119













THE HERMIT, 
 
 OR AN ACCOUNT OF 
 
 Francis Maw Joseph Phyle^ 
 
 A NATIVE OF SWITZERLAND, 
 
 Who lived without the use oi fire for upwards 
 of twentv-two years, in a smalt cave, in the 
 midst of a wood, near Mount-Holly, in Bur- 
 lington county, New-Jersey ; and was found 
 dead therein, in the year 1780. 
 
 IN A SERIES OF LETTERS, 
 
 FROM 
 
 3{ALTUS HILTZHIMER TO MELGHOIR MILLKB. 
 
 I'iterspersed witii son»e 
 
 Observations of the jiuthoTi and Sentt' 
 
 ments of ceU brated men* 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 NEW JERSEY. 
 PUBUSHED BY JOHN ATKINSOK. 
 
 ?rliited by John Bioren, No. 88, CbcsnatfSS'^cr. 
 Phiiadeiphia, 
 
 1811. 
 


DIST&ICT OF NEW JERSEY, to wit t 
 
 ^t it ttmembt%tb» That on the twenty.first 
 day of December, in the thirty-fifth year of 
 the Independence of the United States of Ame- 
 rica, John Atkinson of the said district hath 
 deposited m this office the title of a book, the right 
 whereof he claims as author in the words follow- 
 ing, to wu : " The Hermit, or an account of Fran. 
 CIS Adam Joseph Phyle, a native of Switzerland, 
 who lived without the use of fire for upwards of 
 twenty.two years, in a small cave, in the midst of 
 a wood, near Mount-HoJly in Burlington County, 
 New-Jersey, and was found dead therein in the 
 year 1780 ; in a series of letters from Baltus Hiltz- 
 himer to Melchior Miller, interspersed with some 
 observations of the author, and sentiments of ce- 
 lebrated men." 
 
 In conformity to the act of the Congress of the 
 United States entitled « An act for the encourage- 
 ment of learning by securing the copies of maps, 
 charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors 
 of such copies during the times therein mention- 
 ed;" and also to the act intitled "An act supple- 
 mentary to an act entitled an act for the encour- 
 agement of learning by securing the copies of 
 maps, charts and books to the authors and propri- 
 etors of such copies during the times therein 
 mentioned, and by extending the benefits thereof 
 to the arts of designing, engraving and etching 
 historical aud other prints. 
 
 ROBERT BOGGS, Clerk 
 of the District of New-Jersey. 
 
 >0T 
 


/**•****% I CERTIFY the above to fee a 
 
 » ccAT i true copy of the original record. In 
 
 * * testimony whereof I have hereunto 
 
 *«*«*«*«#»* affixed the seal of the said district. 
 
 ROBERT BOGGS, Clttk. 
 





LETTER I. 
 
 Dear Friend^ 
 
 BUHMNGTON COCNTT^ 
 
 June, irso. 
 
 YOU " request an account of 
 the Mount-Holly Hermit — where he 
 came from — the time of his arri- 
 val—a description of his hermitage — • 
 the manner of his procuring suste- 
 nance — his cha7'acter, conduct, death, 
 and buriaL''^ 
 
 Living ill the neighbourhood of 
 Mount-Holly, and havmg frequently 
 seen the soHtaire who is the subiecc 
 


of your inquiries, as well in his soli- 
 tude as in his mendicant peregrina- 
 tions, I will cheerfully give you such 
 iniormation respecting him as I ixuh 
 at present in possession of, on condi- 
 tion only that you will call into exer- 
 cise all your candour and good nature 
 in excuse of the very many faults you 
 will, at the first glance, discover in 
 my communications ; indeed, I am, 
 so well aware of my deficiency in the 
 composition, that had I not the ut- 
 most reliance on your friendly par-> 
 tiahty, the gratitude I feel for all your 
 past favours, I fear^ would be scarcely 
 powerful enough to compel a com- 
 pliance with your request. Thus as» 
 sured, I shall make it my business to 
 collect, from suurcf. s which may be 
 implicitly relied o.i, si'ch anecdotes 
 concerning him as may be worth 
 


your notice, and from time to lime 
 communicate them, well assured that 
 ill thus gratifying a curiosity pro- 
 ceeding from the most laudable mo- 
 tives, I am at the same time record- 
 ing the fate of a member of the hu- 
 man family, who, however uncom- 
 monly led to retire from the busy 
 scenes of life, to despise the riches, 
 honours, and conveniences for which 
 millions of his fellow men are daily 
 risquing immortal happiness to ob- 
 tain, appeared to possess a mind cast 
 in no common mould ; a hardihood 
 of character which would have added 
 honour to many of the heroes of an- 
 tiquity, and a suavit}^ of manners 
 which no gentleman of modern times 
 would blush to own. 
 
 In the spring of 1756, the people 
 in Mount-Holly and parts adjacent. 
 


found their curiosity much awakened 
 by reports, that a stranger had taken 
 up his abode in a wood belonging to 
 Joseph Burr, on the Buriington road ; 
 that he appeared to be a middle aged 
 man, was a foreigner, was totally ig. 
 norant of the English language, and 
 was dressed in the uniform of a 
 French soldier; that he had frequent- 
 3y been seen at the neighbouring 
 farm-houses, begging victuals. The 
 people, suspecting from his frequent 
 visits that he lived somewhere near 
 them, had followed him, and found 
 that he had dug out the ground un- 
 der the side of a large tree, which had 
 been blown up by the roots, until 
 there was room enough for him to 
 creep into it. 
 
 This incident gave rise to a good 
 ^eal of speculation, but as an account 
 


thereof would be no more likcl}- 1© 
 amuse than to profit you, I will not 
 trouble you with it, but proceed to 
 relate that the stranger had been seen 
 first on the farm of Lot Ridgway, 
 about a month before, whose servants 
 going to a distant part of the farm to 
 break some stacks of hay, descried a 
 hovel composed of rails taken from 
 an adjoining fence and reared against 
 one of the stacks, over which there 
 was ha}^ thrown. Upon advancing 
 to it they found our hermit, whose 
 figure appearing extraordinary, ex- 
 cited a surprise which was equalled 
 on his part by chagrin, for it was 
 plain enough to be seen by the wag° 
 gons having the usual apparatus for 
 removing hay, that his encampment 
 was to be broken up, and that he 
 mi]st remove, which 5 after interehart- 
 


10 
 
 giiig some marks of civility with 
 them, he undertook ; but, as he knew 
 not where to go, being a stranger to 
 the country and its language, every 
 reflecting mind will suppose his situ- 
 ation was very trying; and he has 
 since said, that in his peregrinations 
 up and down in a country to whose 
 language he was a stranger, and in 
 which all his supplies were obtained 
 through signs, his adverse allotment 
 required a greater share of philoso- 
 phy than he could at all times call to 
 his aid. 
 
 It being but six miles to where he 
 took up his permanent abode, he 
 reached it the same day, and as he 
 stopped several times and made signs 
 for victuq^ls it was then noticed, as 
 indeed, it has sufliciently appeared 
 since, that he possessed great good 
 


11 
 
 breeding, and would upon receiving 
 any thing, make a low bow, and 
 always kiss his crucifix, at the 
 same time lifting up his hands and 
 eyes in apparent supplication, as if 
 calling down benedictions on the 
 heads of those who vrere administer- 
 ing to his necessities. This appear- 
 ance of gratitude and devotion would 
 cause the people to forget their pre- 
 judices (long entertained against 
 some tenets of the church he be- 
 longed to) and strong emotions of pi- 
 ty were excited for the distressed- 
 stranger ; and I rejoice that I can re- 
 cord to the honour of the people in 
 his neighbourhood, that (with a fe^v 
 exceptions which shall be noticed in 
 proper time) they have ever treated 
 our hermit with kindness and hu- 
 manity; I the more willingly do this 
 


12 
 
 it being not only a just encomium 
 on the virtue and hospitality of a peo- 
 ple among whom our hermit has al- 
 wa} s found a ready admittance, and 
 from whose tables he neve' tailed to 
 receive a plentiful supply, but that it 
 will highly gratify my friend in 
 whose composition there is so great 
 a portion of the '* Milk of human 
 kindness;" in finding that not only 
 the necessities of this poor forlorn 
 stranger were supplied, but many 
 would gladly have alleviated that load 
 of mental distress he seemed to la- 
 bour under, if it had been in their 
 power. 
 
 Tours, ^c. 
 


LET^rER IL 
 
 BUKLINGTOW COUNTV^ 
 
 June, 1780. 
 
 Dear Friend^ 
 
 The wood in which he took up 
 his abode, hadi its north side bound- 
 ed by the road leading from Mount- 
 Holly to the city of Burlington, dis- 
 tant four miles from the latter, and a 
 little more than two from the former, 
 in which is yet to be seen the tree (a 
 white oak of great dimensions) un- 
 der the south side of which he form- 
 ed his subterranean lodgment. The 
 


•14 
 
 aperture by wliich he descended, was 
 in an oblique direction for about 
 three feet and a half, when it entered 
 the body of his cave, t]ie form of 
 which was an oval, but so much cir- 
 cumscribed in its dimensions that 
 he could scarcely stretch himself at 
 length in it. This circumstance \ as 
 not known till after his death, when a 
 partial descent was absolutely neces- 
 sary to free the cave of that body 
 w hich had occupied it so long, for he 
 had spent twenty-three years there, 
 during all which time he had no use 
 of fire. 
 
 This would seem so incredible, 
 tliat I should be afraid to assert it^ 
 were there not hundreds who can at- 
 test the same. 
 
