he was cited by the Dean of Lismore before the Bishop's Court, by which he was forbidden to exercise his gift for the future- an order which reminds us of the decree of Louis XIV., commanding that no more miracles should be performed at the tomb of the Abbé Paris. Mr Greatrakes, nevertheless, continued to heal as formerly, until his fame reached England. In August 1665, he received a visit from Mr Flamstead, the astronomer, who was afflicted with a constitutional weakness; but he failed in this case. Early in the ensuing year, he went to England for the purpose of curing the Viscountess Conway of an inveterate headache, in which also he failed. But, while residing at Ragley with the Conway family, he cured many hundreds afflicted with various diseases. Lord Conway himself, in a letter to his brother, thus speaks of the healer :-'I must confess, that, before his arrival, I did not believe the tenth part of those things which I have been an eyewitness of; and several others, of as accurate judgment as any in the kingdom, who are come hither out of curiosity, do acknowledge the truth of his operations. This morning, the Bishop of Gloucester recommended to me a prebend's son in his diocese, to be brought to him for a leprosy from head to foot, which hath been judged incurable above ten years, and in my chamber he cured him perfectly; that is, from a moist humour, 'twas immediately dried up, and began to fall off-the itching was quite gone, and the heat of it taken away. The youth was transported to admiration. After all, I am far from thinking that his cures are at all miraculous. I believe it is by a sanative virtue and a natural efficiency, which extends not to all diseases, but is much more proper and effectual to some than to others, as he doth also despatch some with a great deal of ease, and others not without a great deal of pains.'

He was now invited by the king to come to London, whether he accordingly proceeded; and as he went along through the country, we are told that the magistrates of cities and towns begged of him that he would come and cure their sick. The king, though not fully persuaded

of his wonderful gift, recommended him to the notice of his physicians, and permitted him to do all the good he pleased in London. He went every day to a particular part of the city, where a prodigious number of people, of all ranks and of both sexes, assembled. The only visible means he took to cure them, was to stroke the parts affected. The gout, rheumatism, and other painful affections, were driven by his touch from one part to another, till he got them expelled at the very extremities of the body, after which the patient was considered as cured. Such phenomena could not fail, in the most superstitious era of our history, to excite great wonder, and attract universal attention. The Cavalier wits and courtiers ridiculed them, as they ridiculed everything else that appeared serious. St Evremond, then at court, wrote a sarcastic novel on the subject, under the title of The Irish Prophet. Others, including several of the faculty, defended him. It even appears that the Royal Society, unable to refute the facts, were compelled to account for them as produced by 'a sanative contagion in Mr Greatrake's body, which had an antipathy to some particular diseases, and not to others.' They also published some of his cures in their Transactions. A severe pamphlet by Dr Lloyd, chaplain of the Charterhouse, caused Mr Greatrakes at this time to publish the account of himself which has been already quoted. In it he says: Many demand of me why some are cured, and not all. To which question I answer, that God may please to make use of such means by me, as shall operate according to the dispositions of the patient, and therefore cannot be expected to be alike efficacious in all. They also demand of me, why some are cured at once and not all? and why the pains should fly immediately out of some, and take such ambages in others? and why it should go out of some at their eyes, and some at their fingers, some at their ears or mouths? To which I say, if all these things could have a plain account given of them, there would be no cause to count them strange. Let them tell me what substance that is which removes and goes out

with such expedition, and it will be more easy to resolve their questions. Some will know of me, why or how I do pursue some pains from place to place, till I have chased them out of the body, by laying my hands on the outside of the clothes only (as is usual), and not all pains? To which I answer, that-and others have been abundantly satisfied that it is so-though I am not able to give a reason, yet I am apt to believe there are some pains which afflict men after the manner of evil spirits, which kind of pains cannot endure my hand, nay, not my gloves, but fly immediately, though six or eight coats or cloaks be put between the person and my hand; as at the Lady Ranelagh's at York House, in London, as well as in Ireland, has been manifested. Now, another question will arise, whether the operation of my hand proceeds from the temperature of my body, or from a divine gift, or from both? To which I say, that I have reason to believe that there is some extraordinary gift of God. At the end of his narrative are appended a number of certificates as to his cures, signed by the most respectable, pious, and learned persons of the day, amongst whom are the Honourable Robert Boyle, Bishop Rust, Dr Cudworth, Dr Patrick, Dr Whichcot, and Dr Wilkins. In 1667, he returned to Ireland, where he lived for many years, but without sustaining his reputation for curing. It appears, however, that, upon the strictest inquiry, no blemish could ever be found to attach to the character of this extra

