken fortunes, and entail rottenness and
politeness on their posterity?  Now, here are ten thousand persons
reduced, by the wise regulations of Henry VIII., to the necessity of a
low diet, and moderate exercise, who are the only great restorers of our
breed, without which the nation would in an age or two become one great
hospital.

Another advantage proposed by the abolishing of Christianity is the clear
gain of one day in seven, which is now entirely lost, and consequently
the kingdom one seventh less considerable in trade, business, and
pleasure; besides the loss to the public of so many stately structures
now in the hands of the clergy, which might be converted into
play-houses, exchanges, market-houses, common dormitories, and other
public edifices.

I hope I shall be forgiven a hard word if I call this a perfect cavil.  I
readily own there hath been an old custom, time out of mind, for people
to assemble in the churches every Sunday, and that shops are still
frequently shut, in order, as it is conceived, to preserve the memory of
that ancient practice; but how this can prove a hindrance to business or
pleasure is hard to imagine.  What if the men of pleasure are forced, one
day in the week, to game at home instead of the chocolate-house?  Are not
the taverns and coffee-houses open?  Can there be a more convenient
season for taking a dose of physic?  Is not that the chief day for
traders to sum up the accounts of the week, and for lawyers to prepare
their briefs?  But I would fain know how it can be pretended that the
churches are misapplied?  Where are more appointments and rendezvouses of
gallantry?  Where more care to appear in the foremost box, with greater
advantage of dress?  Where more meetings for business?  Where more
bargains driven of all sorts?  And where so many conveniences or
incitements to sleep?

There is one advantage greater than any of the foregoing, proposed by the
abolishing of Christianity, that it will utterly extinguish parties among
us, by removing those factious distinctions of high and low church, of
Whig and Tory, Presbyterian and Church of England, which are now so many
mutual clogs upon public proceedings, and are apt to prefer the
gratifying themselves or depressing their adversaries before the most
important interest of the State.

I confess, if it were certain that so great an advantage would redound to
the nation by this expedient, I would submit, and be silent; but will any
man say, that if the words, whoring, drinking, cheating, lying, stealing,
were, by Act of Parliament, ejected out of the English tongue and
dictionaries, we should all awake next morning chaste and temperate,
honest and just, and lovers of truth?  Is this a fair consequence?  Or if
the physicians would forbid us to pronounce the words pox, gout,
rheumatism, and stone, would that expedient serve like so many talismen
to destroy the diseases themselves?  Are party and faction rooted in
men's hearts no deeper than phrases borrowed from religion, or founded
upon no firmer principles?  And is our language so poor that we cannot
find other terms to express them?  Are envy, pride, avarice, and ambition
such ill nomenclators, that they cannot furnish appellations for their
owners?  Will not heydukes and mamalukes, mandarins and patshaws, or any
other words formed at pleasure, serve to distinguish those who are in the
ministry from others who would be in it if they could?  What, for
instance, is easier than to vary the form of speech, and instead of the
word church, make it a question in politics, whether the monument be in
danger?  Because religion was nearest at hand to furnish a few convenient
phrases, is our invention so barren we can find no other?  Suppose, for
argument sake, that the Tories favoured Margarita, the Whigs, Mrs. Tofts,
and the Trimmers, Valentini, would not Margaritians, Toftians, and
Valentinians be very tolerable marks of distinction?  The Prasini and
Veniti, two most virulent factions in Italy, began, if I remember right,
by a distinction of colours in ribbons, which we might do with as good a
grace about the dignity of the blue and the green, and serve as properly
to divide the Court, the Parliament, and the kingdom between them, as any
terms of art whatsoever, borrowed from religion.  And therefore I think
there is little force in this objection against Christianity, or prospect
of so great an advantage as is proposed in the abolishing of it.

