Dickory Cronke

Daniel Defoe

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PREFACE

The formality of a preface to this little bookmight have been very well omitted, if it werenot to gratify the curiosity of some inquisitivepeople, who, I foresee, will be apt to make ob-jections against the reality of the narrative.

Indeed the public has too often been imposedupon by fictitious stories, and some of a verylate date, so that I think myself obliged by theusual respect which is paid to candid and im-partial readers, to acquaint them, by way ofintroduction, with what they are to expect, andwhat they may depend upon, and yet with thiscaution too, that it is an indication of ill natureor ill manners, if not both, to pry into a secretthat is industriously concealed.

However, that there may be nothing wantingon my part, I do hereby assure the reader, thatthe papers from whence the following sheets

were extracted, are now in town, in the custodyof a person of unquestionable reputation, who,I will be bold to say, will not only be ready, butproud, to produce them upon a good occasion,and that I think is as much satisfaction as thenature of this case requires.

As to the performance, it can signify little nowto make an apology upon that account, anyfarther than this, that if the reader pleases hemay take notice that what he has now beforehim was collected from a large bundle of pa-pers, most of which were writ in shorthand,and very ill-digested. However, this may berelied upon, that though the language is some-thing altered, and now and then a word thrownin to help the expression, yet strict care hasbeen taken to speak the author’s mind, andkeep as close as possible to the meaning of theoriginal. For the design, I think there is nothingneed be said in vindication of that. Here is adumb philosopher introduced to a wicked and

degenerate generation, as a proper emblem ofvirtue and morality; and if the world could bepersuaded to look upon him with candour andimpartiality, and then to copy after him, theeditor has gained his end, and would thinkhimself sufficiently recompensed for his pre-sent trouble.

PART I

Among the many strange and surprising eventsthat help to fill the accounts of this last century,I know none that merit more an entire credit, orare more fit to be preserved and handed to pos-terity than those I am now going to lay beforethe public.

Dickory Cronke, the subject of the followingnarrative, was born at a little hamlet, near St.Columb, in Cornwall, on the 29th of May, 1660,being the day and year in which King Charlesthe Second was restored. His parents were of

mean extraction, but honest, industrious peo-ple, and well beloved in their neighbourhood.His father’s chief business was to work at thetin mines; his mother stayed at home to lookafter the children, of which they had severalliving at the same time. Our Dickory was theyoungest, and being but a sickly child, had al-ways a double portion of her care and tender-ness.

It was upwards of three years before it wasdiscovered that he was born dumb, the knowl-edge of which at first gave his mother greatuneasiness, but finding soon after that he hadhis hearing, and all his other senses to thegreatest perfection, her grief began to abate,and she resolved to have him brought up aswell as their circumstances and his capacitywould permit.

As he grew, notwithstanding his want ofspeech, he every day gave some instance of aready genius, and a genius much superior to

the country children, insomuch that severalgentlemen in the neighbourhood took particu-lar notice of him, and would often call him Res-toration Dick, and give him money, &c.

When he came to be eight years of age, hismother agreed with a person in the next village,to teach him to read and write, both which, in avery short time, he acquired to such perfection,especially the latter, that he not only taught hisown brothers and sisters, but likewise severalyoung men and women in the neighbourhood,which often brought him in small sums, whichhe always laid out in such necessaries as hestood most in need of.

In this state he continued till he was abouttwenty, and then he began to reflect how scan-dalous it was for a young man of his age andcircumstances to live idle at home, and so re-solves to go with his father to the mines, to tryif he could get something towards the supportof himself and the family; but being of a tender

constitution, and often sick, he soon perceivedthat sort of business was too hard for him, sowas forced to return home and continue in hisformer station; upon which he grew exceedingmelancholy, which his mother observing, shecomforted him in the best manner she could,telling him that if it should please God to takeher away, she had something left in store forhim, which would preserve him against publicwant.

This kind assurance from a mother whom he sodearly loved gave him some, though not anentire satisfaction; however, he resolves to ac-quiesce under it till Providence should ordersomething for him more to his content and ad-vantage, which, in a short time happened ac-cording to his wish. The manner was thus:—

One Mr. Owen Parry, a Welsh gentleman ofgood repute, coming from Bristol to Padstow, alittle seaport in the county of Cornwall, nearthe place where Dickory dwelt, and hearing

much of this dumb man’s perfections, wouldneeds have him sent for; and finding, by hissignificant gestures and all outward appear-ances that he much exceeded the character thatthe country gave of him, took a mighty liking tohim, insomuch that he told him, if he would gowith him into Pembrokeshire, he would bekind to him, and take care of him as long as helived.

This kind and unexpected offer was so wel-come to poor Dickory, that without any fartherconsideration, he got a pen and ink and writ anote, and in a very handsome and submissivemanner returned him thanks for his favour,assuring him he would do his best to continueand improve it; and that he would be ready towait upon him whenever he should be pleasedto command.

To shorten the account as much as possible, allthings were concluded to their mutual satisfac-tion, and in about a fortnight’s time they set

forward for Wales, where Dickory, notwith-standing his dumbness, behaved himself withso much diligence and affability, that he notonly gained the love of the family where helived, but of everybody round him.

In this station he continued till the death of hismaster, which happened about twenty yearsafterwards; in all which time, as has been con-firmed by several of the family, he was neverobserved to be any ways disguised by drinking,or to be guilty of any of the follies and irregu-larities incident to servants in gentlemen’shouses. On the contrary, when he had anyspare time, his constant custom was to retirewith some good book into a private placewithin call, and there employ himself in read-ing, and then writing down his observationsupon what he read.

After the death of his master, whose loss af-flicted him to the last degree, one Mrs. MaryMordant, a gentlewoman of great virtue and

piety, and a very good fortune, took him intoher service, and carried him with her, first toBath, and then to Bristol, where, after a linger-ing distemper, which continued for about fouryears, she died likewise.

