CHAP. IV. (continued 2)

Such would be the conduct of a prudent man, who listens to the instructions of another with the serious intention of profiting by them. In the present case he sees plain proofs of degraded self estimation, of dishonesty, and of mean motives. But the prudent man will go further—he will remark that dissolute manners, and actions which are inevitably subversive of the peace and order, nay, of the very existence of society, are the natural and necessary consequences of irreligion. Should any doubt of this remain in his mind; should he sometimes think of an Epictetus, or one or two individuals of antiquity, who were eminently virtuous, without the influence of religious sanctions, he should recollect, that the Stoics were animated by the thought, that while the wise man was playing the game of life, the gods were looking on, and pleased with his skill. Let him read the beautiful account given by Dr. Smith of the rise of the Stoic philosophy, and he will see that it was an artificial but noble attempt of a few exalted minds, enthusiasts in virtue, aiming to steel their souls against the dreadful but unavoidable misfortunes to which they were continually exposed by the daily recurring revolutions in the turbulent democracies of ancient Greece. There, a philosopher was this day a magistrate, and the next day a captive and a slave. He would see that this fair picture of mental happiness and independence was fitted for the contemplation of only a few choice spirits, but had no influence on the bulk of mankind. He must admire the noble characters who were animated by this manly enthusiasm, and who have really exhibited some wonderful pictures of virtuous heroism; but he will regret, that the influence of these manly, these natural principles, was not more extensive. He will say to himself, "How will a whole nation act when religious sanctions are removed, and men are actuated by reason alone?"—He is not without instruction on this important subject. France has given an awful lesson to surrounding nations, by shewing them what is the natural effect of shaking off the religious principle, and the veneration for that pure morality which characterises Christianity. By a decree of the Convention, (June 6, 1794) it is declared, that there is nothing criminal in the promiscuous commerce of the sexes, and therefore nothing that derogates from the female character, when woman forgets that she is the depositary of all domestic satisfaction——that her honour is the sacred bond of social life——that on her modesty and delicacy depend all the respect and confidence that will make a man attach himself to her society, free her from labour, share with her the fruits of all his own exertions, and work with willingness and delight, that she may appear on all occasions his equal, and the ornament of all his acquisitions. In the very argument which this selected body of senators has given for the propriety of this decree, it has degraded woman below all estimation. "It is to prevent her from murdering the fruit of unlawful love, by removing her shame, and by relieving her from the fear of want." The senators say, "the Republic wants citizens, and therefore must not only remove this temptation of shame, but must take care of the mother while she nurses the child. It is the property of the nation, and must not be lost." The woman all the while is considered only as the she-animal, the breeder of Sans Culottes. This is the just morality of Illumination. It is really amusing (for things revolting to nature now amuse) to observe with what fidelity the principles of the Illuminati have expressed the sentiments which take possession of a people who have shaken off the sanctions of Religion and morality. The following is part of the address to Psycharion and the company mentioned in page 257: "Once more, Psycharion, I indulge you with a look behind you to the flowery days of childhood. Now look forwards, young woman! the holy circle of the marriageable, (mannbaren) welcome you. Young men, honour the young woman, the future breeder (gebaererin)!" Then, to all.—"Rejoice in the dawn of Illumination and of Freedom. Nature at last enjoys her sacred never-fading rights. Long was her voice kept down by civil subordination; but the days of your majority now draw nigh, and you will no longer, under the authority of guardians, account it a reproach to consider with enlightened eyes the secret workshops of nature, and to enjoy your work and duty." Minos thought this very fine, but it raised a terrible disturbance and broke up the assembly.

Such are the effects of this boasted enlightening of the human mind with respect to religion and morality. Let us next consider what is the result of the mighty informations which we have got in respect of our social or political connections.

II. We have learned the sum total of this political Illumination, and see that, if true, it is melancholy, destructive of our present comforts, numerous as they are, and affords no prospect of redress from which we can profit, but, on the contrary, plunges mankind into dissention, mutual injury, and universal misery, and all this for the chance only of prevailing in the contest, and giving our posterity a chance of going on in peace, if no change shall be produced, as in former times, by the efforts of ambitious men. But the Illumination appears to be partial, nay false. What is it? It holds out to the prince nothing but the resignation of all his possessions, rights and claims, sanctioned by the quiet possession of ages, and by all the feelings of the human heart which give any notion of right to his lowest subject. All these possessions and claims are discovered to have arisen from usurpations, and are therefore tyranny. It has been discovered, that all subordinate subjections were enforced, therefore their continuance is slavery. But both of these historical assertions are in a great degree false, and the inferences from them are unreasonable. The world has gone on as we see it go on at present. Most principalities or sovereignties have arisen as we see personal authorities and influence arise every day among ourselves. Business for the whole must be done. Most men are sufficiently occupied by their private affairs, and they are indolent even in these—they are contented when another does the thing for them. There is not a little village, nor a society of men, where this is not seen every day. Some men have an enjoyment in this kind of vicarious employment. Other men like influence and power, and thus are compensated for their trouble. Thus many petty managers of public affairs arise in every country. The mutual animosities of individuals, and still more, the animosities of tribes, clans, and different associations, give rise to another kind of superiors—to leaders, who direct the struggles of the rest, whether for offence or defence. The descendants of Israel said, "they wanted a man to go out before the people, like other nations." As the small business of a few individuals requires a manager or a leader, so do some more general affairs of these petty superiors.—Many of these also are indolent enough to wish this trouble taken off their hands; and thus another rank of superiors arises, and a third, and so on, till a great State may be formed; and in this gradation each class is a competent judge of the conduct of that class only which is immediately above it.

All this may arise, and has often arisen, from voluntary concession alone. This concession may proceed from various causes,—from confidence in superior talents—from confidence in great worth,—most generally from the respect or deference which all men feel for great possessions. This is frequently founded in self-interest and expectations of advantage; but it is natural to man, and perhaps springs from our instinctive sympathy with the satisfactions of others—we are unwilling to disturb them, and even wish to promote them.

But this subordination may arise, and has often arisen, from other causes—from the love of power and influence, which makes some men eager to lead others, or even to manage their concerns. We see this every day, and it may be perfectly innocent. It often arises from the desire of gain of one kind or another.—This also may frequently be indulged with perfect innocence, and even with general advantage. Frequently, however, this subordination is produced by the love of power or of gain pushed to an immoderate degree of ambition, and rendered unjust. Now there arise oppression, tyranny, sufferings, and slavery. Now appears an opposition between the rights or claims of the ruler and of the people. Now the rulers come to consider themselves as a different class, and their transactions are now only with each other.—Prince becomes the rival or the enemy of Prince; and in their contests one prevails, and the dominion is enlarged. This rivalship may have begun in any rank of superiors; even between the first managers of the affairs of the smallest communities; and it must be remarked that they only are the immediate gainers or losers in the contest, while those below them live at ease, enjoying many advantages of the delegation of their own concerns.

