[]LETTERS FROM A CITIZEN of the WORLD TO HIS FRIENDS in the EAST.

LETTER LXIII. From Lien Chi [...]l [...]tangi to Hingpo, by the way of Moſcow.

GENEROSITY properly applied will ſup⯑ply every other external advantage in life, but the love of thoſe we converſe with; it will pro⯑cure eſteem and a conduct reſembling real affec⯑tion, but actual love is the ſpontaneous produc⯑tion of the mind, no generoſity can purchaſe, no rewards encreaſe, nor no liberality continue it, the very perſon who is obliged, has it not in his power to force his lingring affections upon the object he ſhould love, and voluntarily mix paſſion with gratitude.

[2]Imparted fortune, and well-placed liberality, may procure the benefactor good-will, may load the perſon obliged, with the ſenſe of the duty he lies under to retaliate; this is gratitude: and ſimple gratitude untinctured with love, is all the return an ingenuous mind can beſtow for former benefits.

But gratitude and love are almoſt oppoſite affec⯑tions; love is often an involuntary paſſion, placed upon our companions without our conſent, and fre⯑quently conferred without our previous eſteem. We love ſome men, we know not why; our tender⯑neſs is naturally excited in all their concerns; we excuſe their faults with the ſame indulgence, and approve their virtues with the ſame applauſe with which we conſider our own. While we entertain the paſſion it pleaſes us, we cheriſh it with de⯑light, and give it up with reluctance, and love for love is all the reward we expect or deſire.

Gratitude, on the contrary, is never conferred, but where there have been previous endeavours to excite it; we conſider it as a debt, and our ſpirits wear a load till we have diſcharged the obligation. Every acknowledgment of gratitude is a circumſtance of humiliation; and ſome are found to ſubmit to frequent mortifications of this kind; proclaiming what obligations they owe, merely be⯑cauſe they think it in ſome meaſure cancels the debt.

Thus love is the moſt eaſy and agreeable, and gra⯑titude the moſt humiliating affection of the mind; we never reflect on the man we love, without ex⯑ulting in our choice, while he who has bound us to him by benefits alone, riſes to our idea as a per⯑ſon [3] to whom we have in ſome meaſure, forfeited our freedom. Love and gratitude are ſeldom therefore found in the ſame breaſt without impair⯑ing each other; we may tender the one or the other ſingly to thoſe we converſe with, but can⯑not command both together. By attempting to en⯑creaſe, we diminiſh them; the mind becomes bank⯑rupt under too large obligations; all additional benefits leſſen every hope of future return, and bar up every avenue that leads to tenderneſs.

In all our connexions with ſociety therefore, it is not only generous, but prudent, to appear inſen⯑ſible of the value of thoſe favours we beſtow, and endeavour to make the obligation ſeem as ſlight as poſſible. Love muſt be taken by ſtra⯑tagem, and not by open force: We ſhould ſeem ignorant that we oblige, and leave the mind at full liberty to give or refuſe its affections; for conſtraint may indeed leave the receiver ſtill grate⯑ful, but it will certainly produce diſguſt.

If to procure gratitude be our only aim, there is no great art in making the acquiſition; a benefit conferred demands a juſt acknowledgment, and we have a right to inſiſt upon our due.

But it were much more prudent to forego our right on ſuch an occaſion, and exchange it, if we can, for love. We receive but little advantage from repeated proteſtations of gratitude, but they coſt him very much from whom we exact them in return; exacting a grateful acknowledgement is demanding a debt by which the creditor is not ad⯑vantaged, and the debtor pays with reluctance.

[4]As Mencius the Philoſopher was travelling in the purſuit of wiſdom, night overtook him at the foot of a gloomy mountain, remote from the habitations of men. Here as he was ſtraying, while rain and thunder conſpired to make ſolitude ſtill more hideous, he perceived a hermit's cell, and approaching, aſked for ſhelter: Enter, cries the hermit, in a ſevere tone, men deſerve not to be obliged, but it would be imitating their in⯑gratitude to treat them as they deſerve. Come in: examples of vice may ſometimes ſtrengthen us in the ways of virtue.

After a frugal meal, which conſiſted of roots and tea, Mencius could not repreſs his curioſity to know why the hermit had retired from man⯑kind, the actions of whom taught the trueſt leſ⯑ſons of wiſdom. Mention not the name of man, cries the hermit, with indignation; here let me live retired from a baſe ungrateful world; here among the beaſts of the foreſt, I ſhall find no flatterers; the lion is a generous enemy, and the dog a faithful friend, but man, baſe man, can poiſon the bowl, and ſmile while he preſents it. You have been uſed ill by mankind? interrupted the philoſopher ſhrewdly. Yes, returned the hermit, on mankind I have exhauſted my whole fortune, and this ſtaff, and that cup, and thoſe roots are all that I have in return. Did you beſtow your fortune, or did you only lend it? returned Mencius. I beſtowed it, undoubtedly, replied the other, for where were the merit of being a money lender? Did they ever own that they received it? ſtill adds the philoſopher. A thouſand times, cries the hermit, they every day loaded me with profeſſions of gratitude, for obligations received, and ſolicita⯑tions [5] for future favours. If then, ſays Mencius, ſmiling, you did not lend your fortune, in order to have it returned, it is unjuſt to accuſe th [...]m of in⯑gratitude; they own'd themſelves obliged, you expected no more, and they certainly earn'd each favour by frequently acknowledging the obligation. The hermit was ſtruck with the reply, and ſurveying his gueſt with emotion, I have heard of the great Mencius, and you certainly are the man; I am now fourſcore years old, but ſtill a child in wiſ⯑dom, take me back to the ſchool of man, and educate me as one of the moſt ignorant and the youngeſt of your diſciples!

Indeed, my ſon, it is better to have friends in our paſſage through life than grateful dependants; and as love is a more willing, ſo it is a more laſting tribute than extorted obligation. As we are uneaſy when greatly obliged, gratitude once refuſed, can never after be recovered: the mind that is baſe enough to diſallow the juſt return, inſtead of feeling any uneaſineſs upon recollection, triumphs in its new acquired freedom, and in ſome meaſure is pleaſed with conſcious baſeneſs.

Very different is the ſituation of diſagreeing friends, their ſeparation produces mutual uneaſi⯑neſs: Like that divided being in fabulous cre⯑ation, their ſympathetic ſouls once more deſire their former union, the joys of both are imperfect, their gayeſt moments tinctured with uneaſineſs; each ſeeks for the ſmalleſt conceſſions to clear the way to a wiſhed for explanation; the moſt trifling acknowledgement, the ſlighteſt accident ſerves to effect a mutual reconciliation.

[6]But inſtead of purſuing the thought, permit me to ſoften the ſeverity of advice, by an Eu⯑ropean ſtory which will fully illuſtrate my mean⯑ing.

A fidler and his wife, who had rubbed through life, as moſt couples uſually do, ſometimes good friends, at others not quite ſo well; one day hap⯑pened to have a diſpute, which was conducted with becoming ſpirit on both ſides. The wife was ſure ſhe was right, and the huſband was re⯑ſolved to have his own way. What was to be done in ſuch a caſe? the quarrel grew worſe by explanations, and at laſt the fury of both roſe to ſuch a pitch, that they made a vow never to ſleep together in the ſame bed for the future. This was the moſt raſh vow that could be ima⯑gined, for they ſtill were friends at bottom, and beſides they had but one bed in the houſe; how⯑ever, reſolved they were to go through with it, and at night the fiddle-caſe was laid in bed be⯑tween them, in order to make a ſeparation. In this manner they continued for three weeks; every night the fiddle-caſe being placed as a bar⯑rier to divide them.

By this time, however, each heartily repented of their vow, their reſentment was at an end, and their love began to return; they wiſhed the fiddle-caſe away, but both had too much ſpirit to begin. One night, however, as they were both lying awake with the deteſted fiddle-caſe between them, the huſband happened to ſneeze; to which the wife, as is uſual in ſuch caſes, bid God bleſs him; Ay, but, returns the huſband, woman, do you ſay that from your heart? Indeed, [7] I do, my poor Nicholas, cries his wife, I ſay it with all my heart. If ſo then, ſays the huſband, we had as good remove the fiddle-caſe.

LETTER LXIV. From the ſame.

BOOKS, my ſon, while they teach us to reſpect the intereſts of others, often make us unmind⯑ful of our own; while they inſtruct the youthful reader to graſp at ſocial happineſs, he grows miſe⯑rable in detail, and attentive to univerſal harmony, often forgets that he himſelf has a part to ſuſtain in the concert. I diſlike therefore the philoſopher who deſcribes the inconveniencies of life in ſuch pleaſing colours that the pupil grows enamoured of diſtreſs, longs to try the charms of poverty, meets it without dread, nor fears its inconvenien⯑cies till he ſeverely feels them.

A youth, who has thus ſpent his life among books, new to the world, and unacquainted with man, but by philoſophic information, may be con⯑ſidered as a being, whoſe mind is filled with the vulgar errors of the wiſe; utterly unqualified for a journey through life, yet confident of his own ſkill in the direction, he ſets out with confidence, blunders on with vanity, and finds himſelf at laſt undone.

He firſt has learned from books, and then lays it down as a maxim, that all mankind are virtu⯑ous or vicious in exceſs; and he has been long [8] taught to deteſt vice and love virtue: warm there⯑fore in attachments, and ſtedfaſt in enmity, he treats every creature as a friend or foe; expects from thoſe he loves unerring integrity, and con⯑ſigns his enemies to the reproach of wanting every virtue. On this principle he proceeds; and here begin his diſappointments: upon a cloſer inſpection of human nature, he perceives, that he ſhould have moderated his friendſhip, and ſoften⯑ed his ſeverity; for he often finds the excellencies of one part of mankind clouded with vice, and the faults of the other brightened with virtue; he finds no character ſo ſanctified that has not its failings, none ſo infamous, but has ſomewhat to attract our eſteem; he beholds impiety in lawn, and fidelity in fetters.

He now therefore, but too late, perceives that his regards ſhould have been more cool, and his hatred leſs violent; that the truly wiſe ſeldom court romantic friendſhips with the good, and a⯑void, if poſſible, the reſentment even of the wic⯑ked: every moment gives him freſh inſtances that the bonds of friendſhip are broken if drawn too cloſely, and that thoſe whom he has treated with diſreſpect more than retaliate the injury: at length therefore he is obliged to confeſs, that he has de⯑clared war upon the vicious half of mankind, with⯑out being able to form an alliance among the vir⯑tuous to eſpouſe his quarrel.

Our book-taught philoſopher, however, is now too far advanced to recede; and though poverty be the juſt conſequence of the many enemies his conduct has created, yet he is reſolved to meet it without ſhrinking: philoſophers have deſcribed [9] poverty in moſt charming colours; and even his va⯑nity is touched, in thinking, that he ſhall ſhew the world, in himſelf, one more example of pati⯑ence, fortitude, and reſignation. Come then, O Poverty! for what is there in thee dreadful to the WISE; temperance, health, and frugality, walk in thy train; cheerfulneſs and liberty are ever thy compa⯑nions. Shall any be aſhamed of thee of whom Cin⯑cinatus was not aſhamed? the running brook, the herbs of the field can amply ſatisfy nature; man wants but little, nor that little long; come then, O Poverty, while kings ſtand by and gaze with admiration, at the true philoſopher's reſignation.

The goddeſs appears; for Poverty ever comes at the call: but alas! he finds her by no means the charming figure books and his warm imagina⯑tion had painted. As when an eaſtern bride whom her friends and relations had long deſcribed as a model of perfection, pays her firſt viſit, the long⯑ing bridegroom lifts the veil to ſee a face he had never ſeen before; but inſtead of a countenance, blazing with beauty like the ſun, he beholds de⯑formity ſhooting icicles to his heart; ſuch appears Poverty to her new entertainer; all the fabric of enthuſiaſm is at once demoliſhed, and a thouſand miſeries riſe upon its ruins, while Contempt, with pointing finger, is foremoſt in the hideous proceſ⯑ſion.

The poor man now finds that he can get no kings to look at him while he is eating; he finds that in proportion as he grows poor, the world turns its back upon him, and gives him leave to act the philoſopher in all the majeſty of ſolitude; it might be agreeable enough to play the philoſo⯑pher, [10] while we are conſcious that mankind are ſpectators; but what ſignifies wearing the maſk of ſturdy contentment, and mounting the ſtage of re⯑ſtraint, when not one creature will aſſiſt at the ex⯑hibition! Thus is he forſaken of men, while his fortitude wants the ſatisfaction even of ſelf-ap⯑plauſe; for either he does not feel his preſent cala⯑mities, and that is natural inſenſibility, or he diſ⯑guiſes his feelings, and that is diſſimulation.

Spleen now begins to take up the man; not diſ⯑tinguiſhing in his reſentments, he regards all man⯑kind with deteſtation, and commencing man-hater, ſeeks ſolitude to be at liberty to rail.

It has been ſaid, that he who retires to ſolitude, is either a beaſt or an angel, the cenſure is too ſe⯑vere, and the praiſe unmerited; the diſcontented being, who retires from ſociety, is generally ſome good-natured man, who has begun life without experience, and knew not how to gain it in his in⯑tercourſe with mankind. Adieu.

LETTER LXV. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

I Formerly acquainted thee, moſt grave Fum, with the excellence of the Engliſh in the art of heal⯑ing. The Chineſe boaſt their ſkill in pulſes, the Siameſe their botanical knowledge, but the Engliſh advertiſing phyſicians alone, of being the great re⯑ſtorers of health, the diſpenſers of youth, and [11] the inſurers of longevity. I can never enough admire the ſagacity of this country for the encou⯑ragement given to the profeſſors of this art; with what indulgence does ſhe foſter up thoſe of her own growth, and kindly cheriſh thoſe that come from abroad. Like a ſkilful gardener ſhe invites them from every foreign climate to herſelf. Here every great exotic ſtrikes root as ſoon as imported, and feels the genial beam of favour; while the mighty metropolis, like one vaſt munificent dunghill, receives them indiſcriminately to her breaſt, and ſupplies each with more than native nouriſhment.

In other countries the phyſician pretends to cure diſorders in the lump; the ſame doctor who com⯑bats the gout in the toe, ſhall pretend to preſcribe for a pain in the head, and he who at one time cures a conſumption, ſhall at another give drugs for a dropſy. How abſurd and ridiculous! this is being a mere jack of all trades. Is the animal machine leſs complicated than a braſs pin? Not leſs than ten different hands are required to make a pin; and ſhall the body be ſet right by one ſin⯑gle operator?

The Engliſh are ſenſible of the force of this rea⯑ſoning; they have therefore one doctor for the eyes, another for the toes; they have their ſciatica doctors, and inoculating doctors; they have one doctor who is modeſtly content with ſecuring them from bugbites, and five hundred who preſcribe for the bite of mad dogs.

The learned are not here retired with vicious modeſty from public view; for every dead wall is covered with their names, their abilities, their a⯑mazing [12] cures, and places of abode. Few patients can eſcape falling into their hands, unleſs blaſted by lightening, or ſtruck dead with ſome ſudden diſorder: it may ſometimes happen, that a ſtranger who does not underſtand Engliſh, or a countryman who cannot read, dies without ever hearing of the vivifying drops, or reſtorative electuary; but for my part, before I was a week in town, I had learned to bid the whole catalogue of diſorders de⯑fiance, and was perfectly acquainted with the names and the medicines of every great man, or great woman of them all.

But as nothing pleaſes curioſity more than anec⯑dotes of the great, however minute or trifling, I muſt preſent you, inadequate as my abilities are to the ſubject, with ſome account of thoſe perſonages who lead in this honourable profeſſion.

The firſt upon the liſt of glory is doctor Ri⯑chard Rock F. U. N. This great man is ſhort of ſta⯑ture, is fat, and waddles as he walks. He always wears a white three-tailed wig nicely combed, and frizzed upon each cheek. Sometimes he carries a cane, but a hat never; it is indeed very remarka⯑ble, that this extraordinary perſonage ſhould never wear an hat, but ſo it is he never wears an hat. He is uſually drawn at the top of his own bills, ſitting in his arm-chair, holding a little bottle be⯑tween his finger and thumb, and ſurrounded with rotten teeth, nippers, pills, pacquets, and gally-pots. No man can promiſe fairer nor better than he; for, as he obſerves, Be your diſorder never ſo far gone, be under no uneaſineſs, make yourſelf quite eaſy, I can cure you.

[13]The next in fame, though by ſome reckoned of equal pretenſions, is doctor Timothy Franks, F. O. G. H. living in a place called the Old Bailey. As Rock is remarkably ſquab, his great rival Franks is as remarkably tall. He was born in the year of the chriſtian aera 1692, and is, while I now write, ex⯑actly ſixty-eight years, three months, and four days old. Age, however, has no ways impaired his uſual health and vivacity, I am told, he gene⯑rally walks with his breaſt open. This gentleman, who is of a mixed reputation, is particularly re⯑markable for a becoming aſſurance, which carries him gently through life; for, except doctor Rock, none are more bleſt with the advantages of face than doctor Franks.

And yet the great have their foibles as well as the little. I am almoſt aſhamed to mention it. Let the foibles of the great reſt in peace. Yet I muſt impart the whole to my friend. Theſe two great men are actually now at variance; yes, my dear Fum Hoam, by the head of our grandfather, they are now at variance like mere men, mere common mortals. The champion Rock adviſes the world to beware of bog trotting quacks, while Franks retorts the wit and the ſarcaſm (for they have both a world of wit) by fixing on his rival the odious appellation of Dumplin Dick. He calls the ſerious doctor Rock, Dumplin Dick! Head of Confucius, what profanation! Dumplin Dick! What a pity, ye powers, that the learned, who were born mutually to aſſiſt in enlightening the world, ſhould thus dif⯑fer among themſelves, and make even the profeſſion ridiculous! Sure the world is wide enough, at leaſt, for two great perſonages to figure in; men of ſci⯑ence ſhould leave controverſy to the little world [14] below them; and then we might ſee Rock and Franks walking together hand in hand, ſmiling on⯑ward to immortality.

Next to theſe is doctor Walker, preparator of his own medicines. This gentleman is remarkable for an averſion to quacks; frequently cautioning the public to be careful into what hands they com⯑mit their ſafety; by which he would inſinuate that if they do not employ him alone, they muſt be undone. His public ſpirit is equal to his ſucceſs. Not for himſelf, but his country, is the gally-pot prepared and the drops ſealed up with proper di⯑rections for any part of the town or country. All this is for his country's good: ſo that he is now grown old in the practice of phyſic and virtue; and to uſe his own elegance of expreſſion, There is not ſuch another medicine as his in the world again.

This, my friend, is a formidable triumvirate; and yet, formidable as they are, I am reſol⯑ved to defend the honour of Chineſe phyſic a⯑gainſt them all. I have made a vow to ſummon doctor Rock to a ſolemn diſputation in all the myſ⯑teries of the profeſſion, before the face of every Philomath, ſtudent in aſtrology, and member of the learned ſocieties. I adhere to, and venerate the doctrines of old Wang-ſhu-ho. In the very teeth of oppoſition I will maintain, ^* That the heart is the ſon of the liver, which has the kidneys for its mother, and the ſtomach for its wife. I have therefore drawn up a diſputation challenge, which is to be ſent ſpeedily, to this effect:

I, Lien Chi Altangi, D. N. R. P. native of Ho⯑nan in China, to Richard Rock, F. U. N. native of Garbage-alley in Wapping, defiance. Though, Sir, I [15] [...]m perfectly ſenſible of your importance, though no [...]ranger to your ſtudies in the paths of nature, yet [...]ere may be many things in the art of phyſic with [...]hich you are yet unacquainted. I know full well [...] doctor thou art, great Rock, and ſo am I. Wherefore I challenge, and do hereby invite you [...] a trial of learning upon hard problems, and [...]otty phyſical points. In this debate we will [...]almly inveſtigate the whole theory and practice of [...]edicine, botany and chymiſtry; and I invite all [...]he philomaths, with many of the lecturers in me⯑ [...]icine, to be preſent at the diſpute: which, I hope, [...]ill be carried on with due decorum, with proper [...]ravity, and as befits men of erudition and ſci⯑ [...]nce, among each other. But before we meet face [...] face, I would thus publickly, and in the face of [...]e whole world, deſire you to anſwer me one [...]ueſtion; I aſk it with the ſame earneſtneſs with [...]hich you have often ſolicited the public; anſwer [...]e, I ſay, at once, without having recourſe to our phyſical dictionary, which of thoſe three diſor⯑ [...]ers, incident to the human body, is the moſt fa⯑ [...]l, the ſyncope, parentheſis, or apoplexy? I beg your [...]ply may be as public as this my demand^*. I am, [...] hereafter may be, your admirer, or your rival.

Adieu.

LETTER LXVI. To the ſame.

[...]NDULGENT nature ſeems to have ex⯑empted this iſland from many of thoſe epidemic [...]tils which are ſo fatal in other parts of the [16] world. A want of rain but for a few days beyond the expected ſeaſon in China, ſpreads famine, deſolation, and terror, over the whole country; the winds that blow from the brown boſom of the weſtern deſart are impregnated with death in every gale; but in this fortunate land of Britain, the inhabitant courts health in every breeze, and the huſbandman ever ſows in joyful expectation.

But tho' the nation be exempt from real evils, think not, my friend, that it is more happy on this account than others. They are afflicted, it is true, with neither famine nor peſtilence, but then there is a diſorder peculiar to the country, which every ſeaſon makes ſtrange ravages among them; it ſpreads with peſtilential rapidity, and infects almoſt every rank of people; what is ſtill more ſtrange the natives have no name for this peculiar malady, tho' well known to foreign phyſicians by the appellation of Epidemic terror.