Upon the loss of his mistress, Dickory grewagain exceeding melancholy and disconsolate;at length, reflecting that death is but a commondebt which all mortals owe to nature, and mustbe paid sooner or later, he became a little bettersatisfied, and so determines to get togetherwhat he had saved in his service, and then toreturn to his native country, and there finish hislife in privacy and retirement.

Having been, as has been mentioned, abouttwenty-four years a servant, and having, in theinterim, received two legacies, viz., one ofthirty pounds, left him by his master, and an-other of fifteen pounds by his mistress, andbeing always very frugal, he had got by him inthe whole upwards of sixty pounds. This,

thinks he, with prudent management, will beenough to support me as long as I live, and soI’ll e’en lay aside all thoughts of future busi-ness, and make the best of my way to Cornwall,and there find out some safe and solitary re-treat, where I may have liberty to meditate andmake my melancholy observations upon theseveral occurrences of human life.

This resolution prevailed so far, that no timewas let slip to get everything in readiness to gowith the first ship. As to his money, he alwayskept that locked up by him, unless he some-times lent it to a friend without interest, for hehad a mortal hatred to all sorts of usury or ex-tortion. His books, of which he had a consider-able quantity, and some of them very goodones, together with his other equipage, he gotpacked up, that nothing might be wantingagainst the first opportunity.

In a few days he heard of a vessel bound toPadstow, the very port he wished to go to, be-

ing within four or five miles of the place wherehe was born. When he came thither, which wasin less than a week, his first business was toinquire after the state of his family. It wassome time before he could get any informationof them, until an old man that knew his fatherand mother, and remembered they had a sonwas born dumb, recollected him, and after agreat deal of difficulty, made him understandthat all his family except his youngest sisterwere dead, and that she was a widow, andlived at a little town called St. Helen’s, aboutten miles farther in the country.

This doleful news, we must imagine, must beextremely shocking, and add a new sting to hisformer affliction; and here it was that he beganto exercise the philosopher, and to demonstratehimself both a wise and a good man. All thesethings, thinks he, are the will of Providence,and must not be disputed; and so he bore upunder them with an entire resignation, resolv-

ing that, as soon as he could find a place wherehe might deposit his trunk and boxes withsafety, he would go to St. Helen’s in quest ofhis sister.

How his sister and he met, and how trans-ported they were to see each other after so longan interval, I think is not very material. It isenough for the present purpose that Dickorysoon recollected his sister, and she him; andafter a great many endearing tokens of love andtenderness, he wrote to her, telling her that hebelieved Providence had bestowed on him asmuch as would support him as long as helived, and that if she thought proper he wouldcome and spend the remainder of his days withher.

The good woman no sooner read his proposalthan she accepted it, adding, withal, that shecould wish her entertainment was better; but ifhe would accept of it as it was, she would doher best to make everything easy, and that he

should be welcome upon his own terms, to staywith her as long as he pleased.

This affair being so happily settled to his fullsatisfaction, he returns to Padstow to fetch thethings he had left behind him, and the next daycame back to St. Helen’s, where, according tohis own proposal, he continued to the day ofhis death, which happened upon the 29th ofMay, 1718, about the same hour in which hewas born.

Having thus given a short detail of the severalperiods of his life, extracted chiefly from thepapers which he left behind him, I come in thenext place to make a few observations how hemanaged himself and spent his time toward thelatter part of it.

His constant practice, both winter and summer,was to rise and set with the sun; and if theweather would permit, he never failed to walkin some unfrequented place, for three hours,

both morning and evening, and there it is sup-posed he composed the following meditations.The chief part of his sustenance was milk, witha little bread boiled in it, of which in the morn-ing, after his walk, he would eat the quantity ofa pint, and sometimes more. Dinners he nevereat any; and at night he would only have apretty large piece of bread, and drink a draughtof good spring water; and after this method helived during the whole time he was at St.Helen’s. It is observed of him that he neverslept out of a bed, nor never lay awake in one;which I take to be an argument, not only of astrong and healthful constitution, but of a mindcomposed and calm, and entirely free from theordinary disturbances of human life. He nevergave the least signs of complaint or dissatisfac-tion at anything, unless it was when he heardthe tinners swear, or saw them drunk; andthen, too, he would get out of the way as soonas he had let them see, by some significantsigns, how scandalous and ridiculous they

made themselves; and against the next time hemet them, would be sure to have a paper readywritten, wherein he would represent the follyof drunkenness, and the dangerous conse-quences that generally attended it.

Idleness was his utter aversion, and if at anytime he had finished the business of the day,and was grown weary of reading and writing,in which he daily spent six hours at least, hewould certainly find something either withindoors or without, to employ himself.

Much might be said both with regard to thewise and regular management, and the prudentmethods he took to spend his time well to-wards the declension of his life; but, as his his-tory may perhaps be shortly published at largeby a better hand, I shall only observe in thegeneral, that he was a person of great wisdomand sagacity. He understood nature beyondthe ordinary capacity, and, if he had had acompetency of learning suitable to his genius,

neither this nor the former ages would haveproduced a better philosopher or a greaterman.

I come next to speak of the manner of his deathand the consequences thereof, which are, in-deed, very surprising, and, perhaps, not alto-gether unworthy a general observation. I shallrelate them as briefly as I can, and leave everyone to believe or disbelieve as he thinks proper.

Upon the 26th of May, 1718, according to hisusual method, about four in the afternoon, hewent out to take his evening walk; but beforehe could reach the place he intended, he wassiezed with an apoplectic fit, which only gavehim liberty to sit down under a tree, where, inan instant, he was deprived of all manner ofsense and motion, and so he continued, as ap-pears by his own confession afterwards, formore than fourteen hours.