No human society has ever proceeded purely in either of these two ways, but there has always been a mixture of both.—But this process is indispensably necessary for the formation of a great nation, and for all the consequences that result only from such a coalition.—Therefore it is necessary for giving rise to all those comforts, and luxuries, and elegances, which are to be found only in great and cultivated states. It is necessary for producing such enjoyments as we see around us in Europe, which we prize so highly, and for which we are making all this stir and disturbance. I believe that no man who expects to be believed will positively assert that human nature and human enjoyments are not meliorated by this cultivation.—It seems to be the intention of nature, and, notwithstanding the follies and vices of many, we can have little hesitation in saying that there are in the most cultivated nations of Europe, and even in the highest ranks of those nations, men of great virtue and worth, and of high accomplishment—Nor can we deny that such men are the finest specimens of human nature. Rosseau indeed wrote a whimsical pamphlet, in which he had the vanity to think that he had proved that all these fruits of cultivation were losses to humanity and virtue—Yet Rousseau could not be contented with the society of the rude and unpolished, although he pretended that he was almost the sole worshipper of pure virtue.—He supported himself, not by assisting the simple peasant, but by writing music and luscious novels for the pampered rich.

This is the circumstance entirely overlooked, or artfully kept out of sight, in the boasted Illumination of these days. No attention is paid to the important changes which have happened in national greatness, in national connection, in national improvement—yet we never think of parting with any of the advantages, real or imaginary, which these changes have produced—nor do we reflect that in order to keep a great nation together—to make it act with equality, or with preponderancy, among other nations, the individual exertions must be concentrated, must be directed—and that this requires a ruler vested with supreme power, and interested by some great and endearing motive, such as hereditary possession of this power and influence, to maintain and defend this coalition of men.—All this is overlooked, and we attend only to the subordination which is indispensably necessary. Its grievances are immediately felt, and they are heightened tenfold by a delicacy or sensibility which springs from the great improvements in the accommodations and enjoyments of life, which the gradual usurpation and subsequent subordination have produced, and continue to support. But we are determined to have the elegance and grandeur of a palace without the prince.—We will not give up any of our luxuries and refinements, yet will not support those high ranks and those nice minds which produced them, and which must continue to keep them from degenerating into barbarous simplicity and coarse sensuality. We would keep the philosophers, the poets, the artists, but not the Mæcenases. It is very true that in such a state there would be no Conjuration des Philosophes; for in such a state this vermin of philosophes and scribblers would not have existed. In short, we would have what is impossible.

I have no hesitation in saying, that the British Constitution is the form of government for a great and refined nation, in which the ruling sentiments and propensities of human nature seem most happily blended and balanced. There is no occasion to vaunt it as the ancient rights of Britons, the wisdom of ages, &c. It has attained its present pitch of perfection by degrees, and this not by the efforts of wisdom, but by the struggles of vice and folly, working on a rich fund of good nature, and of manly spirit, that are conspicuous in the British character. I do not hesitate to say that it is the only form of government which will admit and give full exercise to all the respectable propensities of our nature, with the least chance of disturbance and the greatest probability of man's arriving at the highest pitch of improvement in every thing that raises him above the beasts of the field. Yet there is no part of it that may not, that is not, abused, by pushing it to an improper length, and the same watchful care is necessary for preserving our inestimable blessings that was employed in acquiring them. This is to be done, not by flying at once to an abstract theory of the rights of man. There is an evident folly in this procedure. What is this theory? It is the best general sketch that we can draw of social life, deduced from our knowledge of human nature. And what is this knowledge? It is a well digested abstract, or rather a declaration of what we have observed of human actions. What is the use therefore of this intermediate picture, this theory of the rights of man?—It has a chance of being unlike the original——it must certainly have imperfections, therefore it can be of no use to us. We should go at once to the original—we should consider how men have acted—what have been their mutual expectations—their fond propensities—what of these are inconsistent with each other—what are the degrees of indulgence which have been admitted in them all without disturbance.—I will venture to say that whoever does this, will find himself imperceptibly led to contemplate a mixed hereditary monarchy, and will figure to himself a parliament of King, Lords, and Commons, all looking at each other with somewhat of a cautious or jealous eye, while the rest of the nation are fitting, "each under his own vine and under his own fig-tree, and there is none to make him afraid;"—in one word, the Constitution of Great Britain.

A most valuable result of such contemplation will be a thorough conviction that the grievance which is most clamorously insisted on is the inevitable consequence of the liberty and security which we enjoy. I mean ministerial corruption, with all the dismal tale of placemen, and pensioners, and rotten boroughs, &c. &c. These are never seen in a despotic government—there they are not wanted—nor can they be very apparent in an uncultivated and poor state—but in a luxurious nation, where pleasures abound, where the returns of industry are secure; here an individual looks on every thing as his own acquisition—he does not feel his relation to the state—has no patriotism—thinks that he would be much happier if the state would let him alone. He is fretted by the restraints which the public weal lays on him—therefore government and governors appear as checks and hindrances to his exertions—hence a general inclination to resist administration. Yet public business must be done, that we may lie down and rise again in safety and peace. Administration must be supported—there are always persons who wish to possess the power that is exercised by the present ministers, and would turn them out. How is all this to be remedied? I see no way but by applying to the selfish views of individuals—by rewarding the friends of administration—This may be done with perfect virtue—and from this the selfish will conceive hopes, and will support a virtuous ministry—but they are as ready to help a wicked one. This becomes the greatest misfortune of a free nation. Ministers are tempted to bribe—and, if a systematic opposition be considered as a necessary part of a practical constitution, it is almost indispensable—and it is no where so prevalent as in a pure democracy. Laws may be contrived to make it very troublesome, but can never extirpate it nor greatly diminish it: this can be done only by despotism, or by national virtue. It is a shameful complaint—we should not reprobate a few ministers, but the thousands who take the bribes. Nothing tends so much to diminish it in a corrupted nation as great limitations to the eligibility of representatives—and this is the beauty of our constitution.

We have not discovered, therefore, by this boasted Illumination, that Princes and superiors are useless, and must vanish from the earth; nor that the people have now attained full age, and are fit to govern themselves. We want only to revel a little on the last fruits of national cultivation, which we would quickly consume, and never allow to be raised again. No matter how this progress began, whether from concession or usurpation—We possess it, and, if wise, we will preserve it, by preserving its indispensable supports. They have indeed been frequently employed very improperly, but their most pernicious abuse has been this breed of scribbling vermin, which have made the body politic smart in every limb.

Hear what opinion was entertained of the sages of France by their Prince, the father of Louis XVI. the unfortunate martyr of Monarchy. "By the principles of our new Philosophers, the Throne no longer wears the splendour of divinity. They maintain that it arose from violence, and that by the same justice that force erected it, force may again shake it, and overturn it. The people can never give up their power. They only let it out for their own advantage, and always retain the right to rescind the contract, and resume it whenever their personal advantage, their only rule of conduct, requires it. Our philosophers teach in public what our passions suggest only in secret. They say to the Prince that all is permitted only when all is in his power, and that his duty is fulfilled when he has pleased his fancy. Then, surely, if the laws of self-interest, that is, the self-will of human passions, shall be so generally admitted, that we thereupon forget the eternal laws of God and of Nature, all conceptions of right and wrong, of virtue and vice, of good and evil, must be extirpated from the human heart. The throne must totter, the subjects must become unmanageable and mutinous, and their ruler hard-hearted and inhuman. The people will be incessantly oppressed or in an uproar."—"What service will it be if I order such a book to be burnt?—the author can write another to-morrow." This opinion of a Prince is unpolished indeed, and homely, but it is just.