 The aperture he sliielded from the 
 rain, 8;c. by bark laid from the body 
 


of tiie tree, and which reached to a 
 pole supported by forked sticks let 
 into the ground. His spring was si- 
 tuated about forty rods from his cave 
 in a southerly direction. The con- 
 veniency of which doubtless suggest- 
 ed the idea of settling here. For al- 
 though it is a sequestered place, be- 
 ing impervious to view from the 
 road, by a thick growth of under- 
 wood, yet it is not so captivating a 
 spot as some might choose. And 
 those persons v/ho (from the fascina- 
 ting de^c^ iption in romaiitic story of 
 the neatiicss of a hermitage and the 
 deliglitfiil situation, in which all that, 
 is included in the best selected lan- 
 guage to convey ideas the most be- 
 wit chins; to imaa'ination, is called to 
 their aid,) may expect gratification of 
 a lik^ nature in mv account, they 
 


l& 
 
 will be much disappointed. For I 
 have no materials, if I was ever so ca- 
 pable and ever so much inclined to 
 embellish my account without having 
 recourse to fiction, but in detailing 
 the life of the Mount-Holly -Hermit, 
 that does not come within my plan. 
 I do not remember that the pub- 
 lic knew any thing of his reasons for 
 living in this retired way, until per- 
 haps six weeks or two months after 
 his arrival, Col. Charles Read spoke 
 to him through an old German Lin- 
 guist, and requested to know where 
 he was from, and his motive in se- 
 cluding himself from society. When 
 he gave the following short account, 
 " His name was Francis Adam 
 Joseph Phyle, that he was a native 
 of the Canton of Lucern in Switzer- 
 land, which, on account of some 
 


17 
 
 disagreeable circumstances taking 
 place, he had left, and went to France, 
 with whose troops, after some length 
 of time intervening, he had come to 
 Canada, but was, soon after his arri- 
 val, from disgust to the life of a Sol- 
 dier determined to leave them, and 
 throw himself on the mercy of his 
 enemies. That accordingly he ef- 
 fected an escape, came on southward 
 until he reached here, where he wish- 
 ed to remain." 
 
 Col. Read who was one of the 
 Judges of the Supreme Court, after 
 hearing his story \^'itliout pressing 
 him to enter into the particulars there- 
 of, told him he should have liberty 
 to reside in the wood, and recom- 
 mended him to the charity of the 
 people, saying that he appeared to 
 he labouring under great distress of 
 
 B 2 
 


18 
 
 mind, and wished he might not re- 
 ceive any alxise in the coiuatry he 
 had adopted. The Colonel ^.vas sus- 
 ceptible of very tender impressions, 
 and of course when he saw a person 
 totally a stranger to the country and 
 its language, whose behaviour be- 
 spoke him to be a man of good 
 breeding and who not only was des- 
 titute bf every of the comforts of 
 life, and strenuously persisted in re- 
 fusing pecuniary aid when ever of- 
 fered, and at the same time appear- 
 ing under a great weight of mental 
 distress, occasioned, (as he said) by 
 his sins which appeared to over- 
 v/helm hini with a deep sense of their 
 turpitude, and v/ishing to expiate 
 them in solitude, by foregoing ail the 
 enjoyments of this life. All this was 
 more than Col. Read c<3u]d behold 
 


19 
 
 witliout dropping a sympathetic tear, 
 giving place to a compassionate sigh 
 and sincerely pitying the miserable 
 stranger. His kindness tr Francis, 
 (by which name I shall fo die future 
 distinguish him,) may well be sup- 
 posed to act as a cordial to his dis- 
 tressed mind. For as he had been 
 a soldier he did not know but that 
 he should be forced into the British 
 army, who we^-e then at war with its 
 great rival power, whose mutual ani- 
 mosities have kept the world in con- 
 fusion for more than three hundred 
 years. But his fears were happily 
 relieved from all danger of again en- 
 tering into scenes, than which death 
 would have been more welcome. 
 
 After this interview between the 
 Colonel and Francis, the latter return- 
 ed with ha'st\^ step to his retreat, from 
 


20 
 
 which he had been absent on a Httle 
 excursion after provisions, and might 
 have experienced comparative hap- 
 piness had not the corroding reflec- 
 tions of his guilty breast thrown in 
 an allay. For he has since acknow- 
 ledged that his guilty fears follow- 
 ed him to his solitude. It does 
 not with certainty appear that he had 
 any other than the common failings of 
 humanity to bewail: Though in- 
 deed it was believed upon something 
 that once fell from him in conversa- 
 tioti that he had killeda man in a duel. 
 However that may be, it is enough 
 for us to know tliat in his own opi- 
 nion, his sins were of such a cast as 
 to preclude him the privilege of par- 
 taking any more of the comforts of 
 this life. And it would be well if 
 ^\'e all knew that the common failings 
 


^f mankind are sufficient to produce 
 in the ingenious mind the most poig- 
 nant grief. And many there has 
 been who have been in great distress 
 in being favoured with a true sight of 
 their condition, when their worldly 
 neighbours have thought them very 
 weak to indulge such whimsies, and 
 have laughed at their sorrows. *' But 
 they would do well to beware how 
 they ridicule, or speak' lightly of such 
 distressing perplexities ; far better 
 would it be for them that they were 
 in the same condition." 
 
 Yours, yc. 
 


LETTER 111, 
 
 BURLIN'GTON COtTNtt: 
 July, 1780. 
 
 Dear Friend, 
 
 I told you that strong convic- 
 tions pursued Francis to his solitude. 
 He had before sought to silence 
 them, by a voluptuous gratification 
 of the sensual appetites, both in his 
 own country and afterwards in France, 
 


among a people well calculated both 
 by nature and habit to contribute 
 their full quota of those blandish- 
 ments which are best adapted to stu- 
 pify the awakened mind. But he 
 found that however sedulous his own 
 endeavours joined with the seductive 
 arts of that volatile people, to lessen 
 the poignancy of his feelings, that his 
 conscience would, as in the " Cool of 
 the day," arrest his progress in the 
 emphatic language of " Man, where 
 art thou ;" when finding it to be im- 
 possible to procure peace in such a 
 way, he had at length the \ isdom to 
 flee from such a course, and endea- 
 vour to obtain it by another medium ; 
 which shews that he was favoured 
 with a proper sense of his condition. 
 And though we do entertain much 
 charity for him, in his thinking to ey - 
 


24 
 
 piate his crimes by great austerity 
 and rigid mortification, ^ve may at 
 the same time without a breach there- 
 of, withhold our beUef of there being 
 any merit attached to such vokintary 
 acts, and assert the inefficacy thereof 
 unless accompanied by a total change 
 in the mind, will and aftections, 
 which is emphatically called a new 
 birth, and without which, a victor}^ 
 over that leprosy of sin that is en- 
 twined into every fibre of the soul, 
 will not be experienced. 
 
 I think no one from what I have 
 written can mistake my meaning, 
 and infer that I have uncharitable 
 thoughts of those who have made 
 choice of the ascetic life. To cut 
 off all possible occasion for such con- 
 clusion, I will freely declare, that if I 
 had been ignorant of all those who 
 


have devoted their lives to retire- 
 ment, except Thomas A. Kenipis, 
 and Alban Butler, their writings 
 alone, would abundantly convince me 
 that a man could be truly great and 
 good, and at the same time hold 
 principles which we as protestants 
 assent not unto ; but to return. 
 
 It being now generally knovm that 
 Francis had taken up his abode in 
 the wood, he began to have visitors, 
 and as he attained some knowledge 
 of their language could discriminate 
 between those whose visits proceed- 
 ed from laudable motives, and those 
 of vacant minds led there by idle cu- 
 riosity. 
 
 To the first, whose questions were 
 .^Jways guided by humanitv, he 
 would answer with politeness, and if 
 indeed it could be said that he was 
 


26 
 
 sometimes evasive, he could not be 
 charged with a departure from that 
 good breeding which was so distin- 
 guished a trait in his character. 
 
 But to those of the latter class, 
 whose questions were, frequently im- 
 proper and sometimes insolent, he 
 would remain silent or speak in a 
 language they did not understand.. 
 And this he would do with great fa- 
 cility : For if a German would pur- 
 sue him from the German to the 
 French, he would then speak in La- 
 tin, Spanish or Italian, each of which 
 I have been told, he could pronounce 
 as well as his vernacular tongue. 
 
 There wxre others, whose ques- 
 tions, though not of the tenor of those 
 last mentioned, yet were evidently 
 not agreeable to him, as being con- 
 cerning the war just commenced. 
 


'11 
 
 ttie relative strength of the two na- 
 tions, and of the probable way it 
 would result. These things T\-ere 
 discordant to the mind of a poor 
 creature, who wished not only to 
 have nothing to do with such scenes, 
 but to forget if possible, what he had 
 heretofore known of them. 
 
 His subterranean abode, was lined 
 with cast clothes which the charity of 
 the people supplied : It w as as be- 
 foresaid so contracted in size that he 
 could not stretch himself at his 
 length, consequently was obliged to 
 lay in a curve-line, which must be 
 acknowledged to have been a very 
 disagreeable position during his long- 
 abode there, and would have dra^\ n 
 forth a greater share of our sympathy 
 if he had been precluded the privi- 
 lege of enlarging it. The clothes he 
 


28 
 
 lined it with, was continually imbib- 
 ing moisture, which rendered it ne- 
 cessary frequently to take them from 
 his lodge and spread them on the 
 bushes that it might be exhaled by 
 the rays of the sun. 
 