His sister, who knew how exact he was in allhis methods, finding him stay a considerabletime beyond the usual hour, concludes thatsome misfortune must needs have happened tohim, or he would certainly have been at homebefore. In short, she went immediately to allthe places he was wont to frequent, but nothingcould be heard or seen of him till the next mor-ning, when a young man, as he was going towork, discovered him, and went home and toldhis sister that her brother lay in such a place,under a tree, and, as he believed had been rob-bed and murdered.

The poor woman, who had all night been un-der the most dreadful apprehensions, was nowfrightened and confounded to the last degree.However, recollecting herself, and findingthere was no remedy, she got two or three ofher neighbours to bear her company, and sohastened with the young man to the tree, where

she found her brother lying in the same posturethat he had described.

The dismal object at first view startled and sur-prised everybody present, and filled them fullof different notions and conjectures. But someof the company going nearer to him, and find-ing that he had lost nothing, and that therewere no marks of any violence to be discoveredabout him, they conclude that it must be anapoplectic or some other sudden fit that hadsurprised him in his walk, upon which his sis-ter and the rest began to feel his hands andface, and observing that he was still warm, andthat there were some symptoms of life yet re-maining, they conclude that the best way wasto carry him home to bed, which was accord-ingly done with the utmost expedition.

When they had got him into the bed, nothingwas omitted that they could think of to bringhim to himself, but still he continued utterlyinsensible for about six hours. At the sixth

hour’s end he began to move a little, and in avery short time was so far recovered, to thegreat astonishment of everybody about him,that he was able to look up, and to make a signto his sister to bring him a cup of water.

After he had drunk the water he soon per-ceived that all his faculties were returned totheir former stations, and though his strengthwas very much abated by the length and rigourof the fit, yet his intellects were as strong andvigorous as ever.

His sister observing him to look earnestly uponthe company, as if he had something extraordi-nary to communicate to them, fetched him apen and ink and a sheet of paper, which, after ashort pause, he took, and wrote as follows:—

“Dear sister,

“I have now no need of pen, ink, and paper, totell you my meaning. I find the strings that

bound up my tongue, and hindered me fromspeaking, are unloosed, and I have words toexpress myself as freely and distinctly as anyother person. From whence this strange andunexpected event should proceed, I must notpretend to say, any farther than this, that it isdoubtless the hand of Providence that has doneit, and in that I ought to acquiesce. Pray let mebe alone for two or three hours, that I may be atliberty to compose myself, and put mythoughts in the best order I can before I leavethem behind me.”

The poor woman, though extremely startled atwhat her brother had written, yet took care toconceal it from the neighbours, who, she knew,as well as she, must be mightily surprised at athing so utterly unexpected. Says she, my brot-her desires to be alone; I believe he may havesomething in his mind that disturbs him. Uponwhich the neighbours took their leave and re-

turned home, and his sister shut the door, andleft him alone to his private contemplations.

After the company were withdrawn he fell intoa sound sleep, which lasted from two till six,and his sister, being apprehensive of the returnof his fit, came to the bedside, and, askingsoftly if he wanted anything, he turned about toher and spoke to this effect: Dear sister, you seeme not only recovered out of a terrible fit, butlikewise that I have the liberty of speech, ablessing that I have been deprived of almostsixty years, and I am satisfied you are sincerelyjoyful to find me in the state I now am in; but,alas! it is but a mistaken kindness. These arethings but of short duration, and if they were tocontinue for a hundred years longer, I can’t seehow I should be anyways the better.

I know the world too well to be fond of it, andam fully satisfied that the difference between along and a short life is insignificant, especiallywhen I consider the accidents and company I

am to encounter. Do but look seriously andimpartially upon the astonishing notion of timeand eternity, what an immense deal has run outalready, and how infinite it is still in the future;do but seriously and deliberately consider this,and you will find, upon the whole, that threedays and three ages of life come much to thesame measure and reckoning.

As soon as he had ended his discourse uponthe vanity and uncertainty of human life, helooked steadfastly upon her. Sister, says he, Iconjure you not to be disturbed at what I amgoing to tell you, which you will undoubtedlyfind to be true in every particular. I perceivemy glass is run, and I have now no more to doin this world but to take my leave of it; for to-morrow about this time my speech will beagain taken from me, and, in a short time, myfit will return; and the next day, which I under-stand is the day on which I came into this trou-blesome world, I shall exchange it for another,

where, for the future, I shall for ever be freefrom all manner of sin and sufferings.

The good woman would have made him a re-ply, but he prevented her by telling her he hadno time to hearken to unnecessary complaintsor animadversions. I have a great many thingsin my mind, says he, that require a speedy andserious consideration. The time I have to stayis but short, and I have a great deal of impor-tant business to do in it. Time and death areboth in my view, and seem both to call aloud tome to make no delay. I beg of you, therefore,not to disquiet yourself or me. What must be,must be. The decrees of Providence are eternaland unalterable; why, then, should we tormentourselves about that which we cannot remedy?

I must confess, my dear sister, I owe you manyobligations for your exemplary fondness to me,and do solemnly assure you I shall retain thesense of them to the last moment. All that Ihave to request of you is, that I may be alone

for this night. I have it in my thoughts to leavesome short observations behind me, and like-wise to discover some things of great weightwhich have been revealed to me, which mayperhaps be of some use hereafter to you andyour friends. What credit they may meet with Icannot say, but depend the consequence, ac-cording to their respective periods, will accountfor them, and vindicate them against the sup-position of falsity and mere suggestion.

Upon this, his sister left him till about four inthe morning, when coming to his bedside toknow if he wanted anything, and how he hadrested, he made her this answer; I have beentaking a cursory view of my life, and though Ifind myself exceedingly deficient in severalparticulars, yet I bless God I cannot find I haveany just grounds to suspect my pardon. Inshort, says he, I have spent this night with moreinward pleasure and true satisfaction than ever

I spent a night through the whole course of mylife.

