Well, to Mr. Campbell's they accordingly came; and after Mr. Saxon, in deference to his wife's desire, had paid our predictor a handsome complement of gold, Mr. Duncan Campbell saluted him in as grateful a manner, with the assurance that there was in Kent a little country house, with some lands appertaining to it, that was his in right of his wife; that he had the house, as it were, before his eyes, that though he had never substantially seen it, nor been near the place where it stood, he had seen it figuratively as if in exact painting and sculpture; that particularly it had four green trees before the door, from whence he was positive, that if Mr. Saxon went with him in quest of it, he should find it out, and know it as well the moment he come near it, as if he had been an inhabitant in it all his life.
Mr. Saxon, though somewhat of an unbeliever, yet must naturally wish to find it true, you may be sure, and yet partly doubting the event, and partly pleased with the visionary promise of a fortune he never expected, laughed very heartily at the oddness of the adventure, and said he would consider whether it would not savour too much of Quixotism, to be at the expense of a journey on such frolics, and on such a chimerical foundation of airy hopes, and that then he would call again and let Mr. Campbell know his mind upon that point.
In every company he came into, it served for laughter and diversion; they all, however, agreed it was worth his while, since the journey would not be very expensive, to go it by way of frolic. His wife, one morning, saying that she did remember some talk of a house, and such things as Mr. Campbell had described, put him forward upon the adventure; and upon Mr. Saxon's proposing it to his brother Barnard, Mr. Barnard favoured the proposal as a joke, and agreed upon the country ramble. They came on horseback to Mr. Campbell's with a third horse, on which the dumb predictor was mounted, and so on they jogged into Kent, towards Sevenoaks, being the place which he described. The first day they set out was on a Saturday morning in June, and about five that afternoon they arrived at the Black Bull, at Sevenoaks, in Kent. It being a delicate evening, they took an agreeable walk up a fine hill, gracefully adorned with woods, to an old seat of the Earl of Dorset. Meeting by the way with an old servant of the earl, one Perkin, he offered Mr. Barnard, who it seems was his old acquaintance, to give them all a sight of the fine ancient seat.
After they had pleased themselves with viewing the antique nobility of that stately structure, this Perkin went back with them to their inn, the Bull, at Sevenoaks. They that could talk, were very merry in chat; and the dumb gentleman, who saw them laugh and wear all the signs of alacrity in their countenances, was resolved not to be behind with their tongues, and by dint of pen, ink, and paper, that he made signs should be brought in, was resolved, if one might be said to crack without noise, to crack his jest as well as the best of them; for it may be truly said of him, that he seldom comes into any, even diverting company, where he is not the most diverting man there, and the head, though we cannot call him the mouth, of the cheerful society. After having eyed this Perkin a little, and being grown, by his art, as we may suppose, as familiar with the man's humour as if he had known him as many years as Mr. Barnard, Pray, Mr. Barnard, quoth he, in writing, how comes it, you, that are so stanch and so stiff a whig, should be so acquainted and so particularly familiar with such an old Papist, and so violent a Jacobite, as I know that Mr. Perkin (whom I never saw nor had any notice of in my life) to be? And pray, replied Mr. Barnard, what reason have you beyond a pun to take him for a Jacobite? Must he be so because his name is Perkin? I do assure you, in this you show yourself but little of a conjurer; if you can tell no more of houses than you do of men, we may give over the search after the house you spoke of. (Here the reader must understand they discoursed on their fingers, and wrote by turns.) Mr. Campbell replied, seriously, Laying a wager is no argument in other things, I own, but in this I know it is, because I am sure, after we have laid the wager, he will fairly confess it among friends, since it will go no farther; and I, said Mr. Campbell, will lay what wager you will apiece with you all round. Hereupon, Mr. Barnard, who had known him a great many years, was the first that laid, and many more, to the number of five or six, followed his example; the decision of the matter was deferred till next day at the return of the old man to the inn, they being about to break up that night and go to bed.
The next day being Sunday, the landlord carried his guests to see the country, and after a handsome walk, they came through the churchyard. They were poring upon the tombs; no delight can be greater to Mr. Campbell than that; and really, by the frequent walks he usually takes in Westminster abbey, and the churchyards adjacent to this metropolis, one would imagine he takes delight to stalk along by himself on that dumb silent ground, where the characters of the persons are only to be known, as his own meaning is, by writings and inscriptions on the marble. When they had sufficiently surveyed the churchyard, it grew near dinner-time, and they went homewards; but before they had got many yards out of the churchyard, Mr. Campbell makes a full stop, pointing up to a house, and stopping his friends a little, he pulls out of his pocket a pencil and paper, and notes down the following words: That, that is the house my vision presented to me; I could swear it to be the same, I know it to be the same, I am certain of it. The gentlemen with him remarked it, would not take any farther notice at that time intending to inquire into it with secrecy, and so went on to the inn to dinner.
As merry as they had been the night before after supper, they were still more innocently cheerful this day after dinner, till the time of service begun. When the duty of the day was performed and over, they returned to divert and unbend their minds with pleasant but harmless conversation. I suppose nobody but a set of very great formalists will be offended with scandal or scruples, that to travellers just ready to depart the town, Mr. Perkin came on that good day and decided the wagers, by owning to all the company, secrecy being first enjoined, that he was a Roman Catholic, though nobody of the family knew it in so many years as he had lived there, which was before Mr. Campbell was born. This and other innocent speeches afforded as much cheerfulness as the Lord's-day would allow of.