A ſeaſon is never known to paſs in which the people are not viſited by this cruel calamity in one ſhape or another, ſeemingly different, tho' ever the ſame; one year it iſſues from a baker's ſhop in the ſhape of a ſixpenny loaf, the next it takes the appearance of a comet with a fiery tail, a third it threatens like a flat-bottomed boat, and a fourth it carries conſternation at the bite of a mad dog. The people, when once infected, loſe their reliſh for happineſs, ſaunter about with looks of deſpondence, aſk after the calamities of the day, and receive no comfort but in heightening each others diſtreſs. It is inſignificant how remote or near, how weak or powerful the object of terror may be, when once they reſolve to fright [17] [...]nd be frighted, the meereſt trifles ſow conſter⯑nation and diſmay, each proportions his fears not [...]o the object, but to the dread he diſcovers in [...]he countenance of others; for when once the [...]ermentation is begun, it goes on of itſelf, tho' [...]he original cauſe be diſcontinued which firſt [...]et it in motion.

A dread of mad dogs is the epidemic terror which now prevails, and the whole nation is at preſent actually groaning under the malignity of [...]ts influence. The people ſally from their houſes with that circumſpection which is prudent in [...]uch as expect a mad dog at every turning. The [...]hyſician publiſhes his preſcription, the beadle [...]repares his halter, and a few of unuſual bravery [...]rm themſelves with boots and buff gloves, in [...]rder to face the enemy if he ſhould offer to at⯑ [...]ack them. In ſhort, the whole people ſtand [...]ravely upon their defence, and ſeem by their [...]reſent ſpirit to ſhew a reſolution of not being [...]amely bit by mad dogs any longer.

Their manner of knowing whether a dog be [...]ad or no, ſomewhat reſembles the ancient Eu⯑ [...]opean cuſtom of trying witches. The old wo⯑ [...]an ſuſpected was tied hand and foot and thrown [...]to the water. If ſhe ſwam, then ſhe was inſtantly [...]arried off to be burnt for a witch, if ſhe ſunk, [...]en indeed ſhe was acquitted of the charge, but [...]rown'd in the experiment. In the ſame manner [...] crowd gather round a dog ſuſpected of mad⯑ [...]eſs, and they begin by teizing the devoted animal [...]n every ſide; if he attempts to ſtand upon the [...]efenſive and bite, then is he unanimouſly found [...]uilty, for a mad dog always ſnaps at every thing; [18] if, on the contrary, he ſtrives to eſcape by run⯑ning away, then he can expect no compaſſion, for mad dogs always run ſtraight forward before them.

It is pleaſant enough for a neutral being like me, who have no ſhare in thoſe ideal calamities, to mark the ſtages of this national diſeaſe. The ter⯑ror at firſt feebly enters with a diſregarded ſtory of a little dog, that had gone through a neighbouring village, that was thought to be mad by ſeveral that had ſeen him. The next account comes, that a maſ⯑tiff ran through a certain town, and had bit five geeſe, which immediately run mad, foamed at the bill, and died in great agonies ſoon after. Then comes an affecting hiſtory of a little boy bit in the leg, and gone down to be dipt in the ſalt water; when the people have ſufficiently ſhuddered at that, they are next congealed with a frightful account of a man who was ſaid lately to have died from a bite he had received ſome years before. This relation only prepares the way for another, ſtill more hideous, as how the maſter of a family, with ſeven ſmall children, were all bit by a mad lap dog, and how the poor father firſt perceived the infection by calling for a draught of water, where he ſaw the lap dog ſwimming in the cup.

When epidemic terror is thus once excited, every morning comes loaded with ſome new diſ⯑aſter; as in ſtories of ghoſts each loves to hear the account, though it only ſerves to make him uneaſy, ſo here each liſtens with eagerneſs, and adds to the tidings with new circumſtances of pe⯑culiar horror. A lady for inſtance, in the coun⯑try, of very weak nerves has been frighted by the barking of a dog; and this, alas! too fre⯑ [...]ently [19] happens. The ſtory ſoon is improved [...]d ſpreads, that a mad dog had frighted a lady [...] diſtinction. Theſe circumſtances begin to grow [...]rrible before they have reached the neighbour⯑ [...]g village, and there the report is, that a lady [...] quality was bit by a mad maſtiff. This ac⯑ [...]unt every moment gathers new ſtrength and [...]ows more diſmal as it approaches the capital, [...]d by the time it has arrived in town the lady is [...]ſcribed, with wild eyes, foaming mouth, run⯑ [...]ng mad upon all four, barking like a dog, bi⯑ [...]g her ſervants, and at laſt ſmothered between [...]o beds by the advice of her doctors: while the [...]d maſtiff is in the mean time ranging the whole [...]untry over, ſlavering at the mouth, and ſeek⯑ [...]g whom he may devour.

My landlady, a good natured woman, but a [...]tle credulous, waked me ſome mornings ago [...]fore the uſual hour with horror and aſtoniſh⯑ [...]ent in her looks; ſhe deſired me if I had any [...]gard for my ſafety, to keep within; for a few [...]ys ago ſo diſmal an accident had happened, as [...] put all the world upon their guard. A mad [...]g down in the country, ſhe aſſured me, had [...] a farmer, who ſoon becoming mad ran into [...] own yard, and bit a fine brindled cow; the [...]w quickly became as mad as the man, began [...] foam at the mouth, and raiſing herſelf up, [...]lked about on her hind legs, ſometimes barking [...]e a dog, and ſometimes attempting to talk [...]e the farmer. Upon examining the grounds [...] this ſtory, I found my landlady had it from [...]e neighbour, who had it from another neigh⯑ [...]ur, who heard it from very good authority.

[20]Were moſt ſtories of this nature thoroughly ex⯑amined, it would be found that numbers of ſuc [...] as have been ſaid to ſuffer were no way injured and that of thoſe who have been actually bitten not one in a hundred was bit by a mad dog▪ Such accounts in general therefore only ſerve t [...] make the people miſerable by falſe terrors, and ſometimes fright the patient into actual phrenzy by creating thoſe very ſymptoms, they pretended to deplore.

But even allowing three or four to die in a ſeaſon of this terrible death (and four is probably too large a conceſſion) yet ſtill it is not conſidered how many are preſerved in their health and in their property by this devoted animal's ſervices▪ The midnight robber is kept at a diſtance▪ the inſidious thief is often detected, the health⯑ful chace repairs many a worn conſtitution, and the poor man finds in his dog a willing aſſiſtant eager to leſſen his toil, and content with the ſmalleſt retribution.

A dog, ſays one of the Engliſh poets, "is an honeſt creature, and I am a friend to dogs." O [...] all the beaſts that graze the lawn or hunt the foreſt, a dog is the only animal, that leaving his fellows, attempts to cultivate the friendſhip o [...] man; to man he looks in all his neceſſities with a ſpeaking eye for aſſiſtance; exerts for him al [...] the little ſervice in his power with chearfulneſs and pleaſure; for him bears famine and fa⯑tigue with patience and reſignation; no injuries can abate his fidelity, no diſtreſs induce him to forſake his benefactor, ſtudious to pleaſe, and fearing to offend, he is ſtill an humble ſtedfaſ [...] [21] [...]pendant, and in him alone fawning is not flat⯑ [...]y. How unkind then to torture this faithful [...]eature who has left the foreſt, to claim the pro⯑ [...]ction of man; how ungrateful a return to the [...]uſty animal for all its ſervices.

Adieu.

LETTER LXVII. From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo, by the way of Moſcow.

THE Europeans are themſelves blind, who de⯑ſcribe fortune without ſight. No firſt rate beau⯑ [...] ever had finer eyes, or ſaw more clearly; they [...]o have no other trade but ſeeking their fortune, [...]ed never hope to find her; coquet like ſhe flies [...]om her cloſe purſuers, and at laſt fixes on the [...]odding mechanic, who ſtays at home, and minds [...] buſineſs.

I am amazed, how men can call her blind, [...]en by the company ſhe keeps ſhe ſeems ſo very [...]cerning. Wherever you ſee a gaming-table, be [...]ty ſure fortune is not there; wherever you ſee [...] houſe with the doors open, be very ſure for⯑ [...]ne is not there; when you ſee a man whoſe [...]cket-holes are laced with gold, be ſatisfied fortune [...] not there; wherever you ſee a beautiful woman [...]od natured and obliging, be convinced fortune [...] never there. In ſhort, ſhe is ever ſeen accom⯑ [...]nying induſtry, and as often trundling a wheel⯑ [...]row, as lolling in a coach and ſix.

[22]If you would make fortune your friend, or to perſonize her no longer, if you deſire, my ſon, to be rich and have money, be more eager to ſaw than to acquire: when people ſay. Money is to b [...] got here, and money is to be got there, take no no⯑tice; mind your own buſineſs; ſtay where you are; and ſecure all you can get, without ſtirring▪ When you hear that your neighbour has picked up a purſe of gold in the ſtreet, never run out into the ſame ſtreet, looking about you, in order to pick up ſuch another; or when you are informed that he has made a fortune in one branch of buſi⯑neſs, never change your own, in order to be his ri⯑val. Do not deſire to be rich all at once; but pa⯑tiently add farthing to farthing. Perhaps you de⯑ſpiſe the petty ſum; and yet they who want a far⯑thing, and have no friend that will lend them it think farthings very good things. Whang, th [...] fooliſh miller, when he wanted a farthing in hi [...] diſtreſs, found that no friend would lend, becauſ [...] they knew he wanted. Did you ever read th [...] ſtory of Whang in our books of Chineſe learning he, who deſpiſing ſmall ſums, and graſping at all loſt even what he had?

Whang, the miller, was naturally avaricious nobody loved money better than he, or more re⯑ſpected thoſe that had it. When people would ta [...] of a rich man in company, Whang would ſay, [...] know him very well; he and I have been long ac⯑quainted; he and I are intimate; he ſtood for [...] child of mine: but if ever a poor man was men⯑tioned, he had not the leaſt knowledge of th [...] man; he might be very well for aught he knew but he was not fond of many acquaintances, an [...] love to chuſe his company.

[23] Whang, however, with all his eagerneſs for [...]ches, was in reality poor, he had nothing but [...]he profits of his mill to ſupport him, but though [...]heſe were ſmall they were certain; while his [...]ill ſtood and went, he was ſure of eating, and [...]is frugality was ſuch, that he every day laid ſome [...]oney by, which he would at intervals count [...]nd contemplate with much ſatisfaction. Yet ſtill [...]is acquiſitions were not equal to his deſires, he [...]nly found himſelf above want, whereas he de⯑ [...]red to be poſſeſſed of affluence.

One day as he was indulging theſe wiſhes, [...]e was informed, that a neighbour of his had [...]und a pan of money under ground, having dream⯑ [...]d of it three nights running before. Theſe ti⯑ [...]ngs were daggers to the heart of poor Whang. [...]ere am I, ſays he, toiling and moiling from [...]orning till night for a few paltry farthings, [...]hile neighbour Hunks only goes quietly to bed, [...]d dreams himſelf into thouſands before morning. [...] that I could dream like him, with what plea⯑ [...]re would I dig round the pan; how ſlily would [...] carry it home; not even my wife ſhould ſee [...]e; and then, O the pleaſure of thruſting ones [...]nd into a heap of gold up to the elbow!

Such reflections only ſerved to make the miller [...]happy; he diſcontinued his former aſſiduity, [...] was quite diſguſted with ſmall gains, and his [...]ſtomers began to forſake him. Every day he [...]peated the wiſh, and every night laid himſelf [...]wn in order to dream. Fortune that was for [...] long time unkind, at laſt however ſeemed to [...]ile upon his diſtreſſes, and indulged him with [...]e wiſhed for viſion. He dreamed, that under [24] a certain part of the foundation of his mill, there was concealed a monſtrous pan of gold and dia⯑monds, buried deep in the ground, and covered with a large flat ſtone. He roſe up, thanked the ſtars, that were at laſt pleaſed to take pity on his ſufferings, and concealed his good luck from every perſon, as is uſual in money dreams, in or⯑der to have the viſion repeated the two ſucceed⯑ing nights, by which he ſhould be certain of its veracity. His wiſhes in this alſo were anſwered, he ſtill dreamed of the ſame pan of money, in the very ſame place.

Now, therefore, it was paſt a doubt; ſo getting up early the third morning, he repairs alone, with a mattock in his hand, to the mill, and be⯑gan to undermine that part of the wall which the viſion directed. The firſt omen of ſucceſs that he met was a broken mug; digging ſtill deeper, he turns up a houſe tile, quite new and entire. At laſt, after much digging, he came to the broad flat ſtone, but then ſo large, that i [...] was beyond one man's ſtrength to remove it Here, cried he, in raptures to himſelf, here it is; under this ſtone there is room for a very large pas [...] of diamonds indeed. I muſt e'en go home to my wife, and tell her the whole affair, and get he [...] to aſſiſt me in turning it up. Away therefore h [...] goes, and acquaints his wife with every cir⯑cumſtance of their good fortune. Her rapture oh this occaſion, eaſily may be imagined ſh [...] flew round his neck, and embraced him in a [...] agony of joy; but thoſe tranſports however di [...] not delay their eagerneſs to know the exact ſum▪ returning therefore ſpeedily together to the plac [...] where Whang had been digging, there the [25] found— not indeed the expected treaſure, but the mill, their only ſupport, undermined, and fallen. Adieu.

LETTER LXVIII. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſi⯑dent of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

THE People of London are as fond of walking as our friends at Pekin of riding; one of the principal entertainments of the citizens here in ſummer is to repair about nightfall to a garden not far from town, where they walk about, ſhew their beſt cloaths and beſt faces, and liſten to a concert provided for the occaſion.

I accepted an invitation a few evenings ago from my old friend, the man in black, to be one of a party that was to ſup there, and at the ap⯑pointed hour waited upon him at his lodgings. There I found the company aſſembled and ex⯑pecting my arrival. Our party conſiſted of my friend in ſuperlative finery, his ſtockings rolled, a black velvet waiſtcoat which was formerly new, and his grey wig combed down in imitation of hair. A pawn-broker's widow, of whom, by the bye, my friend was a profeſſed admirer, dreſſed out in green damaſk, with three gold rings on every finger. Mr. Tibbs the ſecond-rate beau, I have formerly deſcribed, together with his lady, [...]n flimſy ſilk, dirty gauze inſtead of linnen, and an hat as big as an umbrello.

[26]Our firſt difficulty was in ſettling how we ſhould ſet out. Mrs. Tibbs had a natural averſion to the water, and the widow being a little in fleſh, as warmly proteſted againſt walking, a coach was therefore agreed upon; which being too ſmall to carry five, Mr. Tibbs conſented to ſit in his wife's lap.

In this manner therefore we ſet forward, being entertained by the way with the bodings of Mr. Tibbs, who aſſured us, he did not expect to ſee a ſingle creature for the evening above the degree of a cheeſemonger; that this was the laſt night of the gardens, and that conſequently we ſhould be peſtered with the nobility and gentry from Thames-ſtreet and Crooked-lane, with ſeveral other prophetic ejaculations probably inſpired by the uneaſineſs of his ſituation.

The illuminations began before we arrived, and I muſt confeſs, that upon entring the gardens, I found every ſenſe overpaid with more than ex⯑pected pleaſure; the lights every where glimmer⯑ing through the ſcarcely moving trees; the full-bodied conſort burſting on the ſtillneſs of the night, the natural conſort of the birds, in the more retired part of the grove, vying with that which was formed by art; the company gayly dreſſed looking ſatisfaction, and the tables ſpread with various delacacies, all conſpired to ſill my imagination with the viſionary happineſs of the Arabian lawgiver, and lifted me into an extaſy of admiration. Head of Confucius, cried I to my friend, this is fine! this unites rural beauty with courtly magnificence, if we except the virgins of immortality that hang on every tree, and may be [27] plucked at every deſire, I don't ſee how this falls ſhort of Mahomet's Paradiſe! As for virgins, cries my friend, it is true, they are a fruit that don't much abound in our gardens here; but if ladies as plenty as apples in autumn, and as complying as any hoüry of them all can content you, I fancy, we have no need to go to heaven for Paradiſe.

I was going to ſecond his remarks, when we were called to a conſultation by Mr. Tibbs and the reſt of the company, to know in what man⯑ner we were to lay out the evening to the greateſt advantage. Mrs. Tibbs was for keeping the gen⯑teel walk of the garden, where ſhe obſerved there was always the very beſt company; the widow, on the contrary, who came but once a ſeaſon, was for ſecuring a good ſtanding place to ſee the water-works, which ſhe aſſured us would begin in leſs than an hour at fartheſt; a diſpute therefore began, and as it was managed between two of very oppoſite characters, it threatned to grow more bitter at every reply. Mrs. Tibbs wondered how people could pretend to know the polite world who had received all their rudi⯑ments of breeding behind a compter; to which the other replied; that tho' ſome people ſat behind compters, yet they could ſit at the head of their own tables too, and carve three good diſhes of hot meat whenever they thought proper, which was more than ſome people could ſay for them⯑ſelves, that hardly knew a rabbet and onions from a green gooſe and gooſeberries.

It is hard to ſay where this might have ended, had not the huſband, who probably knew the [28] impetuoſity of his wife's diſpoſition, propoſed to end the diſpute by adjourning to a box, and try if there was any thing to be had for ſupper that was ſupportable. To this we all conſented, but here a new diſtreſs aroſe, Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs would ſit in none but a genteel box, a box where they might ſee and be ſeen, one, as they expreſſed it, in the very focus of public view; but ſuch a box was not eaſy to be obtained, for tho' we were perfectly convinced of our own gentility, and the gentility of our appearance, yet we found it a dif⯑ficult matter to perſuade the keepers of the boxes to be of our opinion; they choſe to reſerve genteel boxes for what they judged more genteel company.

At laſt however we were fixed, tho' ſomewhat obſcurely, and ſupplied with the uſual entertain⯑ment of the place. The widow found the ſupper excellent, but Mrs. Tibbs thought every thing deteſtable: come, come, my dear, cries the huſ⯑band, by way of conſolation, to be ſure we can't find ſuch dreſſing here as we have at lord Crump's or lady Crimp's; but for Vauxhall dreſſing it is pretty good; it is not their victuals indeed I find fault with, but their wine; their wine, cries he, drinking off a glaſs, indeed, is moſt abominable.

By this laſt contradiction the widow was fairly conquered in point of politeneſs. She perceived now that ſhe had no pretenſions in the world to taſte, her very ſenſes were vulgar, ſince ſhe had praiſed deteſtable cuſtard, and ſmacked at wretch⯑ed wine; ſhe was therefore content to yield the victory, and for the reſt of the night to liſten and improve. It is true, ſhe would now and then forget herſelf, and confeſs ſhe was pleaſed, but [29] they ſoon brought her back again to miſerable refinement. She once praiſed the painting of the box in which we were ſitting, but was ſoon con⯑vinced that ſuch paltry pieces ought rather to excite horror than ſatisfaction; ſhe ventured again to commend one of the ſingers, but Mrs. Tibbs ſoon let her know, in the ſtyle of a connoiſſeur, that the ſinger in queſtion had neither ear, voice, nor judgment.

Mr. Tibbs now willing to prove that his wife's pretenſions to muſic were juſt, entreated her to favour the company with a ſong; but to this ſhe gave a poſitive denial, for you know very well, my dear, ſays ſhe, that I am not in voice to day, and when one's voice is not equal to one's judgment, what ſignifies ſinging; beſides as there is no accompanyment, it would be but ſpoil⯑ing muſic. All theſe excuſes however were over⯑ruled by the reſt of the company, who, though one would think they already had muſic enough, joined in the intreaty. But particularly the widow, now willing to convince the company of her breeding, preſſed ſo warmly that ſhe ſeemed determined to take no refuſal. At laſt then the lady com⯑plied, and after humming for ſome minutes, be⯑gan with ſuch a voice and ſuch affectation, as I could perceive gave but little ſatisfaction to any except her huſband. He ſat with rapture in his eye, and beat time with his hand on the table.

You muſt obſerve, my friend, that it is the cuſtom of this country, when a lady or gentleman happens to ſing, for the company to ſit as mute and motionleſs as ſtatues. Every feature, every limb muſt ſeem to correſpond in fixed attention, [30] and while the ſong continues, they are to remain in a ſtate of univerſal petrefaction. In this morti⯑fying ſituation we had continued for ſome time, liſtening to the ſong, and looking with tranqui⯑lity, when the maſter of the box came to inform us, that the water-works were going to begin. At this information I could inſtantly perceive the widow bounce from her ſeat; but correcting herſelf, ſhe ſat down again, repreſſed by motives of good breeding. Mrs. Tibbs, who had ſeen the water-works an hundred times, reſolving not to be interrupted, continued her ſong without any ſhare of mercy, nor had the ſmalleſt pity on our impatience. The widow's face, I own, gave me high entertainment; in it I could plainly t [...]d the ſtruggle ſhe felt between good breeding and curioſity; ſhe talked of the water-works the whole evening before, and ſeemed to have come merely in order to ſee them; but then ſhe could not bounce out in the very middle of a ſong, for that would be forfeiting all pretenſions to high life, or high-lived company ever after: Mrs. Tibbs therefore kept on ſinging, and we continued to liſten, till at laſt, when the ſong was juſt con⯑cluded, the waiter came to inform us that the water-works were over!