After he had concluded what he had to sayupon the satisfaction that attended an innocentand well-spent life, and observed what amighty consolation it was to persons, not onlyunder the apprehension, but even in the veryagonies of death itself, he desired her to bringhim his usual cup of water, and then to helphim on with his clothes, that he might sit up,and so be in a better posture to take his leave ofher and her friends.

When she had taken him up, and placed him ata table where he usually sat, he desired her tobring him his box of papers, and after he hadcollected those he intended should be pre-served, he ordered her to bring a candle, thathe might see the rest burnt. The good womanseemed at first to oppose the burning of hispapers, till he told her they were only uselesstrifles, some unfinished observations which he

had made in his youthful days, and were not fitto be seen by her, or anybody that should comeafter him.

After he had seen his papers burnt, and placedthe rest in their proper order, and had likewisesettled all his other affairs, which was only fitto be done between himself and his sister, hedesired her to call two or three of the mostreputable neighbours, not only to be witnessesof his will, but likewise to hear what he hadfarther to communicate before the return of hisfit, which he expected very speedily.

His sister, who had beforehand acquainted twoor three of her confidants with all that had hap-pened, was very much rejoiced to hear her brot-her make so unexpected a concession; and ac-cordingly, without any delay or hesitation,went directly into the neighbourhood, andbrought home her two select friends, uponwhose secrecy and sincerity she knew shemight depend upon all accounts.

In her absence he felt several symptoms of theapproach of his fit, which made him a littleuneasy, lest it should entirely seize him beforehe had perfected his will, but that apprehensionwas quickly removed by her speedy return.After she had introduced her friends into hischamber, he proceeded to express himself inthe following manner; Dear sister, you now seeyour brother upon the brink of eternity; and asthe words of dying persons are commonly themost regarded, and make deepest impressions,I cannot suspect but you will suffer the few Iam about to say to have always some place inyour thoughts, that they may be ready for youto make use of upon any occasion.

Do not be fond of anything on this side of eter-nity, or suffer your interest to incline you tobreak your word, quit your modesty, or to doanything that will not bear the light, and lookthe world in the face. For be assured of this; theperson that values the virtue of his mind and

the dignity of his reason, is always easy andwell fortified both against death and misfor-tune, and is perfectly indifferent about thelength or shortness of his life. Such a one issolicitous about nothing but his own conduct,and for fear he should be deficient in the dutiesof religion, and the respective functions of rea-son and prudence.

Always go the nearest way to work. Now, thenearest way through all the business of humanlife, are the paths of religion and honesty, andkeeping those as directly as you can, you avoidall the dangerous precipices that often lie in theroad, and sometimes block up the passage en-tirely.

Remember that life was but lent at first, andthat the remainder is more than you have rea-son to expect, and consequently ought to bemanaged with more than ordinary diligence. Awise man spends every day as if it were his

last; his hourglass is always in his hand, and heis never guilty of sluggishness or insincerity.

He was about to proceed, when a suddensymptom of the return of his fit put him inmind that it was time to get his will witnessed,which was no sooner done but he took it upand gave it to his sister, telling her that thoughall he had was hers of right, yet he thought itproper, to prevent even a possibility of a dis-pute, to write down his mind in the nature of awill, wherein I have given you, says he, thelittle that I have left, except my books and pa-pers, which, as soon as I am dead, I desire maybe delivered to Mr. Anthony Barlow, a nearrelation of my worthy master, Mr. Owen Parry.

This Mr. Anthony Barlow was an old contem-plative Welsh gentleman, who, being undersome difficulties in his own country, wasforced to come into Cornwall and take sanctu-ary among the tinners. Dickory, though hekept himself as retired as possible, happened to

meet him one day upon his walks, and pres-ently remembered that he was the very personthat used frequently to come to visit his masterwhile he lived in Pembrokeshire, and so wentto him, and by signs made him understandwho he was.

The old gentleman, though at first surprised atthis unexpected interview, soon recollected thathe had formerly seen at Mr. Parry’s a dumbman, whom they used to call the dumb phi-losopher, so concludes immediately that conse-quently this must be he. In short, they soonmade themselves known to each other; andfrom that time contracted a strict friendshipand a correspondence by letters, which for thefuture they mutually managed with the great-est exactness and familiarity.

But to leave this as a matter not much material,and to return to our narrative. By this timeDickory’s speech began to falter, which his sis-ter observing, put him in mind that he would

do well to make some declaration of his faithand principles of religion, because some reflec-tions had been made upon him upon the ac-count of his neglect, or rather his refusal, toappear at any place of public worship.

“Dear sister,” says he, “you observe very well,and I wish the continuance of my speech for afew moments, that I might make an ample dec-laration upon that account. But I find that can-not be; my speech is leaving me so fast that Ican only tell you that I have always lived, andnow die, an unworthy member of the ancientcatholic and apostolic church; and as to myfaith and principles, I refer you to my papers,which, I hope, will in some measure vindicateme against the reflections you mention.”

He had hardly finished his discourse to his sis-ter and her two friends, and given some shortdirections relating to his burial, but his speechleft him; and what makes the thing the moreremarkable, it went away, in all appearance,

without giving him any sort of pain or uneasi-ness.