ordinary man. All he did, was done in a spirit of pure piety and benevolence. The truth of the impressive words with which he concludes his own narrative was never challenged: Whether I have done my duty as a Christian, in employing that talent which God had intrusted me withal, to the good of people distressed and afflicted, or no, judge you and every good man. Thus far I appeal to the world, whether I have taken rewards, deluded or deceived any man. All further I will say is, that I pray I may never be weary of welldoing, and that I may be found a faithful servant when I come to give up my last account.'

William Read, who lived in the reign of Queen Anne, and had been originally a poor illiterate tailor, acquired a great reputation for a gift of curing blindness and defects in the eyesight. In time, he acquired a fortune, and Queen Anne, who gave him the care of her eyes, thought proper to knight him. A wretched woman named Mapp, of coarse masculine habits, became famous about the year 1736 for a wonderful gift of setting bones; and in 1748, the whole of England rang with the fame of Bridget Bostock of Coppenhall, in Cheshire, a poor, infirm, old creature, who cured multitudes afflicted with all sorts of diseases at first, by merely having the names of patients sent to her, that she might pray for them, but afterwards by rubbing the parts affected by her fasting spittle, and blessing and praying for them on the spot. The latest examples of wonderful cures are those performed by Prince Hohenloe in 1824, by prayers said at a distance of several hundred miles from the afflicted person.

These supposed miraculous cures certainly form a curious chapter in the history of the human mind. How strange to reflect, that the belief in the power of the royal touch existed, without so much as being questioned, for the better part of a thousand years, and only came into discredit within the recollection almost of people still living! That such impostors as Read, Mapp, and Bostock, should have so recently been able to practise a thriving trade of pretended miraculous healing, also shews how far the public mind, in even the most enlightened countries, is from being in a thoroughly enlightened state. The usual mode of accounting for such pseudo-miracles, by supposing imposture on the one hand, and credulity or the influence of imagination on the other, finds only a somewhat difficult application in the case of Mr Greatrakes. The obviously disinterested character of this man, the extent of his practisings, and the attestations which they obtained from some of the most astute persons of his age, make it difficult to suppose either wilful deception or a too easy belief; and yet in what other solution

shall we take refuge? We may at least be certain that, if any other solution be ever discovered for these apparent mysteries, it will be a natural one-the operation of some law, possibly, which shews itself rarely, and which may not become a part of ascertained science for several ages to come.

THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORRISTON. In the extraordinary history of the wanderings of Prince Charles Stuart after the battle of Culloden, it is a part of peculiar interest, in which he is described as being succoured and faithfully protected for several weeks by a band of robbers. The civilised man of the present day is astonished to consider that, at the time when Sir Robert Walpole, speaking from his experiences amongst English gentlemen, declared every man to have his price, seven outlaws were found in the wilds of Inverness-shire, who had virtue enough to resist a bribe of L.30,000. Remarkable as this part of the history is, it is that which has been perhaps most obscurely related; a result probably of the difficulty which must have been experienced by contemporary writers in obtaining proper information.

It must be premised that, towards the close of July 1746, after more than three months of incredible hardship, Charles found himself amongst the hills between Glenmorriston and Strathglass, in Inverness - shire. He was attended by two or three faithful adherents, to whom he had recently confided himself, the principal being Macdonald of Glenaladale, who had been a major in his army. Late in the evening of the 28th, they reached the highest, and consequently safest point amongst the hills, where, though drenched with rain, the Prince could get no better lodging than a small chink in a rock, which gave him scarcely room to stretch himself, and where he had no fire, no food, and not the slightest comfort of any kind