 When they were worn out, or for 
 the above reason had become unfit 
 for use, he found no difficulty in re- 
 placing them with others ; so that he 
 was in greater danger of suifering 
 from the heat of summer than the 
 eold of the winter. 
 
 But the unpleasantness of his situ- 
 ation during the summer nights 
 might have been remedied, if he had 
 slept above ground, under the awn- 
 ing which he had jutted from the 
 wind-fall to shield as before men- 
 tioned the mouth of his cave froai the 
 wet and which extended to some 
 


29 
 
 length along the body of thetreea 
 This indeed might have been esteem- 
 ed a luxury ; but for that very reason 
 he determined not to avail himself of 
 the advantage such a lodging present- 
 ed, but clx)se to suffer in his lodge. 
 Not indeed but that he spent a good 
 portion of his nocturnal hours above 
 ground, for his vigils were as rigid as 
 is usual with others who devote their 
 lives to retirement, but that he would 
 not indulge himself in sleeping any 
 where but in his lodgment under 
 ground. Which is but one instance 
 of a hundred that could be produced 
 in proof of his willingly denying him- 
 self all the comforts of this life, and 
 confining himself to an austerity that 
 to many may seem incredible, but is 
 nevertheless true. And those per- 
 sons w^ho were acquainted ^vith tli(? 
 


ofTers that were afterwards made hinj^ 
 which will be noticed in due time, 
 will not fail to acknowledge that his 
 retiring from tiie world, arose from a 
 full persuasion that it was his duty. 
 And it appeared evident to those with 
 whom in after years he would free- 
 ly converse, it arose not on the 
 one hand, as some weakly imagined^ 
 fi om an insuperable dislike to an ac- 
 tive life, nor on the other, fi'om an 
 apathy inherent in his nature : For 
 he had, as might be supposed from 
 his accomplishments, been bred 
 amidst the elegancies of life, knew 
 how to enjoy, and had freely partook 
 thereof. 
 
 In good weather he was always 
 seen vvalking in the path that led to 
 his spring, with great alertness, which 
 he kept very clean Idv sweeping it 
 


SI 
 
 with a bunch of twigs kept for the 
 purpose, and was rendered ver}^ hard 
 by his constant walking in it. 
 
 In this path he spent many of his 
 nocturnal hours — In what way did he 
 occupy his thoughts? In giving 
 scope to his imagination, and bring- 
 ing those gay scenes to his remem- 
 brance with M^hich the men of the 
 world are so captivated ? No, Impos- 
 sible ! that he employed his thoughts 
 in such way, unless to contrast the 
 poor gratifications such scenes yield, 
 with those pleasures he enjoyed in 
 his retirement. For here, in a clear 
 evening, when the bright expanse was 
 lighted up by all its shining lumina- 
 ries, if those scenes should, I had al- 
 most said sacrilegiously usurp a place 
 in his thoughts, he could instantljr 
 dispossess th^n by an happy recur- 
 


52 
 
 rence to that aid flowing from faith 
 which taught him that 
 
 ** The soul of man was made to walk 
 tlie skies, 
 
 Delightful outlet of her prison here ! 
 
 There, disincumbered from her 
 chains, the ties 
 
 Of toys, terrestrial, she can rove at 
 large ; 
 
 There freely can respire, dilate, ex- 
 tend, 
 
 In full proportion let loose all her 
 povv^ers."* 
 
 And in consequence thereof, his 
 pleasures were of that rational kind, 
 arising from his duly appreciating the 
 vast disparity between the grovelling 
 pleasures which are derived from 
 
 * Young. ^ 
 


sensual enjoyments, and those which 
 flow to the contemplative mmd, 
 whose thoughts are not how they may 
 acquire the means to ensure them 
 wealth or power, but the transcen- 
 clantly more rational enquiry how 
 they may obtain the " One thing 
 needful," a home beyond the skies. 
 Therefore the charitable and un- 
 prejudiced will not think it unlikely 
 his language was frequently in his 
 lonely walks quite in unison with 
 the following beautiful words of the 
 poet: 
 
 '« Father of light! and life! Thou 
 
 Good Supreme ! 
 O teach me what is good ! teach me 
 
 Thyself! 
 Save me from Folly, Vanity and Vice, 
 
 t^- 
 


u 
 
 From every low pursuit! and feed 
 
 my soul 
 With knowledge, conscious peace, 
 
 and virtue piire ; 
 Sacred, substantial, never-fading 
 
 bliss!''* 
 
 You will please to pardon me for 
 the length of my digressions, for in 
 giving a short account of poor Fran- 
 cis, I shall think if any thing should 
 occur by which there may arise a 
 hope that but an individual person 
 may receive benefit, I shall be justi- 
 fied in claiming a portion of that can-» 
 dour, which I claim as the condition 
 on which only I could consent to 
 comply with your wishes, 
 
 Yoursy yc, 
 * T|iompson 
 


LETTER IV* 
 
 BURLINGTON COUNTY, 
 
 July, 1780. 
 
 Dear Friend^ 
 
 Francis would never leave his ha« 
 bitation while he had any thing re- 
 maining in his sack, but when his 
 provisions were exhausted, he would 
 take his staff and go among his near- 
 ^'st neighbours; at another time to 
 


3^ 
 
 Mount-Holiy ; then to Burlington or 
 the surrounding villages : It would 
 seem by his conduct herein, as 
 though he thought it was most pro- 
 per to receive his supplies in rotation 
 from the people all around him, 
 thinking thereby to avoid being bur- 
 densome : But his care in that res- 
 pect, although it evinced him to be 
 a man possessing great modesty and 
 delicacy, certainly was misplaced, 
 for I never heard of his meeting with 
 any difficulty in obtaining a supply. 
 Upon his arrival at a house, he 
 would salute the people in a way that 
 at once bespoke him to be far above 
 the level of common mendicants- 
 having made them a low bovi , while 
 holding his hat in one hand would 
 lay the other on his breast, in a most 
 impressive manner, and ask them for 
 


S7 
 
 some bread in aii accent v'ery remote 
 from meanness, and widi a deport- 
 ment diat might well be called dig- 
 nified, without any mixture of pride 
 or insolence. And after receiving 
 what they pleased to give, though it 
 should be ever so indifterent, for he 
 made choice of the worst kind, think- 
 ing it the most suitable for him, 
 would then kiss their friendly hand, 
 still preserving that admirable mix- 
 ture of humility and dignity. And 
 \T-ould never forget to express some 
 short ejaculations as they were sup- 
 posed to be, being uttered in Latin, 
 and at intervals kissing his crucifix 
 which always hung on his breast sus- 
 pended from his neck by a ribbon. 
 
 A few years previous to the pre- 
 sent war, the United Brethren or (as 
 they are commonly called) Mora- 
 


S3 
 
 vialis, hearing at Bethlehem, theii 
 was such a recluse person here, the), 
 agreeable to that philanthrophy and 
 benevolence which so highly distin- 
 guish tliem as a people, thought to j 
 add to his happiness by sending a de- i 
 putation of three of the brethren to 
 invite him to remove to Bethlehem . 
 and live with them, where, he was I 
 told, he might live in his own way,^ | 
 and as retired as he pleased. But 
 they did not succeed in their mis- 
 sion : For he had fully made up his 1 
 mind on that subject, and all their 
 kind endeavours were ineffectual to 
 persuade him to relinquish his be- 
 loved retirement. And when we 
 find that to be the case, the benevo- 
 lent mind cannot help regretting that 
 such was his inflexible determina^ 
 tion ; for those who have any know^ 
 


ledge of the ''Brethren," will not 
 doubt but great exertions would 
 have been made to alleviate his dis- 
 tress, and tho&o exertions directed by- 
 good judgment too. And it con- 
 fessedly requires much judgment to 
 give advice in such cases that may 
 be profitable to the subjects of it. 
 
 Strangers, led by curiosity to see 
 Francis, would upon seeing the man- 
 ner in which he lived, find a most 
 powerful appeal to their compassion, 
 and would frequently try to get him 
 to receive money, but it is believed 
 they never once succeeded, he al- 
 ways stoically refusing every pecunia- 
 ry aid. But I am glad, notwithstand- 
 ing his refusal, to have it in my pow- 
 er to record such incidents, as re- 
 flecting honour on them for their be- 
 ]ie\'olent intentions, and at the same 
 


4P 
 
 time as it will contribute to the satisfac- 
 tion of those who delight in contem- 
 plating the brighter side of things c 
 Although I have to record a fla- 
 grant act of cruelty exercised on the 
 person of Francis, yet the general te= 
 nor of his life was quiet and unruffled, 
 and he frequently had an opportuni- 
 ty to see that his hard fate drew the 
 tender sympathy of many, who would 
 have rejoiced if they could have ad- 
 ministered consolation to his distres- 
 sed mind. And are we to suppose 
 that all such charitable endeavours 
 were altogether fruitless ? Or may . 
 we not more reasonably suppose, 
 that their kind attempts, when man- 
 aged with tliat tenderness and delica- 
 cy, which the feeling heart aided by 
 the benign influences of religion can 
 inspire, were sometimes successful ? 
 


41 
 
 O ! yes, I had much rather believe 
 this to be the case ; and that he could 
 have told some of those who endea- 
 voured to soothe the anguish of his 
 mind, that he found the keenness of it 
 to abate, and his corroding reflec- 
 tions allayed. And at some peculi- 
 ar seasons he could look forward and 
 find the most joyful feelings to per- 
 vade the whole man, in anticipating 
 that time when ''All tears were to 
 be wiped from all eyes," and feel 
 like a new creature indeed, when all 
 and every of tlie malignant passions 
 were ana'hilated or more properly re- 
 pressed. For we must suppose those 
 prelibations of happiness were of no 
 long continuance, and accordingly 
 we find his distress would return and 
 precipitate him into that hoji-ror, wliich 
 
 © 2 
 


he thought a proper piuubhment Ibi 
 him. 
 