When he perceived that his speech was entirelyvanished, and that he was again in his originalstate of dumbness, he took his pen as formerlyand wrote to his sister, signifying that whereasthe sudden loss of his speech had deprived himof the opportunity to speak to her and herfriends what he intended, he would leave it forthem in writing, and so desired he might not bedisturbed till the return of his fit, which he ex-pected in six hours at farthest. According to hisdesire they all left him, and then, with the grea-test resignation imaginable, he wrote down themeditations following:

PART II

An Abstract of his Faith, and the Principles ofhis Religion &c., which begins thus:

Dear Sister; I thank you for putting me in mindto make a declaration of my faith, and the prin-ciples of my religion. I find, as you very wellobserve, I have been under some reflectionsupon that account, and therefore I think ithighly requisite that I set that matter right inthe first place. To begin, therefore, with myfaith, in which I intend to be as short and ascomprehensive as I can:

1. I most firmly believe that it was the eternalwill of God, and the result of his infinite wis-dom, to create a world, and for the glory of hismajesty to make several sorts of creatures inorder and degree one after another; that is tosay, angels, or pure immortal spirits; men, con-sisting of immortal spirits and matter, havingrational and sensitive souls; brutes, havingmortal and sensitive souls; and mere vegeta-tives, such as trees, plants, &c.; and these crea-tures so made do, as it were, clasp the higherand lower world together.

2. I believe the holy Scriptures, and everythingtherein contained, to be the pure and essentialword of God; and that, according to these sa-cred writings, man, the lord and prince of thecreation, by his disobedience in Paradise, for-feited his innocence and the dignity of his na-ture, and subjected himself and all his posterityto sin and misery.

3. I believe and am fully and entirely satisfied,that God the Father, out of his infinite goodnessand compassion to mankind, was pleased tosend his only Son, the second person in theholy and undivided Trinity, to meditate forhim, and to procure his redemption and eternalsalvation.

4. I believe that God the Son, out of his infinitelove, and for the glory of the Deity, was pleasedvoluntarily and freely to descend from heaven,and to take our nature upon him, and to leadan exemplary life of purity, holiness, and per-fect obedience, and at last to suffer an igno-

minious death upon the cross, for the sins ofthe whole world, and to rise again the third dayfor our justification.

5. I believe that the Holy Ghost out of his infi-nite goodness was pleased to undertake theoffice of sanctifying us with his divine grace,and thereby assisting us with faith to believe,will to desire, and power to do all those thingsthat are required of us in this world, in order toentitle us to the blessings of just men made per-fect in the world to come.

6. I believe that these three persons are of equalpower, majesty, and duration, and that theGodhead of the Father, of the Son, and of theHoly Ghost is all one, and that they are equallyuncreate, incomprehensible, eternal, and al-mighty; and that none is greater or less than theother, but that every one hath one and the samedivine nature and perfections.

These, sister, are the doctrines which have beenreceived and practised by the best men of everyage, from the beginning of the Christian relig-ion to this day, and it is upon this I ground myfaith and hopes of salvation, not doubting but,if my life and practice have been answerable tothem, that I shall be quickly translated out ofthis kingdom of darkness, out of this world ofsorrow, vexation and confusion, into thatblessed kingdom, where I shall cease to grieveand to suffer, and shall be happy to all eternity.

As to my principles in religion, to be as brief asI can, I declare myself to be a member ofChrist’s church, which I take to be a universalsociety of all Christian people, distributed un-der lawful governors and pastors into particu-lar churches, holding communion with eachother in all the essentials of the Christian faith,worship, and discipline; and among these Ilook upon the Church of England to be thechief and best constituted.

The Church of England is doubtless the greatbulwark of the ancient Catholic or Apostolicfaith all over the world; a church that has all thespiritual advantages that the nature of a churchis capable of. From the doctrine and principlesof the Church of England, we are taught loyaltyto our prince, fidelity to our country, and jus-tice to all mankind; and therefore, as I lookupon this to be one of the most excellentbranches of the Church Universal, and stands,as it were, between superstition and hypocrisy,I therefore declare, for the satisfaction of youand your friends, as I have always lived so Inow die, a true and sincere, though a most un-worthy member of it. And as to my discon-tinuance of my attendance at the public wor-ship, I refer you to my papers, which I have leftwith my worthy friend, Mr. Barlow. And thus,my dear sister, I have given you a short accountof my faith, and the principles of my religion. Icome, in the next place, to lay before you a fewmeditations and observations I have at several

times collected together, more particularlythose since my retirement to St. Helen’s.

Meditations and Observations relating tothe Conduct of Human Life in general.

1. Remember how often you have neglectedthe great duties of religion and virtue, andslighted the opportunities that Providence hasput into your hands; and, withal, that you havea set period assigned you for the managementof the affairs of human life; and then reflectseriously that, unless you resolve immediatelyto improve the little remains, the whole mustnecessarily slip away insensibly, and then youare lost beyond recovery.

2. Let an unaffected gravity, freedom, justice,and sincerity shine through all your actions,and let no fancies and chimeras give the leastcheck to those excellent qualities. This is aneasy task, if you will but suppose everythingyou do to be your last, and if you can keep your

passions and appetites from crossing your rea-son. Stand clear of rashness, and have nothingof insincerity or self-love to infect you.

3. Manage all your thoughts and actions withsuch prudence and circumspection as if youwere sensible you were just going to step intothe grave. A little thinking will show a man thevanity and uncertainty of all sublunary things,and enable him to examine maturely the man-ner of dying; which, if duly abstracted from theterror of the idea, will appear nothing morethan an unavoidable appendix of life itself, anda pure natural action.

4. Consider that ill-usage from some sort ofpeople is in a manner necessary, and thereforedo not be disquieted about it, but rather con-clude that you and your enemy are both march-ing off the stage together, and that in a littletime your very memories will be extinguished.

5. Among your principal observations uponhuman life, let it be always one to take noticewhat a great deal both of time and ease thatman gains who is not troubled with the spirit ofcuriosity, who lets his neighbours’ affairs alone,and confines his inspections to himself, andonly takes care of honesty and a good con-science.

6. If you would live at your ease, and as muchas possible be free from the incumbrances oflife, manage but a few things at once, and letthose, too, be such as are absolutely necessary.By this rule you will draw the bulk of your bu-siness into a narrow compass, and have thedouble pleasure of making your actions good,and few into the bargain.