The water-works over, cried the widow! the water-works over already, that's impoſſible, they can't be over ſo ſoon! It is not my buſineſs, re⯑plied the fellow, to contradict your ladyſhip, I'll run again and ſee; he went, and ſoon returned with a confirmation of the diſmal tidings. No ceremony could now bind my friend's diſappoint⯑ed miſtreſs, ſhe teſtified her diſpleaſure in the openeſt manner; in ſhort, ſhe now began to find [31] fault in turn, and at laſt, inſiſted upon going home, juſt at the time that Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs aſſured the company, that the polite hours were going to begin, and that the ladies would inſtantaneouſly be entertained with the horns. Adieu.

LETTER LXIX. From the ſame.

NOT far from this city lives a poor tinker, who has educated ſeven ſons, all at this very time in arms and fighting for their country, and what reward do you think has the tinker from the ſtate for ſuch important ſervices? None in the world; his ſons, when the war is over, may probably be whipt from pariſh to pariſh as vaga⯑bonds, and the old man, when paſt labour, may die a priſoner in ſome houſe of correction.

Such a worthy ſubject in China would be held in univerſal reverence; his ſervices would be re⯑warded, if not with dignities, at leaſt with an ex⯑emption from labour; he would take the left hand at feaſts, and mandarines themſelves would be proud to ſhew their ſubmiſſion. The Engliſh laws puniſh vice, the Chineſe laws do more, they reward virtue!

Conſidering the little encouragement given to matrimony here, I am not ſurprized at the diſ⯑couragements given to propagation. Would you believe it, my dear Fam Hoam, there are laws made, which even forbid the peoples marrying each other. By the head of Confucius I jeſt not; [32] there are ſuch laws in being here; and yet their law-givers have neither been inſtructed among the Hottentot [...], nor imbibed their principles of equity from the natives of Anamaboo.

There are laws which ordain, that no man ſhall marry a woman againſt her own conſent. This, though contrary to what we are taught in Aſia, and though in ſome meaſure a clog upon matrimony, I have no great objection to. There are laws which ordain, that no woman ſhall marry againſt her father and mother's conſent, unleſs arrived at an age of maturity; by which is un⯑derſtood thoſe years, when women with us are generally paſt child-bearing. This muſt be a clog upon matrimony, as it is more difficult for the lover to pleaſe three than one, and much more difficult to pleaſe old people than young ones. The laws ordain, that the conſenting couple ſhall take a long time to conſider before they marry, this is a very great clog, becauſe people love to have all raſh actions done in a hurry. It is ordained, that all marriages ſhall be proclaimed before celebration; this is a ſevere clog, as many are aſhamed to have their marriage made public, from motives of vicious modeſty, and many afraid from views of temporal intereſt. It is ordained, that there is nothing ſacred in the ceremony, but that it may be diſſolved to all intents and purpoſes by the authority of any civil magiſtrate. And yet oppoſite to this it is ordained, that the prieſt ſhall be paid a large ſum of money for granting his ſacred permiſſion.

Thus you ſee, my friend, that matrimony here is hedged round with ſo many obſtructions, that [33] thoſe who are willing to break through or ſur⯑mount them muſt be contented, if at laſt they find it a bed of thorns. The laws are not to blame, for they have deterred the people from engaging as much as they could. It is indeed be⯑come a very ſerious affair in England, and none but ſerious people are generally found willing to engage. The young, the gay, and the beautiful, who have motives of paſſion only to induce them, are ſeldom found to embark, as thoſe inducements are taken away, and none but the old, the ugly, and the mercenary are ſeen to unite, who, if they have any poſterity at all, will probably be an ill-favoured race like themſelves.

What gave riſe to thoſe laws might have been ſome ſuch accidents as theſe. It ſometimes hap⯑pened, that a miſer who had ſpent all his youth, in ſcraping up money to give his daughter ſuch a fortune as might get her a mandarin huſband, found his expectations diſappointed at laſt, by her running away with his footman: this muſt have been a ſad ſhock to the poor diſconſolate parent, to ſee his poor daughter in a one horſe chaiſe, when he had deſigned her for a coach and ſix: what a ſtroke from Providence! to ſee his dear money go to enrich a beggar; all nature cried out at the profanation!

It ſometimes happened alſo, that a lady who had inherited all the titles, and all the nervous complaints of nobility, thought ſit to impair her dignity and mend her conſtitution, by marrying a farmer; this muſt have been a ſad ſhock to her inconſolable relations, to ſee ſo fine a flower ſnatched from a flouriſhing family, and planted [34] in a dunghill; this was an abſolute inverſion of the firſt principles of things.

In order therefore to prevent the great from be⯑ing thus contaminated by vulgar alliances, the ob⯑ſtacles to matrimony have been ſo contrived, that the rich only can marry amongſt the rich, and the poor, who would leave celibacy, muſt be content to encreaſe their poverty with a wife. Thus have their laws fairly inverted the inducements to matrimony; nature tells us, that beauty is the proper allurement of thoſe who are rich, and money of thoſe who are poor; but things here are ſo contrived, that the rich are invited to mar⯑ry by that fortune which they do not want, and the poor have no inducement, but that beauty which they do not feel.

An equal diffuſion of riches through any coun⯑try ever conſtitutes its happineſs. Great wealth in the poſſeſſion of one ſtagnates, and extreme po⯑verty with another keeps him in unambitious in⯑digence; but the moderately rich are generally active; not too far removed from poverty to fear its calamities, nor too near extreme wealth to ſlacken the nerve of labour, they remain ſtill be⯑tween both in a ſtate of continual fluctuation. How impolitic therefore are thoſe laws which pro⯑mote the accumulation of wealth among the rich, more impolitic ſtill in attempting to increaſe the depreſſion on poverty.

Bacon the Engliſh philoſopher, compares money to manure, if gathered in heaps, ſays he, it does no good: on the contrary, it becomes offenſive, but being ſpread, though never ſo think, over the [35] ſurface of the earth, it enriches the whole coun⯑try. Thus the wealth a nation poſſeſſes muſt expatiate, or it is of no benefit to the public; it becomes rather a grievance, where matrimonial laws thus confine it to a few.

But this reſtraint upon matrimonial community, even conſidered in a phyſical light, is injurious. As thoſe who rear up animals take all poſſible pains to croſs the ſtrain in order to improve the breed; ſo in thoſe countries, where marriage is moſt free, the inhabitants are found every age to improve in ſtature and in beauty; on the contrary, where it is confined to a caſt, a tribe, or an b [...]rd, as among the Gaurs, the Jews, or the Tar⯑tars, each diviſion ſoon aſſumes a family likeneſs, and every tribe degenerates into peculiar de⯑formity. From hence it may be eaſily inferred, that if the mandarines here are reſolved only to marry among each other, they will ſoon produce a poſterity with mandarine faces; and we ſhall ſee the heir of ſome honourable family ſcarce equal to the abortion of a country farmer.

Theſe are a few of the obſtacles to marriage here, and it is certain, they have in ſome meaſure anſwered the end, for celibacy is both frequent and faſhionable. Old batchelors appear abroad without a maſk, and old maids, my dear Fum Hoam, have been abſolutely known to ogle. To confeſs in friendſhip; if I were an Engliſhman, I fancy I ſhould be an old batchelor myſelf; I ſhould never find courage to run through all the adventures preſcribed by the law. I could ſub⯑mit to court my miſtreſs herſelf upon reaſonable terms, but to court her father, her mother, and [36] a long tribe of couſins, aunts and relations, and then ſtand the butt of a whole country church; I would as ſoon turn tail and make love to her grandmother.

I can conceive no other reaſon for thus loading matrimony with ſo many prohibitions, unleſs it be that the country was thought already too po⯑pulous, and this was found to be the moſt effectual means of thinning it. If this was the motive, I cannot but congratulate the wiſe projectors on the ſucceſs of their ſcheme. Hail, O ye dim-ſighted politicians, ye weeders of men! 'Tis yours to clip the wing of induſtry, and convert Hymen to a broker. 'Tis yours to behold ſmall objects with a microſcopic eye, but to be blind to thoſe which require an extent of viſion. 'Tis yours, O ye diſcerners of mankind, to lay the line between ſociety, and weaken that force by dividing, which ſhould bind with united vigour. 'Tis yours, to introduce national real diſtreſs, in order to avoid the imaginary diſtreſſes of a few. Your actions can be juſtified by an hundred reaſons like truth, they can be oppoſed by but a few reaſons, and thoſe reaſons are true. Farewel.

LETTER LXX. From Lien Chi Altangi to Hinpgo, by the way of Moſcow.

AGE that leſſens the enjoyment of life encreaſes our deſire of living. Thoſe dangers, which, in the vigour of youth we had learned to deſpiſe, aſſume now terrors as we grew old. Our caution [37] encreaſing as our years encreaſe, fear becomes at laſt the prevailing paſſion of the mind; and the ſmall remainder of life is taken up in uſeleſs ef⯑forts to keep off our end, or provide for a continu⯑ed exiſtence.

Strange contradiction in our nature, and to which even the wiſe are liable! If I ſhould judge of that part of life which lies before me by that which I have already ſeen, the proſpect is hideous. Experience tells me, that my paſt enjoyments have brought no real felicity; and ſenſation aſſures me, that thoſe I have felt are ſtronger than thoſe which are yet to come. Yet experience and ſenſation in vain perſuade; hope, more powerful than either, dreſſes out the diſtant proſpect in fancied beauty, ſome happineſs in long perſpective ſtill beckons me to purſue, and, like a loſing gameſter, every new diſ⯑appointment encreaſes my ardour to continue the game.

Whence, my friend, this encreaſed love of life, which grows upon us with our years; whence comes it, that we thus make greater efforts to pre⯑ſerve our exiſtence, at a period when it becomes ſcarce worth the keeping? Is it that nature, attentive to the preſervation of mankind, encreaſes our wiſhes to live, while ſhe leſſens our enjoyments; and, as ſhe robs the ſenſes of every pleaſure, equips imagination in the ſpoil? Life would be inſupportable to an old man, who loaded with infirmities, feared death no more than when in the vigour of manhood; the num⯑berleſs calamities of decaying nature, and the conſci⯑ouſneſs of ſurviving every pleaſure, would at once induce him with his own hand to terminate the ſcene of miſery; but happily the contempt of death for⯑ſakes [38] him at a time when it could only be preju⯑dicial; and life acquires an imaginary value, in proportion as its real value is no more.

Our attachment to every object around us en⯑creaſes, in general, from the length of our acquaint⯑ance with it. I would not chuſe, ſays a French philoſopher, to ſee an old poſt pulled up, with which I had been long acquainted. A mind long habituated to a certain ſet of objects, inſenſibly be⯑comes fond of ſeeing them; viſits them from ha⯑bit, and parts from them with reluctance: from hence proceed the avarice of the old in every kind of poſſeſſion. They love the world and all that it produces; they love life and all its advan⯑tages; not becauſe it gives them pleaſure, but be⯑cauſe they have known it long.

Chinvang, the Chaſte, aſcending the throne of China, commanded that all who were unjuſtly de⯑tained in priſon, during the preceding reigns, ſhould be ſet free. Among the number who came to thank their deliverer on this occaſion, there ap⯑peared a majeſtic old man, who, falling at the em⯑peror's feet, addreſſed him as follows: "Great father of China, behold a wretch, now eighty-five years old, who was ſhut up in a dungeon at the age of twenty-two. I was impriſoned, though a ſtranger to crime, or without being even confront⯑ed by my accuſers. I have now lived in ſolitude and darkneſs for more than fifty years, and am grown familiar with diſtreſs. As yet dazzled with the ſplendour of that ſun to which you have re⯑ſtored me, I have been wandring the ſtreets to find ſome friend that would aſſiſt, or relieve, or remem⯑ber me; but my friends, my family, and relations, [39] are all dead, and I am forgotten. Permit me then, O Chinvang, to wear out the wretched remains of life in my former priſon; the walls of my dungeon are to me more pleaſing than the moſt ſplendid palace; I have not long to live, and ſhall be un⯑happy except I ſpend the reſt of my days where my youth was paſſed; in that priſon from whence you were pleaſed to releaſe me.

The old man's paſſion for confinement is ſimi⯑lar to that we all have for life. We are habitu⯑ated to the priſon, we look round with diſcontent, are diſpleaſed with the abode, and yet the length of our captivity only encreaſes our fondneſs for the cell. The trees we have planted, the houſes we have built, or the poſterity we have begotten, all ſerve to bind us cloſer to earth, and embitter our parting. Life ſues the young like a new acquaint⯑ance; the companion, as yet unexhauſted, is at once inſtructive and amuſing, 'tis company pleaſes, yet for all this it is but little regarded. To us, who are declined in years, life appears like an old friend; its jeſts have been anticipated in former converſation; it has no new ſtory to make us ſmile, no new improvement with which to ſur⯑prize, yet ſtill we love it; deſtitute of every agree⯑ment ſtill we love it; huſband the waſting treaſure with encreaſed frugality, and feel all the poignancy of anguiſh in the fatal ſeparation.

Sir Philip Mordaunt was young, beautiful, ſin⯑cere, brave, an Engliſhman. He had a complete for⯑tune of his own, and the love of the king his maſ⯑ter, which was equivalent to riches. Life open⯑ed all her treaſure before him, and promiſed a long ſucceſſion of future happineſs. He came, taſt⯑ed of the entertainment, but was diſguſted even in [40] in the beginning. He profeſſed an averſion to liv⯑ing, was tired of walking round the ſame circle; had tried every enjoyment, and found them all grow weaker at every repetition. "If life be in youth ſo diſpleaſing, cried he to himſelf, what will it appear when age comes on; if it be at preſent in⯑different, ſure it will then be execrable. This thought embittered every reflection; till, at laſt, with all the ſerenity of perverted reaſon, he ended the debate with a piſtol! Had this ſelf-deluded man been apprized, that exiſtence grows more de⯑ſirable to us the longer we exiſt, he would have then faced old age without ſhrinking, he would have boldly dared to live, and ſerved that ſociety, by his future aſſiduity, which he baſely injured by his deſertion. Adieu.

LETTER LXXI. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy, at Pekin, in China.

IN reading the news-papers here, I have reckon⯑ed up not leſs than twenty-five great men, ſe⯑venteen very great men, and nine very extraordi⯑nary men in leſs than the compaſs of half a year. Theſe, ſay the gazattes, are the men that poſterity are to gaze at with admiration; theſe the names that fame will be employed in holding up for the aſto⯑niſhment of ſucceeding ages. Let me ſee — forty-ſix great men in half a year, amounts juſt to nine⯑ty-two in a year. —I wonder how poſterity will be able to remember them all, or whether the peo⯑ple, in future times, will have any other buſineſs to mind, but that of getting the catalogue by heart.

[41]Does the mayor of a corporation make a ſpeech? he is inſtantly ſet down for a great man. Does a pedant digeſt his common place book into a folio? he quickly becomes great. Does a poet ſtring up trite ſentiments in rhyme? he alſo be⯑comes the great man of the hour. How diminu⯑tive ſoever the object of admiration, each is fol⯑lowed by a crowd of ſtill more diminutive admir⯑ers. The ſhout begins in his train, onward he marches toward immortality, looks back at the purſuing crowd with ſelf-ſatisfaction; catching all the oddities, the whimſies, the abſurdities, and the littleneſſes of conſcious greatneſs, by the way.

I was yeſterday invited by a gentleman to dinner, who promiſed that our entertainment ſhould con⯑ſiſt of an haunch of veniſon, a turtle, and a great man. I came, according to appointment. The veniſon was fine, the turtle good, but the great man inſupportable. The moment I ventured to ſpeak, I was at once contradicted with a ſnap. I attempted, by a ſecond and a third aſſault, to re⯑trieve my loſt reputation, but was ſtill beat back with confuſion. I was reſolved to attack him once more from entrenchment, and turned the conver⯑ſation upon the government of China: but even here he aſſerted, ſnapped, and contradicted as be⯑fore. Heavens, thought I, this man pretends to know China even better than myſelf! I looked round to ſee who was on my ſide, but every eye was fixed in admiration on the great man; I there⯑fore, at laſt thought proper to ſit ſilent, and act the pretty gentleman during the enſuing converſa⯑tion.

When a man has once ſecured a circle of admir⯑ers, he may be as ridiculous here as he thinks pro⯑per; [42] and it all paſſes for elevation of ſentiment, or learned abſence. If he tranſgreſſes the common forms of breeding, miſtakes even a tea-pot for a tobacco-box, it is ſaid, that his thoughts are fixed on more important objects: to ſpeak and act like the reſt of mankind is to be no greater than they. There is ſomething of oddity in the very idea of greatneſs; for we are ſeldom aſtoniſhed at a thing very much reſembling ourſelves.

When the Tartars make a Lama, their firſt care is to place him in a dark corner of the temple; here he is to ſit-half concealed from view, to regu⯑late the motion of his hands, lips, and eyes; but, above all, he is enjoined gravity and ſilence. This, however, is but the prelude to his apotheoſis: a ſet of emiſſaries are diſpatched among the people to cry up his piety, gravity, and love of raw fleſh; the people take them at their word, approach the La⯑ma, now become an idol, with the moſt humble proſtration; he receives their addreſſes without mo⯑tion, commences a god, and is ever after fed by his prieſts with the ſpoon of immortality. The ſame receipt in this country ſerves to make a great man. The idol only keeps cloſe, ſends out his little emiſ⯑ſaries to be hearty in his praiſe; and ſtraight, whether ſtateſman or author, he is ſet down in the liſt of fame, continuing to be praiſed while it is faſhionable to praiſe, or while he prudently keeps his minuteneſs concealed from the public.

I have viſited many countries, and have been in cities without number, yet never did I enter a town which could not produce ten or twelve of thoſe little great men; all fancying themſelves [43] known to the reſt of the world, and compliment⯑ing each other upon their extenſive reputation. It is amuſing enough when two of thoſe domeſtic prodigies of learning mount the ſtage of ceremony, and give and take praiſe from each other. I have been preſent when a German doctor, for having pronounced a panegyric upon a certain monk, was thought the moſt ingenious man in the world; till the monk ſoon after divided this reputation by re⯑turning the compliment; by which means they both marched off with univerſal applauſe.

The ſame degree of undeſerved adulation that attends our great man while living, often alſo fol⯑lows him to the tomb. It frequently happens that one of his little admirers ſits down big with the important ſubject, and is delivered of the hiſtory of his life and writings. This may properly be called the revolutions of a life between the fire⯑ſide and the eaſy-chair. In this we learn, the year in which he was born, at what an early age he gave ſymptoms of uncommon genius and appli⯑cation, together with ſome of his ſmart ſayings, col⯑lected by his aunt and mother, while yet but a boy. The next book introduces him to the uni⯑verſity, where we are informed of his amazing progreſs in learning, his excellent ſkill in darning ſtockings, and his new invention for papering books to ſave the covers. He next makes his ap⯑pearance in the republic of letters, and publiſhes his folio. Now the coloſſus is reared, his works are eagerly bought up by all the purchaſers of ſcarce books. The learned ſocieties invite him to be⯑come a member; he diſputes againſt ſome foreign⯑er with a long Latin name, conquers in the con⯑troverſy, is complimented by ſeveral authors of [44] gravity and importance, is exceſſively fond of egg-ſauce with his pig, becomes preſident of a literary club, and dies in the meridian of his glory. Hap⯑py they, who thus have ſome little faithful attend⯑ant, who never forſakes them, but prepares to wran⯑gle and to praiſe againſt every oppoſer; at once ready to encreaſe their pride while living, and their character when dead. For you and I, my friend, who have no humble admirer thus to attend us, we, who neither are, nor ever will be great men, and who do not much care whether we are great men or no, at leaſt let us ſtrive to be honeſt men, and to have common ſenſe.

LETTER LXXII. To the ſame.

THERE are numbers in this city who live by writing new books; and yet there are thou⯑ſands of volumes in every large library unread and forgotten. This, upon my arrival, was one of thoſe contradictions which I was unable to ac⯑count for. Is it poſſible, ſaid I, that there ſhould be any demand for new books, before thoſe al⯑ready publiſhed are read? Can there be ſo many employed in producing a commodity with which the market is already overſtocked; and with goods alſo better than any of modern manufacture!

What at firſt view appeared an inconſiſtence, is a proof at once of this people's wiſdom and refine⯑ment. Even allowing the works of their anceſtors better written than theirs, yet thoſe of the moderns [45] acquire a real value, by being marked with the im⯑preſſion of the times. Antiquity has been in the poſ⯑ſeſſion of others, the preſent is our own; let us firſt therefore learn to know what belongs to ourſelves, and then, if we have leiſure, caſt our reflections back to the reign of Shonou, who governed twenty thouſand years before the creation of the moon.

The volumes of antiquity, like medals, may very well ſerve to amuſe the curious, but the works of the moderns, like the current coin of a kingdom, are much better for immediate uſe; the former are often prized above their intrinſic value, and kept with care, the latter ſeldom paſs for more than they are worth, and are often ſubject to the mer⯑cileſs hands of ſweating critics, and clipping com⯑pilers; the works of antiquity were ever praiſed, thoſe of the moderns read; the treaſures of our anceſtors have our eſteem, and we boaſt the paſ⯑ſion; thoſe of cotemporary genius engage our heart, although we bluſh to own it. The viſits we pay the former reſemble thoſe we pay the great; the ceremony is troubleſome, and yet ſuch as we would not chuſe to forego; our acquaint⯑ance with modern books, is like ſitting with a friend; our pride is not flattered in the interview, but it gives more internal ſatisfaction.