Weishaupt grants, that "there will be a terrible convulsion, and a storm—but this will be succeeded by a calm—the unequal will now be equal—and when the cause of dissension is thus removed, the world will be in peace."—True, when the causes of dissension are removed. Thus, the destruction of our crop by vermin is at an end when a flood has swept every thing away—but as new plants will spring up in the waste, and, if not instantly devoured, will again cover the ground with verdure, so the industry of man, and his desire of comfort and consideration, will again accumulate in the hands of the diligent a greater proportion of the good things of life. In this infant state of the emerging remains of former cultivation, comforts, which the present inhabitants of Europe would look on with contempt, will be great, improper, and hazardous acquisitions. The principles which authorise the proposed dreadful equalisation will as justly entitle the idle or unsuccessful of future days to strip the possessor of his advantages, and things must ever remain on their savage level.

III. I think that the impression which the insincerity of conduct of those instructors will leave on the mind, must be highly useful. They are evidently teaching what they do not believe themselves—and here I do not confine my remark to their preparatory doctrines, which they afterwards explode. I make it chiefly with respect to their grand ostensible principle, which pervades the whole, a principle which they are obliged to adopt against their will.—They know that the principles of virtue are rooted in the heart, and that they can only be smothered—but did they pretend to eradicate them and proclaim hominem homini lupum, all would spurn at their instruction. We are wheedled, by tickling our fancy with a notion that sacred virtue is not only secure, but that it is only in such hearts that it exerts its native energy. Sensible that the levelling maxims now spoken of are revolting to the mind, the Illuminators are under the necessity of keeping us from looking at the shocking picture, by displaying a beautiful scene of Utopian happiness—and they rock us asleep by the eternal lullaby of morality and universal philanthropy. Therefore the foregoing narration of the personal conduct of these instructors and reformers of the world, is highly useful. All this is to be brought about by the native loveliness of pure virtue, purged of the corruptions which superstitious fears have introduced, and also purged of the selfish thoughts which are avowed by the advocates of what their opponents call true religion. This is said to hold forth eternal rewards to the good, and to threaten the wicked with dreadful punishment. Experience has shown how inefficient such motives are. Can they be otherwise? say our Illuminators. Are they not addressed to a principle that is ungenerous and selfish? But our doctrines, say they, touch the hearts of the worthy. Virtue is beloved for her own sake, and all will yield to her gentle sway. But look, Reader, look at Spartacus the murderer, at Cato the keeper of poisons and the thief—Look at Tiberius, at Alcibiades, and the rest of the Bavarian Pandemonium. Look at poor Bahrdt. Go to France—look at Lequinio, at Condorcet[26]. Look at the Monster Orleans.——All were liars. Their divinity had no influence on their profligate minds. They only wanted to wheedle you, by touching the strings of humanity and goodness which are yet braced up in your heart, and which still yield sweet harmony if you will accompany their notes with those of religion, and neither clog them with the groveling pleasures of sense, nor damp the whole with the thought of eternal silence.

A most worthy and accomplished gentleman, who took refuge in this country, leaving behind him his property, and friends to whom he was most tenderly attached, often said to me that nothing so much affected him as the revolution in the hearts of men.—Characters which were unspotted, hearts thoroughly known to himself, having been tried by many things which search the inmost folds of selfishness or malevolence—in short, persons whose judgments were excellent, and on whose worth he could have rested his honour and his life, so fascinated by the contagion, that they came at last to behold, and even to commit the most atrocious crimes with delight.—He used sometimes to utter a sigh which pierced my heart, and would say, that it was caused by some of those things that had come across his thoughts. He breathed his last among us, declaring that it was impossible to recover peace of mind, without a total oblivion of the wickedness and miseries he had beheld.—What a valuable advice, "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall."—When the prophet told Hazael that he would betray his Prince, he exclaimed, "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do such a thing?" Yet next day he murdered him.

Never since the beginning of the world, has true religion received so complete an acknowledgment of her excellence, as has been extorted from the fanatics who have attempted to destroy her. Religion stood in their way, and the wretch Marat, as well as the steady villain Weishaupt, saw that they could not proceed till they had eradicated all sentiments of the moral government of the universe. Human nature, improved as it has been by religion, shrunk from the talks that were imposed, and it must therefore be brutalized—The grand confederation was solemnly sworn to by millions in every corner of France—but, as Mirabeau said of the declaration of the Rights of Man, it must be made only the "Almanack of the bygone year"—Therefore Lequinio must write a book, declaring oaths to be nonsense, unworthy of San Culottes, and all religion to be a farce. Not long after, they found that they had some use for a God—but he was gone—and they could not find another. Their constitution was gone—and they have not yet found another. What is now left them on which they can depend for awing a man into a respect for truth in his judicial declarations? what but the honour of a Citizen of France, who laughs at all engagements, which he has broken again and again? Religion has taken off with her every sense of human duty. What can we expect but villainy from an Archbishop of Paris and his chapter, who made a public profession that they had been playing the villains for many years, teaching what they thought to be a bundle of lies? What but the very thing which they have done, cutting each other's throats?—Have not the enlightened citizens of France applauded the execution of their fathers? Have not the furies of Paris denounced their own children? But turn your eyes from the horrifying spectacle, and think on your own noble descent and alliance. You are not the accidental productions of a fatal chaos, but the work of a Great Artist, creatures that are cared for, born to noble prospects, and conducted to them by the plainest and most simple precepts, "to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly before God," not bewildered by the false and fluttering glare of French Philosophy, but conduced by this clear, single light, perceivable by all, "Do to others what you should reasonably expect them to do to you."

Mason.

The unfortunate Prince who has taken refuge in this kingdom, and whose situation among us is an illustrious mark of the generosity of the nation, and of the sovereignty of its laws, said to one of the Gentleman about him, that "if this country was to escape the general wreck of nations, it would owe its preservation to Religion."—When this was doubted, and it was observed, that there had not been wanting many Religionists in France; "True," said the Prince, "but they were not in earnest.—I see here a serious interest in the thing. The people know what they are doing when they go to church—they understand something of it, and take an interest in it." May his observation be just, and his expectations be fulfilled!

IV. I would again call upon my countrywomen with the most earnest concern, and beseech them to consider this subject as of more particular importance to themselves than even to the men.—While woman is considered as a respectable moral agent, training along with ourselves for endless improvement; then, and only then, will she be considered by lordly man as his equal;—then, and only then, will she be allowed to have any rights, and those rights be respected. Strip women of this prerogative, and they become the drudges of man's indolence, or the pampered playthings of his idle hours, subject to his caprices, and slaves to his mean passions. Soon will their present empire of gallantry be over. It is a refinement of manners which sprang from Christianity; and when Christianity is forgotten, this artificial diadem will be taken from their heads, and unless they adopt the ferocious sentiments of their Gallic neighbours, and join in the general uproar, they will sink into the insignificance of the women in the turbulent republics of Greece, where they are never seen in the busy haunts of men, if we except four or five, who, during the course of as many centuries, emerged from the general obscurity, and appear in the historic page, by their uncommon talents, and by the sacrifice of what my fair countrywomen still hold to be the ornament of their sex. I would remind them, that they have it in their power to retain their present honourable station in society. They are our early instructors; and while mothers in the respectable stations of life continued to inculcate on the tender minds of their sons a veneration for the precepts of Religion, their pliant children, receiving their instructions along with the affectionate caresses of their mothers, got impressions which long retained their force, and which protected them from the impulses of youthful passions, till ripening years fitted their minds for listening to serious instruction from their public teachers. Sobriety and decency of manners were then no slur on the character of a youth, and he was thought capable of struggling for independence, or pre-eminence, fit either for supporting or defending the state, although he was neither a toper nor a rake. I believe that no man who has seen thirty or forty years of life will deny that the manners of youth are sadly changed in this respect. And, without presuming to say that this has proceeded from the neglect, and almost total cessation of the moral education of the nursery, I think myself well warranted, from my own observation, to say that this education and the sober manners of young men have quitted us together.

