Many of our Readers, no doubt, remember the accounts we gave of this most extraordinary Author's former productions; his "Memoirs of learned Ladies," and the first Volume of his own life: for which see Review, Vol. XIII, and XV.

Mr. Buncle is still the same extravagant, visionary, romantic writer; and his adventures, recorded in this new publication, are not in any degree more consistent with nature and probability, nor a whit less absurd, than those which, in his former productions, have so greatly astonished and, we had almost said, confounded his Readers.

Yet, wild and wonderful as are the stories told by this strange adventurer, and monstrous, and even ridiculous as some of his narrations are, they are splendide mendaces; and we cannot help admiring the singular turn and capacity of the writer:—Who, whenever he soars above the limits of common sense, is generally elevated into so fine a frenzy, that we willingly suffer him to transport us, in his aerial flights, to 'Thebes, to Athens, or the Lord knows where.'—When, like one of the weird sisters on a broomstick, he scampers away over earth and seas, or desperately plunges into some horrible and untried gulph, we are nothing loth to mount behind and bear him company, though it were down to the centre, or 'beyond the visible diurnal sphere.'—What an amazing mortal is this Buncle! Never, surely, did his equal exist! Nat. Lee is nothing to him; nor even the fiery poet, Lord Flame, who kept the town staring, laughing and hollowing, for near a month together, with his Hurlothrumbo¹. In fine, he is a perfect unique, and, certainly, as much an original, in his way, as Shakespeare or Sam. Richardson; though, possibly, with this difference, that their excellencies proceeded merely from native, uncultivated genius; while our Author's peculiar sublimities seem to be the produce of a genius and imagination over-heated and run to seed in the hot-beds of romance and religious controversy. In all his extravagancies, however, he appears to maintain, with strictest uniformity, the character of an honest man,—earnest in promoting the best interests of his fellow creatures, and zealous to the highest degree, for what he apprehends to be the cause of Truth.—Being, moreover, a scholar, a mathematician, a philosopher, a divine, a physician, an historian and a poet, his books may truly be stiled a most entertaining miscellany, in which Readers of every class will find something for their amusement; and no one, we believe, can be wholly displeased with so various a writer, except those who cannot bear to hear the church of Rome censured, and the doctrine of the Trinity called in question; for, indeed, Mr. Buncle is the warmest advocate for the Reformation, and for the unity of God, that we ever met with. But then he introduces these controverted subjects so often, that, although he frequently says very strong things upon them, yet even those who are in his own sentiments must naturally be tired out with the eternal repetition.

This volume opens with what the Author calls his 'apology for the married state;' and, verily according to his account few men have been better qualified to do justice to the subject: as he had no less than seven wives—but all in due succession to each other; for you are not to imagine, gentle Reader, that Mr. Buncle was a polygamist.

Happily, indeed, did our Author and his amiable (first) wife pass their time at Orton-lodge, where we left them at the close of our account of his former volume; but short as well as sweet was the term of their felicity! The 'soft transporting period' lasted but two years; when 'in came death, when they least expected him, snatched Mr. Buncle's charming partner from him, and (as he expresses it) melted all his happiness into air;' a fever, says he, 'in a few days, snapt the thread of her life, and made me the child of affliction, when I had not a thought of the mourner. Language cannot paint the distress this calamity reduced me to; nor give an idea of what I suffered when I saw her eyes swimming in death, and the throes of her departing spirit. Blest as she was in every virtue that adorns a woman, how inconsolable must her husband be!'—Not absolutely inconsolable, however; for in the very next section we find him in high raptures with a Miss Statia Henley; a delightful young lady, of whom he gives the following description. 'She was at this time just turned of twenty, and had such diffusive charms as soon new fired my heart, and gave my soul a softness even beyond what it had felt before. She was a little taller than the middle size, and had a face that was perfectly beautiful. Her eyes were extremely fine, full, black, sparkling, and her conversation was as charming as her person; both easy, unconstrained and sprightly.'—We give this short description of Miss Henley, as we shall do that of all his wives; because it may gratify the curiosity of the Reader to compare the several pictures with each other, and mark their different and distinguishing beauties: for beauties they all were, and peerless ones too, however extraordinary such a circumstance may seem,—and still more extraordinary that so many divine and glorious creatures (to speak in our Author's own style) should fall to the happy, seven times happy! lot of one man!

