From This World to the Next

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A JOURNEY FROM THIS WORLD TO THE NEXT

INTRODUCTION

BOOK I

CHAPTER I.
The author dies, meets with Mercury, and is by him conducted to
the stage which sets out for the other world

CHAPTER II.
In which the author first refutes some idle opinions concerning
spirits, and then the passengers relate their several deaths .

CHAPTER III.
The adventures we met with in the City of Diseases

CHAPTER IV.
Discourses on the road, and a description of the palace of Death

CHAPTER V.
The travelers proceed on their journey, and meet several spirits
who are coming into the flesh

CHAPTER VI.
An account of the wheel of fortune, with a method of preparing a
spirit for this world

CHAPTER VII.
The proceedings of judge Minos at the gate of Elysium

CHAPTER VIII.
The adventures which the author met on his first entrance into Elysium

CHAPTER IX.
More adventures in Elysium

CHAPTER X.
The author is surprised at meeting Julian the apostate in Elysium;
but is satisfied by him by what means he procured his entrance there.
Julian relates his adventures in the character of a slave

CHAPTER XI.
In which Julian relates his adventures in the character of an avaricious Jew

CHAPTER XII.
What happened to Julian in the characters of a general, an heir,
a carpenter, and a beau

CHAPTER XIII.
Julian passes into a fop

CHAPTER XIV.
Adventures in the person of a monk

CHAPTER XV.
Julian passes into the character of a fiddler

CHAPTER XVI.
The history of the wise man

CHAPTER XVII.
Julian enters into the person of a king

CHAPTER XVIII.
Julian passes into a fool

CHAPTER XIX.
Julian appears in the character of a beggar

CHAPTER XX.
Julian performs the part of a statesman

CHAPTER XXI.
Julian's adventures in the post of a soldier

CHAPTER XXII.
What happened to Julian in the person of a tailor

CHAPTER XXIII.
The life of alderman Julian

CHAPTER XXIV.
Julian recounts what happened to him while he was a poet

CHAPTER XXV.
Julian performs the parts of a knight and a dancing-master

BOOK XIX

CHAPTER VII.
Wherein Anna Boleyn relates the history of her life

A JOURNEY FROM THIS WORLD TO THE NEXT

INTRODUCTION

Whether the ensuing pages were really the dream or vision of some
very pious and holy person; or whether they were really written
in the other world, and sent back to this, which is the opinion
of many (though I think too much inclining to superstition); or
lastly, whether, as infinitely the greatest part imagine, they
were really the production of some choice inhabitant of New
Bethlehem, is not necessary nor easy to determine. It will be
abundantly sufficient if I give the reader an account by what
means they came into my possession. Mr. Robert Powney,
stationer, who dwells opposite to Catherine-street in the Strand,
a very honest man and of great gravity of countenance; who, among
other excellent stationery commodities, is particularly eminent
for his pens, which I am abundantly bound to acknowledge, as I
owe to their peculiar goodness that my manuscripts have by any
means been legible: this gentleman, I say, furnished me some
time since with a bundle of those pens, wrapped up with great
care and caution, in a very large sheet of paper full of
characters, written as it seemed in a very bad hand. Now, I have
a surprising curiosity to read everything which is almost
illegible; partly perhaps from the sweet remembrance of the dear
Scrawls, Skrawls, or Skrales (for the word is variously spelled),
which I have in my youth received from that lovely part of the
creation for which I have the tenderest regard; and partly from
that temper of mind which makes men set an immense value on old
manuscripts so effaced, bustoes so maimed, and pictures so black
that no one can tell what to make of them. I therefore perused
this sheet with wonderful application, and in about a day's time
discovered that I could not understand it. I immediately
repaired to Mr. Powney, and inquired very eagerly whether he had
not more of the same manuscript? He produced about one hundred
pages, acquainting me that he had saved no more; but that the
book was originally a huge folio, had been left in his garret by
a gentleman who lodged there, and who had left him no other
satisfaction for nine months' lodging. He proceeded to inform me
that the manuscript had been hawked about (as he phrased it)
among all the booksellers, who refused to meddle; some alleged
that they could not read, others that they could not understand
it. Some would haze it to be an atheistical book, and some that
it was a libel on the government; for one or other of which
reasons they all refused to print it. That it had been likewise
shown to the R--l Society, but they shook their heads, saying,
there was nothing in it wonderful enough for them. That, hearing
the gentleman was gone to the West-Indies, and believing it to be
good for nothing else, he had used it as waste paper. He said I
was welcome to what remained, and he was heartily sorry for what
was missing, as I seemed to set some value on it.

