spirits and the like, seems to me designed to induce as many people as possible to try Campbell's remedy. In fine, it is not unlikely that Defoe composed Campbell's letter as well as the reply, and that both were written because Campbell, having failed as a fortuneteller through sickness and loss of vogue, wished to support himself as a quack doctor.

The Friendly Demon seems to have been the last piece which Defoe wrote for Campbell. In 1730 the dumb man was attacked with a sickness which proved too much for his "demon." This time there was no miraculous restoration to health; it was decreed that Campbell should die.

Enough interest was still felt in the man to warrant the publication in 1732 of Secret Memoirs of the Late Mr. Duncan Campbell, the famous Deaf and Dumb Gentleman, written by himself, who ordered that they should be published after his Decease. Mr. Lee declares that, in spite of this having been ascribed to Defoe, the only part of the work really his was the Friendly Demon, which was reprinted with it.

G. H. MAYNADIER.

TO THE LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF

I

GREAT BRITAIN

AM not unacquainted that, ever since this book was first promised by way of advertisement to the world, it was greedily coveted by

a great many persons of airy tempers, for the same reason that it has been condemned by those of a more formal class, who thought it was calculated partly to introduce a great many new and diverting curiosities in the way of superstition, and partly to divulge the secret intrigues and amours of one part of the sex, to give the other part room to make favourite scandal the subject of their discourse, and so to make one-half of the fair species very merry over the blushes and the mortifications of the other half. But when they come to read the following sheets, they will find their expectations disappointed, but I hope I may say too, very agreeably disappointed. They will find a much more elegant entertainment than they expected. Instead of making them a bill of fare out of patchwork romances of polluting scandal, the good old gentleman who wrote the adventures of my life has made it his business to treat them with a great variety of entertaining passages which always terminate in morals that tend to the edification of all readers, of whatsoever sex, age, or

profession. Instead of seducing young, innocent, unwary minds, into the vicious delight which is too often taken in reading the gay and bewitching chimeras of the cabalists, and in perusing the enticing fables of new-invented tricks of superstition, my ancient friend, the writer, strikes at the very root of these superstitions, and shows them how they may be satisfied in their several curiosities, by having recourse to time, who by the talent of the secondsight (which he so beautifully represents how nature is so kind frequently to implant in the minds of men born in the same climate with myself) can tell you those things naturally, which, when you try to learn yourselves, you either run the hazard of being imposed upon in your pockets by cheats, gipsies, and common fortune-tellers, or else of being imposed upon in a still worse way, in your most lasting welfare, by having recourse to conjurors or enchanters that deal in black arts, and involve all their consulters in one general partnership of their execrable guilt; or lastly, of imposing worst of all on your own selves, by getting into an itch of practising and trying the little tricks of female superstition, which are often more officiously handed down by the tradition of credulous nurses and old women, from one generation to another, than the first principles of Christian doctrine, which it is their duty to instil early into little children. But I hope when this book comes to be pretty generally read among you ladies (as by your generous and numerous subscriptions I have good reason to expect), that it will afford a perfect remedy and a thorough cure to that dis

temper, which first took its rise from too great a growth of curiosity, and too large a stock of credulity, nursed prejudicially up with you in your more tender and infant years.

Whatever young maid hereafter has an innocent but longing desire to know who shall be her husband, and what time she shall be married, will, I hope, when she has read in the following sheets of a man that can set her right in the knowledge of those points, purely by possessing the gift of the second-sight, sooner have recourse innocently to such a man than use unlawful means to acquire it, such as running to conjurors to have his figure shown in their enchanted glasses, or using any of those traditionary superstitions by which they may dream of their husbands, or cause visionary shapes of them to appear on such and such festival nights of the year; all which practices are not ordinarily wicked and impious, but downright diabolical. I hope that the next twenty-ninth of June, which is St. John the Baptist's Day, I shall not see the several pasture fields adjacent to this metropolis, especially that behind Montague House, thronged, as they were the last year, with well-dressed young ladies, crawling busily up and down upon their knees, as if they were a parcel of weeders, when all the business is to hunt superstitiously after a coal under the root of a plantain, to put under their heads that night, that they may dream who shall be their husbands. In order to shame them out of this silly but guilty practice, I do intend to have some spies out on that day, that shall discover who they are, and what they