7. He that torments himself because things donot happen just as he would have them, is but asort of ulcer in the world; and he that is selfish,narrow-souled, and sets up for a separate inter-

est, is a kind of voluntary outlaw, and disin-corporates himself from mankind.

8. Never think anything below you which rea-son and your own circumstances require, andnever suffer yourself to be deterred by the ill-grounded notions of censure and reproach; butwhen honesty and conscience prompt you tosay or do anything, do it boldly; never balkyour resolution or start at the consequence.

9. If a man does me an injury, what is that tome? It is his own action, and let him accountfor it. As for me, I am in my proper station,and only doing the business that Providencehas allotted; and withal, I ought to considerthat the best way to revenge, is not to imitatethe injury.

10. When you happen to be ruffled and put outof humour by any cross accident, retire imme-diately into your reason, and do not suffer yourpassion to overrule you a moment; for the soo-

ner you recover yourself now, the better youwill be able to guard yourself for the future.

11. Do not be like those ill-natured people that,though they do not love to give a good word totheir contemporaries, yet are mighty fond oftheir own commendations. This argues a per-verse and unjust temper, and often exposes theauthors to scorn and contempt.

12. If any one convinces you of an error, chan-ge your opinion and thank him for it: truth andinformation are your business, and can neverhurt anybody. On the contrary, he that isproud and stubborn, and wilfully continues ina mistake, it is he that receives the mischief.

13. Because you see a thing difficult, do notinstantly conclude it to be impossible to masterit. Diligence and industry are seldom de-feated. Look, therefore, narrowly into the thingitself, and what you observe proper and practi-

cable in another, conclude likewise within yourown power.

14. The principal business of human life is runthrough within the short compass of twenty-four hours; and when you have taken a delib-erate view of the present age, you have seen asmuch as if you had begun with the world, therest being nothing else but an endless round ofthe same thing over and over again.

15. Bring your will to your fate, and suit yourmind to your circumstances. Love your friendsand forgive your enemies, and do justice to allmankind, and you will be secure to make yourpassage easy, and enjoy most of the comfortshuman life is capable to afford you.

16. When you have a mind to entertain your-self in your retirements, let it be with the goodqualifications of your friends and acquaint-ance. Think with pleasure and satisfactionupon the honour and bravery of one, the mod-

esty of another, the generosity of a third, and soon; there being nothing more pleasant and di-verting than the lively images and the advan-tages of those we love and converse with.

17. As nothing can deprive you of the privi-leges of your nature, or compel you to actcounter to your reason, so nothing can happento you but what comes from Providence, andconsists with the interest of the universe.

18. Let people’s tongues and actions be whatthey will, your business is to have honour andhonesty in your view. Let them rail, revile,censure, and condemn, or make you the subjectof their scorn and ridicule, what does it all sig-nify? You have one certain remedy against alltheir malice and folly, and that is, to live so thatnobody shall believe them.

19. Alas, poor mortals! did we rightly considerour own state and condition, we should find itwould not be long before we have forgot all the

world, and to be even, that all the world willhave forgot us likewise.

20. He that would recommend himself to thepublic, let him do it by the candour and mod-esty of his behaviour, and by a generous indif-ference to external advantages. Let him lovemankind, and resign to Providence, and thenhis works will follow him, and his good actionswill praise him in the gate.

21. When you hear a discourse, let your under-standing, as far as possible, keep pace with it,and lead you forward to those things which fallmost within the compass of your own observa-tions.

22. When vice and treachery shall be re-warded, and virtue and ability slighted anddiscountenanced; when ministers of state shallrather fear man than God, and to screen them-selves run into parties and factions; when noiseand clamour, and scandalous reports shall

carry everything before them, it is natural toconclude that a nation in such a state of infatua-tion stands upon the brink of destruction, andwithout the intervention of some unforeseenaccident, must be inevitably ruined.

23. When a prince is guarded by wise and hon-est men, and when all public officers are sure tobe rewarded if they do well, and punished ifthey do evil, the consequence is plain; justiceand honesty will flourish, and men will be al-ways contriving, not for themselves, but for thehonour and interest of their king and country.

24. Wicked men may sometimes go unpun-ished in this world, but wicked nations neverdo; because this world is the only place of pun-ishment of wicked nations, though not for pri-vate and particular persons.

25. An administration that is merely foundedupon human policy must be always subject tohuman chance; but that which is founded on

the divine wisdom can no more miscarry thanthe government of heaven. To govern by par-ties and factions is the advice of an atheist, andsets up a government by the spirit of Satan. Insuch a government the prince can never be se-cure under the greatest promises, since, asmen’s interest changes, so will their duty andaffections likewise.

26. It is a very ancient observation, and a verytrue one, that people generally despise wherethey flatter, and cringe to those they design tobetray; so that truth and ceremony are, andalways will be, two distinct things.

27. When you find your friend in an error, un-deceive him with secrecy and civility, and lethim see his oversight first by hints and glances;and if you cannot convince him, leave him withrespect, and lay the fault upon your own man-agement.

28. When you are under the greatest vexations,then consider that human life lasts but for amoment; and do not forget but that you are likethe rest of the world, and faulty yourself inmany instances; and withal, remember thatanger and impatience often prove more mis-chievous than the provocation.

29. Gentleness and good humour are invinci-ble, provided they are without hypocrisy anddesign; they disarm the most barbarous andsavage tempers, and make even maliceashamed of itself.

30. In all the actions of life let it be your firstand principal care to guard against anger onthe one hand, and flattery on the other, for theyare both unserviceable qualities, and do a greatdeal of mischief in the government of humanlife.

31. When a man turns knave or libertine, andgives way to fear, jealousy, and fits of the

spleen; when his mind complains of his for-tune, and he quits the station in which Provi-dence has placed him, he acts perfectly counterto humanity, deserts his own nature, and, as itwere, runs away from himself.