In proportion as ſociety refines, new books muſt ever become more neceſſary. Savage ruſticity is reclaimed by oral admonition alone; but the ele⯑gant exceſſes of refinement are beſt corrected by the ſtill voice of ſtudious enquiry. In a polite age, almoſt every perſon becomes a reader, and receives more inſtruction from the preſs than the pulpit. The preaching Bonſe may inſtruct the illiterate [46] peaſant; but nothing leſs than the inſinuating ad⯑dreſs of a fine writer can win its way to an heart already relaxed in all the effeminacy of refinement. Books are neceſſary to correct the vices of the po⯑lite, but thoſe vices are ever changing, and the antidote ſhould be changed accordingly; ſhould ſtill be new.

Inſtead therefore of thinking the number of new publications here too great, I could wiſh it ſtill greater, as they are the moſt uſeful inſtruments of reformation. Every country muſt be inſtructed either by writers or preachers; but as the number of readers encreaſes, the number of hearers is pro⯑portionably diminiſhed, the writer becomes more uſeful, and the preaching Bonſe leſs neceſſary.

Inſtead, therefore, of complaining that writers are overpaid, when their works procure them a bare ſubſiſtance, I ſhould imagine it the duty of a ſtate not only to encourage their numbers, but their induſtry. A Bonſe is rewarded with im⯑menſe riches for inſtructing only a few, even of the moſt ignorant, of the people; and ſure the poor ſcholar ſhould not beg his bread, who is ca⯑pable of inſtructing a million.

Of all rewards, I grant, the moſt pleaſing to a man of real merit, is fame; but a polite age, of all times, is that in which ſcarce any ſhare of me⯑rit can acquire it. What numbers of fine writers in the latter empire of Rome, when refinement was carried to the higheſt pitch, have miſſed that fame and immortality which they had fondly arro⯑gated to themſelves? How many Greek authors, who wrote at that period when Conſtantinople was [47] the refined miſtreſs of the empire, now reſt either not printed, or not read, in the libraries of Eu⯑rope! Thoſe who came firſt, while either ſtate as yet was barbarous, carried all the reputation away. Authors, as the age refined, became more numerous, and their numbers deſtroyed their fame. It is but natural, therefore, for the writer, when conſcious that his works will not procure him fame hereafter, to endeavour to make them turn out to his temporal intereſt here.

Whatever be the motives which induce men to write, whether avarice or fame, the country be⯑comes moſt wiſe and happy, in which they moſt ſerve for inſtructors. The countries where ſacer⯑dotal inſtruction alone is permitted, remain in ig⯑norance, ſuperſtition, and hopeleſs ſlavery. In England, where there are as many new books publiſhed as in all the reſt of Europe together, a ſpirit of freedom and reaſon reigns among the people; they have been often known to act like fools, they are generally found to think like men.

The only danger that attends a multiplicity of publications, is that ſome of them may be calcu⯑lated to injure, rather than benefit ſociety. But where writers are numerous, they alſo ſerve as a check upon each other; and perhaps a literary inquiſition is the moſt terrible puniſhment that can be conceived, to a literary tranſgreſſor.

But to do the Engliſh juſtice, there are but few offenders of this kind, their publications in general aim at mending either the heart, or im⯑proving the common weal. The dulleſt writer talks of virtue, and liberty, and benevolence with [48] eſteem; tells his true ſtory, filled with good and wholeſome advice; warns againſt ſlavery, bribery, or the bite of a mad dog, and dreſſes up his lit⯑tle uſeful magazine of knowledge and entertain⯑ment, at leaſt with a good intention. The dun⯑ces of France, on the other hand, who have leſs encouragement, are more vicious. Tender hearts, languiſhing eyes, Leonora in love at thirteen, extatic tranſports, ſtolen bliſſes, are the frivolous ſubjects of their frivolous memoirs. In England, if a baw⯑dy blockhead thus breaks in on the community, he ſets his whole fraternity in a roar; nor can he eſcape, even though he ſhould fly to nobility for ſhelter.

Thus even dunces, my friend, may make them⯑ſelves uſeful. But there are others whom nature has bleſt with talents above the reſt of mankind; men capable of thinking with preciſion, and impreſ⯑ſing their thought with rapidity. Beings who dif⯑fuſe thoſe regards upon mankind, which others con⯑tract and ſettle upon themſelves. Theſe deſerve every honour from that community of which they are more peculiarly the children; to ſuch I would give my heart, ſince to them I am indebted for its humanity! Adieu.

LETTER LXXIII. From Hingpo to Lien Chi Altangi, by the way of Moſcow.

I Still remain at Terki, where I have received that money which was remitted here in order to re⯑leaſe me from captivity. My fair companion ſtill [49] improves in my eſteem; the more I know her mind her beauty becomes more poignant; ſhe ap⯑pears charming, even among the daughters of Ci [...]caſſia.

Yet were I to examine her beauty with the art of a ſtatuary, I ſhould find numbers here that far ſurpaſs her; nature has not granted her all the boaſted Circaſſian regularity of feature, and yet ſhe greatly exceeds the faireſt of the country, in the art of ſeizing the affections. Whence, have I often ſaid to myſelf, this reſiſtleſs magic that at⯑tends even moderate charms: though I regard the beauties of the country with admiration, every interview weakens the impreſſion, but the form of Zelis grows upon my imagination, I never behold her without an encreaſe of tenderneſs and reſpect. Whence this injuſtice of the mind in preferring imperfect beauty to that which nature ſeems to have finiſhed with care? whence the infatuation, that he whom a comet could not amaze, ſhould be aſtoniſhed at a meteor! When reaſon was thus fatigued to find an anſwer, my imagination pur⯑ſued the ſubject, and this was the reſult.

I fancied myſelf placed between two land⯑ſcapes, this called the region of beauty, and that the valley of the graces; the one adorned with all that luxuriant nature could beſtow; the fruits of various climates adorned the trees, the grove reſounded with muſic, the gale breathed per⯑fume, every charm that could ariſe from ſymmetry and exact diſtribution were here conſpicuous, the whole [...]ering a proſpect of pleaſure without end. The v [...]lley of the graces on the other hand, ſeemed by [50] no means ſo inviting; the ſtreams and the groves appeared juſt as they uſually do in frequented coun⯑tries; no magnificent parterres, no conſort in the grove, the rivulet was edged with weeds, and the rook joined its voice to that of the nightingale. All was ſimplicity and nature.

The moſt ſtriking objects ever firſt allure the traveller, I entered the region of beauty with encreaſed curioſity, and promiſed myſelf endleſs ſatisfaction in being introduced to the preſiding goddeſs. I perceived ſeveral ſtrangers, who en⯑tered with the ſame deſign, and what ſurpriſed me not a little, was to ſee ſeveral others haſtening to leave this abode of ſeeming felicity.

After ſome fatigue, I had at laſt the honour of being introduced to the goddeſs, who repreſented Beauty in perſon. She was ſeated on a throne, at the foot of which ſtood ſeveral ſtrangers lately introduced like me; all regarding her form in extaſy. Ah, what eyes! what lips! how clear her complexion! how perfect her ſhape! at theſe excla⯑mations Beauty with downcaſt eyes, would en⯑deavour to counterfeit modeſty, but ſoon again looking round as if to confirm every ſpectator in his favourable ſentiments, ſometimes ſhe would attempt to allure us by ſmiles; and at intervals would bridle back, in order to inſpire us with reſpect as well as tenderneſs.

This ceremony laſted for ſome time, and had ſo much employed our eyes, that we had for⯑got all this while that the goddeſs was ſilent. We ſoon however began to perceive the defect: what, ſaid we, among each other, are we to have [51] nothing but languiſhing airs, ſoft looks, and incli⯑nations of the head, will the goddeſs only deign to ſatisfy our eyes? Upon this one of the company ſtepped up to preſent her with ſome fruits he had gathered by the way. She received the preſent, moſt ſweetly ſmiling, and with one of the whiteſt hands in the world, but ſtill not a word eſcaped her lips.

I now found that my companions grew weary of their homage; they went off one by one, and re⯑ſolving not to be left hehind, I offered to go in my turn; when juſt at the door of the temple I was called back by a female, whoſe name was Pride, and who ſeemed diſpleaſed at the behaviour of the company. Where are you haſtening? ſaid ſhe to me with an angry air, the goddeſs of beauty is here. I have been to viſit her, Madam, replied I, and find her more beautiful even than report had made her. And why then will you leave her? added the female. I have ſeen her long enough, returned I; I have got all her features by heart. Her eyes are ſtill the ſame. Her noſe is a very fine one, but it is ſtill juſt ſuch a noſe now as it was half an hour ago: could ſhe throw a little more mind into her face, perhaps I ſhould be for wiſhing to have more of her company. What ſignifies, replied my female, whether ſhe has a mind or not; has ſhe any occaſion for a mind, ſo formed as ſhe is by nature? If ſhe had a common face, in⯑deed, there might be ſome reaſon for thinking to im⯑prove it; but when features are already perfect, every alteration would but impair them. A fine face is already at the point of perfection, and a fine lady ſhould endeavour to keep it ſo; the impreſſion it would [52] receive from thought, would but diſturb its whole oeconomy.

To this ſpeech I gave no reply, but made the beſt of my way to the valley of the Graces. Here I found all thoſe who before had been my companions in the region of beauty, now upon the ſame errand.

As we entered the valley, the proſpect inſenſi⯑bly ſeemed to improve; we found every thing ſo natural, ſo domeſtic, and pleaſing, that our minds, which before were congealed in admiration, now relaxed into gaiety and good-humour. We had deſigned to pay our reſpects to the preſiding god⯑deſs, but ſhe was no where to be found. One of our companions aſſerted, that her temple lay to the right; another, to the left; a third, inſiſted that it was ſtraight before us; and a fourth, that we had left it behind. In ſhort, we found every thing familiar and charming, but could not determine where to ſeek for the Grace in perſon.

In this agreeable incertitude we paſſed ſeveral hours, and though very deſirous of finding the goddeſs, by no means impatient of the delay. Every part of the valley preſented ſome minute beauty, which without offering itſelf at once, ſtole within the ſoul, and captivated us with the charms of our retreat. Still, however, we continued to ſearch, and might ſtill have continued, had we not been interrupted by a voice which, though we could not ſee from whence it came, addreſſed us in this manner:

[53]"If you would find the goddeſs of Grace, ſeek her not under one form, for ſhe aſſumes a thou⯑ſand, Ever changing under the eye of inſpection, her variety, rather than her figure, is pleaſing. In contemplating her beauty, the eye glides over every perfection with giddy delight, and, capable of fixing no where, is charmed with the whole.^* She is now Contemplation with ſolemn look, again Compaſſion with humid eye; ſhe now ſparkles with joy, ſoon every feature ſpeaks diſtreſs: her looks at times invite our approach, at others re⯑preſs our preſumption; the goddeſs cannot be properly called beautiful under any one of theſe forms, but by combining them all, ſhe becomes irreſiſtibly pleaſing.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXIV. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

THE Shops of London are as well furniſhed as thoſe of Pekin. Thoſe of London have a picture hung at their door, informing the paſ⯑ſengers what they have to ſell, as thoſe at Pekin have a board to aſſure the buyer, that they have no intentions to cheat him.

I was this morning to buy ſilk for a night-cap; immediately upon entering the mercer's ſhop, the maſter and his two men, with wigs plaiſtered with [54] powder, appeared to aſk my commands. They were certainly the civilleſt people alive; if I but looked, they flew to the place, where I caſt my eye; every motion of mine ſent them running round the whole ſhop for my ſatisfaction. I in⯑formed them that I wanted what was good, and they ſhewed me not leſs than forty pieces, and each was better than the former; the prettieſt pattern in nature, and the fitteſt in the world for night-caps. My very good friend, ſaid I to the mercer, you muſt not pretend to inſtruct me in ſilks, I know theſe in particular to be no better than your mere flimſy Bungees. That may be, cried the mercer, who I afterwards found had never contradicted a man in his life, I can't pretend to ſay but they may; but I can aſſure you, my Lady Trail has had a ſacque from this piece this very morning. But friend, ſaid I, though my Lady has choſen a ſacque from it, I ſee no neceſſity that I ſhould wear it for a night⯑cap. That may be, returned he again, yet what be⯑comes a pretty Lady, will at any time look well on a handſome Gentleman. This ſhort compliment was thrown in ſo very ſeaſonably upon my ugly face, that even tho' I diſliked the ſilk, I deſired him to cut me off the pattern of a night-cap.

While this buſineſs was conſigned to his journey⯑man, the maſter himſelf took down ſome pieces of ſilk ſtill finer than any I had yet ſeen, and ſpreading them before me, There, cries he, there's beauty, my Lord Snakeſkin has beſpoke the fellow to this for the birth-night this very morning; it would look charmingly in waiſtcoats. But I don't want a waiſtcoat, replied I: Not want a waiſtcoat, re⯑turned the mercer; then I would adviſe you to buy one; when waiſtcoats are wanted, you may depend [55] upon it they will come dear. Always buy before you want, and you are ſure to be well uſed, as they ſay in Cheapſide. There was ſo much juſtice in his advice, that I could not refuſe taking it; beſides, the ſilk, which was really a good one, encreaſed the temptation, ſo I gave orders for that too.

As I was waiting to have my bargains meaſured and cut, which I know not how, they executed but ſlowly; during the interval, the mercer enter⯑tained me with the modern manner of ſome of the nobility receiving company in their morning gowns; Perhaps, Sir, adds he, you have a mind to ſee what kind of ſilk is univerſally worn. Without waiting for my reply, he ſpreads a piece before me, which might be reckoned beautiful even in China. If the nobility, continues he, were to know I ſold this to any, under a Right Honourable, I ſhould cer⯑tainly loſe their cuſtom; you ſee, my Lord, it is at once rich, taſtey, and quite the thing. I am no Lord, interrupted I.—I beg pardon, cried he, but be pleaſed to remember, when you intend buying a morning gown, that you had an offer from me of ſome⯑thing worth money. Conſcience, Sir, conſcience is my way of dealing; you may buy a morning gown now, or you may ſtay till they become dearer and leſs faſhi⯑onable, but it is not my buſineſs to adviſe. In ſhort, moſt reverend Fum, he perſuaded me to buy a morning gown alſo, and would probably have per⯑ſuaded me to have bought half the goods in his ſhop, if I had ſtayed long enough, or was fur⯑niſhed with ſufficient money.

Upon returning home, I could not help reflect⯑ing with ſome aſtoniſhment, how this very man with ſuch a confined education and capacity, was [56] yet capable of turning me as he thought proper, and molding me to his inclinations! I know he was only anſwering his own purpoſes, even while he attempted to appear ſolicitous about mine; yet by a voluntary infatuation, a ſort of paſſion compound⯑ed of vanity and good nature, I walked into the ſnare with my eyes open, and put myſelf to future pain in order to give him immediate pleaſure. The wiſdom of the ignorant, ſomewhat reſembles the inſtinct of animals; it is diffuſed in but a very narrow ſphere, but within that circle it acts with vigour, uniformity, and ſucceſs.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXV. From the ſame.

FROM my former accounts you may be apt to fancy the Engliſh the moſt ridiculous people under the ſun. They are indeed ridiculous: yet every other nation in Europe is equally ſo; each laughs at each, and the Aſiatic at all.

I may, upon another occaſion, point out what is moſt ſtrikingly abſurd in other countries; I ſhall at preſent conſine myſelf only to France. The firſt national peculiarity a traveller meets upon entering that kingdom, is an odd ſort of a ſtaring vivacity in every eye, not excepting even the children; the people, it ſeems, have got it into their heads that they have more wit than others, and ſo ſtare in order to look ſmart.

[57]I know not how it happens, but there appears a ſickly delicacy in the faces of their fineſt women. This may have introduced the uſe of paint, and paint produces wrinkles; ſo that a fine lady ſhall look like an hag at twenty-three. But as in ſome meaſure they never appear young, ſo it may be equally aſſerted, that they actually think them⯑ſelves never old; a gentle Miſs ſhall prepare for new conqueſts at ſixty, ſhall hobble a rigadoon when ſhe can ſcarce walk without a crutch, ſhe ſhall affect the girl, play her fan and her eyes, and talk of ſentiments, bleeding hearts, and expiring for love, when actually dying with age. Like a departing philoſopher, ſhe attempts to make her laſt mo⯑ments the moſt brilliant of her life.

Their civility to ſtrangers is what they are chiefly proud of; and to confeſs ſincerely, their beggars are the very politeſt beggars I ever knew; in other places a traveller is addreſſed with a piteous whine, or a ſturdy ſolemnity, but a French beggar ſhall aſk your charity with a very genteel bow, and thank you for it with a ſmile and a ſhrugg.

Another inſtance of this people's breeding I muſt not forget. An Engliſhman would not ſpeak his native language in a company of foreigners where he was ſure that none underſtood him; a travelling Hottentot himſelf would be ſilent if acquainted only with the language of his country; but a French⯑man ſhall talk to you whether you underſtand his language or not; never troubling his head whether you have learned French, ſtill he keeps up the con⯑verſation, fixes his eye full in your face, and aſks [58] a thouſand queſtions, which he anſwers himſelf for want of a more ſatisfactory reply.

But their civility to foreigners is not half ſo great as their admiration of themſelves. Every thing that belongs to them and their nation is great; magnificent beyond expreſſion; quite ro⯑mantic! every garden is a paradiſe, every hovel a palace, and every woman an angel. They ſhut their eyes cloſe, throw their mouths wide open, and cry out in rapture: Sacre! What beauty! O Ciel, what taſte! mort de ma vie, what grandeur, was ever any people like ourſelves; we are the na⯑tion of men, and all the reſt no better than two-legged barbarians.

I fancy the French would make the beſt cooks in the world, if they had but meat; as it is, they can dreſs you out five different diſhes from a net⯑tle-top, ſeven from a dock leaf, and twice as ma⯑ny from a frog's haunches; theſe eat prettily e⯑nough when one is a little uſed to them, are eaſy of digeſtion, and ſeldom overload the ſtomach with crudities. They ſeldom dine under ſeven hot diſhes; it is true, indeed, with all this magnifi⯑cence, they ſeldom ſpread a cloth before the gueſts; but in that I cannot be angry with them; ſince thoſe who have got no linnen on their backs, may very well be excuſed for wanting it upon their tables.

Even religion itſelf loſes its ſolemnity among them. Upon their roads, at about every five miles diſtance, you ſee an image of the Virgin Ma⯑ry dreſſed up in grim head-cloaths, painted cheeks, and an old red petticoat; before her a lamp is of⯑ten [59] ſeen burning, at which, with the ſaint's per⯑miſſion, I have frequently lighted my pipe. In⯑ſtead of the Virgin you are ſometimes preſented with a crucifix, at other times with a wooden Sa⯑viour, fitted out in complete garniture, with ſponge, ſpear, nails, pincers, hammer, bees-wax, and vi⯑negar-bottle. Some of theſe images, I have been told, came down from heaven; if ſo, in heaven they have but bungling workmen.

In paſſing through their towns, you frequently ſee the men ſitting at the doors knitting ſtockings, while the care of cultivating the ground and prun⯑ing the vines falls to the women. This is perhaps the reaſon why the fair ſex are granted ſome pe⯑culiar privileges in this country; particularly, when they can get horſes, of riding without a ſide-ſaddle.

But I begin to think you may find this deſcrip⯑tion pert and dull enough; perhaps it is ſo, yet in general it is the manner in which the French uſually deſcribe foreigners; and it is but juſt to force a part of that ridicule back upon them, which they attempt to laviſh on others.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXVI. From the ſame.

THE two theatres, which ſerve to amuſe the citizens here, are again opened for the win⯑ter. The mimetic troops, different from thoſe of [60] the ſtate, begin their campaign when all the others quit the field; and at a time when the Europeans ceaſe to deſtroy each other in reality, they are en⯑tertained with mock battles upon the ſtage.

The dancing maſter once more ſhakes his quiver⯑ing feet; the carpenter prepares his paradiſe of paſteboard; the hero reſolves to cover his fore⯑head with braſs, and the heroine begins to ſcour up her copper tail, preparative to future operations; in ſhort, all are in motion, from the theatrical letter-carrier in yellow cloaths, to Alexander the Great that ſtands on a ſtool.

Both houſes have already commenced hoſtilities. War, open war! and no quarter received or given! Two ſinging women, like heralds, have begun the conteſt; the whole town is divided on this ſolemn occaſion; one has the fineſt pipe, the other the fineſt manner; one curteſies to the ground, the other ſalutes the audience with a ſmile; one comes on with modeſty which aſks, the other with boldneſs which extorts applauſe; one wears powder, the other has none; one has the longeſt waiſt, but the other appears moſt eaſy; all, all is important and ſerious; the town as yet perſeveres in its neutrality, a cauſe of ſuch moment demands the moſt mature deliberation, they con⯑tinue to exhibit, and it is very poſſible this con⯑teſt may continue to pleaſe to the end of the ſeaſon.

But the Generals of either army, have, as I am told, ſeveral reinforcements to lend occaſional aſſiſtance. If they produce a pair of diamond buckles at one houſe, we have a pair of eye-brows [61] that can match them at the other. If we outdo them in our attitude, they can overcome us by a ſhrug; if we can bring more children on the ſtage, they can bring more guards in red cloaths, who ſtrut and ſhoulder their ſwords to the aſto⯑niſhment of every ſpectator.

They tell me here, that people frequent the theatre in order to be inſtructed as well as amuſed. I ſmile to hear the aſſertion. If I ever go to one of their play-houſes, what with trumpets, hallow⯑ing behind the ſtage, and bawling upon it, I am quite dizzy before the performance is over. If I enter the houſe with any ſentiments in my head, I am ſure to have none going away, the whole mind being filled with a dead march, a funeral proceſſion, a cat-call, a jigg, or a tempeſt.