Some will call this prudery, and croaking. But I am almost transcribing from Cicero, and from Quintilian. Cornelia, Aurelia, Attia, and other ladies of the first rank, are praised by Cicero only for their eminence in this respect; but not because they were singular. Quintilian says, that in the time immediately prior to his own, it had been the general practice of the ladies of rank to superintend the moral education both of sons and daughters. But of late, says he, they are so engaged in continual and corrupting amusements, such as the shows of gladiators, horse-racing, and deep play, that they have no time, and have yielded their places to Greek governesses and tutors, outcasts of a nation more subdued by their own vices than by the Roman arms——I dare say this was laughed at, as croaking about the corruption of the age. But what was the consequence of all this?—The Romans became the most abandoned voluptuaries, and, to preserve their mean pleasures, they crouched as willing slaves to a succession of the vilest tyrants that ever disgraced humanity.

What a noble fund of self-estimation would our fair partners acquire to themselves, if, by reforming the manners of the young generation, they should be the means of restoring peace to the world! They have it in their power, by the renewal of the good old custom of early instruction, and perhaps still more, by impressing on the minds of their daughters the same sentiments, and obliging them to respect sobriety and decency in the youth, and pointedly to withhold their smiles and civilities from all who transgress these in the smallest degree. This is a method of proceeding that will most certainly be victorious. Then indeed will the women be the saviours of their country. While therefore the German fair have been repeatedly branded with having welcomed the French invaders[27], let our ladies stand up for the honour of free-born Britons, by turning against the pretended enlighteners of the world, the arms which nature has put into their hands, and which those profligates have presumptuously expected to employ in extending their influence over mankind. The empire of beauty is but short, but the empire of virtue is durable; nor is there an instance to be met with of its decline. If it be yet possible to reform the world, it is possible for the fair. By the constitution of human nature, they must always appear as the ornament of human life, and be the objects of fondness and affection; so that if any thing can make head against the selfish and overbearing dispositions of man, it is his respectful regard for the sex. But mere fondness has but little of the rational creature in it, and we see it harbour every day in the breast that is filled with the meanest and most turbulent passions. No where is it so strong as in the harems of the east; and as long as the women ask nothing of the men but fondness and admiration, they will get nothing else—they will never be respected. But let them rouse themselves, assert their dignity, by shewing their own elevated sentiments of human nature, and by asking up to this claim, and they may then command the world.

V. Another good consequence that should result from the account that has been given of the proceedings of this conspiracy is, that since the fascinating picture of human life, by which men have been wheedled into immediate anarchy and rebellion, is insincere, and a mere artificial creature of the imagination, it can have no steadiness, but must be changed by every freak of fancy, or by every ingenious sophist, who can give an equal plausibility to whatever suits his present views. It is as much an airy phantom as any other whim of Free Masonry, and has no prototype, no original pattern in human nature, to which recourse may always be had, to correct mistakes, and keep things in a constant tenor. Has not France given the most unequivocal proofs of this? Was not the declaration of the Rights of Man, the production of their most brilliant Illuminators, a picture, in abstracto, where man was placed at a distance from the eye, that no false light of local situation might pervert the judgment or engage the passions? Was it not declared to be the master-piece of human wisdom? Did not the nation consider it at leisure? and, having it continually before their eyes, did they not, step by step, give their assent to the different articles of their Constitution, derived from it, and fabricated by their most choice Illuminators? And did not this Constitution draw the applauses of the bright geniuses of other nations, who by this time were busy in persuading, each his countrymen, that they were ignoramuses in statistics, and patient slaves of oppression or of ancient prejudices? Did not panegyrics on it issue from every garret in London? Where is it now? where is its successor? Has any one plan of government subsisted, except while it was supported by the incontroulable and inexorable power of the guillotine? Is not the present administration of France as much as ever the object of discontent and of terror, and its coercions as like as ever to the summary justice of the Parisian mob? Is there any probability of its permanency in a state of peace, when the fears of a foreign enemy no longer give a consolidation to their measures, and oblige them either to agree among themselves, or immediately to perish?

VI. The above accounts evince in the most uncontrovertible manner the dangerous tendency of all mystical societies, and of all associations who hold secret meetings. We see that their uniform progress has been from frivolity and nonsense to wickedness and sedition. Weishaupt has been at great pains to shew the good effects of secrecy in the Association, and the arguments are valid for this purpose. But all his arguments are so many dissuasive advices to every thinking and sober mind. The man who really wishes to discover an abstruse truth will place himself, if possible in a calm situation, and will by no means expose himself to the impatient hankering for secrets and wonders—and he will always fear that a thing which resolutely conceals itself cannot bear the light. All who have seriously employed themselves in the discovery of truth have found the great advantages of open communication of sentiment. And it is against common sense to imagine that there is any thing of vast importance to mankind which is yet a secret, and which must be kept a secret in order to be useful. This is against the whole experience of mankind—And surely to hug in one's breast a secret of such mighty importance, is to give the lie to all our professions of brotherly love. What a solecism! a secret to enlighten and reform the whole world. We render all our endeavours impotent when we grasp at a thing beyond our power. Let an association be formed with a serious plan for reforming its own members, and let them extend in numbers in proportion as they succeed—this might do some good. But must the way of doing this be a secret?—It may be to many—who will not look for it where it is to be found—It is this:

"Do good,—seek peace,—and pursue it."

But it is almost affronting the reader to suppose arguments necessary on this point. If there be a necessity for secrecy, the purpose of the association is either frivolous, or it is selfish.

Now, in either case, the danger of such secret assemblies is manifest. Mere frivolity can never seriously occupy men come to age. And accordingly we see that in every quarter of Europe where Free Masonry has been established, the Lodges have become seed-beds of public mischief. I believe that no ordinary brother will say that the occupations in the Lodges are any thing better than frivolous, very frivolous indeed. The distribution of charity needs be no secret, and it is but a very small part of the employment of the meeting. This being the case it is in human nature that the greater we suppose the frivolity of such an association to be, the greater is the chance of its ceasing to give sufficient occupation to the mind, and the greater is the risk that the meetings may be employed to other purposes which require concealment. When this happens, self-interest alone must prompt and rule, and now there is no length that some men will not go, when they think themselves in no danger of detection and punishment. The whole proceedings of the secret societies of Free Masons on the Continent (and I am authorised to say, of some Lodges in Britain) have taken one turn, and this turn is perfectly natural. In all countries there are men of licentious morals. Such men wish to have a safe opportunity of indulging their wits in satire and sarcasm; and they are pleased with the support of others. The desire of making proselytes is in every breast—and it is whetted by the restraints of society. And all countries have discontented men, whose grumblings will raise discontent in others, who might not have attended to some of the trifling hardships and injuries they met with, had they not been reminded of them. To be discontented, and not to think of schemes of redress, is what we cannot think natural or manly—and where can such sentiments and schemes find such safe utterance and such probable support as in a secret society? Free Masonry is innocent of all these things; but Free Masonry has been abused, and at last totally perverted—and so will and must any such secret association, as long as men are licentious in their opinions or wicked in their dispositions.

