man invention has nothing equal to them for fluxes of any part of the body, or colliquations from an acid salt. So far are they from being in the least dangerous, that in all unnatural discharges, by spitting, stool, or urine; by excessive menstrual or hæmorrhoidal fluxes, in the fluor albus, diabetes, profuse sweatings; in the diarrhoea, dysentry, or lienteria where the springs are not quite worn out; in ulcers of the viscera, hectic fevers, atrophy, and colliquations or night sweats, there is not any thing in physic more profitable or pleasant, to recover a patient. Let your dose, in such cases, be three half-pints of Knaresborough dropping-well in the forenoon; and before you begin to drink this water, remember to take two doses of rhubarb, to cleanse off the excrements of the first viscera. You must not drink ale, drams, or punch, during a course of these waters and take but very little red port. You must likewise have a strict regard to diet. Let it be milk, eggs, jellies, barley-broth, chickens, kid, lamb, and the like. You must avoid all salt, sharp, stimulating things, day-sleep, and night-air; but agreeable conversation, and diversions that require very little exercise, conduce to the success of this kind of water, in the distempers I have mentioned. If such diseases are curable, you may expect a restoration of health.

But, in the dropsy, jaundice, diminished or irregular menses; in hyppo, melancholy, stuffings of the lungs, obstructions of the viscera, stoppages of the lacteals and misentery, glandular swellings, king's-evil, or any case, where thinning, relaxing, opening, deterging, attenuation or stimulation are wanting, such water is death.

Note, reader, there is another excellent petrifying-water at Newton-Dale in Yorkshire, N. R. thirteen miles from Scarborough. Another near Castle-Howard, the fine seat of the Earl of Carlisle, ten miles from York. Another, near Skipton, in that rough, romantic, wild and silent country, called Craven, in the West-riding of Yorkshire. And one, called Bandwell, at Stonefield in Lincolnshire, west of Horncastle, which is a hundred and twenty-two miles from London. These springs, and many that are not to be come at among the vast fells of Westmoreland, and the high mountains of Stanemore, have all the virtues of Knaresborough droppingwell; though Knaresborough-water is the only one resorted to by company: and as to this spring, I can affirm from my own knowledge, that it is as excellent, and truly medicinal, as the famous petrifyingwater at Clermont. There is no manner of need for Britons going to the mountain Gregoire in BasseAuvergne.

Containing an Account of Wardrew Sulphur-water; the Life of Claudius Hobart; and A Dissertation on Reason and Revelation.

In my account of sulphur-waters, I forgot to mention one very extraordinary spring of this kind, and therefore, make a postilla of it here, that the reader may find in one section all I have to say on mineral waters. And as I found by the side of this water, a man as extraordinary as the spring, I shall

* A Postilla, reader, is a barbarous word made up of the words post illa, and was brought into use in the twelfth century, when the marginal explicators of the Bible left the margins, and under their text writ short and literal notes, before which they put the word postilla, instead of the words post illa, meaning the particular words in the text, from whence, by a letter, they referred to the little note below: but in the thirteenth century, the barbarous word took so much, that all the commentators following, appropriated the name to their most copious commentaries, contrary to the first practice in the use of the word, and for three centuries after the biblical learning was all postilla, till at length the word disappeared, according to the wonted inconstancy and agitation of all human things, and gave place to a new and fifth invention, called tractatus, or homily. This is the history of a POSTILLA.

add his life, to my account of the water, and a couple of little pieces written by him.

In Northumberland, on the borders of Cumberland, there is a place called Wardrew, to the northwest of Thirlwall-castle, which stands on that part of the Picts-Wall, where it crosses the Tippel, and is known by the name of Murus Perforatus in Saxon Thirlwall, on account of the gaps made in the wall at this place for the Scots' passage. Here, as I wandered about this wild, untravelled country, in search of Roman antiquities, I arrived at a sulphur-spring, which I found to be the strongest and most excellent of the kind in all the world. It rises out of a vast cliff, called Arden-Rock, over the bank of the river Arde or Irthing, six feet above the surface of the water, and comes out of a chink in the cliff by a small spout. The discharge is fifty gallons in a minute from a mixture of limestone and ironstone; and the water is so very fœtid, that it is difficult to swallow it. The way to it is not easy, for there is no other passage than along a very narrow ledge, about nine inches broad, which has been cut off the rock over the deep river, and if you slip, as you may easily do, having nothing to hold by, down you go into a water that looks very black and shocking, by the shade of the hanging precipice, and some aged trees which project from the vast cliff.

VOL. III.

I

This dangerous situation, and its remoteness, will prevent its being ever much visited, admirable as the spaw is; yet the country-people thereabout make nothing of the ledge, and drink plentifully of the water, to their sure relief, in many dangerous distempers. It is to them a blessed spring.

The land all round here was one of the finest rural scenes I have seen, and made a pensive traveller wish for some small public-house there, to pass a few delightful days. Its lawns and groves, its waters, vales, and hills, are charming, and form the sweetest, softest region of silence and ease. Whichever way I turned, the various beauties of nature appeared, and nightingales from the thicket inchantingly warbled their loves. The fountains were bordered with violets and moss, and near them were clumps of pine and beech, bound with sweet-briar, and the tendrils of woodbine. It is a delightful spot: a paradise of blooming joys, in the fine season of the year.

One inhabitant only I found in this fine solitude, who lived on the margin of the river, in a small neat cottage, that was almost hid with trees. This was CLAUDIUS HOBART, a man of letters, and a gentleman, who had been unfortunate in the world, and retired to these elysian fields, to devote the remainder of his time to religion, and enjoy the calm