I desired him much to name a price: but he would receive no
consideration farther than the payment of a small bill I owed
him, which at that time he said he looked on as so much money
given him.

I presently communicated this manuscript to my friend parson
Abraham Adams, who, after a long and careful perusal, returned it
me with his opinion that there was more in it than at first
appeared; that the author seemed not entirely unacquainted with
the writings of Plato; but he wished he had quoted him sometimes
in his margin, that I might be sure (said he) he had read him in
the original: for nothing, continued the parson, is commoner
than for men now-a-days to pretend to have read Greek authors,
who have met with them only in translations, and cannot conjugate
a verb in mi.

To deliver my own sentiments on the occasion, I think the author
discovers a philosophical turn of thinking, with some little
knowledge of the world, and no very inadequate value of it.
There are some indeed who, from the vivacity of their temper and
the happiness of their station, are willing to consider its
blessings as more substantial, and the whole to be a scene of
more consequence than it is here represented: but, without
controverting their opinions at present, the number of wise and
good men who have thought with our author are sufficient to keep
him in countenance: nor can this be attended with any ill
inference, since he everywhere teaches this moral: That the
greatest and truest happiness which this world affords, is to be
found only in the possession of goodness and virtue; a doctrine
which, as it is undoubtedly true, so hath it so noble and
practical a tendency, that it can never be too often or too
strongly inculcated on the minds of men.

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

The author dies, meets with Mercury, and is by him conducted to
the stage which sets out for the other world.

On the first day of December 1741[1] I departed this life at my
lodgings in Cheapside. My body had been some time dead before I
was at liberty to quit it, lest it should by any accident return
to life: this is an injunction imposed on all souls by the
eternal law of fate, to prevent the inconveniences which would
follow. As soon as the destined period was expired (being no
longer than till the body is become perfectly cold and stiff) I
began to move; but found myself under a difficulty of making my
escape, for the mouth or door was shut, so that it was impossible
for me to go out at it; and the windows, vulgarly called the
eyes, were so closely pulled down by the fingers of a nurse, that
I could by no means open them. At last I perceived a beam of
light glimmering at the top of the house (for such I may call the
body I had been inclosed in), whither ascending, I gently let
myself down through a kind of chimney, and issued out at the
nostrils.

[1] Some doubt whether this should not be rather 1641, which is
a date more agreeable to the account given of it in the
introduction: but then there are some passages which seem to
relate to transactions infinitely later, even within this year or
two. To say the truth there are difficulties attending either
conjecture; so the reader may take which he pleases.

No prisoner discharged from a long confinement ever tasted the
sweets of liberty with a more exquisite relish than I enjoyed in
this delivery from a dungeon wherein I had been detained upwards
of forty years, and with much the same kind of regard I cast my
eyes[2] backwards upon it.

[2] Eyes are not perhaps so properly adapted to a spiritual
substance; but we are here, as in many other places, obliged to
use corporeal terms to make ourselves the better understood.

My friends and relations had all quitted the room, being all (as
I plainly overheard) very loudly quarreling below stairs about my
will; there was only an old woman left above to guard the body,
as I apprehend. She was in a fast sleep, occasioned, as from her
savor it seemed, by a comfortable dose of gin. I had no pleasure
in this company, and, therefore, as the window was wide open, I
sallied forth into the open air: but, to my great astonishment,
found myself unable to fly, which I had always during my
habitation in the body conceived of spirits; however, I came so
lightly to the ground that I did not hurt myself; and, though I
had not the gift of flying (owing probably to my having neither
feathers nor wings), I was capable of hopping such a prodigious
way at once, that it served my turn almost as well. I had not
hopped far before I perceived a tall young gentleman in a silk
waistcoat, with a wing on his left heel, a garland on his head,
and a caduceus in his right hand.[3] I thought I had seen this
person before, but had not time to recollect where, when he
called out to me and asked me how long I had been departed. I
answered I was just come forth. "You must not stay here,"
replied he, "unless you had been murdered: in which case,
indeed, you might have been suffered to walk some time; but if
you died a natural death you must set out for the other world
immediately." I desired to know the way. "O," cried the
gentleman, "I will show you to the inn whence the stage proceeds;
for I am the porter. Perhaps you never heard of me--my name is
Mercury." "Sure, sir," said I, "I have seen you at the play-
house." Upon which he smiled, and, without satisfying me as to
that point, walked directly forward, bidding me hop after him. I
obeyed him, and soon found myself in Warwick-lane; where Mercury,
making a full stop, pointed at a particular house, where he bade
me enquire for the stage, and, wishing me a good journey, took
his leave, saying he must go seek after other customers.