It were devoutly to be wished therefore that the whole fraternity would imitate the truly benevolent conduct of those German Lodges who have formally broken up, and made a patriotic sacrifice of their amusement to the safety of the state. I cannot think the sacrifice great or costly. It can be no difficult matter to find as pleasing a way of passing a vacant hour—and the charitable deeds of the members need not diminish in the smallest degree. Every person's little circle of acquaintance will give him opportunities of gratifying his kind dispositions, without the chance of being mistaken in the worth of the person on whom he bestows his favours. There is no occasion to go to St. Petersburg for a poor Brother, nor to India for a convert to Christianity, as long as we see so many sufferers and infidels among ourselves.

But not only are secret societies dangerous, but all societies whose object is mysterious. The whole history of man is a proof of this position. In no age or country has there ever appeared a mysterious association which did not in time become a public nuisance. Ingenious or designing men of letters have attempted to show that some of the ancient mysteries were useful to mankind, containing rational doctrines of natural religion. This was the strong hold of Weishaupt, and he quotes the Eleusinian, the Pythagorean, and other mysteries. But surely their external signs and tokens were every thing that is shocking to decency and civil order. It is uncommon presumption for the learned of the eighteenth century to pretend to know more about them than their contemporaries, the philosophers, the lawgivers of antiquity. These give no such account of them. I would desire any person who admires the ingenious dissertations of Dr. Warburton to read a dull German book, called Caracteristik der Mysterien der Altern, published at Frankfort in 1787. The author contents himself with a patient collection of every scrap of every ancient author who has said any thing about them. If the reader can see anything in them but the most absurd and immoral polytheism and fable, he must take words in a sense that is useless in reading any other piece of ancient composition. I have a notion that the Dionysiacs of Iona had some scientific secrets, viz. all the knowledge of practical mechanics which was employed by their architects and engineers, and that they were really a Masonic Fraternity. But, like the Illuminati, they tagged to the secrets of Masonry the secret of drunkenness and debauchery; they had their Sister Lodges, and at last became rebels, subverters of the states where they were protected, till aiming at the dominion of all Ionia, they were attacked by the neighbouring states and dispersed. They were Illuminators too, and wanted to introduce the worship of Bacchus over the whole country, as appears in the account of them given by Strabo. Perhaps the Pythagoreans had also some scientific secrets; but they too were Illuminators, and thought it their duty to overset the State, and were themselves overset.

Nothing is so dangerous as a mystic Association. The object remaining a secret in the hands of the managers, the rest simply put a ring in their own noses, by which they may be led about at pleasure; and still panting after the secret, they are the better pleased the less they see of their way. A mystical object enables the leader to shift his ground as he pleases, and to accommodate himself to every current fashion or prejudice. This again gives him almost unlimited power; for he can make use of these prejudices to lead men by troops. He finds them already associated by their prejudices, and waiting for a leader to concentrate their strength and set them in motion. And when once great bodies of men are set in motion, with a creature of their fancy for a guide, even the engineer himself cannot say, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther."

VII. We may also gather from what we have seen that all declamations on universal philanthropy are dangerous. Their natural and immediate effect on the mind is to increase the discontents of the unfortunate, and of those in the laborious ranks of life. No one, even of the Illuminators, will deny that those ranks must be filled, if society exists in any degree of cultivation whatever, and that there will always be a greater number of men who have no farther prospect. Surely it is unkind to put such men continually in mind of a state in which they might be at their ease; and it is unkindness unmixed, because all the change that they will produce will be, that James will serve John, who formerly was the servant of James. Such declamations naturally tend to cause men to make light of the obligations and duties of common patriotism, because these are represented as subordinate and inferior to the greater and more noble affection of universal benevolence. I do not pretend to say that patriotism is founded in a rationally perceived pre-eminence or excellence of the society with which we are connected. But if it be a fact that society will not advance unless its members take an interest in it, and that human nature improves only in society, surely this interest should be cherished in every breast. Perhaps national union arises from national animosity;—but they are plainly distinguishable, and union is not necessarily productive of injustice. The same arguments that have any force against patriotism are equally good against the preference which natural instinct gives parents for their children, and surely no one can doubt of the propriety of maintaining this in its full force, subject however to the precise laws of justice.

But I am in the wrong to adduce paternal or filial affection in defence of patriotism and loyalty, since even those natural instincts are reprobated by the Illuminati, as hostile to the all-comprehending philanthropy. Mr. de la Metherie says, that among the memorials sent from the clubs in England to the National Assembly, he read two, (printed,) in which the Assembly was requested to establish a community of wives, and to take children from their parents and educate them for the nation. In full compliance with this dictate of universal philanthropy, Weishaupt would have murdered his own child and his concubine,—and Orleans voted the death of his near relation.

Indeed, of all the consequences of Illumination, the most melancholy is this revolution which it seems to operate in the heart of man,—this forcible sacrifice of every affection of the heart to an ideal divinity, a mere creature of the imagination.—It seems a prodigy, yet it is a matter of experience, that the farther we advance, or vainly suppose that we do advance, in the knowledge of our mental powers, the more are our moral feelings flattened and done away. I remember reading, long ago, a dissertation on the nursing of infants by a French academician, Le Cointre of Versailles. He indelicately supports his theories by the case of his own son, a weak puny infant, whom his mother was obliged to keep continually applied to her bosom, so that she rarely could get two hours of sleep during the time of suckling him. Mr. Le Cointre says, that she contracted for this infant "une partialite toute-a-fait deraisonable."—Plato, or Socrates, or Cicero, would probably have explained this by the habitual exercise of pity, a very endearing emotion.—But our Academician, better illuminated, solves it by stimuli on the papillæ and on the nerves of the skin, and by the meeting of the humifying aura, &c. and does not seem to think that young Le Cointre was much indebted to his mother. It would amuse me to learn that this was the wretch Le Cointre, Major of the National Guards of Versailles, who countenanced and encouraged the shocking treason and barbarity of those ruffians on the 5th and 6th of October 1789. Complete freezing of the heart would (I think) be the consequence of a theory which could perfectly explain the affections by vibrations or crystallizations.—Nay, any very perfect theory of moral sentiments must have something of this tendency.—Perhaps the ancient systems of moral philosophy, which were chiefly searches after the summum bonum, and systems of moral duties, tended more to form and strengthen the heart, and produce a worthy man, than the most perfect theory of modern times, which explains every phenomenon by means of a nice anatomy of our affections.

So far therefore as we are really more illuminated, it may chance to give us an easier victory over the natural or instinctive attachments of mankind, and make the sacrifice to universal philanthropy less costly to the heart. I do not however pretend to say that this is really the case: but I think myself fully warranted to say, that increase of virtuous affections in general has not been the fruit of modern Illumination. I will not again sicken the reader, by calling his attention to Weishaupt and his associates or successors. But let us candidly contemplate the world around us, and particularly the perpetual advocates of universal philanthropy. What have been the general effects of their continual declamations? Surely very melancholy; nor can it easily be otherwise.—An ideal standard is continually referred to. This is made gigantic, by being always seen indistinctly, as through a mist, or rather a fluttering air. In comparison with this, every feeling that we have been accustomed to respect vanishes as insignificant; and, adopting the Jesuitical maxim, that "the great end sanctifies every mean," this sum of Cosmo-political good is made to eclipse or cover all the present evils which must be endured for it. The fact now is, that we are become so familiarised with enormities, such as brutality to the weaker sex, cruelty to old age, wanton refinement on barbarity, that we now hear unmoved accounts of scenes, from which, a few years ago, we would have shrunk back with horror. With cold hearts, and a metaphysical scale, we measure the present miseries of our fellow creatures, and compare them with the accumulated miseries of former times, occasioned through a course of ages, and ascribed to the ambition of Princes. In this artificial manner are the atrocities of France extenuated; and we struggle, and partly succeed, in reasoning ourselves out of all the feelings which link men together in society.—The ties of father, husband, brother, friend—all are abandoned for an emotion which we must even strive to excite,—universal philanthropy. But this is sad perversion of nature. "He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?" Still less can he love this ideal being, of which he labours to conjure up some indistinct and fleeting notion. It is also highly absurd; for, in trying to collect the circumstances which constitute the enjoyments of this Citizen of the World, we find ourselves just brought back to the very moral feelings which we are wantonly throwing away. Weishaupt allures us by the happiness of the patriarchal life as the summum bonum of man. But if it is any thing more than eating and sleeping, and squabbling with the neighbouring patriarchs, it must consist in the domestic and neighbourly affections, and every other agreeable moral feeling, all which are to be had in our present state, in greater abundance.