There is perhaps nothing more eaſy than to write properly for the Engliſh theatre; I am amazed that none are apprenticed to the trade. The author, when well acquainted with the value of thunder and lightning, when verſed in all the myſtery of ſcene-ſhifting, and trap-doors; when ſkilled in the proper periods to introduce a wire-walker, or a water-fall; when inſtructed in every actor's peculiar talent, and capable of adapting his ſpeeches to the ſuppoſed excellence; when thus inſtructed, knows all that can give a modern audience pleaſure. One player ſhines in an excla⯑mation, another in a groan, a third in a horror, a fourth in a ſtart, a fifth in a ſmile, a ſixth faints, and a ſeventh figets round the ſtage with pecu⯑liar vivacity; that piece therefore will ſucceed beſt where each has a proper opportunity of ſhining; the actor's buſineſs is not ſo much to adapt [62] himſelf to the poet, as the poet's to adapt him⯑ſelf to the actor.

The great ſecret therefore of tragedy-writing at preſent, is a perfect acquaintance with theatrical ah's and oh's, a certain number of theſe inter⯑ſperſed with gods! tortures, racks, and damnation, ſhall diſtort every actor almoſt into convulſions, and draw tears from every ſpectator; a proper uſe of theſe will infallibly fill the whole houſe with applauſe. But above all, a whining ſcene muſt ſtrike moſt forcibly. I would adviſe from my preſent knowledge of the audience, the two fa⯑vourite players of the town to introduce a ſcene of this ſort in every play. Towards the middle of the laſt act, I would have them enter with wild looks and out-ſpread arms; there is no neceſſity for ſpeaking, they are only to groan at each other, they muſt vary the tones of exclamation and deſ⯑pair through the whole theatrical gamut, wring their figures into every ſhape of diſtreſs, and when their calamities have drawn a proper quantity of tears from the ſympathetic ſpectators, they may go off in dumb ſolemnity at different doors claſp⯑ing their hands, or ſlapping their pocket-holes; this, which may be called a tragic pantomime, will anſwer every purpoſe of moving the paſſions, as well as words could have done, and it muſt ſave thoſe expences which go to reward an author.

All modern plays that would keep the audience alive, muſt be conceived in this manner, and in⯑deed, many a modern play is made up on no other plan. This is the merit that lifts up the heart, like opium, into a rapture of inſenſibility, and can diſmiſs the mind from all the fatigue of thinking: this is the eloquence that ſhines in many [63] a long forgotten ſcene, which has been reckoned ex⯑ceſſive fine upon acting; this the lightening that flaſhes no leſs in the Hyperbolical tyrant, who break⯑faſts on the wind, than in little Norval, as harmleſs as the babe unborn. Adieu.

LETTER LXXVII. From the ſame.

I HAVE always regarded the ſpirit of mercy, which appears in the Chineſe laws with admira⯑tion. An order for the execution of a criminal is carried from court by ſlow journies of ſix miles a day, but a pardon is ſent down with the moſt rapid diſpatch. If five ſons of the ſame father be guilty of the ſame offence, one of them is forgiven, in or⯑der to continue the family and comfort his aged parents in their decline.

Similar to this, there is a ſpirit of mercy breathes through the laws of England, which ſome erroneouſly endeavour to ſuppreſs; the laws how⯑ever ſeem unwilling to puniſh the offender, or to furniſh the officers of juſtice with every means of acting with ſeverity. Thoſe who arreſt debtors are denied the uſe of arms, the nightly watch is permitted to repreſs the diſorders of the drunken citizens only with clubs; juſtice in ſuch a caſe ſeems to hide her terrors, and permits ſome of⯑fenders to eſcape rather than load any with a puniſhment diſproportioned to the crime.

Thus it is the glory of an Engliſhman, that he is not only governed by laws, but that theſe are [64] alſo tempered by mercy; a country reſtrained by ſevere laws, and thoſe too executed with ſeverity (as in Japan) is under the moſt terrible ſpecies of tyranny; a royal tyrant is generally dreadful to the great, but numerous penal laws grind every rank of people, and chiefly thoſe leaſt able to re⯑ſiſt oppreſſion, the poor.

It is very poſſible, thus for a people to become ſlaves to laws of their own enacting, as the Athe⯑nians were to thoſe of Draco. ‘'It might firſt happen (ſays the hiſtorian) that men with pecu⯑liar talents for villainy attempted to evade the ordinances already eſtabliſhed; their practices therefore ſoon brought on a new law levelled againſt them; but the ſame degree of cunning which had taught the knave to evade the former ſtatutes, taught him to evade the latter alſo; he flew to new ſhifts, while juſtice purſued with new ordinances; ſtill however he kept his pro⯑per diſtance, and whenever one crime was judged penal by the ſtate, he left committing it in order to practiſe ſome unforbidden ſpecies of villainy. Thus the criminal againſt whom the threatenings were denounced always eſcaped free; while the ſimple rogue alone felt the rigour of juſtice. In the mean time penal laws became numerous, almoſt every perſon in the ſtate unknowingly at different times offended, and was every moment ſubject to a malicious proſecution.'’ In fact, penal laws, inſtead of preventing crimes, are ge⯑nerally enacted after the commiſſion; inſtead of repreſſing the growth of ingenious villainy, only multiply deceit, by putting it upon new ſhifts and expedients of practiſing with impunity.

[65]Such laws therefore reſemble the guards which are ſometimes impoſed upon tributary Princes, apparently indeed to ſecure them from danger, but in reality, to confirm their captivity.

Penal laws, it muſt be allowed, ſecure property in a ſtate, but they alſo diminiſh perſonal ſecurity in the ſame proportion: There is no poſitive law how equitable ſoever, that may not be ſometimes capable of injuſtice. When a law enacted to make theft puniſhable with death, happens to be equi⯑tably executed, it can at beſt only guard our poſſeſſions; but when by favour or ignorance juſ⯑tice pronounces a wrong verdict, it then attacks our lives, ſince in ſuch a caſe the whole commu⯑nity ſuffers with the innocent victim; if therefore in order to ſecure the effects of one man, I ſhould make a law which may take away the life of ano⯑ther, in ſuch a caſe to attain a ſmaller good, I am guilty of a greater evil, to ſecure ſociety in the poſſeſſion of a bauble, I render a real and valuable poſſeſſion precarious. And indeed the experience of every age may ſerve to vindicate the aſſertion: No law could be more juſt than that called leſae Majeſtatis, when Rome was go⯑verned by Emperors. It was but reaſonable, that every conſpiracy againſt the adminiſtration ſhould be detected and puniſhed; yet what terrible ſlaughters ſucceeded in conſequence of its enact⯑ing; proſcriptions, ſtranglings, poiſonings, in al⯑moſt every family of diſtinction, yet all done in a legal way, every criminal had his trial, and loſt his life by a majority of witneſſes.

And ſuch will ever be the caſe, where puniſh⯑ments are numerous, and where a weak, vicious, [66] but above all, where a mercenary magiſtrate is concerned in their execution; ſuch a man deſires to ſee penal laws encreaſed, ſince he too frequently has it in his power to turn them into inſtruments of extortion; in ſuch hands the more laws, the wider means, not of ſatisfying juſtice, but of ſa⯑tiating avarice.

A mercenary magiſtrate who is rewarded in pro⯑portion, not to his integrity, but to the number he convicts, muſt be a perſon of the moſt un⯑blemiſhed character, or he will lean on the ſide of cruelty; and when once the work of injuſtice is begun, it is impoſſible to tell how far it will proceed; it is ſaid of the Hyena that naturally it is no way ravenous, but when once it has taſted human fleſh, it becomes the moſt voracious animal of the foreſt, and continues to perſecute mankind ever after: A corrupt magiſtrate may be conſidered as a human Hyena, he begins perhaps by a pri⯑vate ſnap, he goes on to a morſel among friends, he proceeds to a meal in public, from a meal he ad⯑vances to a ſurfeit, and at laſt ſucks blood like a vampyre.

Not into ſuch hands ſhould the adminiſtration of juſtice be entruſted, but to thoſe who know how to reward as well as to puniſh; it was a fine ſaying of Nangfu the emperor, who being told that his enemies had raiſed an inſurrection in one of the diſtant provinces, Come then, my friends, ſaid he, follow me, and I promiſe you that we ſhall quickly deſtroy them; he marched forward, and the rebels ſubmitted upon his approach. All now thought that he would take the moſt ſignal revenge, but were ſurprized to ſee the captives [67] treated with mildneſs and humanity. How! cries his firſt miniſter, is this the manner in which you fulfil your promiſe? your royal word was given that your enemies ſhould be deſtroyed, and behold you have pardoned all, and even careſ⯑ſed ſome! I promiſed, replied the emperor, with a generous air, to deſtroy my enemies, I have ful⯑filled my word, for ſee they are enemies no longer; I have made friends of them.

This, could it always ſucceed, were the true method of deſtroying the enemies of a ſtate; well it were if rewards and mercy alone could regulate the common-wealth; but ſince puniſhments are ſometimes neceſſary, let them at leaſt be rendered terrible, by being executed but ſeldom, and let juſtice lift her ſword rather to terrify than revenge.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXVIII. From the ſame.

I HAVE as yet given you but a ſhort and im⯑perfect deſcription of the Ladies of England. Woman, my friend, is a ſubject not eaſily under⯑ſtood, even in China; what therefore can be ex⯑pected from my knowledge of the ſex in a coun⯑try where they are univerſally allowed to be riddles, and I but a ſtranger?

To confeſs a truth, I was afraid to begin the deſcription, leſt the ſex ſhould undergo ſome new revolution before it was finiſhed; and my picture [68] ſhould thus become old before it could well be ſaid to have ever been new. To-day they are lifted upon ſtilts, to-morrow they lower their heels and raiſe their heads; their cloaths at one time are bloated out with whalebone, at preſent they have laid their hoops aſide and are become as ſlim as mermaids. All, all is in a ſtate of continual fluctuation, from the Mandarine's wife, who rat⯑tles through the ſtreets in her chariot, to the hum⯑ble ſempſtreſs, who clatters over the pavement in iron-ſhod pattens.

What chiefly diſtinguiſhes the ſex at preſent is the train. As a Lady's quality or faſhion was once determined here by the circumference of her hoop, both are now meaſured by the length of her tail. Women of moderate fortunes are contented with tails moderately long; but ladies of true taſte and diſtinction ſet no bounds to their ambition in this particular. I am told the Lady Mayoreſs, on days of ceremony, carries one longer than a bell-wether of Bantam, whoſe tail you know is trund⯑led along in a wheel-barrow.

Sun of China, what contradictions do we find in this ſtrange world! not only the people of dif⯑ferent countries think in oppoſition to each other, but the inhabitants of a ſingle iſland are often found inconſiſtent with themſelves; would you believe it? this very people, my Fum, who are ſo fond of ſeeing their women with long tails, at the ſame time dock their horſes to the very rump!!!

But you may eaſily gueſs that I am no way diſpleaſed with a faſhion which tends to encreaſe a demand for the commodities of the Eaſt, and is ſo [69] very beneficial to the country in which I was born. Nothing can be better calculated to encreaſe the price of ſilk than the preſent manner of dreſſing. A lady's train is not bought but at ſome expence, and after it has ſwept the public walks for a very few evenings, is fit to be worn no longer: more ſilk muſt be bought in order to repair the breach, and ſome ladies of peculiar oeconomy are thus found to patch up their tails eight or ten times in a ſeaſon. This unneceſſary conſumption may in⯑troduce poverty here, but then we ſhall be the richer for it in China.

The man in black, who is a profeſſed enemy to this manner of ornamenting the tail, aſſures me, there are numberleſs inconveniencies attend⯑ing it, and that a lady dreſſed up to the faſhion is as much a cripple as any in Nankin. But his chief indignation is levelled at thoſe who dreſs in this manner, without a proper fortune to ſupport it. He aſſures me, that he has known ſome, who would have a tail, though they wanted a petticoat, and others, who, without any other pretenſions, fan⯑cied they became ladies merely from the addition of three ſuperfluous yards of ragged ſilk; I know a thrifty good woman, continues he, who thinking herſelf obliged to carry a train like her betters, never walks from home without the uneaſy apprehen⯑ſions of wearing it out too ſoon; every excurſion ſhe makes gives her new anxiety, and her train is every bit as importunate, and wounds her peace as much as the bladder we ſometimes ſee tied to the tail of a cat.

Nay, he ventures to affirm, that a train may often bring a lady into the moſt critical circum⯑ſtances; for ſhould a rude fellow, ſays he, offer [70] to come up to raviſh a kiſs, and the lady attempt to avoid it, in retiring ſhe muſt neceſſarily tread upon her train, and thus fall fairly upon her back, by which means every one knows,— her cloaths may be ſpoiled.

The ladies here make no ſcruple to laugh at the ſmallneſs of a Chineſe ſlipper, but I fancy our wives at China would have a more real cauſe of laughter, could they but ſee the immoderate length of an European train. Head of Confucius, to view a human being crippling herſelf with a great unwieldy tail for our diverſion; backward ſhe cannot go, forward ſhe muſt move but ſlowly, and if ever ſhe attempts to turn round, it muſt be in a circle not ſmaller than that deſcribed by the wheeling crocodile, when it would face an aſſailant. And yet to think that all this confers importance and majeſty! to think that a lady acquires ad⯑ditional reſpect from fifteen yards of trailing taf⯑fety! I can't contain; ha, ha, ha; this is certainly a remnant of European barbarity, the female Tartar dreſſed in ſheep-ſkins, is in far more conve⯑nient drapery. Their own writers have ſome⯑times inveigh'd againſt the abſurdity of this faſhi⯑on, but perhaps it has never been ridiculed ſo well as upon the Italian theatre, where Paſqua⯑rielo being engaged to attend on the counteſs of Fernambroco, having one of his hands employed in carrying her muff, and the other her lap-dog, he bears her train majeſtically along by ſticking it in the waiſtband of his breeches.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXIX. From the ſame.

A Diſpute has for ſome time divided the philo⯑ſophers of Europe; it is debated, whether arts and ſciences are more ſerviceable or preju⯑dicial to mankind. They, who maintain the cauſe of literature, endeavour to prove their uſe⯑fulneſs from the impoſſibility of a large number of men ſubſiſting in a ſmall tract of country with⯑out them; from the pleaſure which attends the acquiſition; and from the influence of knowledge in promoting practical morality.

They who maintain the oppoſite opinion, diſ⯑play the happineſs and innocence of thoſe un⯑cultivated nations who live without learning; urge the numerous vices which are to be found only in poliſhed ſociety, enlarge upon the oppreſſion, the cruelty and the blood which muſt neceſſarily be ſhed, in order to cement civil ſociety, and in⯑ſiſt upon the happy equality of conditions in a bar⯑barous ſtate, preferable to the unnatural ſubordi⯑nation of a more refined conſtitution.

This diſpute, which has already given ſo much employment to ſpeculative indolence, has been managed with much ardour, and (not to ſup⯑preſs our ſentiments) with but little ſagacity. They who inſiſt that the ſciences are uſeful in refined ſociety are certainly right, and they who maintain that barbarous nations are more happy without them, are right alſo; but when one ſide for this reaſon attempts to prove them as univerſally [72] uſeful to the ſolitary barbarian, as to the native of a crowded common-wealth; or when the other endeavours to baniſh them as prejudicial to all ſociety, even from populous ſtates as well as from the inhabitants of the wilderneſs, they are both wrong; ſince that knowledge which makes the hap⯑pineſs of a refined European, would be a torment to the precarious tenant of an Aſiatic wild.

Let me, to prove this, tranſport the imagina⯑tion for a moment to the midſt of a foreſt in Si⯑beria. There we behold the inhabitant, poor in⯑deed, but equally fond of happineſs with the moſt refined philoſopher of China. The earth lies un⯑cultivated and uninhabited for miles around him; his little family and he the ſole and un⯑diſputed poſſeſſors. In ſuch circumſtances nature and reaſon will induce him to prefer a hunter's life to that of cultivating the earth. He will certainly adhere to that manner of living which is carried on at the ſmalleſt expence of labour, and that food which is moſt agreeable to the appetite, he will prefer indolent though precarious luxury, to a laborious though permanent competence, and a knowledge of his own happineſs will deter⯑mine him to perſevere in native barbarity.

In like manner his happineſs will incline him to bind himſelf by no law: Laws are made in order to ſecure preſent property, but he is poſ⯑ſeſſed of no property which he is afraid to loſe, and deſires no more than will be ſufficient to ſuſ⯑tain him; to enter into compacts with others, would be undergoing a voluntary obligation with⯑out the expectance of any reward. He and his countrymen are tenants, not rivals, in the ſame [73] inexhauſtible foreſt; the encreaſed poſſeſſions of one by no means diminiſhes the expectations ariſing from equal aſſiduity in another; there are no need of laws therefore to repreſs ambition, where there can be no miſchief attending its moſt boundleſs gratifications.

Our ſolitary Siberian will, in like manner, find the ſciences not only entirely uſeleſs in directing his practice, but diſguſting even in ſpeculation. In every contemplation our curioſity muſt be firſt excited by the appearances of things, before our reaſon undergoes the fatigue of inveſtigating the cauſes. Some of thoſe appearances are pro⯑duced by experiment, others by minute enquiry; ſome ariſe from a knowledge of foreign climates, and others from an intimate ſtudy of our own. But there are few objects in compariſon which preſent themſelves to the inhabitant of a bar⯑barous country; the game he hunts, or the tranſient cottage he builds, make up the chief objects of his concern; his curioſity therefore muſt be proportionably leſs; and if that is dimi⯑niſhed, the reaſoning faculty will be diminiſhed in proportion.

Beſides, ſenſual enjoyment adds wings to curi⯑oſity. We conſider few objects with ardent atten⯑tion, but thoſe which have ſome connection with our wiſhes, our pleaſures, or our neceſſities. A deſire of enjoyment firſt intereſts our paſſions in the purſuit, points out the object of inveſtigation, and reaſon then comments where ſenſe has led the way. An encreaſe in the number of our enjoy⯑ments therefore neceſſarily produces an encreaſe [74] of ſcientific reſearch; but in countries where al⯑moſt every enjoyment is wanting, reaſon there ſeems deſtitute of its great inſpirer, and ſpecula⯑tion is the buſineſs of fools when it becomes its own reward.

The barbarous Siberian is too wiſe, therefore, to exhauſt his time in queſt of knowledge, which neither curioſity prompts, nor pleaſure impells him to purſue. When told of the exact admeaſure⯑ment of a degree upon the equator at Quito, he feels no pleaſure in the account; when informed that ſuch a diſcovery tends to promote navigation and commerce, he finds himſelf no way intereſted in either. A diſcovery which ſome have purſued at the hazard of their lives, affects him with neither aſtoniſhment nor pleaſure. He is ſatisfied with thoroughly underſtanding the few objects which contribute to his own felicity, he knows the propereſt places where to lay the ſnare for the ſable, and diſcerns the value of furrs with more than European ſagacity. More extended know⯑ledge would only ſerve to render him unhappy, it might lend a ray to ſhew him the miſery of his ſituation, but could not guide him in his efforts to avoid it. Ignorance is the happineſs of the poor.

The miſery of a being endowed with ſentiments above its capacity of fruition, is moſt admirably deſcribed in one of the fables of Locman the Indian moraliſt. "An elephant that had been peculiarly ſerviceable in fighting the battles of Wiſtnow, was ordered by the god to wiſh for whatever he thought proper, and the deſire ſhould be attended with immediate gratification. The elephant thanked his benefactor on bended knees, [75] and deſired to be endowed with the reaſon and the faculties of a man. Wiſtnow was ſorry to hear the fooliſh requeſt, and endeavoured to diſ⯑ſuade him from his miſplaced ambition; but find⯑ing it to no purpoſe, gave him at laſt ſuch a portion of wiſdom as could correct even the Zendaveſta of Zoroaſter. The reaſoning elephant went away rejoicing in his new acquiſition, and though his body ſtill retained its ancient form, he found his appetites and paſſions entirely altered. He firſt conſidered that it would not only be more com⯑fortable, but alſo more becoming to wear cloaths; but unhappily he had no method of making them himſelf, nor had he the uſe of ſpeech to demand them from others, and this was the firſt time he felt real anxiety. He ſoon perceived how much more elegantly men were fed than he, therefore he began to loath his uſual food and longed for thoſe delicacies which adorn the tables of princes; but here again he found it impoſſible to be ſatiſ⯑fied; for though he could eaſily obtain fleſh, yet he ſound it impoſſible to dreſs it in any degree of perfection. In ſhort, every pleaſure that contri⯑buted to the felicity of mankind, ſerved only to render him more miſerable., as he found himſelf utterly deprived of the power of enjoyment. In this manner he led a repining, diſcontented life, deteſting himſelf and diſpleaſed with his ill judged ambition, till at laſt his benefactor Wiſtnow, tak⯑ing compaſſion on his forlorn ſituation, reſtored him to the ignorance and the happineſs which he was originally formed to enjoy."

No, my friend, to attempt to introduce the ſci⯑ences into a nation of wandering barbarians, is only [76] to render them more miſerable than even nature deſigned they ſhould be. A life of ſimplicity is beſt fitted to a ſtate of ſolitude.