[3] This is the dress in which the god appears to mortals at the
theaters. One of the offices attributed to this god by the
ancients, was to collect the ghosts as a shepherd doth a flock of
sheep, and drive them with his wand into the other world.

I arrived just as the coach was setting out, and found I had no
reason for inquiry; for every person seemed to know my business
the moment I appeared at the door: the coachman told me his
horses were to, but that he had no place left; however, though
there were already six, the passengers offered to make room for
me. I thanked them, and ascended without much ceremony. We
immediately began our journey, being seven in number; for, as the
women wore no hoops, three of them were but equal to two men.
Perhaps, reader, thou mayest be pleased with an account of this
whole equipage, as peradventure thou wilt not, while alive, see
any such. The coach was made by an eminent toyman, who is well
known to deal in immaterial substance, that being the matter of
which it was compounded. The work was so extremely fine, that it
was entirely invisible to the human eye. The horses which drew
this extraordinary vehicle were all spiritual, as well as the
passengers. They had, indeed, all died in the service of a
certain postmaster; and as for the coachman, who was a very thin
piece of immaterial substance, he had the honor while alive of
driving the Great Peter, or Peter the Great, in whose service his
soul, as well as body, was almost starved to death. Such was the
vehicle in which I set out, and now, those who are not willing to
travel on with me may, if they please, stop here; those who are,
must proceed to the subsequent chapters, in which this journey is
continued.

CHAPTER II

In which the author first refutes some idle opinions concerning
spirits, and then the passengers relate their several deaths.

It is the common opinion that spirits, like owls, can see in the
dark; nay, and can then most easily be perceived by others. For
which reason, many persons of good understanding, to prevent
being terrified with such objects, usually keep a candle burning
by them, that the light may prevent their seeing. Mr. Locke, in
direct opposition to this, hath not doubted to assert that you
may see a spirit in open daylight full as well as in the darkest
night.

It was very dark when we set out from the inn, nor could we see
any more than if every soul of us had been alive. We had
traveled a good way before any one offered to open his mouth;
indeed, most of the company were fast asleep,[4] but, as I could
not close my own eyes, and perceived the spirit who sat opposite
to me to be likewise awake, I began to make overtures of
conversation, by complaining HOW DARK IT WAS. "And extremely
cold too," answered my fellow traveler; "though, I thank God, as
I have no body, I feel no inconvenience from it: but you will
believe, sir, that this frosty air must seem very sharp to one
just issued forth out of an oven; for such was the inflamed
habitation I am lately departed from." "How did you come to your
end, sir?" said I. "I was murdered, sir," answered the
gentleman. "I am surprised then," replied I, "that you did not
divert yourself by walking up and down and playing some merry
tricks with the murderer." "Oh, sir," returned he, "I had not
that privilege, I was lawfully put to death. In short, a
physician set me on fire, by giving me medicines to throw out my
distemper. I died of a hot regimen, as they call it, in the
small-pox."

[4] Those who have read of the gods sleeping in Homer will not
be surprised at this happening to spirits.

