Chesters, July 27, 1712.--My hopes and prospects are a wreck.
My precious journal is lost! consigned to the flames! My enemy
hath found me out, and there is no hope of peace or rest for me on
this side the grave.
In the beginning of last week, my fellow lodger came home,
running in a great panic, and told me a story of the Devil having
appeared twice in the printing house, assisting the workmen at the
printing of my book, and that some of them had been frightened
out of their wits. That the story was told to Mr. Watson, who till
that time had never paid any attention to the treatise, but who, out
of curiosity, began and read a part of it, and thereupon flew into a
great rage, called my work a medley of lies and blasphemy, and
ordered the whole to be consigned to the flames, blaming his
foreman, and all connected with the press, for letting a work go
so far that was enough to bring down the vengeance of Heaven on
the concern.
If ever I shed tears through perfect bitterness of spirit it was at
that time, but I hope it was more for the ignorance and folly of
my countrymen than the overthrow of my own hopes.
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