 Oh! that all may be induced to 
 let the sufferings of Francis operate 
 as a check to the motions of pride 
 and anger. For if we admit the 
 truth of the report which made him 
 the murderer of one in a duel, we 
 may reasonably expect pride, anger 
 or resentment, and probably an as- 
 semblage of all three, backed by foul 
 envy and fell revenge were the lead- 
 ing cause of his precipitation into that 
 abyss of misery and pungent sorrow, 
 and that protracted to the end of his 
 life. 
 
 But the motions of pride, envy, 
 malice, guile and deceit, with all the 
 filthy brood of carnal affections which 
 are either generally or partially, re- 
 ceived into the breast of eytry man 
 


43- 
 
 (tliougli tlirough restraining grace 
 they may but seldom drive to acts of 
 murder) yet in their effects produce 
 such a total aUenation to tl^at holi- 
 ness, without which, none shall see 
 the Lord, that it is most sorrowful 
 to reflect upon. And when by the 
 touches of divine grace the madness 
 of a course of life always consequent 
 on an unresisted reception of such 
 malignant passions is fully seen, 
 there will arise such pungent distress, 
 that crowns and sceptres would be 
 willingly parted with could they ob- 
 tain perfect peace. 
 
 Such is the defomiity of sin ! and 
 such' is the consequence of a partial 
 persisting therein. But the conse- 
 quence of an obstinate adherence 
 thereto may be gathered by I had al- 
 most said reason y and certainly I may 
 


4.4. 
 
 say reason when aided and enligh- 
 tened by that grace (a portion of 
 which has entered the heart of every 
 man) which will point to the dreadful 
 punishment that necessarily takes 
 place on a separation of the soul from 
 the body when it will fall into its own 
 proper hell, described in scripture 
 by the never dying worm, which is 
 apprehended to mean the corroding 
 thoughts and anguishing reflections 
 in finding there will be an eternal se- 
 paration between the soul and the 
 Supreme Good. ''And the reason 
 '' why the unregenerate do not feel 
 *' themselves in such a state of woe 
 '' and torment in this life is, because 
 *' the soul, during its union with the 
 "' body, qualifies or unites with the 
 '' gratifications of sense, the cheer- 
 " ing influences of the sun, and othpr 
 


45 
 
 '' satisfactions of outward nature^ 
 " which charm its misery for the 
 ^' present; but that upon this consti- 
 " tution being dissolved, and all its 
 '' communication with the animal life 
 ^' ceasing, then the soul so unre- 
 *' deemed looses every source ofmit- 
 ** igation and comfort, and falls into 
 " its own proper hell"^ as aforesaid. 
 This may be but a gloomy sub- 
 ject to some, " But it is better to re- 
 " fleet on it for a few minutes, than 
 *' to endure it to eternal ages, per- 
 *' haps the consideration of the mis- 
 " eries of the wicked may be profi- 
 ••' tabiy terrible, may teach us to flee 
 *' to the Saviour, " Who delivers 
 V from going down into the bottom- 
 ** less pit," may drive like the avcn^- 
 
 * Thbmas Hartley, 
 


4& 
 
 **^ gers sword, to the only city of refuge 
 *' for obnoxious sinners,"! viz. the 
 blood of the everlasting covenant-. 
 
 t Hervey 
 


LETTEfe V- 
 
 BURLINGTON COUNts. 
 
 SeptembeT, 1780. 
 
 Dear Friend^ 
 
 Though I have said a good deal 
 concerning the manner Francis re- 
 ceived his supplies of food, I will 
 give an account of . nother source 
 whence a considerable quantity flow- 
 ed, and which in good measure su- 
 perseded the necessity of traversing 
 


4:S 
 
 his usual rounds : And tliis was the 
 visits of children, who frequently as 
 a stipulation of, and reward for good 
 behaviour, were permitted to go and 
 see him when they were always pro- 
 vided with something for him to eat. 
 Their parents learning the reason of 
 his retirement, found those sensations 
 which were excited by the novelty of 
 the circumstance, give place to those 
 which may be traced to pity and com- 
 passion, and would encourage their 
 children to behave well that they 
 might go and see Francis, whose 
 visits were commonly productive of 
 profit to him. Though it must be 
 confessed their natural loquacity did 
 so ill accord with his turn and man- 
 ner, their visits were rather trouble- 
 some to him. However, he would 
 Tviss the hand of each of them and an^ 
 


49 
 
 swer their artless interrcgatofies with 
 as much patience, as could be rea- 
 sonably expected from him, who 
 was extremely irritable, inheriting 
 from nature a choleric disposition. 
 But this trait in his character, would 
 never have appeared to us if this 
 country could boast of what none 
 ever could, viz. an exemption from 
 boorish people : Some few of such 
 have at times visited him, whose re- 
 ligious education diifered from his, 
 if indeed it could be said such crea- 
 tures ever had a religious education, 
 who could be so cruel as to make a 
 helpless and inoffensive man, think 
 the religion of his fathers and which 
 he held as most sacred, w^as scanda- 
 lized by the treatment he received 
 from them. For with that careless- 
 5s and indifference which Francis 
 


50 
 
 could not bear, they would handle his 
 -Grucifix, at the same time asking 
 him questions, the nature of which 
 tended to irritate. This indeed 
 would instantly raise his choler to an 
 hig'h degree and draw forth anathemas 
 on their (as he thought) devoted 
 heads and uttered in a most awful 
 manner. And as I have spoken fa- 
 vourably of Francis heretofore, I still 
 wish to do so, and when I undertake, 
 not to exculpate, but extenuate those 
 traits in his character, which I ac- 
 knowledge were as foils to his bright- 
 er virtues, give me hberty to press 
 on your remembrance tliat supersti- 
 tion which )^ou so freely (charge to 
 him, and so fondly think'yourself ex- 
 empt from, and then ask yourself 
 whether any evil tempters drawn from 
 thcii^ lurking pkces, in consequence 
 


51 
 
 of the worst treatment he could pos- 
 sibly receive, would have irlerited 
 excuse or palliation as well as this» 
 For my part I think seriously, that a 
 Roman Catholic (allowance being 
 made for the prejudice of education) 
 is more intided to our charity for 
 their ill tempers, consequent on such 
 behaviour, than a protestant is in any 
 caseJ But difference of education 
 out of the question, I contend that 
 Francis may, in adverting to his ex- 
 treme imtability, receive a share of 
 our chcirity as well as others^. Mar- 
 tin Luther for instance, was a *' Man 
 of like passions with ourselves,'' and 
 was ;v.uch under the dominion of ill 
 tempers. Aud yet who goes to de- 
 tract from his venerable character on 
 account diereof ? I could mention 
 others too, w^ho w^re great men in 
 


52 
 
 their day, who laboured sorely un- 
 der the like infirmity. 
 
 The truth of the matter lays here, 
 that people attatch virtues to things 
 that in their nature are not so, and 
 on the contrary are for denying a per- 
 son the name of christian, upon some 
 sudden exhibition of infirmity, when 
 that probably, is the burden of his 
 soul, and his daily cries are, that he 
 may be delivered therefrom. 
 
 I have seen people who have been 
 remarkable for an equable, serene, un- 
 ruffled temper, and called on account 
 thereof religious people, who I believe 
 were at the same time strangers to 
 true religion. "Many mistake na- 
 ** ture for grace and so rest short of a 
 *' true change. The tempering make 
 " avast difterence in many blades, 
 " all made of the same van?}, soni'- 
 


53 
 
 '" of which will bend before they 
 " break, others break before they 
 '' bend. Good nature, without grace, 
 ^^ maketh a fairer shew than grace 
 ' with an evil nature. A cur out- 
 " runs a greyhound if the latter has 
 *' a clog.""^ 
 
 If I pertinently introduce quota- 
 tions I need, not fear blame, because 
 my selections so far surpass any 
 tiling my pen can produce, therefore 
 will trouble you with the following, 
 wrote by a man of very different sen- 
 timents with regard to some points of 
 doctrine, from the man just quoted 
 from, but notwithstanding said dif- 
 ference, I believe them both, to have 
 been men of great piety, and singu- 
 lar usefuhiess. 
 
 * Fletcher. 
 
 E 3 
 


54 
 
 '' A double quantity of real gnicc, 
 ' if I may so speak, that has a dou^ 
 '^ ble quantity of hinderance to con- 
 " flict with, will not be easily ob3er>-- 
 '' ed, unless these hinderances are 
 ^' likewise known and attended to, 
 ^' and a smaller measure of grace 
 " may appear great when its exer- 
 ^* cise meets widi no remarkable ob- 
 "' struction. For these reasons, we 
 *' ean never be competent judges of 
 ' ' each other, because we cannot be 
 '-' acquainted with the whole com]yi. x 
 *' cjase. But- our Merciful UlA 
 '' Priest knows tlie whole, he con- 
 '' siders our frame, remembeiis that 
 " we are but dust, makes gracious 
 '' allowances, pities, bears, accepts^ 
 " and approves with unerring; iiidg- 
 '' ment."^ 
 
 * John Ne^vton. 
 


