ur late travelers have inconceivably helped on the cause
of the new philosophy, in their ludicrous narratives of credulity,
miracles, indulgences, and processions, in popish countries, all
which they ridicule under the broad and general name of Religion,
Christianity, and _the Church_. "And are not you ashamed to defend
such knavery?" said Mr. Trueman. "Those who have a great object to
accomplish," replied Mr. Fantom, "must not be nice about the means.
But to return to yourself, Trueman; in your little confined
situation you can be of no use." "That I deny," interrupted Trueman;
"I have filled all the parish offices with some credit. I never took
a bribe at an election, no not so much as a treat; I take care of my
apprentices, and do not set them a bad example by running to plays
and Saddler's Wells, in the week or jaunting about in a gig all day
on Sundays; for I look upon it that the country jaunt of the master
on Sundays exposes his servants to more danger than their whole
week's temptation in trade put together."

_Fantom._ I once had the same vulgar prejudices about the church and
the Sabbath, and all that antiquated stuff. But even on your own
narrow principles, how can a thinking being spend his Sunday better
(if he must lose one day in seven by having any Sunday at all) than
by going into the country to admire the works of nature.

_Trueman._ I suppose you mean the works of God: for I never read in
the Bible that Nature made any thing. I should rather think that she
herself was made by Him, who, when He said, "thou shalt not murder,"
said also, "thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath day." But now do you
really think that all the multitude of coaches, chariots, chaises,
vis-a-vis, booby-hutches, sulkies, sociables, phaetons, gigs,
curricles, cabrioles, chairs, stages, pleasure-carts, and horses,
which crowd our roads; all those country-houses within reach, to
which the London friends pour in to the gorgeous Sunday feast, which
the servants are kept from church to dress; all those public houses
under the signs of which you read these alluring words, _an ordinary
on Sundays_; I say, do you really believe that all those houses and
carriages are crammed with philosophers, who go on Sunday into the
country to admire the works of nature, as you call it! Indeed, from
the reeling gait of some of them, when they go back at night, one
might take them for a certain sect called the tippling philosophers.
Then in answer to your