The great law-giver of Ruſſia attempted to improve the deſolate inhabitants of Siberia, by ſending among them ſome of the politeſt men of Europe. The conſequence has ſhewn, that the country was as yet unfit to receive them; they languiſhed for a time with a ſort of exotic malady, every day degenerated from themſelves, and at laſt, inſtead of rendering the country more polite, they conformed to the ſoil, and put on barbarity.

No, my friend, in order to make the ſciences uſe⯑ful in any country, it muſt firſt become populous; the inhabitant muſt go through the different ſtages of hunter, ſhepherd▪ and huſbandman: then when property becomes valuable, and conſequently gives cauſe for injuſtice, then when laws are appointed to repreſs injury, and ſecure poſſeſſion, when men, by the ſanction of thoſe laws, become poſſeſſed of ſuperfluity, when luxury is thus introduced and demands its continual ſupply then it is that the ſci⯑ences become neceſſary and uſeful; the ſtate then cannot ſubſiſt without them; they muſt then be introduced, at once to teach men to draw the greateſt poſſible quantity of pleaſure from circum⯑ſcribed poſſeſſion; and to reſtrain them within the bounds of moderate enjoyment.

The ſciences are not the cauſe of luxury, but its conſequence, and this deſtroyer thus brings with it an antidote which reſiſts the virulence of its own poiſon. By aſſerting that luxury intro⯑duces the ſciences, we aſſert a truth; but if with thoſe, who reject the utility of learning▪ we [77] aſſert that the ſciences alſo introduce luxury, we ſhall be at once falſe, abſurd, and ridiculous.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXX. From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo, by the way of Moſcow.

YOU are now arrived at an age, my ſon, when pleaſure diſſuades from application, but rob not by preſent gratification all the ſucceeding pe⯑riod of life of its happineſs Sacrifice a little pleaſure at firſt to the expectance of greater. The ſtudy of a very few years will make the reſt of life compleatly eaſy.

But inſtead of continuing the ſubject myſelf, take the following inſtructions borrowed from a modern philoſopher of China^*. "He who has begun his fortune by ſtudy will certainly confirm it by perſeverance. The love of books damps the paſſion for pleaſure, and when this paſſion is once extinguiſhed, life is then cheaply ſupported; thus a man being poſſeſſed of more than he wants, can never be ſubject to great diſappoint⯑ments, and avoids all thoſe meanneſſes which in⯑digence ſometimes unavoidably produces.

"There is unſpeakable pleaſure attending the life of a voluntary ſtudent. The firſt time I read [78] an excellent book, it is to me juſt as if I had gained a new friend. When I read over a book I have peruſed before, it reſembles the meeting with an old one. We ought to lay hold of every incident in life for improvement, the trifling as well as the important. It is not one diamond alone which gives luſtre to another, a common coarſe ſtone is alſo employed for that purpoſe. Thus I ought to draw advantage from the inſults and con⯑tempt I meet with from a worthleſs fellow. His brutality ought to induce me to ſelf-examination, and correct every blemiſh that may have given riſe to his calumny.

"Yet with all the pleaſures and profits which are generally produced by learning, parents often find it difficult to induce their children to ſtudy. They often ſeem dragged to what wears the appearance of application. Thus being dilatory in the begin⯑ning, all future hopes of eminence are entirely cut off. If they find themſelves obliged to write two lines more polite than ordinary, their pencil then ſeems as heavy as a mill-ſtone, and they ſpend ten years in turning two or three periods with propriety.

"Theſe perſons are moſt at a loſs when a banquet is almoſt over; the plate and the dice go round, that the number of little verſes which each is obliged to repeat may be determined by chance. The booby, when it comes to his turn, appears quite ſtupid and inſenſible. The company divert themſelves with his confuſion; and ſneers, winks, and whiſpers are circulated at his expence. As for him, he opens a pair of large heavy eyes, ſtares at all about him, and even offers to join in the laugh, [79] without ever conſidering himſelf as the burthen of all their good humour.

"But it is of no importance to read much, except you be regular in your reading. If it be interrupted for any conſiderable time, it can never be attended with proper improvement. There are ſome who ſtudy for one day with intenſe application, and re⯑poſe themſelves for ten days after. But wiſdom is a coquet, and muſt be courted with unabating aſſiduity.

"It was a ſaying of the ancients, that a man never opens a book without reaping ſome advan⯑tage by it. I ſay with them, that every book can ſerve to make us more expert, except romances, and theſe are no better than inſtruments of de⯑bauchery. They are dangerous fictions, where love is the ruling paſſion.

"The moſt indecent ſtrokes there paſs for turns of wit, intrigue and criminal liberties for gallantry and politeneſs. Aſſignations, and even villainy, are put in ſuch ſtrong lights, as may inſpire, even grown men, with the ſtrongeſt paſſion; how much more therefore ought the youth of either ſex to dread them, whoſe reaſon is ſo weak, and whoſe hearts are ſo ſuſceptible of paſſion?

"To ſlip in by a back-door, or leap a wall, are accompliſhments that when handſomely ſet off en⯑chant a young heart. It is true the plot is com⯑monly wound up by a marriage, concluded with the conſent of parents, and adjuſted by every cere⯑mony preſcribed by law. But as in the body of the work there are many paſſages that offend good [80] morals, overthrow laudable cuſtoms, violate the laws, and deſtroy the duties moſt eſſential to ſo⯑ciety, virtue is thereby expoſed to the moſt dan⯑gerous attacks.

"But, ſay ſome, the authors of theſe romances have nothing in view, but to repreſent vice puniſh⯑ed and virtue rewarded. Granted. But will the greater number of readers take notice of theſe puniſhments and rewards? Are not their minds carried to ſomething elſe? Can it be imagined that the art with which the author inſpires the love of virtue, can overcome that crowd of thoughts which ſway them to licentiouſneſs? To be able to inculcate virtue by ſo leaky a vehicle, the author muſt be a philoſopher of the firſt rank. But in our age we can find but few firſt rate philoſo⯑phers.

"Avoid ſuch performances where vice aſſumes the face of virtue; ſeek wiſdom and knowledge without ever thinking you have found them. A man is wiſe, while he continues in the purſuit of wiſdom; but when he once fancies that he has found the object of his enquiry, he then becomes a fool. Learn to purſue virtue from the man that is blind, who never makes a ſtep without firſt ex⯑amining the ground with his ſtaff.

"The world is like a vaſt ſea, mankind like a veſſel ſailing on its tempeſtuous boſom. Our pru⯑dence is its ſails, the ſciences ſerve us for oars, good or bad fortune are the favourable or con⯑trary winds, and judgment is the rudder; with⯑out this laſt the veſſel is toſſed by every billow, and will find ſhipwreck in every breeze. In a [81] word, obſcurity and indigence are the parents of vigilance and oeconomy; vigilance and oeconomy of riches and honour; riches and honour of pride and luxury; pride and luxury of impurity and idleneſs; and impurity and idleneſs again produce indigence and obſcurity. Such are the revolutions of life." Adieu.

LETTER LXXXI. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

I Fancy the character of a poet is in every coun⯑try the ſame, fond of enjoying the preſent, careleſs of the future, his converſation that of a man of ſenſe, his actions thoſe of a fool! of for⯑titude able to ſtand unmoved at the burſting of an earthquake, yet of ſenſibility to be affected by the breaking of a tea-cup; ſuch is his character, which conſidered in every light is the very oppoſite of that which leads to riches.

The poets of the weſt are as remarkable for their indigence as their genius, and yet among the numerous hoſpitals deſigned to relieve the poor, I have heard of but one erected for the be⯑nefit of decayed authors. This was founded by pope Urban VIII. and called the retreat of the incurables, intimating, that it was equally impoſ⯑ſible to reclaim the patients, who ſued for reception, from poverty, or from poetry. To be ſincere, were I to ſend you an account of the lives of the weſtern poets, either antient or modern, I fancy [82] you would think me employed in collecting ma⯑terials for an hiſtory of human wretchedneſs.

Homer is the firſt poet and beggar of note among the antients; he was blind, and ſung his ballads about the ſtreets; but it is obſerved, that his mouth was more frequently filled with verſes than with bread. Plautus the comic poet was better off; he had two trades, he was a poet for his diverſion, and helped to turn a mill in order to gain a livelihood. Terence was a ſlave, and Boe⯑thius died in a jail.

Among the Italians, Paulo Burgheſe, almoſt as good a poet as Taſſo, knew fourteen different trades, and yet died becauſe he could get em⯑ployment in none. Taſſo himſelf, who had the moſt amiable character of all poets, has often been obliged to borrow a crown from ſome friend, in order to pay for a month's ſubſiſtence; he has left us a pretty ſonnet, addreſſed to his cat, in which he begs the light of her eyes to write by, being too poor to afford himſelf a candle. But Bentivoglio, poor Bentivoglio! chiefly demands our pity. His comedies will laſt with the Ita⯑lian language; he diſſipated a noble fortune in acts of charity and benevolence; but falling into miſery in his old age, was refuſed to be admitted into an hoſpital which he himſelf had erected.

In Spain it is ſaid, the great Cervantes died of hunger; and it is certain, that the famous Camoens ended his days in an hoſpital.

If we turn to France, we ſhall there find even ſtronger inſtances of the ingratitude of the public. Vaugelas, one of the politeſt writers, and one of the [83] honeſteſt men of his time, was ſirnamed the Owl, from his being obliged to keep within all day, and venture out only by night, through fear of his cre⯑ditors. His laſt will is very remarkable; after having bequeathed all his worldly ſubſtance to the diſcharg⯑ing his debts, he goes on thus; But as there ſtill may remain ſome creditors unpaid, even after all that I have ſhall be diſpoſed of, in ſuch a caſe, it is my laſt will, that my body ſhould be ſold to the ſurgeons to the beſt advantage, and that the purchaſe ſhould go to the diſcharging thoſe debts which I owe to ſociety; ſo that if I could not, while living, at leaſt when dead, I may be uſeful.

Caſſander was one of the greateſt geniuſes of his time, yet all his merit could not procure him a bare ſubſiſtence. Being by degrees driven into an hatred of all mankind from the little pity he found amongſt them, he even ventured at laſt un⯑gratefully to impute his calamities to providence. In his laſt agonies, when the prieſt entreated him to rely on the juſtice of heaven, and aſk mercy from him that made him; If God, replies he, has ſhewn me no juſtice here, what reaſon have I to expect any from him hereafter? But being anſwered, that a ſuſpenſion of juſtice was no argument that ſhould induce us to doubt of its reality; let me entreat you, continued his confeſſor, by all that is dear, to be reconciled to God, your father, your mak⯑er, and friend. No, replied the exaſperated wretch, you know the manner in which he left me to live; (and pointing to the ſtraw on which he was ſtretched) and you ſee the manner in which he leaves me to die!

But the ſufferings of the poet in other countries is nothing when compared to his diſtreſſes here, the names of Spencer and Otway, Butler and Dryden, [84] are every day mentioned as a national reproach, ſome of them lived in a ſtate of precarious indi⯑gence, and others literally died of hunger.

At preſent the few poets of England no longer depend on the Great for ſubſiſtence, they have now no other patrons but the public, and the pub⯑lic, collectively conſidered, is a good and a gene⯑rous maſter. It is indeed, too frequently miſtaken as to the merits of every candidate for favour; but to make amends, it is never miſtaken long. A performance indeed may be forced for a time into reputation, but deſtitute of real merit it ſoon ſinks; time, the touchſtone of what is truly valu⯑able, will ſoon diſcover the fraud, and an author ſhould never arrogate to himſelf any ſhare of ſuc⯑ceſs, till his works have been read at leaſt ten years with ſatisfaction.

A man of letters at preſent, whoſe works are valuable, is perfectly ſenſible of their value. Every polite member of the community by buying what he writes, contributes to reward him. The ridicule therefore of living in a garret, might have been wit in the laſt age, but continues ſuch no longer, becauſe no longer true. A writer of real merit now may eaſily be rich if his heart be ſet only on fortune: and for thoſe who have no merit, it is but fit that ſuch ſhould remain in merited ob⯑ſcurity. He may now refuſe an invitation to dinner, without fearing to incur his patron's diſpleaſure, or to ſtarve by remaining at home. He may now venture to appear in company with juſt ſuch cloaths as other men generally wear, and talk even to princes, with all the conſcious ſuperiority of wiſdom. Though he cannot boaſt of fortune here, yet he can bravely aſſert the dignity of inde⯑pendence. Adieu.

LETTER LXXXII. From the ſame.

I HAVE intereſted myſelf ſo long in all the concerns of this people, that I am almoſt be⯑come an Engliſhman; I now begin to read with pleaſure of their taking towns or gaining battles, and ſecretly wiſh diſappointment to all the enemies of Britain. Yet ſtill my regard to mankind fills me with concern for their contentions. I could wiſh to ſee the diſturbances of Europe once more ami⯑cably adjuſted: I am an enemy to nothing in this good world but war; I hate fighting between rival ſtates; I hate it between man and man; I hare fighting even between women!

I already informed you, that while Europe was at variance, we were alſo threatened from the ſtage with an irreconcileable oppoſition, and that our ſinging women were reſolved to ſing at each other to the end of the ſeaſon. O my friend, thoſe fears were juſt. They are nor only determined to ſing at each other to the end of the ſeaſon, but what is worſe, to ſing the ſame ſong, and what is ſtill more inſupportable, to make us pay for hearing.

If they be for war, for my part I ſhould adviſe them to have a public congreſs, and there fairly ſquall at each other. What ſignifies ſounding the trumpet of defiance at a diſtance, and calling in the town to fight their battles. I would have them come boldly into one of the moſt open and frequented ſtreets, face to face, and there try their ſtill in quavering.

[86]However this may be, reſolved I am that they ſhall not touch one ſingle piece of ſilver more of mine. Though I have ears for muſic, thanks to heaven, they are not altogether aſſes ears. What! Polly and the Pick-pocket to-night, Polly and the Pick-pocket to-morrow night, and Polly and the Pick-pocket again; I want patience. I'll hear no more. My ſoul is out of tune, all jarring diſ⯑cord, and confuſion. Reſt, reſt, ye three dear clinking ſhillings in my pocket's bottom; the mu⯑ſic you make is more harmonious to my ſpirit, than cat-gut, roſin, or all the nightingales that ever chirruped in petticoats.

But what raiſes my indignation to the greateſt degree, is that this piping does not only peſter me on the ſtage, but is my puniſhment in private converſation. What is it to me, whether the fine pipe of one, or the great manner of the other be pre⯑ferable? what care I if one has a better top, or the other a nobler bottom? how am I concerned if one ſings from the ſtomach, or the other ſings with a ſnap? yet paltry as theſe matters are, they make a ſubject of debate wherever I go, and this muſical diſpute, eſpecially among the fair ſex, almoſt always ends in a very unmuſical altercation.

Sure the ſpirit of contention is mixed into the very conſtitution of the people; diviſions among the inhabitants of other countries ariſe only from their higher concerns, but ſubjects the moſt con⯑temptible are made an affair of party here, the ſpirit is carried even into their amuſements. The very ladies, whoſe duty ſhould ſeem to allay the impetuoſity of the oppoſite ſex, become them⯑ſelves party champions, engage in the thickeſt of [87] the fight, ſcold at each other, and ſhew their courage, even at the expence of their lovers and their beauty.

There are even a numerous ſet of poets who help to keep up the contention, and write for the ſtage. Miſtake me not, I don't mean pieces to be acted upon it, but panegyrical verſes on the per⯑formers, for that is the moſt univerſal method of writing for the ſtage at preſent. It is the buſineſs of the ſtage-poet therefore to watch the appearance of every new player at his own houſe, and ſo come out next day with a flaunting copy of news⯑paper verſes. In theſe nature and the actor may be ſet to run races, the player always coming off victorious; or nature may miſtake him for her⯑ſelf; or old Shakeſpear may put on his winding-ſheet and pay him a viſit; or the tuneful nine may ſtrike up their harps in his praiſe; or ſhould it happen to be an actreſs, Venus, the beauteous queen of love, and the naked graces, are ever in wait⯑ing: the lady muſt be herſelf a goddeſs bred and born; ſhe muſt—but you ſhall have a ſpecimen of one of theſe poems, which may convey a more preciſe idea.

And yet think not, my friend, that I have any particular animoſity againſt the champions who are at the head of the preſent commotion; on the contrary, I could find pleaſure in their muſic, if ſerved up at proper intervals; if I heard it only on proper occaſions, and not about it wherever I go. In fact, I could patronize them both; and as an inſtance of my condeſcenſion in this par⯑ticular, they may come and give me a ſong at my lodgings, on any evening when I'm at leiſure, provided they keep a becoming diſtance, and ſtand, while they continue to entertain me, with decent humility at the door.

You perceive I have not read the ſeventeen books of Chineſe ceremonies to no purpoſe. I know the proper ſhare of reſpect due to every rank in ſociety. Stage-players, fire eaters, ſinging women, dancing-dogs, wild beaſts, and wire-walkers, as their efforts are exerted for our amuſe⯑ment, ought not entirely to be deſpiſed. The laws of every country ſhould allow them to play their tricks at leaſt with impunity. They ſhould not be branded with the ignominious appellation of vagabonds; at leaſt they deſerve a rank in ſociety equal to the myſtery of barbers, or undertakers, and could my influence extend ſo far, they ſhould [89] be allowed to earn even forty or fifty pounds a year, if eminent in their profeſſion.

I am ſenſible however that you will cenſure me of profuſion in this reſpect, bred up as you are in the narrow prejudices of eaſtern frugality. You will undoubtedly aſſert, that ſuch a ſtipend is too great for ſo uſeleſs an employment. Yet how will your ſurprize encreaſe, when told, that though the law holds them as vagabonds, many of them earn more than a thouſand a year. You are amazed. There is cauſe for amazement. A vagabond with a thouſand a year is indeed a cu⯑rioſity in nature; a wonder far ſurpaſſing the flying fiſh, petrified crab, or travelling lobſter. However, from my great love to the profeſſion, I would willingly have them diveſted of part of their contempt, and part of their finery; the law ſhould kindly take them under the wing of pro⯑tection, fix them into a corporation, like that of the barbers, and abridge their ignominy and their penſions. As to their abilities in other reſpects, I would leave that entirely to the public, who are certainly in this caſe the propereſt judges—— whether they deſpiſe them or no.

Yes, my Fum, I would abridge their penſions. A theatrical warrior, who conducts the battles of the ſtage, ſhould be cooped up with the ſame caution as a Bantum cock that is kept for fighting. When one of thoſe animals is taken from its na⯑tive dunghill, we retrench it both in the quantity of its food, and the number of its ſeraglio: play⯑ers ſhould in the ſame manner be fed, not fat⯑tened; they ſhould be permitted to get their bread, but not eat the people's bread into the bargain; [90] and, inſtead of being permitted to keep four miſ⯑treſſes, in conſcience they ſhould be contented only with two.

Were ſtage-players thus brought into bounds, perhaps we ſhould find their admirers leſs ſan⯑guine, and conſequently leſs ridiculous in patroniz⯑ing them. We ſhould no longer be ſtruck with the abſurdity of ſeeing the ſame people, whoſe va⯑lour makes ſuch a figure abroad, apoſtrophizing in the praiſe of a bouncing blockhead, and wrangling in the defence of a copper-tailed actreſs at home.

I ſhall conclude my letter with the ſenſible ad⯑monition of Mê the philoſopher. "You love harmony, ſays he, and are charmed with muſic. I do not blame you for hearing a fine voice, when you are in your cloſet with a lovely parterre under your eye, or in the night time, while perhaps the moon diffuſes her ſilver rays. But is a man to carry this paſſion ſo far as to let a company of co⯑medians, muſicians, and ſingers, grow rich upon his exhauſted fortune? If ſo, he reſembles one of thoſe dead bodies, whoſe brains the embalmers have picked out through its ears."

Adieu.

LETTER LXXXIII. From the ſame.

OF all the places of amuſement where gentlemen and ladies are entertained, I have not been yet to viſit Newmarket. This, I am told, is a large field; where upon certain occaſions three or four [91] horſes are brought together, then ſet a running, and that horſe which runs faſteſt wins the wager.

This is reckoned a very polite and faſhionable amuſement here, much more followed by the no⯑bility than partridge fighting at Java, or paper kites in Madagaſcar; ſeveral of the great here, I am told, underſtand as much of farriery as their grooms; and a horſe, with any ſhare of merit, can never want a patron among the nobility.

We have a deſcription of this entertainment almoſt every day in ſome of the gazettes, as for inſtance: ‘"On ſuch a day the Give and Take Plate was run for between his Grace's Crab, his Lordſhip's Periwinkle, and 'Squire Smackem's Slamerkin. All rode their own horſes. There was the greateſt concourſe of nobility that has been known here for ſeveral ſeaſons. The odds were in favour of Crab in the beginning, but Slamer⯑kin, after the firſt heat, ſeemed to have the match hollow; however, it was ſoon ſeen, that Periwinkle improved in wind, which, at laſt, turned out accordingly; Crab was run to a ſtand ſtill, Slamerkin was knocked up, and Periwinkle was brought in with univerſal applauſe."’ Thus you ſee Periwinkle received univerſal applauſe, and no doubt his Lordſhip came in for ſome ſhare of that praiſe which was ſo liberally beſtowed upon Periwinkle. Sun of China! how glorious muſt the Senator appear in his cap and leather breeches, his whip croſſed in his mouth, and thus coming to the goal amongſt the ſhouts of grooms, jockies, pimps, ſtable-bred Dukes, and degraded Generals!