Let it not be thought I have a Hght 
 esteem of good nature. Indeed I 
 have a just esteem of gentleness of 
 disposition, and think it a great be- 
 nefit to its possessor, in a merely ci- 
 vil point of view, for he will glide 
 through life with far less difficulty, 
 escaping numberless broils, to whUjh 
 the man of irritable tempers will be 
 daily liable to, and the people of his 
 neighbourhood, will duly appreciate 
 advantages derived from an habitual 
 intercourse with him. And if it is 
 so highly commendable from merely 
 human motives, as contributing to 
 that serenity and quiet so delightful 
 among neighbours, how will, or how- 
 can vre do jlistice in describing it 
 when it meets in the same person, 
 that divine grace which vv hen not re- 
 sisted, but suffered to expand and 
 


56 
 
 producing, as it infallibly will, those 
 excellent fruits, viz. knowledge, tem- 
 perance, godliness, bx'otherly-kind- 
 ness and charity. 
 
 The man in whose breast tliese 
 have taken root, is a prince among 
 men, and is in forw^ardness for eter- 
 iiH bliss,, where he will arrive in due 
 time, if his faith fail not. When the 
 merely good natured man ^viil fall 
 short. 
 
 I have been the more lengthy on 
 this subject, because that pharasaic- 
 leaven, so hateful in every age, is 
 alive in this, and great stress is laid, 
 by many on outside things, and thmk 
 all is well, if they can live free from 
 any thing that will injure their credit 
 among men. But the christian, let 
 him belong to what class or society 
 he may, has different views. He 
 


sr 
 
 knows indeed that it is indispensably 
 necessary to live free from those 
 things which may wound his credit 
 as a man : And that he must attend 
 to many httle things which the chris- 
 tian Ufe embraces, and which, in their 
 nature are subservient to the grand 
 and ultimate object he has in view. 
 But all this though ever so beautiful j 
 and however useful in constituting 
 the basis of that good character which 
 however the cynic may despise, is 
 confessedly not to be overlooked by 
 any man of good sense. All this he 
 does, but he does it because divine 
 grace, now took root in his heart, has 
 made a contrary course hateful to 
 him, being favoured to see the ex- 
 tremely opposite nature thereof, to 
 perfect purity, which purity he now 
 strives to imitate according to his 
 


58 
 
 measure or capacity, amidst the im- 
 perfections and infirmities of his na- 
 ture ; which ijifirmities, his faith gives 
 him good reason to hope, will be 
 weakened by obedience to that grace 
 now shed abroad in his heart, and 
 which teaches him to do those things 
 now, as being agreeable to the divine 
 nature. Whereas he formerly- 
 wrought them, (as the w orks of all 
 hypocrites are) with sinister views^ 
 and selfish designs. 
 
 Yours, £5V. 
 


LETTER VL 
 
 BURLINGTON COUNTY^, 
 
 October, 1780. 
 
 Dear Friend^ 
 
 It is painful to me in the recital, as 
 it will be to you in the perusal, of 
 those things evincive of the brutality 
 of the persons who behaved so un- 
 worthy as related in my last. But 
 that I may consistent with that truth 
 which is the basis of these letters, in- 
 


60 
 
 seit every incident connected with 
 the Hfe of Francis, I shall now relate 
 a cruel act committed on him. And 
 I shall not merit the title of impartial, 
 if I let any thing slip, through a bias 
 to the people among whom he lived, 
 or through my fears that the sensi- 
 bilities of your nature should be ex- 
 cited on the perusal. 
 
 Francis never after his arrival here 
 shaved his beard, indeed he always 
 clipped with a small pair of scissors 
 that part which grew near his mouth, 
 but that on his cheeks and chin grew 
 to a very considerable length. This, 
 though to you from your neighbour- 
 hood to Ephrata, whose inhabitants, 
 invariably exhibit this appearance, 
 from an inhibition coeval ^vith their 
 becoming a separate society, is no 
 novel thing, but here it was other- 
 


61 
 
 wise, and was regarded by the muki- 
 tilde with that ideot stare, which is 
 common to tlieir rank in every coun- 
 try. However this subjected him to 
 no inconvenience, for he cared but 
 little in what hght they regarded die 
 singularity, while they kept their 
 hands from it, but this I am sorry to 
 say, in one instance vras not the case, 
 for some rude wicked boys Hving in 
 a village near Mountholly, followed 
 him, threw him down and sacrilige- 
 ously (if I may so term it, and joined 
 with a' cruelty unworthy of a Mo 
 hawk) divested his chin of the appen- 
 dage, so long pendant from it. And 
 this barbarous act was highly aggra ■ 
 %'ated by the mode adopted in the ex- 
 ecution, for instead of taking a pair 
 of scissors, they made use of a clasp- 
 ed knife, which doubtless caused 
 


62 
 
 great pain to the poor, and by this 
 time aged man, for it is but a few 
 years since the perpetration of the 
 deed. 
 
 I remember hearing of this most 
 st>andalous transaction at the time, 
 and now, wonder the sensations ex- 
 cited by it were so cold and phlegma- 
 tic, and could reflect on it with great- 
 er complacency if I had shewed a 
 marked disapprobation of the execra- 
 ble deed, and have nothing to plead, 
 in excuse of the supineness, crhiiinal 
 supineness of the people in neglecting 
 to ascertain who were the actors in 
 the nefarious business and punishing 
 them for it. 
 
 I knew a person, who, when a boy, 
 in company with some others of like 
 age, visited him, and like those un- 
 thoughtful creatui'es mentioned in 
 


63 
 
 my last, carelessly took hold of hi^ 
 crucifix, when instantly Francis in his 
 zeal to avenge the affront, spit in liis 
 face; this in turn called forth the 
 boy's ire, when lifting his foot to the 
 breast of Francis, kicked him over, 
 for which I liave heard this person 
 express great sorrow, saying he wish- 
 ed it never had happened. So easy 
 is it, for us, through unwatchfulness, 
 and the sudden impulse of passion, 
 to commit acts that may give us long 
 and great uneasiness. 
 
 Since the death of Francis I have qf- 
 ten thought it strange I did not try to do 
 him more service, and think it equal- 
 ly strange that those who possessed 
 more ample means, did not more 
 strenuously insist upon rendering his 
 life more comfortable, for though I 
 have acknowledged they \^'ere kind 
 


64 
 
 to hini, yet I think there should hav^ 
 been strong arguments, a reiteration 
 of arguments, to induce him to suf- 
 fer them to make him more comfort- 
 able ; their neglect herein can be at- 
 tributed to nothing but that " Their 
 charity was more fervid than active." 
 They would always give him vic- 
 tuals, an old coat or blanket, or even 
 money, if he could have been pre^ 
 vailed upon to receive it. But to go 
 and insist that if he would fiot leave 
 his beloved retirement, he should 
 suffer them to build a small hut for 
 him, this I never heard was attempt- 
 ed. But wA-ibX is very surprising, 
 that notwithstanding the hardships 
 he suffered in such a damp situation, 
 and never having any fire to warm 
 his benumbed limbs, at the same 
 time, being of a small size, delicate 
 


65 
 
 frame and texture of body, he should 
 enjoy almost uninterrupted health, 
 which was really the case, and can be 
 attributed to nothing short of the su- 
 perintending providence of Him m ho 
 " Tempers the �ind to the shorn 
 lamb." 
 
 Indeed, if we properly consider 
 his being pent up in his little subter- 
 ranean lodge, a long wintcis night, 
 and turning out in the morning with 
 his clothes all wet, we can hardly con- 
 ceive any situation more distressing, 
 and terrible as we should think our 
 fate to be, if endured but one week, 
 in that manner. He who once mix-- 
 ed with the gay and polite, and was 
 blessed with the endearing* conversa- 
 tion of his friends and relatives, pas- 
 sed twenty-three long winters there. 
 When I now think of him, as being 
 
 F 2 
 


66 
 
 toiled up, in his dreary abode, I won- 
 <der much he was not oftener the sub- 
 ject of our commiseration, and can 
 account for the apathy to the afflic- 
 tions and poverty of others because 
 not immediately presented to view. 
 
 " Ah ! httle think the gay, Hcentious, 
 
 proud, 
 " Whom pleasure, power, and 
 
 affluence surround ; 
 *' They who their thoughtless hours 
 
 in giddy mirth, 
 ' ' And \i^anton, often cruel riot w^aste; 
 "• Ah! little think they, while they 
 
 dance along, 
 *' How many feel, this very moment 
 
 death, 
 ^' And all the sad variety of pain ; 
 *' How many sink in the devouring 
 
 Rood. 
 


67 
 
 ""' Or more devouring flame? how 
 many bleed 
 
 " By shameful variance betwixt man 
 and man ! 
 
 '' How many pine in want andduiW 
 geon glooms, 
 
 *' .Shut from the comman air, and 
 common use 
 
 '" Of their own limbs ! how may drink 
 the cup 
 
 '' Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter 
 bread 
 
 '' Of misery ! Sore pierced by win- 
 try winds. 
 
 '* How many sink into the sordid hut 
 
 '' Of cheerless poverty ! How many 
 shake 
 
 '' With all the fiercer tortures of the 
 mind. 
 
 " How many rack'd with hoo^^st pas- 
 sions^ droopj 
 


6S 
 
 ^^ In deep retired distress ! How ma- 
 ny stand 
 ^' Around the death-bed of their 
 
 dearest friends, 
 ^* And point the parting anguish ! 
 
 Think fond man 
 ^' Of these, and all the nameless ills 
 ^' That one incessant struggle rendei' 
 
 life 
 " One scene of toil, of suffering, and 
 
 of fate ; 
 ^^ Vice in its high career would stand 
 
 appall'd, 
 " And heedless rambling impulse 
 
 learn to think ; 
 ^^ The conscious heart of charity 
 
 would warm, 
 ^* And her wide wish, benevolence 
 
 dilate ; 
 *^ The social tear would rise, the so,- 
 cial sigh ; 
 


69 
 
 '* And into clear perfection gradual 
 
 bliss 
 '' Refining still, the social passions 
 
 work."-^ 
 
 YourSs ^c. 
 
