having animadverted warmly, yet, I hope, justly, upon
one author, a worthy and virtuous man, as I believe, for
shewing an indiscreet zeal in behalf of a religion, in the
profession of which he is undoubtedly sincere; it would be
an unpardonable neglect, to take no notice of another
author, a daily journalist too, whose sincerity at the best
is dubious, but whose zeal, whether real or pretended,
flames out beyond all the bounds of order or decency. The
zeal of Richardson, when weigh'd against the zeal, or rather
the fury of Hill, _would be found wanting, and as dust in
the balance_. The Inspectors which have given occasion to
this postscript, are those of Saturday the 9th, and
Wednesday the 13th of this present month of February;
neither of which had made its appearance before the
foregoing remarks were compleated and sent to the press. In
these the journalist has done his utmost, not only to
prejudice weak minds against Lord Bolingbroke's posthumous
works, and the Essays on Crucifixion, Fainting Fits,
Resurrections and Miracles, proposals for printing which by
subscription have been lately published; but to raise the
furies of religious rage and persecution against the editor
of the one, and the author of the other. He tells the first,
that _were he a robber and a murderer, he would be less
criminal, less worthy capital punishment and the Detestation
of all Mankind_. He declares _he shall do all a private man
can do to bring him to punishment_. Of the last he says,
that _not the religious alone, but all who have wisdom, and
a sense of decency, join to say, that no punishment can be
too severe for him_: And, after having given some charitable
hints, drawn from the death of Socrates, and the practice of
the Heathens, he thus apostrophizes. _Will Christians suffer
what they could not bear? It cannot be: It is not possible.
Laws will be put in execution, and the histories of the
whole world cannot produce a greater criminal._

The bare recital of these distempered ravings is a
sufficient confutation of them, is sufficient to inspire all
men of sense and common humanity with a detestation for
them, and a contempt for their author. This is not the
language of a protestant writer, but of a furious
blood-thirsty popish inquisitor. That he would be gladly
invested with such a character, and that he would act most
furiously and bloodily in it, is evident from his journals;
but that he is only a private man, and even as suc