It is again objected, as a very absurd, ridiculous custom, that a set of
men should be suffered, much less employed and hired, to bawl one day in
seven against the lawfulness of those methods most in use towards the
pursuit of greatness, riches, and pleasure, which are the constant
practice of all men alive on the other six.  But this objection is, I
think, a little unworthy so refined an age as ours.  Let us argue this
matter calmly.  I appeal to the breast of any polite Free-thinker,
whether, in the pursuit of gratifying a pre-dominant passion, he hath not
always felt a wonderful incitement, by reflecting it was a thing
forbidden; and therefore we see, in order to cultivate this test, the
wisdom of the nation hath taken special care that the ladies should be
furnished with prohibited silks, and the men with prohibited wine.  And
indeed it were to be wished that some other prohibitions were promoted,
in order to improve the pleasures of the town, which, for want of such
expedients, begin already, as I am told, to flag and grow languid, giving
way daily to cruel inroads from the spleen.

'Tis likewise proposed, as a great advantage to the public, that if we
once discard the system of the Gospel, all religion will of course be
banished for ever, and consequently along with it those grievous
prejudices of education which, under the names of conscience, honour,
justice, and the like, are so apt to disturb the peace of human minds,
and the notions whereof are so hard to be eradicated by right reason or
free-thinking, sometimes during the whole course of our lives.

Here first I observe how difficult it is to get rid of a phrase which the
world has once grown fond of, though the occasion that first produced it
be entirely taken away.  For some years past, if a man had but an ill-
favoured nose, the deep thinkers of the age would, some way or other
contrive to impute the cause to the prejudice of his education.  From
this fountain were said to be derived all our foolish notions of justice,
piety, love of our country; all our opinions of God or a future state,
heaven, hell, and the like; and there might formerly perhaps have been
some pretence for this charge.  But so effectual care hath been since
taken to remove those prejudices, by an entire change in the methods of
education, that (with honour I mention it to our polite innovators) the
young gentlemen, who are now on the scene, seem to have not the least
tincture left of those infusions, or string of those weeds, and by
consequence the reason for abolishing nominal Christianity upon that
pretext is wholly ceased.

For the rest, it may perhaps admit a controversy, whether the banishing
all notions of religion whatsoever would be inconvenient for the vulgar.
Not that I am in the least of opinion with those who hold religion to
have been the invention of politicians, to keep the lower part of the
world in awe by the fear of invisible powers; unless mankind were then
very different from what it is now; for I look upon the mass or body of
our people here in England to be as Freethinkers, that is to say, as
staunch unbelievers, as any of the highest rank.  But I conceive some
scattered notions about a superior power to be of singular use for the
common people, as furnishing excellent materials to keep children quiet
when they grow peevish, and providing topics of amusement in a tedious
winter night.

Lastly, it is proposed, as a singular advantage, that the abolishing of
Christianity will very much contribute to the uniting of Protestants, by
enlarging the terms of communion, so as to take in all sorts of
Dissenters, who are now shut out of the pale upon account of a few
ceremonies, which all sides confess to be things indifferent.  That this
alone will effectually answer the great ends of a scheme for
comprehension, by opening a large noble gate, at which all bodies may
enter; whereas the chaffering with Dissenters, and dodging about this or
t'other ceremony, is but like opening a few wickets, and leaving them at
jar, by which no more than one can get in at a time, and that not without
stooping, and sideling, and squeezing his body.