32. Be not heavy in business, disturbed in con-versation, nor impertinent in your thoughts.Let your judgment be right, your actionsfriendly, and your mind contented; let themcurse you, threaten you, or despise you; letthem go on; they can never injure your reasonor your virtue, and then all the rest that theycan do to you signifies nothing.

33. The only pleasure of human life is doingthe business of the creation; and which way isthat to be compassed very easily? Most cer-tainly by the practice of general kindness, byrejecting the importunity of our senses, by dis-tinguishing truth from falsehood, and by con-templating the works of the Almighty.

34. Be sure to mind that which lies before you,whether it be thought, word, or action; andnever postpone an opportunity, or make virtuewait for you till to-morrow.

35. Whatever tends neither to the improvementof your reason nor the benefit of society, thinkit below you; and when you have done anyconsiderable service to mankind, do not lessenit by your folly in gaping after reputation andrequital.

36. When you find yourself sleepy in a morn-ing, rouse yourself, and consider that you areborn to business, and that in doing good inyour generation, you answer your characterand act like a man; whereas sleep and idlenessdo but degrade you, and sink you down to abrute.

37. A mind that has nothing of hope, or fear, oraversion, or desire, to weaken and disturb it, isthe most impregnable security. Hither we may

with safety retire and defy our enemies; and hethat sees not this advantage must be extremelyignorant, and he that forgets it unhappy.

38. Do not disturb yourself about the faults ofother people, but let everybody’s crimes be attheir own door. Have always this great maximin your remembrance, that to play the knave isto rebel against religion; all sorts of injusticebeing no less than high treason against Heavenitself.

39. Do not contemn death, but meet it with adecent and religious fortitude, and look upon itas one of those things which Providence hasordered. If you want a cordial to make the ap-prehensions of dying go down a little the moreeasily, consider what sort of world and whatsort of company you will part with. To con-clude, do but look seriously into the world, andthere you will see multitudes of people prepar-ing for funerals, and mourning for their friendsand acquaintances; and look out again a little

afterwards, and you will see others doing thevery same thing for them.

40. In short, men are but poor transitorythings. To-day they are busy and harassedwith the affairs of human life; and to-morrowlife itself is taken from them, and they are re-turned to their original dust and ashes.

PART III

Containing prophetic observations relating tothe affairs of Europe and of Great Britain, moreparticularly from 1720 to 1729.

1. In the latter end of 1720, an eminent old ladyshall bring forth five sons at a birth; the young-est shall live and grow up to maturity, but thefour eldest shall either die in the nursery, or beall carried off by one sudden and unexpectedaccident.

2. About this time a man with a double headshall arrive in Britain from the south. One ofthese heads shall deliver messages of great im-portance to the governing party, and the otherto the party that is opposite to them. The firstshall believe the monster, but the last shall dis-cover the impostor, and so happily disengagethemselves from a snare that was laid to de-stroy them and their posterity. After this thetwo heads shall unite, and the monster shallappear in his proper shape.

3. In the year 1721, a philosopher from LowerGermany shall come, first to Amsterdam inHolland, and afterwards to London. He willbring with him a world of curiosities, andamong them a pretended secret for the trans-mutation of metals. Under the umbrage of thismighty secret he shall pass upon the world forsome time; but at length he shall be detected,and proved to be nothing but an empiric and acheat, and so forced to sneak off, and leave the

people he has deluded, either to bemoan theirloss, or laugh at their own folly. N.B.—Thiswill be the last of his sect that will ever venturein this part of the world upon the same errand.

4. In this year great endeavours will be usedfor procuring a general peace, which shall be sonear a conclusion that public rejoicings shall bemade at the courts of several great potentatesupon that account; but just in the critical junc-ture, a certain neighbouring prince shall cometo a violent death, which shall occasion newwar and commotion all over Europe; but theseshall continue but for a short time, and at lastterminate in the utter destruction of the firstaggressors.

5. Towards the close of this year of mysteries, aperson that was born blind shall have his sightrestored, and shall see ravens perch upon theheads of traitors, among which the head of anotorious prelate shall stand upon the highestpole.

6. In the year 1722, there shall be a grand con-gress, and new overtures of peace offered bymost of the principal parties concerned in thewar, which shall have so good effect that a ces-sation of arms shall be agreed upon for sixmonths, which shall be kept inviolable till acertain general, either through treachery orinadvertency, shall begin hostilities before theexpiration of the term; upon which the injuredprince shall draw his sword, and throw thescabbard into the sea, vowing never to return ittill he shall obtain satisfaction for himself, anddone justice to all that were oppressed.

7. At the close of this year, a famous bridgeshall be broken down, and the water that runsunder it shall be tinctured with the blood oftwo notorious malefactors, whose unexpecteddeath shall make mighty alterations in the pre-sent state of affairs, and put a stop to the ruin ofa nation, which must otherwise have been un-avoidable.

8. 1723 begins with plots, conspiracies, andintestine commotions in several countries; norshall Great Britain itself be free from the calam-ity. These shall continue till a certain youngprince shall take the reins of government intohis own hands; and after that, a marriage shallbe proposed, and an alliance concluded be-tween two great potentates, who shall join theirforces, and endeavour, in good earnest, to setall matters upon a right foundation.

9. This year several cardinals and prelates shallbe publicly censured for heretical principles,and shall narrowly escape from being torn topieces by the common people, who still lookupon them as the grand disturbers of publictranquillity, perfect incendiaries, and the chiefpromoters of their former, present, and futurecalamities.

10. In 1724-5 there will be many treaties andnegociations, and Great Britain, particularly,will be crowded with foreign ministers and

ambassadors from remote princes and states.Trade and commerce will begin to flourish andrevive, and everything will have a comfortableprospect, until some desperadoes, assisted by amonster with many heads, shall start new diffi-culties, and put the world again into a flame;but these shall be but of short duration.