He met with this lady at a most delightful romantic spot among the fells of Westmoreland, the happy retirement of her grand father, Charles Henley, Esq; and here, too, he met with some other wonderful things, particularly a curious moralizing skeleton, leaning on a reading desk in the midst of a library.—But we feel ourselves rather attracted by the blooming lady, than by the scare-crow remains of her father: for such it seems were the extraordinary figure at the desk.

Mr. Buncle, though an entire stranger, who had by mere chance rambled to the rural groves of Basil, presently got into the good graces of both the old gentleman and his grand daughter. The former soon made him the offer of living with them till Miss Henley should be of age; when she, with a good fortune, might be at our adventurer's service, provided he, in that time, could make his assiduities acceptable to the young lady. This offer was as readily accepted as made; and Mr. Buncle is now superlatively happy with his new friends at Basil groves: where he delightfully passed the winter and spring following. 'The mornings, says he, I generally spent in the library, [a very noble one] reading, or writing extracts from some various MSS. or scarce books; and in the afternoons Miss Henley and I walked in the lawns and woods, or sat down to cards. She was a fine creature indeed, in body and soul—and charmed me to a high degree. Her conversation was rational and easy, without the least affectation from the books she had read; and she would enliven it sometimes by singing, in which she was a great mistress—as to her heart, I found it was to be gained'—

His two years apprenticeship to love, was, however, cut short by the death of the good old Mr. Henley; on which event, the lady somewhat surprized our amorous Author with a declaration in favour of a single life, and a civil intimation that he was at liberty to retire from the groves of Basil. This stroke Mr. Buncle had the dexterity to parry; and with what weapon do you think, gentle Readers, did this young gallant ward off the impending flow? Why—with a strange dry speech about baptism, the Abrahamic covenant, and circumcision;—however, he wound up his oration with an earnest persuasive to marry—for the sake of keeping up a succession in a regular and hallowed way.—What a method of courting a fine, delicate young lady!—But this was one of Mr. Buncle's oddities.

Yet, odd, and uncouth, and rather suitable to the character of some old scholiast, as was our Author's mode of address to Miss Henley, on her intimated resolution to live single, it had power enough to make her change that resolution, and to declare in favour of a succession. They were married, lived happily for two years, and then poor Statia died also, and was laid by the side of her predecessor.

Mr. Buncle's sorrow for the loss of his excellent second was too violent to last long: he bewailed himself—as long as his grief would hold out; sat with his eyes shut for three days; and at last called for his horse, 'to try what air, exercise, and a variety of objects, could do.'

In the third section, we find our wandering knight on his way to Harrogate Spaw; and of his journey thitherward we have a most romantic account. In a wonderfully pleasant valley in Westmoreland, surrounded by mountains of stupendous height, he met with a religious society of married people; with whom he spent some days: and gives an ample account of their institution; the regularity of their lives; their antipathy to the doctrine of celibacy, and some other popish absurdities; their exemplary devotions, and their rational studies.—Proceeding on his route to Harrogate, he misses his way, (as he generally does wherever he goes, for his horse usually has the direction and choice of the road) and arrives at a beautiful country seat in the northern extremity of Stanmore. Here, without seeing any human creature, he passes the night in a curious sleeping parlour, built in a most enchanting grove: while his servant, O Fin, stays without to take care of the horses, and under a great tree takes as comfortable a nap as his master. Next morning he receives, from a countryman, some account of Miss Antonia Cramer, a charming young lady, Mistress of this delightful abode; and immediately falling in love with her character, he forms a scheme for obtaining her, to fill up the vacancy made at Orton-lodge, by the death of his second wife. Unluckily, however, she was then absent, on a journey, and was not to come home again till the end of twenty days; but this circumstance was nothing to Mr. Buncle, who resolving to wait her return, took up his quarters, at a neighbouring cottage, where he gains intelligence of an extraordinary man, an hermit, whose dwelling was not far off, and to whom our rambling philosopher instantly repairs, to pass away, in the conversation of this Solitary, some of the tedious hours which slowly crept along, during the absence of the divine Antonia. And now comes the episodical story of Mr. Dorick Watson the hermit. He was an English gentleman, who had been bred a Catholic in France, and there married a sister of the famous Abbe le Blanc,—with whose letters concerning the English nation we suppose most of our Readers are acquainted.—In Mr. Watson's narrative of his own life, we have a curious detail of his reasons for renouncing the errors of the Romish church; the conversion also of his wife; her death; and his motive for turning Anchorite. In this part of our Author's work, the celebrated notes of Cardinal Bellarmine are smartly attacked and exploded. Here, also, is introduced an account of Abbe le Blanc, with some notable strictures on Monsieur de Voltaire: 'That wonderful compound of a man, says he, half infidel, half papist; who seems to have no regard for Christianity; and yet compliments Popery, at the expence of his understanding²; who writes the history of England with a partiality and malevolence almost as great as Smollett's, and pretends to describe the Britannic constitution, tho' it is plain from what he says, that he has not one true idea of the primary institutions of it, but taking this nation to be just such another kingdom of slaves as his own country, rails at the REVOLUTION, &c. &c.'—Doubtless Voltaire has given but too much cause for this charge of inconsistency—but to go on with our Author.