[92]From the deſcription of this princely amuſement, now tranſcribed, and from the great veneration I have for the characters of its principal promoters, I make no doubt but I ſhall look upon an horſe⯑race with becoming reverence, prediſpoſed as I am by a ſimilar amuſement, of which I have lately been a ſpectator; for juſt now I happened to have an opportunity of being preſent at a Cart-race.

Whether this contention between three carts of different pariſhes was promoted by a ſubſcription among the nobility, or whether the grand jury, in council aſſembled, had gloriouſly combined to en⯑courage plauſtral merit, I cannot take upon me to determine; but certain it is, the whole was con⯑ducted with the utmoſt regularity and decorum, and the company, which made a brilliant appear⯑ance, were univerſally of opinion, that the ſport was high, the running fine, and the riders influ⯑enced by no bribe.

It was run on the road from London to a vil⯑lage called Brentford, between a turnip cart, a duſt cart, and a dung cart; each of the owners condeſcending to mount and be his own driver. The odds at ſtarting were duſt againſt dung five to four; but after half a miles going, the knowing ones found themſelves all on the wrong ſide, and it was turnip againſt the field, braſs to ſilver.

Soon however the conteſt became more doubt⯑ful; Turnip indeed kept the way, but it was per⯑ceived that Dung had better bottom. The road re-ecchoed with the ſhouts of the ſpectators; Dung againſt Turnip; Turnip againſt Dung, was now the univerſal cry; neck and neck; one rode light⯑er, [93] but the other had more judgment. I could not but particularly obſerve the ardour with which the fair ſex eſpouſed the cauſe of the different rid⯑ers on this occaſion; one was charmed with the unwaſhed beauties of Dung; another was captivat⯑ed with the patibulary aſpect of Turnip: while in the mean time unfortunate gloomy Duſt, who came whipping behind, was cheared by the encou⯑ragements of ſome, and pity of all.

The contention now continued for ſome time, without a poſſibility of determining to whom vic⯑tory deſigned the prize. The winning poſt ap⯑peared in view, and he who drove the turnip cart aſſured himſelf of ſucceſs; and ſucceſsful he might have been, had his horſe been as ambitious as he; but upon approaching a turn from the road, which led homewards, the horſe fairly ſtood ſtill, and refuſed to move a foot farther. The dung cart had ſcarce time to enjoy this temporary triumph, when it was pitched headlong into a ditch by the way ſide, and the rider left to wallow in congenial mud. Duſt in the mean time ſoon came up, and not being far from the poſt, came in amidſt the ſhouts and acclamations of all the ſpectators, and greatly careſſed by all the quality of Brentford. Fortune was kind only to one, who ought to have been favourable to all; each had peculiar merit, each laboured hard to earn the prize, and each richly deſerved the cart he drove.

I do not know whether this deſcription may not have anticipated that which I intended giving of Newmarket. I am told there is little elſe to be ſeen even there. There may be ſome minute dif⯑ferences in the dreſs of the ſpectators, but none at [94] all in their underſtandings; the quality of Brent⯑ford are as remarkable for politeneſs and delicacy, as the breeders of Newmarket. The quality of Brentford drive their own carts, and the honour⯑able fraternity of Newmarket ride their own horſes. In ſhort, the matches in one place are as rational as thoſe in the other; and it is more than proba⯑ble, that turnips, duſt, and dung, are all that can be found to furniſh out deſcription in either.

Forgive me, my friend, but a perſon like me, bred up in a philoſophic ſecluſion, is apt to regard, perhaps with too much aſperity, thoſe occurrences which ſink man below his ſtation in nature, and diminiſh the intrinſic value of humanity.

LETTER LXXXIV. From Fum Hoam to Lien Chi Altangi.

YOU tell me the people of Europe are wiſe; but where lies their wiſdom? You ſay they are valiant too; yet I have ſome reaſons to doubt of their valour. They are engaged in war among each other, yet apply to the Ruſſians, their neigh⯑bours and ours, for aſſiſtance. Cultivating ſuch an alliance argues at once imprudence and timidity. All ſubſidies paid for ſuch an aid is ſtrengthening the Ruſſians, already too powerful, and weakening the employers, already exhauſted by inteſtine com⯑motions.

I cannot avoid beholding the Ruſſian empire as the natural enemy of the more weſtern parts of [95] Europe; as an enemy already poſſeſſed of great ſtrength, and, from the nature of the government, every day threatening to become more powerful. This extenſive empire, which, both in Europe and Aſia, occupies almoſt a third of the old world, was, about two centuries ago, divided into ſeparate kingdoms and dukedoms, and from ſuch a diviſion conſequently feeble. Since the times, however, of Johan Baſilides, it has encreaſed in ſtrength and extent; and thoſe untrodden foreſts, thoſe innumerable ſavage animals which formerly covered the face of the country, are now removed, and colonies of mankind planted in their room. A kingdom thus enjoying peace internally, poſſeſſed of an unbounded extent of dominion, and learning the military art at the expence of others abroad, muſt every day grow more powerful; and it is probable, we ſhall hear Ruſſia, in future times, as formerly, called the Officina Gentium.

It was long the wiſh of Peter, their great mo⯑narch, to have a fort in ſome of the weſtern parts of Europe; many of his ſchemes and treaties were directed to this end, but happily for Europe he failed in them all. A fort in the power of this people would be like the poſſeſſion of a flood-gate; and whenever ambition, intereſt, or neceſſity prompt⯑ed, they might then be able to deluge the whole weſtern world with a barbarous inundation.

Believe me, my friend, I cannot ſufficiently con⯑temn the politics of Europe, who thus make this powerful people arbitrators in their quarrel. The Ruſſians are now at that period between re⯑finement and barbarity, which ſeems moſt adapted to military atchievement; and if once they happen [96] to get footing in the weſtern parts of Europe, it is not the feeble efforts of the ſons of effeminacy and diſſention, that can ſerve to remove them. The fertile valley and ſoft climate will ever be ſuf⯑ficient inducements to draw whole myriads from their native deſarts, the trackleſs wild, or ſnowy mountain.

Hiſtory, experience, reaſon, nature, expand the book of wiſdom before the eyes of mankind, but they will not read. We have ſeen with terror a winged phalanx of famiſhed locuſts each ſingly contemptible, but from multitude become hideous, cover, like clouds, the face of day, and threaten the whole world with ruin. We have ſeen them ſettling on the fertile plains of India and Egypt, deſtroying in an inſtant the labours and the hopes of nations; ſparing neither the fruit of the earth nor the verdure of the fields, and changing into a frightful deſert landſcapes of once luxuriant beau⯑ty. We have ſeen myriads of ants iſſuing together from the ſouthern deſert, like a torrent whoſe ſource was inexhauſtible, ſucceeding each other without end, and renewing their deſtroyed forces, with unwearied perſeverance, bringing deſola⯑tion wherever they came, baniſhing men and ani⯑mals, and, when deſtitute of all ſubſiſtence, in heaps infecting the wilderneſs which they had made! Like theſe have been the migrations of men. When as yet ſavage, and almoſt reſembling their brute partners in the foreſt, ſubject like them only to the inſtincts of nature, and directed by hunger alone in the choice of an abode, how have we ſeen whole armies ſtarting wild at once from their foreſts and their dens; Goths, Huns, Van⯑dals, Saracens, Turks, Tartars, myriads of men, [97] animals in human form, without country, without name, without laws, out-powering by numbers all oppoſition, ravaging cities, overturning empires. and, after having deſtroyed whole nations, and ſpread extenſive deſolation, how have we ſeen them ſink oppreſſed by ſome new enemy, more barba⯑rous and even more unknown than they!

Adieu.

LETTER LXXXV. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy, at Pekin, in China.

AS the inſtruction of the fair ſex in this country is entirely committed to the care of foreigners, as their language-maſters, muſic-maſters, hair-friz⯑zers, and governeſſes, are all from abroad, I had ſome intentions of opening a female academy my⯑ſelf, and made no doubt, as I was quite a foreign⯑er, of meeting a favourable reception.

In this I intended to inſtruct the ladies in all the conjugal myſteries; wives ſhould be taught the art of managing huſbands, and maids the ſkill of pro⯑perly chuſing them; I would teach a wife how far ſhe might venture to be ſick without giving diſguſt, ſhe ſhould be acquainted with the great benefits of the cholic in the ſtomach, and all the thorough-bred inſolence of faſhion; maids ſhould learn the ſecret of nicely diſtinguiſhing every com⯑petitor; they ſhould be able to know the differ⯑ence between a pedant and a ſcholar, a citizen and a prig, a ſquire and his horſe, a beau and his [98] monkey; but chiefly they ſhould be taught the art of managing their ſmiles, from the contemptuous ſimper to the long laborious laugh.

But I have diſcontinued the project; for what would ſignify teaching ladies the manner of go⯑verning or chuſing huſbands, when marriage is at preſent ſo much out of faſhion, that a lady is very well off, who can get any huſband at all. Celi⯑bacy now prevails in every rank of life, the ſtreets are crouded with old bachelors, and the houſes with ladies who have refuſed good offers, and are never likely to receive any for the future.

The only advice, therefore, I could give the fair ſex, as things ſtand at preſent, is to get huſbands as faſt as they can. There is certainly nothing in the whole creation, not even Babylon in ruins, more truly deplorable than a lady in the virgin bloom of ſixty-three, or a battered unmarried beau, who ſquibs about from place to place, ſhewing his pig-tail wig and his ears. The one appears to my imagination in the form of a double night⯑cap, or a roll of pomatum, the other in the ſhape of an electuary, or a box of pills.

I would once more therefore adviſe the ladies to get huſbands. I would deſire them not to diſcard an old lover without very ſufficient reaſons, nor treat the new with ill-nature till they know him falſe; let not prudes alledge the falſeneſs of the ſex, coquets the pleaſures of long courtſhip, or parents, the neceſſary preliminaries of penny for penny. I have reaſons that would ſilence even a caſuiſt in this particular. In the firſt place, therefore, I divide the ſubject into fifteen heads, [99] and then ſic argumentor—but not to give you and myſelf the ſpleen, be contented at preſent with an Indian tale.

In a winding of the river Amidar, juſt before it falls into the Caſpian ſea, there lies an iſland un⯑frequented by the inhabitants of the Continent. In this ſecluſion, bleſt with all that wild unculti⯑vated nature could beſtow, lived a princeſs and her two daughters. She had been wrecked upon the coaſt while her children as yet were infants, who of conſequence, though grown up, were entirely unacquainted with man. Yet, unexperienced as the young ladies were in the oppoſite ſex, both early diſcovered ſymptoms, the one of prudery, the other of being a coquet. The eldeſt was ever learning maxims of wiſdom and diſcretion from her mamma, while the youngeſt employed all her hours in gazing at her own face in a neighbouring fountain.

Their uſual amuſement in this ſolitude was fiſh⯑ing: Their mother had taught them all the ſecrets of the art; ſhe ſhewed them which were the moſt likely places to throw out the line, what baits were moſt proper for the various ſeaſons, and the beſt manner to draw up the finny prey, when they had hooked it. In this manner they ſpent their time, eaſy and innocent, till one day, the Princeſs being indiſpoſed, deſired them to go and catch her a ſturgeon or a ſhark for ſupper, which ſhe fancied might ſit eaſy on her ſtomach. The daugh⯑ters obeyed, and clapping on a gold fiſh, the uſual bait, on thoſe occaſions, went and ſat upon one of the rocks, letting the gilded hook glide down with the ſtream.

[100]On the oppoſite ſhore, farther down, at the mouth of the river, lived a diver for pearls; a youth, who, by long habit in his trade, was al⯑moſt grown amphibious; ſo that he could remain whole hours at the bottom of the water, without ever fetching breath. He happened to be at that very inſtant diving when the ladies were fiſhing with the gilded hook. Seeing therefore the bait, which to him had the appearance of real gold, he was reſolved to ſeize the prize, but both his hands being already filled with pearl oyſters, he found himſelf obliged to ſnap at it with his mouth: The conſequence is eaſily imagined; the hook, before unperceived, was inſtantly faſtened in his jaw, nor could he, with all his efforts, or his floundering, get free.

"Siſter, cries the youngeſt Princeſs, I have cer⯑tainly caught a monſtrous fiſh; I never perceived any thing ſtruggle ſo at the end of my line before; come, and help me to draw it in." They both now therefore aſſiſted in fiſhing up the Diver on ſhore; but nothing could equal their ſurprize upon ſeeing him. "Bleſs my eyes, cries the prude, what have we got here; this is a very odd fiſh to be ſure; I never ſaw any thing in my life look ſo queer; what eyes, what terrible claws, what a monſtrous ſnout; I have read of this monſter ſomewhere before, it certainly muſt be a Tanlang that eats women; let us throw it back into the ſea where we found it.

The Diver in the mean time ſtood upon the beach, at the end of the line, with the hook in his mouth, uſing every art that he thought could beſt excite pity, and particularly looking extremely ten⯑der, which is uſual in ſuch circumſtances. The [101] coquet therefore, in ſome meaſure influenced by the innocence of his looks, ventured to contradict her companion. "Upon my word, ſiſter, ſays ſhe, I ſee nothing in the animal ſo very terrible as you are pleaſed to apprehend; I think it may ſerve well enough for a change. Always ſharks, and ſturgeons, and lobſters, and crawfiſh, make me quite ſick. I fancy a ſlice of this nicely grilladed, and dreſſed up with ſhrimp ſauce, would be very pretty eating. I fancy mamma would like a bit with pickles above all things in the world; and if it ſhould not ſit eaſy on her ſtomach, it will be time enough to diſcontinue it when found diſagreeable, you know." "Horrid, cries the prude, would the girl be poiſoned; I tell you it is a Tanlang; I have read of it in twenty places. It is every where de⯑ſcribed as the moſt pernicious animal that ever in⯑feſted the ocean. I am certain it is the moſt inſidi⯑ous, ravenous creature in the world; and is certain deſtruction if taken internally." The youngeſt ſiſter was now therefore obliged to ſubmit: both aſſiſted in drawing the hook with ſome violence from the Diver's jaw; and he finding himſelf at liberty, bent his breaſt againſt the broad wave and diſap⯑peared in an inſtant.

Juſt at this juncture the mother came down to the beach, to know the cauſe of her daughter's delay; they told her every circumſtance, deſcrib⯑ing the monſter they had caught. The old lady was one of the moſt diſcreet women in the world; ſhe was called the black-eyed Princeſs, from two black eyes ſhe had received in her youth, being a little addicted to boxing in her liquor. "Alas, my children, cries ſhe, what have you done? the fiſh you caught was a man-fiſh; one of the moſt [102] tame domeſtic animals in the world. We could have let him run and play about the garden, and he would have been twenty times more entertain⯑ing than our ſquirrel or monkey. If that be all, ſays the young coquet, we will fiſh for him again. If that be all, I'll hold three tooth-picks to one pound of ſnuff, I catch him whenever I pleaſe." Accordingly they threw in their line once more, but, with all their gilding, and padling, and aſſiduity, they could never after catch the Diver. In this ſtate of ſolitude and diſappointment they continued for many years, ſtill fiſhing, but without ſucceſs; till, at laſt, the genius of the place, in pity to their diſtreſſes, changed the prude into a ſhrimp, and the coquet into an oyſter.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXXVI. From the ſame.

I AM amuſed, my dear Fum, with the labours of ſome of the learned here. One ſhall write you a whole folio on the direction of a caterpillar. Another ſhall ſwell his works with a deſcription of the plumage on the wing of a butterfly; a third ſhall ſee a little world on a peach leaf, and publiſh a book to deſcribe what his readers might ſee more clearly in two minutes, only by being fur⯑niſhed with eyes and a microſcope.

I have frequently compared the underſtandings of ſuch men to their own glaſſes. Their field of viſion is too contracted to take in the whole of any [103] but minute objects; they view all nature bit by bit; now the proboſcis, now the antennae, now the pinnae of—a flea. Now the polypus comes to breakfaſt upon a worm; now it is kept up to ſee how long it will live without eating; now it is turned inſide outward; and now it ſickens and dies. Thus they proceed, laborious in trifles, conſtant in experiment, without one ſingle abſtrac⯑tion, by which alone knowledge may be properly ſaid to encreaſe; till, at laſt, their ideas, ever em⯑ployed upon minute things, contract to the ſize of the diminutive object, and a ſingle mite ſhall fill their whole mind's capacity.

Yet believe me, my friend, ridiculous as theſe men are to the world, they are ſet up as objects of eſteem for each other. They have particular places appointed for their meetings; in which one ſhews his cockle-ſhell, and is praiſed by all the ſo⯑ciety; another produces his powder, makes ſome experiments that reſult in nothing, and comes off with admiration and applauſe; a third comes out with the important diſcovery of ſome new proceſs in the ſkeleton of a mole, and is ſet down as the accurate and ſenſible; while one ſtill more fortu⯑nate than the reſt, by pickling, potting, and pre⯑ſerving monſters, riſes into unbounded reputation.

The labours of ſuch men, inſtead of being cal⯑culated to amuſe the public, are laid out only in diverting each other. The world becomes very little the better or the wiſer, for knowing what is the peculiar food of an inſect that is itſelf the food of another, which in its turn is eaten by a third; but there are men who have ſtudied themſelves into an habit of inveſtigating and admiring ſuch minutiae. To theſe ſuch ſubjects are pleaſing, as [104] there are ſome who contentedly ſpend whole days in endeavouring to ſolve aenigmas, or diſentangle the puzzling ſticks of children.

But of all the learned, thoſe who pretend to in⯑veſtigate remote antiquity, have leaſt to plead in their own defence, when they carry this paſſion to a faulty exceſs. They are generally found to ſup⯑ply by conjecture the want of record, and then by perſeverance are wrought up into a confidence of the truth of opinions, which even to themſelves at firſt appeared founded only in imagination.

The Europeans have heard much of the king⯑dom of China: its politeneſs, arts, commerce, laws, and morals, are, however, but very imper⯑fectly known among them. They have even now in their Indian warehouſe numberleſs utenſils, plants, minerals, and machines, of the uſe of which they are intirely ignorant; nor can any among them even make a probable gueſs for what they might have been deſigned. Yet though this people be ſo ignorant of the preſent real ſtate of China, the philoſophers I am deſcrib⯑ing have entered into long, learned, laborious diſ⯑putes about what China was two thouſand years ago. China and European happineſs are but little connected even at this day; but European happi⯑neſs and China two thouſand years ago have cer⯑tainly no connection at all. However, the learn⯑ed have written on and purſued the ſubject thro' all the labyrinths of antiquity; though the early dews and the tainted gale be paſſed away, though no footſteps remain to direct the doubtful chace, yet ſtill they run forward, open upon the uncertain ſcent, and though in fact they follow nothing, are earneſt in the purſuit. In this chace however they [105] all take different ways. One, for example, confi⯑dently aſſures us, that China was peopled by a co⯑lony from Egypt. Seſoſtris, he obſerves, led his army as far as the Ganges; therefore, if he went ſo far, he might ſtill have gone as far as China, which is but about a thouſand miles from thence; therefore he did go to China; therefore China was not peopled before he went there; therefore it was peopled by him. Beſides, the Egyptians have py⯑ramids; the Chineſe have in like manner their por⯑celaine tower; the Egyptians uſed to light up can⯑dles upon every rejoicing, the Chineſe have lant⯑horns upon the ſame occaſion; the Egyptians had their great river, ſo have the Chineſe; but what ſerves to put the matter paſt a doubt is, that the antient Kings of China and thoſe of Egypt were called by the ſame names. The Emperor Ki is certainly the ſame with King Atoes; for, if we only change K into A, and i into toes, we ſhall have the name Atoes; and with equal eaſe Menes may be proved to be the ſame with the Emperor Yu; therefore the Chineſe are a colony from Egypt.

But another of the learned is entirely different from the laſt; and he will have the Chineſe to be a colony planted by Noah juſt after the deluge. Firſt, from the vaſt ſimilitude there is between the name of Fohi, the founder of the Chineſe monarchy, and that of Noah, the preſerver of the human race: Noah, Fohi, very like each other truly; they have each but four letters, and only two of the four happen to differ. But to ſtrengthen the argu⯑ment, Fohi, as the Chineſe chronicle aſſerts, had no father. Noah, it is true, had a father, as the European Bible tells us; but then, as this father was probably drowned in the flood, it is juſt the [106] ſame as if he had no father at all; therefore Noah and Fohi are the ſame, Juſt after the flood, the earth was covered with mud; if it was covered with mud, it muſt have been incruſtated mud; if it was incruſtated, it was cloathed with ver⯑dure; this was a fine, unembarraſſed road for Noah to fly from his wicked children; he there⯑fore did fly from them, and took a journey of two thouſand miles for his own amuſement; therefore Noah and Fohi are the ſame.

Another ſect of literati, for they all paſs among the vulgar for very great ſcholars, aſſert, that the Chineſe came neither from the colony of Se⯑ſoſtris, nor from Noah, but are deſcended from Magog, Meſhec and Tubal, and therefore neither Seſoſtris, nor Noah, nor Fohi are the ſame.

It is thus, my friend, that indolence aſſumes the airs of wiſdom, and while it toſſes the cup and ball with infantine folly, deſires the world to look on, and calls the ſtupid paſtime, philoſo⯑phy and learning. Adieu.

LETTER LXXXVII. From the ſame.

WHEN the men of this country are once turned of thirty, they regularly retire every year at proper intervals to lie in of the ſpleen. The vulgar, unfurniſhed with the luxurious comforts of the ſoft cuſſion, down bed, and eaſy chair, are obliged when the fit is on them, to nurſe it up by drinking, idleneſs and ill-humour. In ſuch [107] diſpoſitions, unhappy is the foreigner who hap⯑pens to croſs them; his long chin, tarniſhed coat, or pinched hat, are ſure to receive no quar⯑ter. If they meet no foreigner however to fight with, they are in ſuch caſes generally content with beating each other.