11. Before the expiration of 1725, an eagle fromthe north shall fly directly to the south, andperch upon the palace of a prince, and first un-ravel the bloody projects and designs of a wic-ked set of people, and then publicly discoverthe murder of a great king, and the intendedassassination of another greater than he.

12. In 1726, three princes will be born that willgrow up to be men, and inherit the crowns ofthree of the greatest monarchies in Europe.

13. About this time the pope will die, and aftera great many intrigues and struggles, a Spanishcardinal shall be elected, who shall decline the

dignity, and declare his marriage with a greatlady, heiress of one of the chief principalities inItaly, which may occasion new troubles in Eu-rope, if not timely prevented.

14. In 1727, new troubles shall break out in thenorth, occasioned by the sudden death of a cer-tain prince, and the avarice and ambition ofanother. Poor Poland seems to be pointed at;but the princes of the south shall enter into aconfederacy to preserve her, and shall at lengthrestore her peace, and prevent the perpetualruin of her constitution.

15. Great endeavours will be used about thistime for a comprehension in religion, sup-ported by crafty and designing men, and aparty of mistaken zealots, which they shall art-fully draw in to join with them; but as the pro-ject is ill-concerted, and will be worse managed,it will come to nothing; and soon afterwards aneffectual mode will be taken to prevent the likeattempt for the future.

16. 1728 will be a year of inquiry and retrospec-tion. Many exorbitant grants will be reas-sumed, and several persons who thought them-selves secure will be called before the senate,and compelled to disgorge what they have un-justly pillaged either from the crown or thepublic.

17. About this time a new scaffold will be erec-ted upon the confines of a certain great city,where an old count of a new extraction, thathas been of all parties and true to none, will bedoomed by his peers to make his first appear-ance. After this an old lady who has often beenexposed to danger and disgrace, and some-times brought to the very brink of destruction,will be brought to bed of three daughters atonce, which they shall call Plenty, Peace, andUnion; and these three shall live and grow uptogether, be the glory of their mother, and thecomfort of posterity for many generations.

* * * * *

This is the substance of what he either writ orextracted from his papers in the interval be-tween the loss of his speech and the return ofhis fit, which happened exactly at the time hehad computed.

Upon the approach of his fit, he made signs tobe put to bed, which was no sooner done but hewas seized with extreme agonies, which hebore up under with the greatest steadfastness,and after a severe conflict, that lasted near eighthours, he expired.

Thus lived and thus died this extraordinaryperson; a person, though of mean extractionand obscure life, yet when his character comesto be fully and truly known, it will be read withpleasure, profit, and admiration.

His perfections at large would be the work of avolume, and inconsistent with the intention ofthese papers. I will, therefore, only add, for aconclusion, that he was a man of uncommon

thought and judgment, and always kept hisappetites and inclinations within their just lim-its.

His reason was strong and manly, his under-standing sound and active, and his temper soeasy, equal, and complaisant, that he never fellout, either with men or accidents. He bore allthings with the highest affability, and com-puted justly upon their value and consequence,and then applied them to their proper uses.

A LETTER FROM OXFORD

Sir,

Being informed that you speedily intend topublish some memoirs relating to our dumbcountryman, Dickory Cronke, I send you here-with a few lines, in the nature of an elegy,which I leave you to dispose of as you think fit.I knew and admired the man; and if I were ca-

pable, his character should be the first thing Iwould attempt.

Yours. &c.AN ELEGY,

IN MEMORY OF DICKORY CRONKE,THE DUMB PHILOSOPHER.

Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille est,Qui minimus urgetur.—HORACE.

If virtuous actions emulation raise,Then this good man deserves immortal praise.When nature such extensive wisdom lent,She sure designed him for our precedent.Such great endowments in a man unknown,Declare the blessings were not all his own;But rather granted for a time to showWhat the wise hand of Providence can do.In him we may a bright example seeOf nature, justice, and morality;A mind not subject to the frowns of fate,

But calm and easy in a servile state.He always kept a guard upon his willAnd feared no harm because he knew no ill.A decent posture and an humble mien,In every action of his life were seen.Through all the different stages that he went,He still appeared both wise and diligent:Firm to his word, and punctual to his trust,Sagacious, frugal, arable, and just.No gainful views his bounded hopes couldsway,No wanton thought led his chaste soul astray.In short, his thoughts and actions both declare,Nature designed him her philosopher;That all mankind, by his example taught,Might learn to live, and manage every thought.Oh! could my muse the wondrous subjectgrace,And, from his youth, his virtuous actions trace;Could I in just and equal numbers tellHow well he lived, and how devoutly fell,

I boldly might your strict attention claim,And bid you learn, and copy out the man.

J. P.

Exeter College, August 25th, 1719.EPITAPH

The occasion of this epitaph was briefly thus:—A gentleman, who had heard much in com-mendation of this dumb man, going acciden-tally to the churchyard where he was buried,and finding his grave without a tombstone, orany manner of memorandum of his death, hepulled out his pencil, and writ as follows:—

PAUPER UBIQUE JACET.

Near to this lonely unfrequented place,Mixed with the common dust, neglected liesThe man that every muse should strive tograce,

And all the world should for his virtue prize.Stop, gentle passenger, and drop a tear,Truth, justice, wisdom, all lie buried here.

What, though he wants a monumental stone,The common pomp of every fool or knave,Those virtues which through all his actionsshoneProclaim his worth, and praise him in thegrave.His merits will a bright example give,Which shall both time and envy too outlive.

Oh, had I power but equal to my mind,A decent tomb should soon this place adorn,With this inscription: Lo, here lies confinedA wondrous man, although obscurely born;A man, though dumb, yet he was nature’s care,Who marked him out her own philosopher.