But this is all a pretence;—the wicked corrupters of mankind have no such views of human felicity, nor would they be contented with it; they want to intrigue and to lead; and their patriarchal life answers the same purpose of tickling the fancy as the Arcadia of the poets. Horace shows the frivolity of these declamations, without formally enouncing the moral, in his pretty Ode,

Beatus ille qui procul negotiis.

The usurer, after expatiating on this Arcadian felicity, hurries away to change, and puts his whole cash again out to usury.

Equally ineffective are the declamations of Cosmo-politism on a mind filled with selfish passions;—they just serve it for a subterfuge.—The ties of ordinary life are broken in the first place, and the Citizen of the World is a wolf of the desart.

The unhappy consequence is, that the natural progress of liberty is retarded. Had this ignis fatuus not appeared and misled us, the improvements which true Illumination has really produced, the increase in sciences and arts, and the improvement in our estimate of life and happiness, would have continued to work silently and gradually in all nations; and those which are less fortunate in point of government would also have improved, by little and little, without losing any sensible portion of their present enjoyments in the possession of riches, or honours, or power. Those pretensions would gradually have come to balance each other, and true liberty, such as Britons enjoy, might have taken place over all.

Instead of this, the inhabitants of every state are put into a situation where every individual is alarmed and injured by the success of another, because all pre-eminence is criminal. Therefore there must be perpetual jealousy and struggle. Princes are now alarmed, since they see the aim of the lower classes, and they repent of their former liberal concessions. All parties maintain a sullen distance and reserve;—the people become unruly, and the sovereign hard-hearted; so that liberty, such as can be enjoyed in peace, is banished from the country.

VIII. When we see how eagerly the Illuminati endeavoured to insinuate their Brethren into all offices which gave them influence on the public mind, and particularly into seminaries of education, we should be particularly careful to prevent them, and ought to examine with anxious attention the manner of thinking of all who offer themselves for teachers of youth. There is no part of the secret correspondence of Spartacus and his Associates, in which we see more varied and artful methods for securing pupils, than in his own conduct respecting the students in the University, and the injunctions he gives to others. There are two men, Socher and Drexl, who had the general inspection of the schools in the Electorate. They are treated by Spartacus as persons of the greatest consequence, and the instructions given them stick at no kind of corruption. Weishaupt is at pains, circuitous and mean arts, to induce young gentlemen to come under his care, and, to one whom he describes in another letter as a little master who must have much indulgence, he causes it to be intimated, that in the quarters where he is to be lodged, he will get the key of the street-door, so that he can admit whom he will. In all this canvassing he never quits the great object, the forming the mind of the young man according to the principles of universal Liberty and Equality, and to gain this point, scruples not to flatter, and even to excite his dangerous passions. We may be certain, that the zeal of Cosmo-politism will operate in the same way in other men, and we ought therefore to be solicitous to have all that are the instructors of youth, persons of the most decent manners. No question but sobriety and hypocrisy may inhabit the same breast. But its immediate effect on the pupil is at least safe, and it is always easy for a sensible parent to represent the restrictions laid on the pupil by such a man as the effects of uncommon anxiety for his safety. Whereas there is no cure for the lax principles that may steal upon the tender mind that is not early put on its guard. Weishaupt undoubtedly thought that the principles of civil anarchy would be easiest inculcated on minds, that had already shaken off the restraints of Religion, and entered into habits of sensual indulgence. We shall be safe if we trust his judgment in this matter.—We should be particularly observant of the character and principles of Men of Talents, who offer themselves for these offices, because their influence must be very great. Indeed this anxiety should extend to all offices which in any way give holders any remarkable influence on the minds of considerable numbers. Such should always be filled by men of immaculate characters and approved principles; and, in times like the present, where the most essential questions are the subjects of frequent discussion, we should always consider with some distrust the men who are very cautious in declaring their opinions on these questions.

It is a great misfortune undoubtedly to feel ourselves in a situation which makes us damp the enjoyments of life with so much suspicion. But the history of mankind shows us that many great revolutions have been produced by remote and apparently frivolous causes. When things come to a height, it is frequently impossible to find a cure—at any rate medicina sero paratur, and it is much better to prevent the disease—principiis obsta—venienti occurrite morbo.

IX. Nor can it be said that these are vain fears. We know that the enemy is working among us, and that there are many appearances in these kingdoms which strongly resemble the contrivance of this dangerous association. We know that before the Order of Illuminati was broken up by the Elector of Bavaria, there were several Lodges in Britain, and we may be certain that they are not all broken up. I know that they are not, and that within these two years some Lodges were ignorant or affected to be so, of the corrupted principles and dangerous designs of the Illuminati. The constitution of the Order shews that this may be, for the Lodges themselves were illuminated by degrees. But I must remark, that we can hardly suppose a Lodge to be established in any place, unless there be some very zealous Brother at hand to instruct and direct it. And I think that a person can hardly be advanced as far as the rank of Scotch Knight of the Order, and be a safe man either for our Church or State. I am very well informed, that there are several thousands of subscribing Brethren in London alone, and we can hardly doubt, but that many of that number are well advanced. The vocabulary also of the Illuminati is current in certain societies among us. These societies have taken the very name and constitution of the French and German societies. Corresponding—Affiliated—Provincial—Rescript—Convention—Reading Societies—Citizen of the World—Liberty and Equality, the Imprescriptible Rights of Man, &c. &c. And must it not be acknowledged that our public arbiters of literary merit have greatly changed their manner of treatment of Theological and political writings of late years? Till Paine's Age of Reason appeared, the most sceptical writings of England kept within the bounds of decency and of argument, and we have not, in the course of two centuries, one piece that should be compared with many of the blackguard productions of the German presses. Yet even those performances generally met with sharp reproof as well as judicious refutation. This is a tribute of commendation to which my country is most justly entitled. In a former part of my life I was pretty conversant in writings of this kind, and have seen almost every English performance of note. I cannot express the surprise and disgust which I felt at the number and the gross indecency of the German dissertations which have come in my way since I began this little history,—and many of the titles which I observe in the Leipzig catalogues are such as I think no British writer would make use of. I am told that the licentiousness of the press has been equally remarkable in France, even before the Revolution.—May this sense of propriety and decency long continue to protect us, and support the national character for real good breeding, as our attainments in manly science have hitherto gained us the respect of the surrounding nations!