To all this I answer, that there is one darling inclination of mankind
which usually affects to be a retainer to religion, though she be neither
its parent, its godmother, nor its friend.  I mean the spirit of
opposition, that lived long before Christianity, and can easily subsist
without it.  Let us, for instance, examine wherein the opposition of
sectaries among us consists.  We shall find Christianity to have no share
in it at all.  Does the Gospel anywhere prescribe a starched, squeezed
countenance, a stiff formal gait, a singularity of manners and habit, or
any affected forms and modes of speech different from the reasonable part
of mankind?  Yet, if Christianity did not lend its name to stand in the
gap, and to employ or divert these humours, they must of necessity be
spent in contraventions to the laws of the land, and disturbance of the
public peace.  There is a portion of enthusiasm assigned to every nation,
which, if it hath not proper objects to work on, will burst out, and set
all into a flame.  If the quiet of a State can be bought by only flinging
men a few ceremonies to devour, it is a purchase no wise man would
refuse.  Let the mastiffs amuse themselves about a sheep's skin stuffed
with hay, provided it will keep them from worrying the flock.  The
institution of convents abroad seems in one point a strain of great
wisdom, there being few irregularities in human passions which may not
have recourse to vent themselves in some of those orders, which are so
many retreats for the speculative, the melancholy, the proud, the silent,
the politic, and the morose, to spend themselves, and evaporate the
noxious particles; for each of whom we in this island are forced to
provide a several sect of religion to keep them quiet; and whenever
Christianity shall be abolished, the Legislature must find some other
expedient to employ and entertain them.  For what imports it how large a
gate you open, if there will be always left a number who place a pride
and a merit in not coming in?

Having thus considered the most important objections against
Christianity, and the chief advantages proposed by the abolishing
thereof, I shall now, with equal deference and submission to wiser
judgments, as before, proceed to mention a few inconveniences that may
happen if the Gospel should be repealed, which, perhaps, the projectors
may not have sufficiently considered.

And first, I am very sensible how much the gentlemen of wit and pleasure
are apt to murmur, and be choked at the sight of so many daggle-tailed
parsons that happen to fall in their way, and offend their eyes; but at
the same time, these wise reformers do not consider what an advantage and
felicity it is for great wits to be always provided with objects of scorn
and contempt, in order to exercise and improve their talents, and divert
their spleen from falling on each other, or on themselves, especially
when all this may be done without the least imaginable danger to their
persons.

And to urge another argument of a parallel nature: if Christianity were
once abolished, how could the Freethinkers, the strong reasoners, and the
men of profound learning be able to find another subject so calculated in
all points whereon to display their abilities?  What wonderful
productions of wit should we be deprived of from those whose genius, by
continual practice, hath been wholly turned upon raillery and invectives
against religion, and would therefore never be able to shine or
distinguish themselves upon any other subject?  We are daily complaining
of the great decline of wit among as, and would we take away the
greatest, perhaps the only topic we have left?  Who would ever have
suspected Asgil for a wit, or Toland for a philosopher, if the
inexhaustible stock of Christianity had not been at hand to provide them
with materials?  What other subject through all art or nature could have
produced Tindal for a profound author, or furnished him with readers?  It
is the wise choice of the subject that alone adorns and distinguishes the
writer.  For had a hundred such pens as these been employed on the side
of religion, they would have immediately sunk into silence and oblivion.

Nor do I think it wholly groundless, or my fears altogether imaginary,
that the abolishing of Christianity may perhaps bring the Church in
danger, or at least put the Senate to the trouble of another securing
vote.  I desire I may not be mistaken; I am far from presuming to affirm
or think that the Church is in danger at present, or as things now stand;
but we know not how soon it may be so when the Christian religion is
repealed.  As plausible as this project seems, there may be a dangerous
design lurk under it.  Nothing can be more notorious than that the
Atheists, Deists, Socinians, Anti-Trinitarians, and other subdivisions of
Freethinkers, are persons of little zeal for the present ecclesiastical
establishment: their declared opinion is for repealing the sacramental
test; they are very indifferent with regard to ceremonies; nor do they
hold the _Jus Divinum_ of episcopacy: therefore they may be intended as
one politic step towards altering the constitution of the Church
established, and setting up Presbytery in the stead, which I leave to be
further considered by those at the helm.

