Which wild song, though it may seem a piece of levity to mention, yet, believe me, the application thereof bears a sober and weighty intimation along with it, _viz._ that these sort of people are very horribly afraid that there should be any spirit, lest there should be a devil, and an account after this life; and therefore they are impatient of any thing that implies it, that they may with a more full swing, and with all security from an after reckoning, indulge their own lusts and humours; and I know by long experience that nothing rouses them so much out of that dull lethargy of atheism and sadducism, as narrations of this kind, for they being of a thick and gross spirit, the most subtle and solid deductions of reason does little execution upon them; but this sort of sensible experiments cuts them and stings them very sore, and so startles them, that a less considerable story by far than this of the drummer of Tedworth, or of Ann Walker, a Doctor of Physic cryed out presently, _if this be true I have been in a wrong box all this time, and must begin my account anew_. “And I remember an old gentleman, in the country, of my acquaintance, an excellent justice of peace, and a piece of a mathematician, but what kind of a philosopher he was you may understand from a rhyme of his own making, which he commended to me at my taking horse in his yard; which rhyme is this:— Ens _is nothing till sense finds out; Sense ends in nothing, so naught goes about_.