On his return to the poor man's cottage, he learns that Miss Cramer, and her Cousin, Miss Vane, who constantly resided with her as her companion, were returned home. The honest cottager, it seems, had already apprized the ladies concerning Mr. Buncle's arrival in those parts; and had mentioned him 'as a traveller who had journeyed into that remote corner of the world, in search of antiquities and curiosities.'—And now, Reader, be-hold in what manner our enamorato contrives to introduce himself to this Sylvan Goddess. 'Immediately, says he, I crossed the water, and as I saw her and the fair Agnes, her cousin, walking in the garden near the Ha, leaped it over, broad as it was, [well done, Sir Knight!] and with my hat in my hand made her a low bow, apologized for presuming to introduce myself to her presence in such a manner, and concluded with my being in love with her charming character, before I had the honour and happiness of seeing her.'—All this was very handsome, to be sure; but how did Mr. Buncle manage to distinguish Miss Cramer from her lovely cousin, as he had no one to introduce him?—This query should be resolved in the second edition.

But if Mr. Buncle was so much enamoured before he had seen this heaven-born maid, as he styles her, what must be his situation at this first interview? Why, he tells us that strange pleasures filled his soul, and all his talk was love. Strange, however, that the pleasure he felt on this occasion should be so new to him, who had been twice so violently in love before! but different objects, we must suppose, produce different sensations.—Well! the issue of this introductory address was, that he became so well acquainted with this INNOCENT BEAUTY, that, on taking his leave, he had an invitation to breakfast the next morning. 'I was there, says he, by eight, and really and truly quite charmed with her. She was pretty as it was possible for flesh and blood to be; had a beautiful³ understanding, and as she had very little notion of men, having seen very few, except the two old servants who lived with her, she had not an idea of any danger that could come from conversing freely with a man she knew nothing of, and who might be an enemy in disguise.'

Every day, for a month together, did he repeat his visits to this pretty little innocent soul; and, before the end of six weeks, he married her.—Surely there must have been something uncommonly attractive about this gentleman, by the force of which he so easily and quickly subdued the heart of every female to whom he paid his addresses! none of them hold out above a month or two.

With this lady, 'who was as good as an angel,' our Author lived in unspeakable felicity, at Orton Lodge, for two years; when she, too, died of the small-pox. Leaving her husband, once more, the most disconsolate of men.'—Four days did he now remain, with his eyes shut, on account of this new loss;—and then he left the Lodge once more, 'to live, says he, if I could, since my religion ordered me to do so, and see what I was next to meet with in the world.'—As grief sat powerfully on his spirits, and if not dislodged, as he said, 'would have drank them up very soon,' he now resumed his design of visiting Harrogate-wells, to try, in the festivities of that place, to forget his departed wife 'as soon as he could.'

As he has hitherto said nothing of his having any children by so many wives, and does not in the remainder of his history speak of any, he here mentions them once for all. 'I think it sufficient, says he, to observe, that I had a great many, to carry on the succession; but as they never were concerned in any extraordinary affairs, nor ever did any remarkable things, that I heard of;—only rise and breakfast, read and saunter, drink and eat, it would not be fair, in my opinion, to make any one pay for their history.'

In the fifth section we at length actually find our adventurer at Harrogate, in Yorkshire; where he arrived in 1731. He gives a short description of the place, with a particular account of the nature and qualities of the sulphurous wells, and the various disorders in which they have been found efficacious and salutary. He likewise describes the company he found there; particularly half a dozen Irish gentlemen, some of whose characters may be selected for the amusement of our Readers, and will afford them also some farther light into that of our Author. 'These gentlemen, says he, were Mr. Gollogher, Mr. Gallaspy, Mr. Dunkley, Mr. Makins, Mr. Monaghan, and Mr. O'Keefe, descended from the Irish kings, and first cousin to the great O'Keefe, who was buried not long ago in Westminster abby. They were all men of large fortunes, and, Mr. Makins excepted, were as handsome, fine fellows as could be picked out in all the world. Makins was a very low, thin man, not four feet high, and had but one eye, with which he squinted most shockingly. He wore his own hair, which was short and bad, and only drest by his combing it himself in the morning, without oil or powder. But as he was matchless on the fiddle, sung well, and chatted agreeably, he was a favourite with the ladies. They preferred ugly Makins (as he was called) to many very handsome men. I will here give the public the character of these Irish gentlemen, for the honour of Ireland, and as they were curiosities of the human kind.'