 Thompson, 
 


LETTER VlL 
 
 SXJBXINGTON COUNTY, 
 
 October, 1780. 
 
 Dear Friend^ 
 
 Francis was not fitted by nature to 
 undergo labour, and if he had been 
 endowed with strength, (if we consid- 
 er the state of his afflicted mind) to 
 have withheld provisions from him 
 under the notion that by so doing, he 
 


71 
 
 would be compelled to take to some 
 kind of labour, would have been in- 
 consistent with die ideas of humani- 
 ty and benevolence, which in this en-- 
 lightened age seem to be generally 
 entertained, and have savored more 
 of that cold prudential disposition (to 
 speak as lightly as possible of it) 
 which actuates too many it is to be 
 feared, in their refusal to contribute 
 to the necessities of others, and who 
 are like the horse leach at the vein^ 
 crying give, give, and are never sa« 
 tisfied unless they are accumulating 
 the dross of this world, notwithstand- 
 ing they have been told an hundred 
 times, of the impossibility of obtain- 
 ing happiness in such a way, yet tliey 
 are striving, unremittingly striving 
 night and day, and eating the bread 
 of carefulness, that their own expe- 
 


72 
 
 rience (as it would seem) should con- 
 tradict the sayings of the wise of all 
 ages, and also the scriptures them- 
 selves, which abundantly inculcate 
 the belief, nay, roundly assert as a 
 fact, that riches are not the chief 
 good, upon possession whereof every 
 thing else should be added. 
 
 I suppose, all tliat could be alleged 
 1ft favour of denying him food, would 
 be, that it was encouraging him in 
 idleness, and that he ought not to eat 
 if he did not work, agreeable to 
 PauPs inhibition, I grant that if Fran- 
 cis had been able to work, and had 
 been exempt from distress of mind, 
 it might have been right to withhold 
 food from him. And I grant it is 
 the duty, the indispensible duty of 
 people universally to be employed in 
 some way for the good of society. 
 


And probably Francis thought, the 
 mode of living he had adopted might 
 operate in that way. And who can 
 tell but it did? we are poor short- 
 sighted creatures, and our capacities 
 are very limited, and my knowledge 
 thereof, forbids my saying there has 
 no good devolved upon the commu- 
 3iity, at least some individual thereof, 
 it may be, we know not who, yet 
 such may be the fact. 
 
 As to people being of use, if all 
 were denied the ngcessaries of life, 
 that could not make it appear they 
 had been of more use to society than 
 Francis, I am afraid many would 
 have but short commons. For the 
 same complaint or observation applies 
 in our days, as did at Rome in the 
 davs of Horace^ who above sixteen 
 


74 
 
 hundred years ago, complained iu 
 the following lines, as translated into 
 English by Dr. Watts, That 
 
 '' There are a number of us creep 
 " Into the world to eat and and sleep, 
 '' And know no reason why they're 
 
 born, 
 " But merely to consume the coni, 
 *' Devour the cattle, fowl and fish, 
 *' And leave ^ehind an empty dish, 
 '' The crows and ravens do the same, 
 " Unlucky bird|i of hateful name; 
 '' Ravens or crows might fill their 
 
 place, 
 ^' And swallow corn and carcasses. 
 '' Then if their tomb- stone when they 
 
 die, 
 " Ben't taught to flatter or to lie, 
 *^ There's nothing better will be said, 
 


75 
 
 Than that they've eat up all their 
 
 bread, 
 Drank up their drink, and gone 
 
 to ded." 
 
 Thus I have related the general 
 v^nor of the life of Francis, in which 
 there was a large portion of mortifi- 
 cation and self denial. And without 
 entering into a disquisition, on the 
 merits of a total abstraction from the 
 world, and all its fascinating plea- 
 sures, in order to avert the wrath of 
 the Deity, or on the criminality of an 
 individual, who by such abstraction, 
 contributes not towards that mass of 
 happiness, which divine goodness, 
 doubtless is well pleased to see his 
 creatures enjoy, and who collectively 
 have a right to the individual exer- 
 tions of every man to further the 
 


76 
 
 iiame : I will not hesitate to express a 
 belief that Francis enjoyed a greater 
 portion of real happiness, than is with- 
 in the lot of many, who carry them- 
 selves aloft, amidst a gaping throng, 
 and ai'e highly gratified if they can 
 raise the envy of the multitude, by 
 their daily exhibitions of splendor, 
 and show things which Francis had 
 learned heartily to despise, from a 
 conviction that they could not sup- 
 ply that true inward peace and quiet 
 conscience, which lie ardently sought, 
 and which are the best criterions, to 
 judge of the death ofthatbodyofsin, 
 with whicli every man either is, or 
 hath been fettered, and Vvhich can- 
 not be obtained but by, and through 
 true faith, in that '' Fountain which 
 was opened at Jerusalem for sin and 
 uucleanness." And a subsequent 
 


517 
 
 and faithful adherence to that portion 
 of grace, which hath in mercy been 
 given to every man, and of course 
 every woman for they are all one in 
 Christ, to guide them in the v/ay 
 they should walk ; and would by a 
 steady obedience to its dictates have 
 preserved us from that vortex of sin 
 and misery, which by actual compli- 
 ance to that stimulus which devolv- 
 ed on us by fatal inheritance from 
 our first parents, hath involved us in, 
 and from the deadning and benumb- 
 ing effects thereof, there is no way 
 under heaven, appointed for our es- 
 cape, but through the laver of rege- 
 neration and a new birth unto righ- 
 teousness, which is not experienced 
 but by frequent ablutions in that 
 " Fountain" above mentioned, which 
 is a most beautiful metaphor, and is 
 
 G 2 
 


Elusive of tliat all powerful cleansing, 
 which true faith in the Redeemer 
 brings to light in the soul. 
 
 And though Francis might be 
 wading in the gloom of error, yet as 
 he was conscious of the turpitude of 
 his crimes, and sought by every 
 means in his power to avert the pun- 
 ishment he thought they justly me- 
 rited, by an inflexible determination to 
 deny himself a participation of the 
 comforts of this life, believing there- 
 by to expiate the sins he groaned un- 
 der. We may, I think, without any- 
 great display of that charity ^vhich 
 surpasseth all the other virtues, have 
 a hope that Francis is at rest, being 
 forgiven for the sake of Him ;\'hose 
 sufferings was his daily contempla- 
 tion ; which I had rather call the true 
 intent and meaning of the regard he 
 


79 
 
 paid to the little representation which 
 hung on his breast, and which seems 
 to imply from the name monitiary , 
 therefore I would much rather think 
 the intent was to call the substance 
 to his recollection, than to attach the 
 liarsh name of idolatry to the respect 
 he paid it. 
 
 I hope I shall not subject myself 
 to rebuke, for the above remarks, 
 I think that the introduction of moni^ 
 tiary crucifixes into places devoted to 
 religious uses, and having them at- 
 tached to the persons of any, is radi- 
 cally wrong, and cannot be defended 
 on scriptvu'al grounds. Yet all this 
 will not preclude me the liberty of be- 
 lieving that many, very many of the 
 Roman Cadiolics, though they are in 
 possession of each his, or her cruci- 
 fix, are nevertheless persons of true 
 


80 
 
 piety, as much so, as many who see 
 the absurdity of all such supposed 
 helps. 
 
 It remains for me to relate, that 
 Francis never after his arrival here, 
 shewed any desire to be informed how, 
 in what way, or where the war of ^56 
 was carried on, evincing strongly by 
 his conduct herein, that such things 
 were foreign from his thoughts. And 
 the same incurious turn of mind has 
 been observed in the present war, 
 save, that at near the commencement 
 of it, observing an unusual stir among 
 the people, (troops marching and 
 countermarching,) he went to his 
 hospitable landlord, who was his near- 
 est neighbour, and enquired who were 
 the principals engaged in it, and the 
 cause thereof, and it was observed 
 that he seldom or never spoke of it 
 


81 
 
 afterwards, not even in the memora- 
 ble winter of '76 and '77, when the 
 British troops overrun Jersey, for 
 then a partial action took place be- 
 tween a detachment from the Ameri- 
 can army, and two regiments com- 
 manded by the Baron Donop, the 
 scene of action was near the dwelling 
 of Francis, but he never left his ha- 
 bitation until all was still, which was 
 the case in a few days, when he crept 
 out, being forced thereto by hunger, 
 but never enquired any thing con- 
 cerning the fray. No, Francis was 
 happily delivered from all anxiety 
 concerning how it might terminate, 
 thinking it best for him to let the 
 potsherds of the eai'th smite each 
 other. 
 
 And had much rather sing in his 
 


82 
 
 solitary walks, through the w^ood, to 
 the following tenor : 
 
 "When e'er I take my walks abroad," 
 O'er wood or field or grove, 
 
 I contemplate thy works O Lord, 
 And find that thou art love. 
 
 Whether I sing, or pray or praise, 
 My heart is fix'd on thee, 
 
 And when thou viewest this lower 
 world, 
 O Lord remember me. 
 
 Than to occupy his precious tim^ 
 in conversing on subjects which we 
 may reasonably suppose from his si- 
 lence thereon, he could not think of 
 but with abhorrence. 
 