I cannot help thinking that British sentiment, or British delicacy, is changed; for Paine's book is treated by most of our Reviewers with an affected liberality and candour, and is laid before the public as quite new matter, and a fair field for discussion—and it strikes me as if our critics were more careful to let no fault of his opponents pass unnoticed than to expose the futility and rudeness of this indelicate writer. In the reviews of political writings we see few of those kind endeavours, which real love for our constitutional government would induce a writer to employ in order to lessen the fretful discontents of the people; and there is frequently betrayed a satisfaction at finding administration in straits, either through misconduct or misfortune. Real love for our country and its government would (I think) induce a person to mix with his criticisms some sentiments of sympathy with the embarrassment of a minister loaded with the business of a great nation, in a situation never before experienced by any minister. The critic would recollect that the minister was a man, subject to error, but not necessarily nor altogether base. But it seems to be an assumed principle with some of our political writers and reviewers that government must always be in fault, and that every thing needs a reform. Such were the beginnings on the continent, and we cannot doubt but that attempts are made to influence the public mind in this country, in the very way that has been practised abroad.—Nay,

X. The detestable doctrines of Illuminatism have been openly preached among us. Has not Dr. Priestley said, (I think in one of his letters on the Birmingham riots,) "That if the condition of other nations be as much improved as that of France will be by the change in her system of government, the great crisis, dreadful as it may appear, will be a consummation devoutly to be wished for;—and though calamitous to many, perhaps to many innocent persons, will be eventually glorious and happy?"—Is not this equivalent to Spartacus saying, "True—there will be a storm, a convulsion—but all will be calm again?"—Does Dr. Priestley think that the British will part more easily than their neighbours in France with their property and honours, secured by ages of peaceable possession, protected by law, and acquiesced in by all who wish and hope that their own descendants may reap the fruits of their honest industry?—Will they make a less manly struggle?—Are they less numerous?—Must his friends, his patrons, whom he has thanked, and praised, and flattered, yield up all peaceably, or fall in the general struggle? This writer has already given the most promising specimens of his own docility in the principles of Illuminatism, and has already passed through several degrees of initiation. He has refined and refined on Christianity, and boasts, like another Spartacus, that he has, at last, hit on the true secret.—Has he not been preparing the minds of his readers for Atheism by his theory of mind, and by his commentary on the unmeaning jargon of Dr. Hartley? I call it unmeaning jargon, that I may avoid giving it a more apposite and disgraceful name. For, if intelligence and design be nothing but a certain modification of the vibratiunculæ or undulations of any kind, what is supreme intelligence, but a more extensive, and (perhaps they will call it) refined undulation, pervading or mixing with all others? Indeed it is in this very manner that the universal operation of intelligence is pretended to be explained. As any new or partial undulation may be superinduced on any other already existing, and this without the least disturbance or confusion, so may the inferior intelligences in the universe be only superinductions on the operations of this supreme intelligence which pervades them all,—And thus an undulation (of what? surely of something prior to and independent of this modification) is the cause of all the beings in the universe, and of all the harmony and beauty that we observe,—And this undulation is the object of love, and gratitude, and confidence (that is, of other kinds of undulations.)—Fortunately all this has no meaning.—But surely, if any thing can tend to diminish the force of our religious sentiments, and make all Dr. Priestley's discoveries in Christianity insignificant, this will do it.

Were it possible for the departed soul of Newton to feel pain, he would surely recollect with regret that unhappy hour, when provoked by Dr. Hooke's charge of plagiarism, he first threw out his whim of a vibrating ether, to shew what might be made of an hypothesis.—For Sir Isaac Newton must be allowed to have paved the way for much of the atomical philosophy of the moderns. Newton's æther is assumed as a fac totum by every precipitate sciolist, who, in despite of logic, and in contradiction to all the principles of mechanics, gives us theories of muscular motion, of animal sensation, and even of intelligence and volition, by the undulations of ætherial fluids. Not one of a hundred of these theorists can go through the fundamental theorem of all this doctrine, the 47th prop. of the 2d book of the Principia, and not one in a thousand know that Newton's investigation is inconclusive.—Yet they talk of the effects and modifications of those undulations as familiarly and confidently as if they could demonstrate the propositions in Euclid's Elements.

Yet such is the reason that satisfies Dr. Priestly.—But I do not suppose that he has yet attained his acme of Illumination. His genius has been cramped by British prejudices.—These need not sway his mind any longer. He is now in that "rara temporis (et loci) felicitate, ubi sentire quæ velis, et quæ sentias dicere licet,"—in the country which was honoured by giving the world the first avowed edition of the Age of Reason, with the name of the shop and publisher. I make no doubt but that his mind will now take a higher flight,—and we may expect to see him fire "that train by which he boasted that he would blow up the religious establishment of his stupid and enslaved native country."—Peace be with him.—But I grieve that he has left any of his friends and abettors among us, who declaim, in the most violent and unqualified terms, against all national Establishments of Religion, and in no friendly terms of any establishments which maintain or allow any privileged Orders. Discanting much on such topics increases the dissatisfaction of the less fortunate part of mankind, who naturally repine at advantages which do not arise from the personal merit of the possessor, although they are the natural and necessary fruits of merit in their ancestors, and of the justice and security of our happy Constitution. No well informed and sensible man will deny that the greatest injury was done to pure Religion when Constantine declared Christianity to be the Religion of the Empire, and vested the Church with all the riches and power of the Heathen Priesthood. But it is false that this was the source of all or of the worst corruptions of Christianity. The merest novice in Church History knows that the errors of the Gnostics, of the Cerinthians, and others, long preceded this event, and that thousands lost their lives in those metaphysical disputes. But I cannot help thinking that, in the present condition of Europe, religion would desert the world, if the opinions of men were not directed, in some proper degree, by National Establishments. Teachers among the Independents will court popularity, as they have always courted it; by fostering some favourite and discriminating opinion of their hearers. The old subjects of debate have now lost their zest, and I should fear that the teachers would find it a successful, as it is an easy road to popularity, to lead their hearers through a series of refinements, till they are landed, much to their satisfaction, in the Materialism of Dr. Priestley, from which it is but a step to the Atheism of Diderot and Condorcet.

Seeing that there are such grounds of apprehension, I think that we have cause to be upon our guard, and that every man who has enjoyed the sweets of British liberty should be very anxious indeed to preserve it. We should discourage all secret assemblies, which afford opportunities to the disaffected, and all conversations which foster any notions of political perfection, and create hankerings after unattainable happiness. These only increase the discontents of the unfortunate, the idle, and the worthless.—Above all, we should be careful to discourage and check immorality and licentiousness in every shape. For this will of itself subvert every government, and will subject us to the vile tyranny of a profligate mob.

XI. If there has ever been a season in which it was proper to call upon the public instructors of the nation to exert themselves in the cause of Religion and Virtue, it is surely the present. It appears, from the tenor of the whole narration before the reader, that Religion and Virtue are considered as the great obstacles to the completion of this plan for overturning the governments of Europe—and I hope that I have made it evident that those conspirators have presupposed that there is deeply rooted in the heart of man a sincere veneration for unsophisticated virtue, and an affectionate propensity to Religion; that is, to consider this beautiful world as the production of wisdom and power, residing in a Being different from the world itself, and the natural object of admiration and of love—I do not speak of the truth of this principle at present, but only of its reality, as an impression on the heart of man. These principles must therefore be worked on,—and they are acknowledged to be strong, because much art is employed to eradicate them, or to overwhelm them by other powerful agents.—We also see that Religion and Virtue are considered by those corrupters as closely united, and as mutually supporting each other. This they admit as a fact, and labour to prove it to be a mistake.—And lastly, they entertain no hopes of complete success till they have exploded both.