In the last place, I think nothing can be more plain, than that by this
expedient we shall run into the evil we chiefly pretend to avoid; and
that the abolishment of the Christian religion will be the readiest
course we can take to introduce Popery.  And I am the more inclined to
this opinion because we know it has been the constant practice of the
Jesuits to send over emissaries, with instructions to personate
themselves members of the several prevailing sects amongst us.  So it is
recorded that they have at sundry times appeared in the guise of
Presbyterians, Anabaptists, Independents, and Quakers, according as any
of these were most in credit; so, since the fashion hath been taken up of
exploding religion, the Popish missionaries have not been wanting to mix
with the Freethinkers; among whom Toland, the great oracle of the Anti-
Christians, is an Irish priest, the son of an Irish priest; and the most
learned and ingenious author of a book called the "Rights of the
Christian Church," was in a proper juncture reconciled to the Romish
faith, whose true son, as appears by a hundred passages in his treatise,
he still continues.  Perhaps I could add some others to the number; but
the fact is beyond dispute, and the reasoning they proceed by is right:
for supposing Christianity to be extinguished the people will never he at
ease till they find out some other method of worship, which will as
infallibly produce superstition as this will end in Popery.

And therefore, if, notwithstanding all I have said, it still be thought
necessary to have a Bill brought in for repealing Christianity, I would
humbly offer an amendment, that instead of the word Christianity may be
put religion in general, which I conceive will much better answer all the
good ends proposed by the projectors of it.  For as long as we leave in
being a God and His Providence, with all the necessary consequences which
curious and inquisitive men will be apt to draw from such promises, we do
not strike at the root of the evil, though we should ever so effectually
annihilate the present scheme of the Gospel; for of what use is freedom
of thought if it will not produce freedom of action, which is the sole
end, how remote soever in appearance, of all objections against
Christianity? and therefore, the Freethinkers consider it as a sort of
edifice, wherein all the parts have such a mutual dependence on each
other, that if you happen to pull out one single nail, the whole fabric
must fall to the ground.  This was happily expressed by him who had heard
of a text brought for proof of the Trinity, which in an ancient
manuscript was differently read; he thereupon immediately took the hint,
and by a sudden deduction of a long Sorites, most logically concluded:
why, if it be as you say, I may safely drink on, and defy the parson.
From which, and many the like instances easy to be produced, I think
nothing can be more manifest than that the quarrel is not against any
particular points of hard digestion in the Christian system, but against
religion in general, which, by laying restraints on human nature, is
supposed the great enemy to the freedom of thought and action.

Upon the whole, if it shall still be thought for the benefit of Church
and State that Christianity be abolished, I conceive, however, it may be
more convenient to defer the execution to a time of peace, and not
venture in this conjuncture to disoblige our allies, who, as it falls
out, are all Christians, and many of them, by the prejudices of their
education, so bigoted as to place a sort of pride in the appellation.  If,
upon being rejected by them, we are to trust to an alliance with the
Turk, we shall find ourselves much deceived; for, as he is too remote,
and generally engaged in war with the Persian emperor, so his people
would be more scandalised at our infidelity than our Christian
neighbours.  For they are not only strict observers of religions worship,
but what is worse, believe a God; which is more than is required of us,
even while we preserve the name of Christians.

To conclude, whatever some may think of the great advantages to trade by
this favourite scheme, I do very much apprehend that in six months' time
after the Act is passed for the extirpation of the Gospel, the Bank and
East India stock may fall at least one per cent.  And since that is fifty
times more than ever the wisdom of our age thought fit to venture for the
preservation of Christianity, there is no reason we should be at so great
a loss merely for the sake of destroying it.




HINTS TOWARDS AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION.


I have observed few obvious subjects to have been so seldom, or at least
so slightly, handled as this; and, indeed, I know few so difficult to be
treated as it ought, nor yet upon which there seemeth so much to be said.

Most things pursued by men for the happiness of public or private life
our wit or folly have so refined, that they seldom subsist but in idea; a
true friend, a good marriage, a perfect form of government, with some
others, require so many ingredients, so good in their several kinds, and
so much niceness in mixing them, that for some thousands of years men
have despaired of reducing their schemes to perfection.  But in
conversation it is or might be otherwise; for here we are only to avoid a
multitude of errors, which, although a matter of some difficulty, may be
in every man's power, for want of which it remaineth as mere an idea as
the other.  Therefore it seemeth to me that the truest way to understand
conversation is to know the faults and errors to which it is subject, and
from thence every man to form maxims to himself whereby it may be
regulated, because it requireth few talents to which most men are not
born, or at least may not acquire without any great genius or study.  For
nature bath left every man a capacity of being agreeable, though not of
shining in company; and there are a hundred men sufficiently qualified
for both, who, by a very few faults that they might correct in half an
hour, are not so much as tolerable.