 And indeed when I think of the 
 fate of the Baron Donop, above 
 


H^S 
 
 mentioned, Avho with six hundred 
 Hessian grenadiers fell at Red-Bank^ 
 about three years ago, I cannot re- 
 frain from telling you that I have fell 
 out with the ^vhole trade of ^var ; for 
 I saw the Baron (and the regiment, a 
 great part of which fell with him,) at 
 Mount-Holly in December '76, he 
 appeared to me to possess much urban- 
 ity and good nature, being less haugh- 
 ty in his manners than any officer of 
 rank I ever saw, and when we reflect 
 that he and his brave followers came 
 to this country at the will of their 
 sovereign, to fight against those they 
 had had no quarrel with, it appears 
 most soiTowful indeed. But it is said 
 that Bai'on Donop was a brave man, 
 and died gloriously ; sounding things 
 these ^ and doubtless, many to emulate 
 his braverv, will advance to the can- 
 


a4 
 
 non's mouth and be blown to 
 atoms. 
 
 If my dear Melcliior, you will look 
 into history and see the devastation 
 there has been made, and the rivers 
 of blood there has been spilt on the 
 plains of Germany, ill fated country ! 
 you will excuse me if I paint the mi- 
 sery war entails, eternally entails on 
 thousands, for though charity con- 
 strains us to allow there may have 
 been many virtuous men in the field 
 of battle : yet it is to be feared the 
 far greater part are of a contrary 
 character. 
 
 But dear friend, my paper will al- 
 low no more, therefore will bid you 
 adieu. 
 
 Yottrs^ ^c. 
 


LETTER VIVL 
 
 BURLINGTON COUNTY 
 
 Noyember, 1780. 
 
 Dear Friendy 
 
 I undertook in my last to paint 
 some of the horrors attendant on that 
 greatest of scom'ges, war ! 
 
 " From whence come wars and 
 lightings"? They may ahvays be 
 traced either immediately fi'om Satan, 
 bv his transfusina: his osvn nature into 
 


86 
 
 the sons of men, fell malice, envy, 
 rage and revenge. Or more remote- 
 ly to numerous causes, which the de- 
 generate sons of Adam by the aid of 
 that sophistry which Satan is always 
 ready to supply, soften into names 
 alluring, but rvhich however, claim 
 him for their father. And there is 
 no sight on the earth so congenial to 
 him, as two embattled hosts in all the 
 pomp of martial array, advancing to 
 bury their bayonets in the bowels of 
 each other, they regard at some little 
 distance their enemies, a dreadful 
 pause takes place, and while they are 
 every moment expecting the word to 
 be given, their blood rolls with impe- 
 tuous tide through their distended 
 veins, their breasts heaving, and their 
 eyes darting fire like the Hyena's, and 
 now the w^ord, probably some bias- 
 


«7 
 
 phcmous expression, such as "God 
 and our king," is sounded through 
 the embattled host, accompanied by 
 the shrill clarions martial sound,when, 
 but stop my pen, pourtray not the 
 deeds excited first by Satan, and carri- 
 ed into execution by mistaken mortals 
 animated by the furies, for imagina- 
 tion will do enough, without thy aid, 
 in painting the horrors of the day. 
 
 And if your stout hearts would 
 have been appaled by the savage 
 acts of the infuriated multitude, how 
 will the tender sympathies of your 
 nature be moved in beholding the 
 group of mourners whose prospects 
 of earthly happiness are forever fled ? 
 
 First comes the tender father sup- 
 porting the tottering steps of the wife 
 of his youth. Then ye aged cou- 
 ple ! ye have heard that he who wits 
 


88 
 
 the only support, all that stood be- 
 tween you and the cold chill of po- 
 verty is no more ! now alas ! bereft of 
 your only prop, your grey hairs must 
 descend with sorrow to the grave ! 
 
 And now thou once loved and lov- 
 ing wife, but now pale widow, how 
 can I paint the sorrows of thy breast 2 
 Thy husband, thy much loved hus- 
 band, torn from thy arms and drag- 
 ed from ail he hglds most dear, his 
 beloved wife and lisping prattlers, 
 draged to the murderous scene, which 
 heretofore only to hear of, his ten- 
 der soui would always revolt from, 
 with horror, poor unfortunate wo- 
 man, alas ! thy foreboding fears :;r: 
 sadly realized, for thy James is a 
 clay cold corpse, his temple is pierc- 
 ed by the fatal ball. 
 
 And thou, thou lovely looking 
 


s? 
 
 virgin, dost thou also belong to the 
 mournful throng ? Ah ! I need not 
 ask, for upon thy nearer approach, I 
 see thy grief depicted in every fea- 
 ture. Dear girl, thou vvert always 
 cheerful and e'av until that ill fated 
 evening, when thy William was forced 
 from thee, alas! thy case is singu- 
 larly afflictive, for thee and thy Wil- 
 liam had plighted your vows, and 
 one week more would have seen the 
 blushing maid give her hand to the 
 manly youth who w^as his parents joy, 
 and the pride of the village throng ; 
 but now, thou and thy William art 
 forever separated, for he is number- 
 ed with those who swell the conquer- 
 or's brov/, who has already sent, ex- 
 ultingly sent a list of the slain to his 
 sovereign, who has given orders that 
 the churches shall resound with Te 
 


90 
 
 Deiims, giving thanks for the death 
 of thy Wilham and his hapless com- 
 panions. 
 
 But will indeed He who by the 
 mouth of one of his servants hath said 
 ' ^ God is not' ' with impunity * ' mock- 
 ed," will he be delighted with tlieir 
 rejoicing? No! the God of Heaven 
 turns his eyes from their vile pa- 
 geantry. He regards their reli- 
 gious mockery with anger, and it h 
 of his tender mercy they are not all 
 consumed. 
 
 '•Ah! Vvdil kings forget that thev 
 are men, 
 
 ''And men that they are brethren,..,. 
 Why delight 
 
 -' In human sacrifice ^ v/nv ^~nr:^': • Ci- 
 ties 
 


91 
 
 ''Of nature? that should knit their 
 souls together 
 
 " In one soft band of amity and love. 
 
 " Father of men was it for this, 
 
 ''Thy breath divine, kindled within 
 his breast 
 
 '' The vital flame? for this, was thy 
 fair image 
 
 " Stampt on his soul with God-like 
 lineaments ? 
 
 '• For this dominion given him abso- 
 lute 
 
 *' O'er all thy works, only that lie 
 might reign 
 
 '* Supreme in woe."*" 
 
 You will excuse me for dwelling 
 so long on the subject of war, but 
 if, by any thing I could say, the mad 
 
 * Porteous, Bishop of London. 
 


<^% 
 
 career of but one solitary individu- 
 al might be arrested, and persuaded 
 to forego his desires, to make one in 
 the number of those who rejoice at 
 the shrill clarion and *' drums dis- 
 cordant sound ,' ' I should not grudge 
 my pains. 
 
 But however, whether they will 
 hear or forbear, the purposes of di- 
 vine goodness will be established, 
 the Messiah's "unsuffering kingdom 
 yet shall come;" and happy will 
 those be, who shall not be found 
 counteracting those principles, which 
 as harbingers, proclaim the certain 
 approach of the glorious day. 
 
 But to return to Francis. Al- 
 though during the time he lived here, 
 his life was one continued scene of 
 suffering, yet they were highly ag- 
 gravated during the last winter, which 
 


93 
 
 as you very well remember, was iiu- 
 commonly severe, the great depth of 
 the snow rendered it almost impossi- 
 ble for him to get out among the 
 neighbours, and they kindly and very 
 humanely carried provisions frequent- 
 ly to him. His kind and hospitable 
 landlord, Joseph Burr, took the lead 
 in this business, and it may very well 
 be expected that he who had always 
 been accustomed to order his people 
 to load Francis with provisions when- 
 ever he would go to the house, w^ould 
 not neglect him then, when the snow 
 was nearly the depth of three feet on 
 the level, neither did he, but would 
 go with his sleigh and carry him com- 
 fortable victuals. Suffer me before I 
 go further, to obviate an objection 
 that will be made to the consistency of 
 my account, for it may be supposed, 
 


94 
 
 his being accommodated with com» 
 fortable food, lessened rather than 
 aggravated his sufferings, which is 
 granted, but his sufferings, arose 
 from his being pent up, to use a 
 course simile, like a Ground-hog, 
 during almost all the winter, which 
 we may reasonably suppose, contri- 
 buted to shorten his days; but he 
 was consistent throughout all his con- 
 duct, being of a piece, for as he 
 tlirough life had refused every offer 
 to render his life more tolerable, so 
 now as his age and sufferings increas- 
 ed, he would not accept of the kind 
 invitations of his landlord, when he 
 pressed him to let him take him in 
 his sleigh to his house, where he 
 might have every accommodation his 
 age and weakness required, which 
 


95 
 
 certainly reflects credit on the cha- 
 racter of Joseph Burr.* 
 
 But the period to all the troubles 
 of Francis was nearly arrived, for up- 
 on his landlord visiting him one 
 morning, Francis told him he was 
 sick, which drew forth another invi- 
 tation to his house, he thanked him 
 (as he always did those who wished 
 to do him a service,) but again for 
 the last time refused, for the next 
 morning, the same *rson, upon his 
 arrival at the dwelling of Francis, af- 
 ter hailing him aloud, and receiving 
 no answer to his repeated calls, knew 
 that he must be dead ; he then went 
 to Mount-^olly and informed the 
 overseers of the poor, who ordered 
 
 * The finends of humanity will be highly gra- 
 tified in being told, that Joseph Burr during 
 the life of Francis, would not suffer the wdod 
 wheTo he resided to be cleared. 
 