One of the spirits at that word started up and cried out, "The
small-pox! bless me! I hope I am not in company with that
distemper, which I have all my life with such caution avoided,
and have so happily escaped hitherto!" This fright set all the
passengers who were awake into a loud laughter; and the
gentleman, recollecting himself, with some confusion, and not
without blushing, asked pardon, crying, "I protest I dreamed that
I was alive." "Perhaps, sir," said I, "you died of that
distemper, which therefore made so strong an impression on you."
"No, sir," answered he, "I never had it in my life; but the
continual and dreadful apprehension it kept me so long under
cannot, I see, be so immediately eradicated. You must know,
sir, I avoided coming to London for thirty years together, for
fear of the small-pox, till the most urgent business brought me
thither about five days ago. I was so dreadfully afraid of this
disease that I refused the second night of my arrival to sup with
a friend whose wife had recovered of it several months before,
and the same evening got a surfeit by eating too many muscles,
which brought me into this good company."

"I will lay a wager," cried the spirit who sat next him, "there
is not one in the coach able to guess my distemper." I desired
the favor of him to acquaint us with it, if it was so uncommon.
"Why, sir," said he, "I died of honor."-- "Of honor, sir!"
repeated I, with some surprise. "Yes, sir," answered the spirit,
"of honor, for I was killed in a duel."

"For my part," said a fair spirit, "I was inoculated last summer,
and had the good fortune to escape with a very few marks on my
face. I esteemed myself now perfectly happy, as I imagined I had
no restraint to a full enjoyment of the diversions of the town;
but within a few days after my coming up I caught cold by
overdancing myself at a ball, and last night died of a violent
fever."

After a short silence which now ensued, the fair spirit who spoke
last, it being now daylight, addressed herself to a female who
sat next her, and asked her to what chance they owed the
happiness of her company. She answered, she apprehended to a
consumption, but the physicians were not agreed concerning her
distemper, for she left two of them in a very hot dispute about
it when she came out of her body. "And pray, madam," said the
same spirit to the sixth passenger, "How came you to leave the
other world?" But that female spirit, screwing up her mouth,
answered, she wondered at the curiosity of some people; that
perhaps persons had already heard some reports of her death,
which were far from being true; that, whatever was the occasion
of it, she was glad at being delivered from a world in which she
had no pleasure, and where there was nothing but nonsense and
impertinence; particularly among her own sex, whose loose conduct
she had long been entirely ashamed of.

The beauteous spirit, perceiving her question gave offense,
pursued it no farther. She had indeed all the sweetness and
good-humor which are so extremely amiable (when found) in that
sex which tenderness most exquisitely becomes. Her countenance
displayed all the cheerfulness, the good-nature, and the modesty,
which diffuse such brightness round the beauty of Seraphina,[5]
awing every beholder with respect, and, at the same time,
ravishing him with admiration. Had it not been indeed for our
conversation on the small-pox, I should have imagined we had been
honored with her identical presence. This opinion might have
been heightened by the good sense she uttered whenever she spoke,
by the delicacy of her sentiments, and the complacence of her
behavior, together with a certain dignity which attended every
look, word, and gesture; qualities which could not fail making an
impression on a heart[6] so capable of receiving it as mine, nor
was she long in raising in me a very violent degree of seraphic
love. I do not intend by this, that sort of love which men are
very properly said to make to women in the lower world, and which
seldom lasts any longer than while it is making. I mean by
seraphic love an extreme delicacy and tenderness of friendship,
of which, my worthy reader, if thou hast no conception, as it is
probable thou mayest not, my endeavor to instruct thee would be
as fruitless as it would be to explain the most difficult
problems of Sir Isaac Newton to one ignorant of vulgar
arithmetic.

[5] A particular lady of quality is meant here; but every lady
of quality, or no quality, are welcome to apply the character to
themselves.

[6] We have before made an apology for this language, which we
here repeat for the last time; though the heart may, we hope, be
metaphorically used here with more propriety than when we apply
those passions to the body which belong to the soul.