I was prompted to write my thoughts upon this subject by mere
indignation, to reflect that so useful and innocent a pleasure, so fitted
for every period and condition of life, and so much in all men's power,
should be so much neglected and abused.

And in this discourse it will be necessary to note those errors that are
obvious, as well as others which are seldomer observed, since there are
few so obvious or acknowledged into which most men, some time or other,
are not apt to run.

For instance, nothing is more generally exploded than the folly of
talking too much; yet I rarely remember to have seen five people together
where some one among them hath not been predominant in that kind, to the
great constraint and disgust of all the rest.  But among such as deal in
multitudes of words, none are comparable to the sober deliberate talker,
who proceedeth with much thought and caution, maketh his preface,
brancheth out into several digressions, findeth a hint that putteth him
in mind of another story, which he promiseth to tell you when this is
done; cometh back regularly to his subject, cannot readily call to mind
some person's name, holdeth his head, complaineth of his memory; the
whole company all this while in suspense; at length, says he, it is no
matter, and so goes on.  And, to crown the business, it perhaps proveth
at last a story the company hath heard fifty times before; or, at best,
some insipid adventure of the relater.

Another general fault in conversation is that of those who affect to talk
of themselves.  Some, without any ceremony, will run over the history of
their lives; will relate the annals of their diseases, with the several
symptoms and circumstances of them; will enumerate the hardships and
injustice they have suffered in court, in parliament, in love, or in law.
Others are more dexterous, and with great art will lie on the watch to
hook in their own praise.  They will call a witness to remember they
always foretold what would happen in such a case, but none would believe
them; they advised such a man from the beginning, and told him the
consequences just as they happened, but he would have his own way.  Others
make a vanity of telling their faults.  They are the strangest men in the
world; they cannot dissemble; they own it is a folly; they have lost
abundance of advantages by it; but, if you would give them the world,
they cannot help it; there is something in their nature that abhors
insincerity and constraint; with many other unsufferable topics of the
same altitude.

Of such mighty importance every man is to himself, and ready to think he
is so to others, without once making this easy and obvious reflection,
that his affairs can have no more weight with other men than theirs have
with him; and how little that is he is sensible enough.

Where company hath met, I often have observed two persons discover by
some accident that they were bred together at the same school or
university, after which the rest are condemned to silence, and to listen
while these two are refreshing each other's memory with the arch tricks
and passages of themselves and their comrades.

I know a great officer of the army, who will sit for some time with a
supercilious and impatient silence, full of anger and contempt for those
who are talking; at length of a sudden demand audience; decide the matter
in a short dogmatical way; then withdraw within himself again, and
vouchsafe to talk no more, until his spirits circulate again to the same
point.

There are some faults in conversation which none are so subject to as the
men of wit, nor ever so much as when they are with each other.  If they
have opened their mouths without endeavouring to say a witty thing, they
think it is so many words lost.  It is a torment to the hearers, as much
as to themselves, to see them upon the rack for invention, and in
perpetual constraint, with so little success.  They must do something
extraordinary, in order to acquit themselves, and answer their character,
else the standers by may be disappointed and be apt to think them only
like the rest of mortals.  I have known two men of wit industriously
brought together, in order to entertain the company, where they have made
a very ridiculous figure, and provided all the mirth at their own
expense.