Of Mr. Makins he gives a farther account, in the following terms: 'Makins was possessed of all the excellent qualities and perfections that are within the reach of human abilities. He had received from nature the happiest talents, and he made singular improvements of them by a successful application to the most useful and most ornamental studies. Music, as before observed, he excelled in. His intellectual faculties were fine, and, to his honour I can affirm, that he mostly employed them, as he did his great estate, to the good of mankind, the advancement of morality, and the spread of pure theism, the worship of God our Saviour, who raised and sent Christ to be a Redeemer. This gentleman was a zealous Unitarian, and, though but five and twenty, (when we met at Harrogate) a religious man: but his religion was without any melancholy; nor had it any thing of that severity of temper, which diffuses too often into the hearts of the religious, a morose contempt of the world, and an antipathy to the pleasures of it. He avoided the assemblies of fools, knaves, and blockheads, but was fond of good company, and condemned that doctrine which taught men to retire from human society to seek God in the horrors of solitude. He thought the Almighty may be best found among men, where his goodness is most active, and his providence most employed.'

The character of Gallaspy is one of the strangest compounds that ever existed, and probably never did exist, but in these Memoirs: however, as the features of this picture are strongly marked, and the whole is very highly coloured, we are determined to give our Readers an opportunity of forming their own judgment concerning it.

'Gallaspy was the tallest and strongest man I have ever seen, well made, and very handsome. He had wit and abilities, sung well, and talked with great sweetness and fluency, but was so extremely wicked, that it were better for him, if he had been a natural fool. By his vast strength and activity, his riches and eloquence, few things could withstand him. He was the most prophane swearer I have known: fought every thing, whored every thing, and drank seven in a hand; that is, seven glasses so placed between the fingers of his right hand, that in drinking, the liquor fell into the next glasses, and thereby he drank out of the first glass seven glasses at once. This was a common thing, I find from a book in my possession, in the reign of Charles the Second, in the madness that followed the restoration of that profligate and worthless prince. But this gentleman was the only man I ever saw who could or would attempt to do it; and he made but one gulp of whatever he drank; he did not swallow a fluid like other people, but if it was a quart, poured it in as from pitcher to pitcher. When he smoaked tobacco, he always blew two pipes at once, one at each corner of his mouth, and threw the smoke of both out of his nostrils. He had killed two men in duels before I left Ireland, and would have been hanged, but that it was his good fortune to be tried before a judge, who never let any man suffer for killing another in this manner. (This was the late Sir John St. Leger.) He debauched all the women he could, and many whom he could not corrupt, he ravished. I went with him once in the stage-coach to Kilkenny, and seeing two pretty ladies pass by in their own chariot, he swore in his horrible way, having drank very hard after dinner, that he would immediately stop them, and ravish them: nor was it without great difficulty that I hindered him from attempting the thing; by assuring him I would be their Protector, and he must pass through my heart before he could proceed to offer them the least rudeness. In sum, I never saw his equal in impiety, especially when inflamed with liquor, as he was every day of his life, though it was not in the power of wine to make him drunk, weak or senseless. He set no bounds or restrictions to mirth and revels. He only slept every third night, and that often in his cloaths in a chair, where he would sweat so prodigiously as to be wet quite through; as wet as if come from a pond, or a pail of water had been thrown on him. While all the world was at rest, he was either drinking or dancing, scouring the bawdyhouses, or riding as hard as he could drive his horse, on some iniquitous project. And yet, he never was sick, nor did he ever receive any hurt or mischief. In health, joy, and plenty, he passed life away, and died about a year ago at his house in the county of Galway, without a pang or any kind of pain. This was Jack Gallaspy. There are however some things to be said in his favour, and as he had more regard for me than any of his acquaintance, I should be ungrateful were I not to do him all the justice in my power.

'He was in the first place far from being quarrelsome, and if he fought a gentleman at the small-sword, or boxed with a porter or coachman, it was because he had in some degree been ill used, or fancied that the laws of honour required him to call an equal to an account, for any transaction. His temper was naturally sweet.