This being the case, I hope that I shall be clear of all charge of impropriety, when I address our national instructors, and earnestly desire them to consider this cause as peculiarly theirs. The world has been corrupted under pretence of moral instruction.——Backwardness, therefore, on their part, may do inconceivable harm, because it will most certainly be interpreted as an acknowledgment of defeat, and they will be accused of indifference and insincerity. I know that a modest man reluctantly comes forward with any thing that has the appearance of thinking himself wiser or better than his neighbours. But if all are so bashful, where will it end? Must we allow a parcel of worthless profligates, whom no man would trust with the management of the most trifling concern, to pass with the ignorant and indolent for teachers of true wisdom, and thus entice the whole world into a trap? They have succeeded with our unfortunate neighbours on the continent, and, in Germany, (to their shame be it spoken) they have been assisted even by some faithless clergymen.

But I will hope better of my countrymen, and I think that our clergy have encouragement even from the native character of Britons. National comparisons are indeed ungraceful, and are rarely candid—but I think they may be indulged in this instance. It is of his own countrymen that Voltaire speaks, when he says, that "they resemble a mixed breed of the monkey and the tiger," animals that mix fun with mischief, and that sport with the torments of their prey.—They have indeed given the most shocking proofs of the justness of his portrait. It is with a considerable degree of national pride, therefore, that I compare the behaviour of the French with that of the British in a very similar situation, during the civil wars and the usurpation of Cromwell. There have been more numerous, and infinitely more atrocious, crimes committed in France during any one half year since the beginning of the Revolution, than during the whole of that tumultuous period. And it should be remembered, that in Britain, at that period, to all other grounds of discontent was added no small share of religious fanaticism, a passion (may I call it) which seldom fails to rouse every angry thought of the heart.—Much may be hoped for from an earnest and judicious address to that rich fund of manly kindness that is conspicuous in the British character,—a fund to which I am persuaded we owe the excellence of our constitutional government—No where else in Europe are the claims of the different ranks in society so generally and so candidly admitted. All feel their force, and all allow them to others. Hence it happens that they are enjoyed in so much peace——hence it happens that the gentry live among the yeomen and farmers with so easy and familiar a superiority:

Our clergy are also well prepared for the task. For our ancestors differed exceedingly from the present Illuminators in their notions, and have enacted that the clergy shall be well instructed in natural philosophy, judging that a knowledge of the symmetry of nature, and the beautiful adjustment of all her operations, would produce a firm belief of a wisdom and power which is the source of all this fair order, the Author and Conductor of all, and therefore the natural object of admiration and of love. A good heart is open to this impression, and feels no reluctance, but on the contrary a pleasure, in thinking man the subject of his government, and the object of his care. This point being once gained, I should think that the salutary truths of Religion will be highly welcome. I should think that it will be easy to convince such minds, that in the midst of the immense variety of the works of God there is one great plan to which every thing seems to refer, namely, the crowding this world, to the utmost degree of possibility, with life, with beings that enjoy the things around them, each in its own degree and manner. Among these, man makes a most conspicuous figure, and the maximum of his enjoyments seems a capital article in the ways of Providence. It will, I think, require little trouble to shew that the natural dictates of Religion, or the immediate results of the belief of God's moral government of the universe, coincide in every circumstance of sentiment, disposition, and conduct, with those that are most productive of enjoyment (on the whole) in social life. The same train of thought will shew, that the real improvements in the pleasures of society, are, in fact, improvements of man's rational nature, and so many steps toward that perfection which our own consciences tell us we are capable of, and which Religion encourages us to hope for in another state of being.—And thus will "the ways of Wisdom appear to be ways of pleasantness, and all her paths to be peace."

Dwelling on such topics, there is no occasion for any political discussion. This would be equally improper and hurtful. Such discussions never fail to produce ill-humour.—But surely the highest complacence must result from the thought that we are co-operating with the Author of all wisdom and goodness, and helping forward the favourite plans of his providence. Such a thought must elevate the mind which thus recognises a sort of alliance with the Author of nature.—Our brethren in society appear brethren indeed, heirs of the same hopes, and travelling to the same country. This will be a sort of moral patriotism, and should, I think, produce mutual forbearance, since we discover imperfections in all creatures, and are conscious of them in ourselves—notwithstanding which, we hope to be all equal at last in worth and in happiness.

I should gladly hope that I shall not be accused of presumption in this address. There is no profession that I more sincerely respect than that of the religious and moral instructor of my country. I am saying nothing here that I am not accustomed to urge at much greater length in the course of my professional duty. And I do not think that I am justly chargeable with vanity, when I suppose that many years of delightful study of the works of God have given me somewhat more acquaintance with them than is probably attained by those who never think of the matter, being continually engaged in the bustle of life. Should one of this description say that all is fate or chance, and that "the same thing happens to all," &c. as is but too common, I should think that a prudent man will give so much preference to my assertion, as at least to think seriously about the thing, before he allow himself any indulgence in things which I affirm to be highly dangerous to his future peace and happiness.——For this reason I hope not to be accused of going out of my line, nor hear any one say "Ne sutor ultra crepidam." The present is a season of anxiety, and it is the duty of every man to contribute his mite to the general good.

It is in some such hopes that I have written these pages; and if they have any such effect, I shall think myself fortunate in having by chance hit on something useful, when I was only trying to amuse myself during the tedious hours of bad health and confinement. No person is more sensible of the many imperfections of this performance than myself. But, as I have no motive for the publication but the hopes of doing some good, I trust that I shall obtain a favourable acceptance of my endeavours from an intelligent, a candid, and a good-natured public. I must entreat that it be remembered that these sheets are not the work of an author determined to write a book. They were for the most part notes, which I took from books I had borrowed, that I might occasionally have recourse to them when occupied with Free Masonry, the first object of my curiosity. My curiosity was diverted to many other things as I went along, and when the Illuminati came in my way, I regretted the time I had thrown away on Free Masonry.—But, observing their connection, I thought that I perceived the progress of one and the same design. This made me eager to find out any remains of Weishaupt's Association. I was not surprized when I saw marks of its interference in the French Revolution.—In hunting for clearer proofs I found out the German Union—and, in fine, the whole appeared to be one great and wicked project, fermenting and working over all Europe.—Some highly respected friends encouraged me in the hope of doing some service by laying my informations before the public, and said that no time should be lost.—I therefore set about collecting my scattered facts.—I undertook this task at a time when my official duty pressed hard on me, and bad health made me very unfit for study.—The effects of this must appear in many faults, which I see, without being able at present to amend them. I owe this apology to the public, and I trust that my good intentions will procure it acceptance[28].

Nothing would give me more sincere pleasure than to see the whole proved to be a mistake;—to be convinced that there is no such plot, and that we run no risk of the contagion; but that Britain will continue, by the abiding prevalence of honour, of virtue, and of true religion, to exhibit the fairest specimen of civil government that ever was seen on earth, and a national character and conduct not unworthy of the inestimable blessings that we enjoy. Our excellent Sovereign, at his accession to the throne, declared to his Parliament that he gloried in having been born a Briton.—Would to God that all and each of his subjects had entertained the same lofty notions of this good fortune! Then would they have laboured, as he has done for near forty years, to support the honour of the British name by setting as bright an example of domestic and of public virtue.—Then would Britons have been indeed the boast of humanity—then we should have viewed these wicked plots of our neighbours with a smile of contempt, and of sincere pity—and there would have been no need of this imperfect but well-meant performance.