To return therefore to matters comprehensible by all
understandings: the discourse now turned on the vanity, folly,
and misery of the lower world, from which every passenger in the
coach expressed the highest satisfaction in being delivered;
though it was very remarkable that, notwithstanding the joy we
declared at our death, there was not one of us who did not
mention the accident which occasioned it as a thing we would have
avoided if we could. Nay, the very grave lady herself, who was
the forwardest in testifying her delight, confessed inadvertently
that she left a physician by her bedside; and the gentleman who
died of honor very liberally cursed both his folly and his
fencing. While we were entertaining ourselves with these
matters, on a sudden a most offensive smell began to invade our
nostrils. This very much resembled the savor which travelers in
summer perceive at their approach to that beautiful village of
the Hague, arising from those delicious canals which, as they
consist of standing water, do at that time emit odors greatly
agreeable to a Dutch taste, but not so pleasant to any other.
Those perfumes, with the assistance of a fair wind, begin to
affect persons of quick olfactory nerves at a league's distance,
and increase gradually as you approach. In the same manner did
the smell I have just mentioned, more and more invade us, till
one of the spirits, looking out of the coach-window, declared we
were just arrived at a very large city; and indeed he had scarce
said so before we found ourselves in the suburbs, and, at the
same time, the coachman, being asked by another, informed us that
the name of this place was the City of Diseases. The road to it
was extremely smooth, and, excepting the above-mentioned savor,
delightfully pleasant. The streets of the suburbs were lined
with bagnios, taverns, and cooks' shops: in the first we saw
several beautiful women, but in tawdry dresses, looking out at
the windows; and in the latter were visibly exposed all kinds of
the richest dainties; but on our entering the city we found,
contrary to all we had seen in the other world, that the suburbs
were infinitely pleasanter than the city itself. It was indeed a
very dull, dark, and melancholy place. Few people appeared in
the streets, and these, for the most part, were old women, and
here and there a formal grave gentleman, who seemed
to be thinking, with large tie-wigs on, and amber-headed canes in
their hands. We were all in hopes that our vehicle would not
stop here; but, to our sorrow, the coach soon drove into an inn,
and we were obliged to alight.

CHAPTER III

The adventures we met with in the City of Diseases.

We had not been long arrived in our inn, where it seems we were
to spend the remainder of the day, before our host acquainted us
that it was customary for all spirits, in their passage through
that city, to pay their respects to that lady Disease, to whose
assistance they had owed their deliverance from the lower world.
We answered we should not fail in any complacence which was usual
to others; upon which our host replied he would immediately send
porters to conduct us. He had not long quitted the room before
we were attended by some of those grave persons whom I have
before described in large tie-wigs with amber-headed canes.
These gentlemen are the ticket-porters in the city, and their
canes are the insignia, or tickets, denoting their office. We
informed them of the several ladies to whom we were obliged, and
were preparing to follow them, when on a sudden they all stared
at one another, and left us in a hurry, with a frown on every
countenance. We were surprised at this behavior, and presently
summoned the host, who was no sooner acquainted with it than he
burst into an hearty laugh, and told us the reason was, because
we did not fee the gentlemen the moment they came in, according
to the custom of the place. We answered, with some confusion, we
had brought nothing with us from the other world, which we had
been all our lives informed was not lawful to do. "No, no,
master," replied the host; "I am apprised of that, and indeed it
was my fault. I should have first sent you to my lord Scrape,[7]
who would have supplied you with what you want." "My lord Scrape
supply us!" said I, with astonishment: "sure you must know we
cannot give him security; and I am convinced he never lent a
shilling without it in his life." "No, sir," answered the host,
"and for that reason he is obliged to do it here, where he is
sentenced to keep a bank, and to distribute money gratis to all
passengers. This bank originally consisted of just that sum,
which he had miserably hoarded up in the other world, and he is
to perceive it decrease visibly one shilling a-day, till it is
totally exhausted; after which he is to return to the other
world, and perform the part of a miser for seventy years; then,
being purified in the body of a hog, he is to enter the human
species again, and take a second trial." "Sir," said I, "you
tell me wonders: but if his bank be to decrease only a shilling
a day, how can he furnish all passengers?" "The rest," answered
the host, "is supplied again; but in a manner which I cannot
easily explain to you." "I apprehend," said I, "this
distribution of his money is inflicted on him as a punishment;
but I do not see how it can answer that end, when he knows it is
to be restored to him again. Would it not serve the purpose as
well if he parted only with the single shilling, which it seems
is all he is really to lose?" "Sir," cries the host, "when you
observe the agonies with which he parts with every guinea, you
will be of another opinion. No prisoner condemned to death ever
begged so heartily for transportation as he, when he received his
sentence, did to go to hell, provided he might carry his money
with him. But you will know more of these things when you arrive
at the upper world; and now, if you please, I will attend you to
my lord's, who is obliged to supply you with whatever you
desire."

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