96 
 
 a decent coffin to be made and taken 
 to the wood, where the people assem- 
 bled and took out of the cave the bo- 
 dy, and also every thing that could 
 be found therein, which were no- 
 thing more than old blankets, a small 
 pair of scissors, with which he clip- 
 ped his beard, and a blank book, in 
 which he had drew or delineated 
 sundry religious pieces, with a black- 
 lead pencil, found in the book. His 
 body was takal to the friends old 
 buriel-ground, near Mount-Holly, 
 and there decently interred : he being 
 about sixty-six years of age; and 
 had spent nearly twenty-tliree of them 
 in his solitude. * ^ 
 
 Thus dear Melchifir, I have giv- 
 en as full an accouit of this poor 
 recluse person, as I have been able 
 to obtain, and which Jl trust will not 
 


97 
 
 be altogether uninteresting to you, 
 notwithstanding, the A^^ant of just ar- 
 rangement, and the desultory manner 
 in which it is written. 
 
 The hermits body now is laid^ 
 To moulder in the grave, 
 
 That great and solemn debt is paid, 
 Which death of all will have. 
 
 II. 
 But the grim tyrant could not sting, 
 
 Our Hermit's, mental part. 
 As death approached the more he'd 
 sing, 
 ^' Come fling thy pointed dart." 
 
 III. 
 '* The grave nor thee, nor both of* 
 you, 
 ^^ I do not fear, not I, 
 
 I 
 


98 
 
 " Thy dart is blunted, and the grave 
 " Will have no victory.'* 
 
 IV. 
 
 " And this I sing through faith that 
 makes 
 
 " Rough things seem sweet to me, 
 " For all my sins, my Jesus takes, 
 
 '' He hath my soul set free. 
 
 V. 
 
 ** My sins and stains of scarlet dye, 
 " Doth snow resemble well, 
 
 *^ My crimesalthough of crimson hue, 
 " Are now all made like wool. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ^' And all the hardships I have seen, 
 " I now think of with pleasure, 
 
 ^' They've been a mean whereby to 
 wean, 
 ^* My heart from eardily treasure." 
 


99 
 
 VII. 
 
 And now you young men, come and 
 tell 
 
 If Francis was not wise, 
 In striving hard his sins to quell, 
 
 That he might gain the prize. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 That prize I mean, which all will 
 gain, 
 Who seek it through the blood 
 Of the High-priest, who once was 
 slain, 
 To bring us home to God. 
 
 LftfC? 
 


LETTER IX. 
 
 BURLINGTON COUNTY, 
 
 December, 25th, 17S0, 
 
 Dear Friend, 
 
 Having concluded Francis, I had 
 no expectation of writing at this 
 time— But as it is Christmas, the 
 time so many, up and down, are re. 
 veiling and rioting, and spending 
 their precious time, in such way that 
 we may reasonably suppose will 
 prove their utter ruin. I thought I 
 would try to divert my mind by giv- 
 ing you a line. How very different 
 IS the Anniversary of the Birth of 
 our Saviour ushered in, in our times, 
 trom what it was, when the cry of 
 Crlory to God in the highest, peace on 
 


101 
 
 earth an^ good will to men," was 
 sounded by those who hailed the aus- 
 picious day. — O my dear Melchoir 
 let us remember that, 
 
 " On this distinguished day of grace, 
 " The eternal prince of glory came, 
 *' To purge the guilt of human race, 
 " And save them by his powerful 
 
 name. 
 " When we in bondage were exiPd, 
 " And rebels to the eternal God, 
 *' Our souls with blackest guilt de- 
 
 fiPd, 
 * * Obnoxious to the impending rod, 
 *' That from his seat of perfect bliss, 
 '* The son of glory should descend, 
 " To ofter man the terms of peace, 
 " And his unbounded grace extend, 
 " Such goodness, such stupendous 
 
 9 r^ce 
 ■' Norman, nor angels can explore, 
 
 I 2 
 


102 
 
 '' Then let us, what we cannot trace, 
 '* With awful reverence adore." 
 
 And never may we prophane the day, 
 like the giddy multitude, who fre- 
 quently have ridiculed the veneration 
 with which poor Francis regarded it, 
 and have becH heard to say he was a 
 fool.— But if he was a fool, what 
 shall be said of the drunkard and 
 glutton, the deist and infidel, the 
 prodigal and avaricious, all of whom 
 are standing on a dreadful precipice, 
 notwithstandingthey, (many of them,) 
 by their possessing abundance of 
 this world's goods may draw the envy 
 of the foolish;— The drunkard and 
 prophane, the irreligious and infidel, 
 the prodigal and avaricious, will fall, 
 all of them fall, into one irremeable 
 misery unless they are favoured with 
 the grace of repentance. And which 
 


lo: 
 
 misery, they have an awful anticipa 
 tion of, near the solemn close. 
 
 " In that dread moment how the 
 frantic soul 
 
 " Raves round the walls of her clay 
 tenement, 
 
 " Runs to each avenue, and shrieks 
 for help, 
 
 " But shrieks in vain 1 how wishful- 
 ly she looks 
 
 *' On all she's leaving, now no long- 
 er her's ! 
 
 <* A little longer, yet a little longer, 
 
 " O! might she stay to wash away 
 her crimes, 
 
 *' And fit her for her passage! mourn^ 
 ful sight ! 
 
 '' Her very eyes weep blood, and 
 every groan 
 
 '' She heaves, is big with horror : but 
 the foe, 
 


104 
 
 ^< Like a staunch murderer, steady 
 to his purpose, 
 
 " Pursues her close through every 
 lane of life 
 
 " Nor misses once the track, but 
 presses on ; 
 
 ^' Till, forc'd at last to the tremen- 
 dous verge 
 
 ** At once she sinks."* 
 
 O ! that we all may, by timely re- 
 pentaDCc, and fleeing to him '* who 
 is a stroLg hold in the d.iy of trou- 
 ble,'' experience a difttrent ei:d, and 
 be eiKoled, through divine grace to 
 coniba^ rhe ragiijgs Oi Satan, and 
 de-pise thv^ misshapen lorm of Death, 
 and iiehoid 
 
 " Sweet fields beyond the sweliine 
 ^ flood ^ 
 
 " Stand drestin living green ; 
 
 * Blair. 
 


105 
 
 *' So to the Jews old Canaan stobd, 
 *' While Jordan roll'd between, "f 
 
 AncJ preparatory to such a beatic 
 vision, let the drunkard, and glut- 
 ton, think of the vast difference, be- 
 tween such a course their lives daily- 
 exhibit, and that purity we are com- 
 manded to attain. — And let the de« 
 ist stop short in the midst of his ca- 
 reer, and remember with all his 
 boasted powers of reason, that as 
 great men as any his whole tribe can 
 produce, were Christians. The late 
 Governor Livingston WTOte a litde 
 piece, a part of which I will tran- 
 scribe for your amusement. 
 
 '' Courteous Reader. 
 
 — — " Did you ever 
 
 *^ see a man who had the assurance to 
 
 t Watts.- 
 


106 
 
 '^ tell you, that our belief in the divine 
 " origin of the scriptures is wholly to 
 '* be ascribed to the force of educa- 
 *^ tion, and the early infusions of the 
 '* nurse and the priest ; but that all 
 *' men of unfettered, uninfluenced 
 * • sentiments, all philosophers and rea- 
 *' soners, have ever esteemed revela- 
 ** tion as imposture ; and this man at 
 " the same time confessing that Sir 
 *' Isaac Newton, and Mr. Locke, 
 *' and lord Bacon, and Sir, Robert 
 " Boyle, and Grotius, and Boerhave, 
 ** and Littleton, and West, and Pas- 
 *' cal, and Penn, and Barcla-% and 
 " Phipps, were all Christians, after 
 " the most impartial scrutiny and the 
 ^* most assiduous investigation of the 
 " evidences by which revelation is 
 
 *' supported." " Have you 
 
 '^ ever seen such a man sir? Why, 
 '^ then you have seen a blockhead*" 
 


lor 
 
 As to the prodigal and avaricious, 
 they as well as the rest, will be in- 
 volved in ruin, except they > repent, 
 but the prodigal has this advantage 
 over the avaricious, for he will soon 
 want the means to pursue his wild 
 schemes of profusion, and there has 
 been many instances of their turning 
 their faces towards their fathers house, 
 after being reduced to their husks, 
 and many, after a grievous repen- 
 tance have been favoured to reach 
 there. But alas ! for the avaiicious 
 man, he is so hedged about with er- 
 ror, it will be next to a miracle if he 
 escapes ruin. — For as the prodigal 
 by his waste is reduced to a state 
 whereby he detects the folly of pros- 
 tituting liberality to subserve his base 
 profusion, is now brought to see that 
 in the out- set he was ^\Tong in sepa- 
 rating liberality from economy, from 
 


iOS 
 
 which he is now sensible his outward 
 ruin is to be traced, but which how- 
 ever, is a mean whereby he escapes 
 everlasting ruin. 
 
 While on the other hand, the poor 
 Muck-worm, in his exertions to sub^ 
 serve, as he persuades himself, the 
 bright virtues of prudence and econo- 
 my, (but which are sadly perverted 
 by him,) finding an increase to his 
 stores, at the same time finds an in- 
 crease to his desires, and what was in- 
 tended as a blessing, is rendered a 
 curse to him, and his perverted view 
 of some of the virtues, gives him a 
 total disrelish to the social ones, when 
 at last his heart becomes callous to 
 the common feelings of humanity. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 

















CONGRESS