I know a man of wit, who is never easy but where he can be allowed to
dictate and preside; he neither expecteth to be informed or entertained,
but to display his own talents.  His business is to be good company, and
not good conversation, and therefore he chooseth to frequent those who
are content to listen, and profess themselves his admirers.  And, indeed,
the worst conversation I ever remember to have heard in my life was that
at Will's coffee-house, where the wits, as they were called, used
formerly to assemble; that is to say, five or six men who had written
plays, or at least prologues, or had share in a miscellany, came thither,
and entertained one another with their trifling composures in so
important an air, as if they had been the noblest efforts of human
nature, or that the fate of kingdoms depended on them; and they were
usually attended with a humble audience of young students from the inns
of courts, or the universities, who, at due distance, listened to these
oracles, and returned home with great contempt for their law and
philosophy, their heads filled with trash under the name of politeness,
criticism, and belles lettres.

By these means the poets, for many years past, were all overrun with
pedantry.  For, as I take it, the word is not properly used; because
pedantry is the too front or unseasonable obtruding our own knowledge in
common discourse, and placing too great a value upon it; by which
definition men of the court or the army may be as guilty of pedantry as a
philosopher or a divine; and it is the same vice in women when they are
over copious upon the subject of their petticoats, or their fans, or
their china.  For which reason, although it be a piece of prudence, as
well as good manners, to put men upon talking on subjects they are best
versed in, yet that is a liberty a wise man could hardly take; because,
beside the imputation of pedantry, it is what he would never improve by.

This great town is usually provided with some player, mimic, or buffoon,
who hath a general reception at the good tables; familiar and domestic
with persons of the first quality, and usually sent for at every meeting
to divert the company, against which I have no objection.  You go there
as to a farce or a puppet-show; your business is only to laugh in season,
either out of inclination or civility, while this merry companion is
acting his part.  It is a business he hath undertaken, and we are to
suppose he is paid for his day's work.  I only quarrel when in select and
private meetings, where men of wit and learning are invited to pass an
evening, this jester should be admitted to run over his circle of tricks,
and make the whole company unfit for any other conversation, besides the
indignity of confounding men's talents at so shameful a rate.

Raillery is the finest part of conversation; but, as it is our usual
custom to counterfeit and adulterate whatever is too dear for us, so we
have done with this, and turned it all into what is generally called
repartee, or being smart; just as when an expensive fashion cometh up,
those who are not able to reach it content themselves with some paltry
imitation.  It now passeth for raillery to run a man down in discourse,
to put him out of countenance, and make him ridiculous, sometimes to
expose the defects of his person or understanding; on all which occasions
he is obliged not to be angry, to avoid the imputation of not being able
to take a jest.  It is admirable to observe one who is dexterous at this
art, singling out a weak adversary, getting the laugh on his side, and
then carrying all before him.  The French, from whom we borrow the word,
have a quite different idea of the thing, and so had we in the politer
age of our fathers.  Raillery was, to say something that at first
appeared a reproach or reflection, but, by some turn of wit unexpected
and surprising, ended always in a compliment, and to the advantage of the
person it was addressed to.  And surely one of the best rules in
conversation is, never to say a thing which any of the company can
reasonably wish we had rather left unsaid; nor can there anything be well
more contrary to the ends for which people meet together, than to part
unsatisfied with each other or themselves.

There are two faults in conversation which appear very different, yet
arise from the same root, and are equally blamable; I mean, an impatience
to interrupt others, and the uneasiness of being interrupted ourselves.
The two chief ends of conversation are, to entertain and improve those we
are among, or to receive those benefits ourselves; which whoever will
consider, cannot easily run into either of those two errors; because,
when any man speaketh in company, it is to be supposed he doth it for his
hearers' sake, and not his own; so that common discretion will teach us
not to force their attention, if they are not willing to lend it; nor, on
the other side, to interrupt him who is in possession, because that is in
the grossest manner to give the preference to our own good sense.

There are some people whose good manners will not suffer them to
interrupt you; but, what is almost as bad, will discover abundance of
impatience, and lie upon the watch until you have done, because they have
started something in their own thoughts which they long to be delivered
of.  Meantime, they are so far from regarding what passes, that their
imaginations are wholly turned upon what they have in reserve, for fear
it should slip out of their memory; and thus they confine their
invention, which might otherwise range over a hundred things full as
good, and that might be much more naturally introduced.