'In the next place, he was the most generous of mankind, His purse was ever at his friend's service: he was kind and good to his tenants: to the poor a very great benefactor. He would give more money away to the sick and distressed in one year, than I believe many rich pious people do in seven. He had the blessings of thousands for his charities, and, perhaps, this procured him the protection of heaven.

'As to swearing, he thought it was only criminal, when it was false, or men lyed in their affirmations: and for whoring, he hoped there would be mercy, since men will be men while there are women. Ravishing he did not pretend to justify, as the laws of his country were against it; but he could not think the woman was a sufferer by it, as she enjoyed without sinning the highest felicity. He intended her happiness; and her saying no, kept her innocent.

'How far all this can excuse Mr. Gallaspy, I pretend not to determine; but as I thought it proper to give the world the picture of so extraordinary a man, it was incumbent on me, as his friend, to say all I could, with truth, in his vindication.'

Dunkley, Monaghan, and O'Keefe were less extraordinary characters; but Mr. Gollogher, notwithstanding the Gorgon found of his name, was a most engaging fellow. He is thus described:

'Gollogher was a man of learning and extraordinary abilities. He had read very hard for several years, and during that time, had collected and extracted from the best books more than any man I ever was acquainted with. He had four vast volumes of common place, royal paper, bound in rough calf, and had filled them with what is most curious and beautiful in works of literature, most refined in eloquent discourses, most poignant in books of criticism, most instructive in history, most touching and affecting in news, catastrophes, and stories; and with aphorisms, sayings, and epigrams. A prodigious memory made all this his own, and a great judgment enabled him to reduce every thing to the most exact point of truth and accuracy. A rare man! Till he was five and twenty, he continued this studious life, and but seldom went into the mixed and fashionable circles of the world. Then, all at once, he sold every book he had, and determined to read no more. He spent his every day in the best company of every kind; and as he had the happy talent of manner, and possessed that great power which strikes and awakens fancy, by giving every subject the new dress and decoration it requires;—could make the most common thing no longer trivial, when in his hand, and render a good thing most exquisitely pleasing;—as he told a story beyond most men, and had, in short, a universal means towards a universal success, it was but natural that he should be every where liked and wished for. He charmed wherever he came. The specific I have mentioned made every one fond of him. With the ladies especially he was a great favourite, and more fortunate in his amours than any man I knew. Had he wanted the fine talents he was blest with, yet his being an extremely handsome man, and a master on the fiddle, could not but recommend him to the sex. He might, if he had pleased, have married any one of the most illustrious and richest women in the kingdom. But he had an aversion to matrimony, and could not bear the thought of a wife. Love and a bottle were his taste. He was however the most honourable of men in his amours, and never abandoned any woman to distress, as too many men of fortune do, when they have gratified desire. All the distressed were ever sharers in Mr. Gollogher's fine estate, and especially the girls he had taken to his breast. He provided happily for them all, and left ninteen daughters he had by several women a thousand pounds each. This was acting with a temper worthy of a man; and to the memory of the benevolent Tom Gollogher I devote this memorandum.'

Having observed that too many men of fortune abandon the girls they have ruined, our Author here gives an instance of the horrid consequences of so base and ungenerous a procedure, in the affecting story of Miss Hunt, an Irish beauty, who was villainously debauched and deserted by one Mr. R—. The catastrophe, with regard to the poor young lady, was most shocking to relate; and our Author has told the story in very moving terms: but we shall not disgust our Readers with such a proof of human depravity. The present article is, moreover, of a sufficient length; and therefore we must defer the sequel of this history to our next month's review.

In the foregoing abstract, we have avoided the more romantic and marvellous parts of Mr. Buncle's narrative; as we suppose the soberest and least wonderful incidents would be most aceptable to the generality of our Readers.—Indeed the present vol. does not afford many such supernatural adventures, such amazing scenes, such astonishing proofs of the Author's prodigious imagination and invention, as are to be met with in the former part of his work. So that, perhaps, on the whole, there will, in the opinion of some Readers, appear to be a great falling off, in the volume now offered to the public.

Notes

¹ See Playhouse Dictionary, Vol. II. art. Johnson, Sam.

² He very well supports this charge, by citing Voltaire's own words; to which he has subjoined some lively, spirited animadversions.

³ Mr. Buncle is not always very nice in his choice of epithets. What idea are we to form of a beautiful understanding? Would he say, if a lady whose mental qualities where somewhat inferior to those of Miss Cramer, that she had an handsome understanding?