On the next day, being Monday, they sent for one Mr. Toland Toler, an attorney of the place, to find out to whom that house belonged, but by all the inquiry that could possibly be made with convenient secrecy, nobody could find it out for a long time; but at last it came to light and appeared to be justly to a tittle as Mr. Campbell had predicted.
Being now satisfied, the next day our three travellers returned for London; and the two vocal men were very jocular upon their adventure, and by their outward gesticulations gave the prophetical mute his share of diversion. Mr. Barnard, as they passed into a farmhouse-yard, remarked that all the hogs fell a grunting and squeaking more and more as Mr. Campbell came nearer, (who, poor man! could know nothing of the jest, nor the cause of it, till they alighted and told it him by signs and writing,) said to Mr. Saxon, laughing, Now we have found out our house, we shall have only Mr. Campbell home again by himself—we have no farther need of the devil that accompanied him to the country, up to town with us, there are other devils enow to be met with there he knows; and so this, according to the fashion of his predecessor devils, is entered into the herd of swine.
However, the event of this journey, to cut the story short, procured Mr. Saxon a great insight, upon inquiry, into several affairs belonging to him, of which he would otherwise have had no knowledge; and he is now engaged in a chancery suit to do himself justice, and in a fair way of recovering great sums of money, which, without the consultation he had with this dumb gentleman, he had in all likelihood never dreamt of.
In the year 1711, a gentleman, whose name shall be, in this place, Amandus, famed for his exquisite talents in all arts and sciences, but particularly for his gentlemanlike and entertaining manner of conversation, whose company was affected by all men of wit, who grew his friends, and courted by all ladies of an elegant taste, who grew his admirers; this accomplished gentleman, I say, came to Mr. Campbell, in order to propound a question to him, which was so very intricate, and so difficult to answer, that, if he did answer it, it might administer to himself and the ladies he brought with him, the pleasure of admiration in seeing a thing so wonderful in itself performed; or, on the other hand, if he did not make a satisfactory reply to it, then it might afford him and the ladies a very great delight, in being the first that puzzled a man who had had the reputation for so many years of being capable of baffling all the wittiest devices and shrewd stratagems that had been from time to time invented to baffle his skill and explode his penetration in the second-sight, and the arts which he pretended to. The persons whom Amandus brought with him, were the illustrious Lady Delphina, distinguished for her great quality, but still more celebrated for her beauty, his own lady, the admired Amabella, and a young blooming pretty virgin whom we will call by the name of Adeodata, about which last lady, the question was to be put to Mr. Campbell. Adeodata, it seems, was the natural daughter of this very fine gentleman, who had never let her into the knowledge of her own birth, but had bred her up from her infancy under a borrowed name, in the notion that she was a relation's daughter, and recommended to his care in her infancy. Now the man that had the second-sight was to be tried; it was now to be put to the proof if he could tell names or no? Amandus was so much an unbeliever as to be willing to hazard the discovery. Amabella and Delphina were strangers to her real name, and asked Duncan Campbell, not doubting but he would set down that which she ordinarily went by. Amabella had indeed been told by Amandus, that Adeodata was the natural daughter of a near friend of his; but who this near friend was remained a secret: that was the point which lay upon our Duncan Campbell to discover. When the question was proposed to him, what her name was, he looked at her very steadfastly, and shook his head, and after some time he wrote down that it would be a very difficult name for him to fix upon. And truly so it proved; he toiled for every letter till he sweated; and the ladies laughed incontinently, imagining that he was in an agony of shame and confusion at finding himself posed. He desired Amandus to withdraw a little, for that he could not so well take a full and proper survey of ladies' faces when a gentleman was by. This disturbance and perplexity of his afforded them still more subject of mirth; and that excuse was taken as a pretence, and a put-off to cover his shame the better, and hide from one at least, that he was but a downright bungler in what he pretended to be so wonderful an artist. However, after two hours hard sweat and labour, and viewing the face in different shades and lights, (for I must observe to the reader that there is a vast deal of difference, some he can tell in a minute or two with ease, some not in less than four or five hours, and that with great trouble) he undeceived them with regard to his capacity. He wrote down that Adeodata's real name was Amanda, as being the natural daughter of Amandus. Delphina and Amabella were surprised at the discovery; and Amandus, when he was called in, owning it a truth, his wife Amabella applauded the curious way of her coming by such a discovery, when Adeodata was just marriageable, took a liking to her as if her own daughter, and everything ended with profit, mirth, and cheerfulness. I could add a thousand more adventures of Mr. Campbell's life, but that would prove tedious; and as the town has made a great demand for the book, it was thought more proper to conclude it here. The most diverting of all, are to be found best to the life in original letters that passed between Mr. Campbell and his correspondents, some select ones of which will be shortly published in a little pocket volume, for the farther entertainment of such readers as shall relish this treatise; in which the author hopes he shall be esteemed to have endeavoured at the intermingling of some curious disquisitions of learning, with entertaining passages, and to have ended all the merriest passages with a sober, instructive, and edifying moral, which even to those who are not willing to believe the stories, is reckoned sufficient to recommend even fables themselves.