The rich, as they have more ſenſibility, are operated upon with greater violence by this diſ⯑order. Different from the poor, inſtead of becom⯑ing more inſolent, they grow totally unfit for op⯑poſition. A general here, who would have faced a culverin when well, if the fit be on him, ſhall hardly find courage to ſnuff a candle. An ad⯑miral, who could have oppoſed a broadſide with⯑out ſhrinking, ſhall ſit whole days in his cham⯑ber, mobbed up in double night-caps, ſhuddering at the intruſive breeze, and diſtinguiſhable from his wife only by his black beard and heavy eye⯑brows.

In the country this diſorder moſtly attacks the fair ſex, in town it is moſt unfavourable to the men. A lady, who has pined whole years amidſt cooing doves, and complaining nightingales in rural re⯑tirement, ſhall reſume all her vivacity in one night at a city gaming-table; her huſband who roar'd, hunted, and got drunk at home, ſhall grow ſplenetic in town in proportion to his wife's good humour. Upon their arrival in London, they exchange their diſorders. In conſequence of her parties and excurſions, he puts on the furred cap and ſcarlet ſtomacher, and perfectly reſembles an Indian huſband, who when his wife is ſafely delivered, permits her to tranſact buſineſs abroad, while he undergoes all the formality of keeping his bed, and receiving all the condolence in her place.

[108]But thoſe who reſide conſtantly in town, owe this diſorder moſtly to the influence of the wea⯑ther. It is impoſſible to deſcribe what a variety of tranſmutations an eaſt wind ſhall produce; it has been known to change a Lady of faſhion into a parlour couch; an Alderman into a plate of cuſ⯑tards, and a diſpenſer of juſtice into a rat trap. Even Philoſophers themſelves are not exempt from its influence; it has often converted a Poet into a coral and bells, and a patriot Senator into a dumb waiter.

Some days ago I went to viſit the man in black, and entered his houſe with that chearfulneſs, which the certainty of a favourable reception al⯑ways inſpires. Upon opening the door of his apartment, I found him with the moſt rueful face imaginable in a morning gown and flannel night⯑cap, earneſtly employed in learning to blow the German flute. Struck with the abſurdity of a man in the decline of life, thus blowing away all his conſtitution and ſpirits, even without the con⯑ſolation of being muſical; I ventured to aſk what could induce him to attempt learning ſo difficult an inſtrument ſo late in life. To this he made no reply, but groaning, and ſtill holding the flute to his lip, continued to gaze at me for ſome mo⯑ments very angrily, and then proceeded to prac⯑tiſe his gammut as before. After having produced a variety of the moſt hideous tones in nature; at laſt turning to me, he demanded, whether I did not think he had made a ſurprizing progreſs in two days? You ſee, continues he, I have got the Ambuſheer already, and as for fingering, my maſter tells me, I ſhall have that in a few leſſons more. I was ſo much aſtoniſhed with this inſtance of inverted ambition, that I know not what to re⯑ply, [109] but ſoon diſcerned the cauſe of all his ab⯑ſurdities; my friend was under a metamorphoſis by the power of ſpleen, and flute-blowing was unluckily become his adventitious paſſion.

In order therefore to baniſh his anxiety imper⯑ceptibly, by ſeeming to indulge it, I began to deſ⯑cant on thoſe gloomy topics by which Philoſophers often get rid of their own ſpleen, by communi⯑cating it; the wretchedneſs of a man in this life, the happineſs of ſome wrought out of the miſeries of others, the neceſſity that wretches ſhould ex⯑pire under puniſhment, that rogues might enjoy affluence in tranquility; I led him on from the inhumanity of the rich to the ingratitude of the beggar; from the inſincerity of refinement to the fierceneſs of ruſticity; and at laſt had the good fortune to reſtore him to his uſual ſerenity of temper, by permitting him to expatiate upon all the modes of human miſery.

'Some nights ago, ſays my friend, ſitting alone by my fire, I happened to look into an account of the detection of a ſet of men called the thief-takers. I read over the many hideous cruelties of thoſe haters of mankind, of their pretended friendſhip to wretches they meant to betray, of their ſending men out to rob and then hanging them. I could not avoid ſometimes interrupting the nar⯑rative by crying out, Yet theſe are men! As I went on, I was informed that they had lived by this prac⯑tice ſeveral years, and had been enriched by the price of blood, and yet, cried I, I have been ſent into this world, and am deſired to call theſe men my bro⯑th [...]rs! I read that the very man who led the con⯑demned wretch to the gallows, was he who falſely ſwore his life away; and yet, continued I, that perjurer had [110] juſt ſuch a noſe, ſuch lips, ſuch hands and ſuch eyes as Newton. I at laſt came to the account of the wretch that was ſearched after robbing one of the thief-takers of half a crown. Thoſe of the confederacy knew that he had got but that ſingle half crown in the world; after a long ſearch therefore, which they knew would be fruitleſs, and taking from him the half crown, which they knew was all he had, one of the gang compaſ⯑ſionately cried out, Alas, poor a creature let him keep all the reſt he has got, it will do him ſervice in Newgate, where we are ſending him. This was an inſtance of ſuch complicated guilt and hypo⯑criſy, that I threw down the book in an agony of rage, and began to think with malice of all the hu⯑man kind. I ſat ſilent for ſome minutes, and ſoon perceiving the ticking of my watch begin⯑ning to grow noiſy and troubleſome, I quickly placed it out of hearing, and ſtrove to reſume my ſerenity. But the watch-man ſoon gave me a ſecond alarm. I had ſcarcely recovered from this, when my peace was aſſaulted by the wind at my window; and when that ceaſed to blow, I liſtened for death-watches in the wainſcot. I now found my whole ſyſtem diſcompoſed, I ſtrove to find a reſource in philoſophy and reaſon; but what could I oppoſe, or where direct my blow, when I could ſee no enemy to combat. I ſaw no miſery approaching, nor knew any I had to fear, yet ſtill I was miſerable. Morning came, I ſought for tranquility in diſſipation, ſauntered from one place of public reſort to another, but found my⯑ſelf diſagreeable to my acquaintance, and ridi⯑culous to others. I tried at different times dan⯑cing, fencing, and riding, I ſolved geometrical problems, ſhaped tobacco-ſtoppers, wrote verſes and cut paper. At laſt I placed my affections [111] on muſic, and find, that earneſt employment if cannot cure, at leaſt will palliate every anxiety.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXXVIII. From the ſame.

IT is no unpleaſing contemplation to conſider the influence which ſoil and climate have upon the diſpoſition of the inhabitants, the animals and vegetables of different countries. That among the brute creation is much more viſible than in man, and that in vegetables more than either. In ſome places thoſe plants which are entirely poiſon⯑ous at home loſe their deleterious quality by be⯑ing carried abroad; there are ſerpents in Ma⯑cedonia ſo harmleſs as to be uſed as play-things for children, and we are told that in ſome parts of Fez there are lions ſo very timorous as to be ſcared away, though coming in herds, by the cries of women.

I know of no country where the influence of cli⯑mate and ſoil is more viſible than in England; the ſame hidden cauſe which gives courage to their dogs and cocks, gives alſo fierceneſs to their men. But chiefly this ferocity appears among the vul⯑gar. The polite of every country pretty nearly reſemble each other. But as in ſimpleing, it is among the uncultivated productions of nature, we are to examine the characteriſtic differences of climate and ſoil, ſo in an eſtimate of the genius of the people, we muſt look among the ſons of unpoliſhed ruſticity. The vulgar Engliſh there⯑fore may be eaſily diſtinguiſhed from all the reſt [112] of the world, by ſuperior pride, impatience, and a peculiar hardineſs of ſoul.

Perhaps no qualities in the world are more ſuſ⯑ceptible of a fine poliſh than theſe; artificial com⯑plaiſance and eaſy deference being ſuperinduced over theſe, generally forms a great character; ſome⯑thing at once elegant and majeſtic, affable yet ſin⯑cere. Such in general are the better ſort; but they who are left in primitive rudeneſs are the leaſt diſpoſed for ſociety with others, or comfort inter⯑nally, of any people under the ſun.

The poor indeed of every country are but little prone to treat each other with tenderneſs; their own miſeries are too apt to engroſs all their pity; and perhaps too they give but little commiſeration, as they find but little from others. But, in Eng⯑land, the poor treat each other upon every occaſion with more than ſavage animoſity, and as if they were in a ſtate of open war by nature. In China, if two porters ſhould meet in a narrow ſtreet, they would lay down their burthens, make a thouſand excuſes to each other for the accidental interrup⯑tion, and beg pardon on their knees; if two men of the ſame occupation ſhould meet here, they would firſt begin to ſcold, and at laſt to beat each other. One would think they had miſeries enough reſulting from penury and labour not to encreaſe them by ill-nature among themſelves, and ſubjec⯑tion to new penalties, but ſuch conſiderations never weigh with them.

But to recompence this ſtrange abſurdity they are in the main generous, brave, and enterpriſing. They feel the ſlighteſt injuries with a degree of ungoverned impatience, but reſiſt the greateſt ca⯑lamities with ſurprizing fortitude. Thoſe miſeries [113] under which any other people in the world would ſink, they have often ſhewed they were capable of enduring; if accidentally caſt upon ſome deſolate coaſt, their perſeverance is beyond what any other nation is capable of ſuſtaining; if impriſoned for crimes, their efforts to eſcape are greater than among others. The peculiar ſtrength of their priſons, when compared to thoſe elſewhere, argues their hardineſs; even the ſtrongeſt priſons I have ever ſeen in other countries would be very inſufficient to confine the untameable ſpirit of an Engliſhman. In ſhort, what man dares do in circumſtances of danger, an Engliſhman will. His virtues ſeem to ſleep in the calm, and are called out only to com⯑bat the kindred ſtorm.

But the greateſt eulogy of this people is the generoſity of their miſcreants; the tenderneſs in general of their robbers and highwaymen. Per⯑haps no people can produce inſtances of the ſame kind, where the deſperate mix pity with injuſ⯑tice; ſtill ſhew that they underſtand a diſtinction in crimes, and even, in acts of violence, have ſtill ſome tincture of remaining virtue. In every other country robbery and murder go almoſt always to⯑gether; here it ſeldom happens, except upon ill-judged reſiſtance or purſuit. The banditti of other countries are unmerciful to a ſupreme de⯑gree; the highwayman and robber here are gene⯑rous at leaſt to the public, and pretend even to virtues in their intercourſe among each other. Taking therefore my opinion of the Engliſh from the virtues and vices practiſed among the vulgar, they at once preſent to a ſtranger all their faults, and keep their virtues up only for the enquiring eye of a philoſopher.

[114]Foreigners are generally ſhocked at their inſo⯑lence upon firſt coming among them; they find themſelves ridiculed and inſulted in every ſtreet; they meet with none of thoſe trifling civilities, ſo frequent elſewhere, which are inſtances of mutual good-will without previous acquaintance; they travel through the country either too ignorant or too obſtinate to cultivate a cloſer acquaintance, meet every moment ſomething to excite their diſ⯑guſt, and return home to characteriſe this as the region of ſpleen, inſolence, and ill-nature. In ſhort, England would be the laſt place in the world I would travel to by way of amuſement; but the firſt for inſtruction. I would chuſe to have others for my acquaintance, but Engliſhmen for my friends.

LETTER LXXXIX. To the ſame.

THE mind is ever ingenious in making its own diſtreſs. The wandering beggar, who has none to protect, to feed, or to ſhelter him, fan⯑cies complete happineſs in labour and a full meal; take him from rags and want, feed, cloath, and employ him, his wiſhes now riſe one ſtep above his ſtation; he could be happy were he poſſeſſed of raiment, food, and eaſe. Suppoſe his wiſhes gratified even in theſe, his proſpects widen as he aſcends; he finds himſelf in affluence and tranquil⯑lity indeed, but indolence ſoon breeds anxiety, and he deſires not only to be freed from pain, but to be poſſeſſed of pleaſure; pleaſure is granted him, and this but opens his ſoul to ambition, and [115] ambition will be ſure to taint his future happineſs, either with jealouſy, diſappointment, or fatigue.

But of all the arts of diſtreſs found out by man for his own torment, perhaps, that of philoſophic miſery is moſt truly ridiculous, a paſſion no where carried to ſo extravagant an exceſs as in the coun⯑try where I now reſide. It is not enough to en⯑gage all the compaſſion of a philoſopher here, that his own globe is haraſſed with wars, peſtilence, or barbarity, he ſhall grieve for the inhabitants of the moon, if the ſituation of her imaginary moun⯑tains happens to alter; and dread the extinction of the ſun, if the ſpots on his ſurface happen to en⯑creaſe: one ſhould imagine, that philoſophy was introduced to make men happy; but here it ſerves to make hundreds miſerable.

My landlady ſome days ago brought me the di⯑ary of a philoſopher of this deſponding ſort, who had lodged in the apartment before me. It con⯑tains the hiſtory of a life, which ſeems to be one continued tiſſue of ſorrow, apprehenſion, and diſ⯑treſs. A ſingle week will ſerve as a ſpecimen of the whole.

Monday. In what a tranſient decaying ſituation are we placed, and what various reaſons does phi⯑loſophy furniſh to make mankind unhappy A ſin⯑gle grain of muſtard ſhall continue to produce its ſimilitude through numberleſs ſucceſſions; yet what has been granted to this little ſeed has been denied to our planetary ſyſtem; the muſ⯑tard-ſeed is ſtill unaltered, but the ſyſtem is grow⯑ing old, and muſt quickly fall to decay. How terrible will it be, when the motions of all the [116] planets have at laſt become ſo irregular as to need repairing, when the moon ſhall fall into frightful paroxyſms of alteration, when the earth, deviating from its ancient track, and with every other pla⯑net forgetting its circular revolutions, ſhall be⯑come ſo eccentric, that unconfined by the laws of ſyſtem, it ſhall fly off into boundleſs ſpace, to knock againſt ſome diſtant world, or fall in upon the ſun, either extinguiſhing his light, or burned up by his flames in a moment. Perhaps while I write, this dreadful change is begun. Shield me from univerſal ruin! Yet ideot man laughs, ſings, and rejoices in the very face of the ſun, and ſeems no way touched with his ſituation.

Tueſday. Went to bed in great diſtreſs, awaked and was comforted, by conſidering that this change was to happen at ſome indefinite time, and therefore, like death, the thoughts of it might eaſily be borne. But there is a revolution, a fixed determined revolution, which muſt cer⯑tainly come to paſs; yet which, by good fortune, I ſhall never feel, except in my poſterity. The obliquity of the equator with the ecliptic is now twenty minutes leſs than when it was obſerved two thouſand years ago by Piteas. If this be the caſe, in ſix thouſand the obliquity will be ſtill leſs by an whole degree. This being ſuppoſed, it is evident, that our earth, as Louville has clearly proved, has a motion, by which the climates muſt neceſſarily change place, and, in the ſpace of about one mil⯑lion of years, England ſhall actually travel to the Antarctic pole. I ſhudder at the change! How ſhall our unhappy grandchildren endure the hide⯑ous climate! A million of years will ſoon be ac⯑compliſhed; they are but a moment when com⯑pared [117] to eternity; then ſhall our charming coun⯑try, as I may ſay, in a moment of time, reſemble the hideous wilderneſs of Nova Zembla.

Wedneſday. To night, by my calculation, the long predicted comet is to make its firſt appear⯑ance. Heavens, what terrors are impending over our little dim ſpeck of earth! Dreadful viſitation! Are we to be ſcorched in its fires, or only ſmo⯑thered in the vapour of its tail? That is the queſ⯑tion! Thoughtleſs mortals, go build houſes, plant orchards, purchaſe eſtates, for to-morrow you die. But what if the comet ſhould not come? That would be equally fatal. Comets are ſervants which periodically return to ſupply the ſun with fuel. If our ſun therefore ſhould be diſappointed of the expected ſupply, and all his fuel be in the mean time burnt out, he muſt expire like an exhauſted taper. What a miſerable ſituation muſt our earth be in without his enlivening ray? Have we not ſeen ſeveral neighbouring ſuns entirely diſappear? Has not a fixed ſtar, near the tail of the Ram, late⯑ly been quite extinguiſhed?

Thurſday. The comet has not yet appeared; I am ſorry for it: firſt, ſorry becauſe my calcula⯑tion is falſe; ſecondly, ſorry leſt the ſun ſhould want fuel; thirdly, ſorry leſt the wits ſhould laugh at our erroneous predictions; and fourthly, ſorry becauſe if it appears to night, it muſt neceſſarily come within the ſphere of the earth's attraction; and heaven help the unhappy country on which it happens to fall.

Friday. Our whole ſociety have been out all eager in ſearch of the comet. We have ſeen not leſs [118] than ſixteen comets in different parts of the heavens. However, we are unanimouſly reſolved to fix upon one only to be the comet expected. That near Virgo wants nothing but a tail to fit it out com⯑pletely for terreſtrial admiration.

Saturday. The moon is I find at her old pranks. Her appulſes, librations, and other irregularities, indeed amaze me. My daughter too is this morn⯑ing gone off with a grenadier. No way ſurpriz⯑ing. I was never able to give her a reliſh for wiſ⯑dom. She ever promiſed to be a mere expletive in the creation. But the moon, the moon gives me real uneaſineſs; I fondly fancied I had fixed her. I had thought her conſtant, and conſtant only to me; but every night diſcovers her infidelity, and proves me a deſolate and abandoned lover.

Adieu.

LETTER XC. To the ſame.

IT is ſurprizing what an influence titles ſhall have upon the mind, even though theſe titles be of our own making. Like children we dreſs up the puppets in finery, and then ſtand in aſtoniſh⯑ment at the plaſtic wonder. I have been told of a rat catcher here, who ſtrolled for a long time about the villages near town, without finding any employment; at laſt, however, he thought proper to take the title of his Majeſty's Rat catcher in or⯑dinary, and this ſucceeded beyond his expecta⯑tions; when it was known that he caught rats at [119] court, all were ready to give him countenance and employment.

But of all the people, they who make books ſeem moſt perfectly ſenſible of the advantage of ti⯑tular dignity. All ſeem convinced, that a book written by vulgar hands, can neither inſtruct nor improve; none but Kings, Chams, and Manda⯑rines, can write with any probability of ſucceſs. If the titles inform me right, not only Kings and Courtiers, but Emperors themſelves in this coun⯑try, periodically ſupply the preſs.

A man here who ſhould write, and honeſtly confeſs that he wrote for bread, might as well ſend his manuſcript to fire the baker's oven; not one creature will read him; all muſt be court-bred poets, or pretend at leaſt to be court-bred, who can expect to pleaſe. Should the caitiff fairly avow a deſign of emptying our pockets and filling his own, every reader would inſtantly forſake him; even thoſe, who write for bread themſelves, would combine to worry him, perfectly ſenſible, that his attempts only ſerved to take the bread out of their mouths.

And yet this ſilly prepoſſeſſion the more amazes me, when I conſider, that almoſt all the excellent productions in wit that have appeared here, were purely the offspring of neceſſity; their Drydens, Butlers, Otways, and Farquhars, were all writers for bread. Believe me, my friend, hunger has a moſt amazing faculty of ſharpening the genius; and he who with a full belly, can think like a hero, after a courſe of faſting, ſhall riſe to the ſublimity of a demi-god.

[120]But what will moſt amaze, is, that this very ſet of men, who are now ſo much depreciated by fools, are however the very beſt writers they have among them at preſent. For my own part, were I to buy an hat, I would not have it from a ſtock⯑ing-maker, but an hatter; were I to buy ſhoes, I ſhould not go to the taylor's for that purpoſe. It is juſt ſo with regard to wit: did I, for my life, deſire to be well ſerved, I would apply only to thoſe who made it their trade, and lived by it. You ſmile at the oddity of my opinion; but be aſ⯑ſured, my friend, that wit is in ſome meaſure me⯑chanical: and that a man long habituated to catch at even its reſemblance, will at laſt be happy enough to poſſeſs the ſubſtance: by a long habit of writing he acquires a juſtneſs of thinking, and a maſtery of manner, which holiday-writers, even with ten times his genius, may vainly attempt to equal.

How then are they deceived, who expect from title, dignity, and exterior circumſtance, an excel⯑lence, which is in ſome meaſure acquired by habit, and ſharpened by neceſſity; you have ſeen, like me, many literary reputations promoted by the influ⯑ence of faſhion, which have ſcarce ſurvived the poſſeſſor; you have ſeen the poor hardly earn the little reputation they acquired, and their merit only acknowledged when they were incapable of enjoying the pleaſures of popularity; ſuch, how⯑ever, is the reputation worth poſſeſſing, that which is hardly earned is hardly loſt.

Adieu.

LETTER XCI. From Hingpo in Moſcow, to Lien Chi Altangi in London.

WHERE will my diſappointments end? Muſt I ſtill be doomed to accuſe the ſeverity of my fortune, and ſhew my conſtancy in diſtreſs ra⯑ther than moderation in proſperity? I had at leaſt hopes of conveying my charming companion ſafe from the reach of every enemy, and of again re⯑ſtoring her to her native ſoil. But thoſe hopes are now no more.

Upon leaving Terki, we took the neareſt road to the dominions of Ruſſia. We paſſed the Ural mountains covered in eternal ſnow, and traverſed the foreſts of Ufa, where the prowling bear and ſhrieking hyena keep an undiſputed poſſeſſion. We next embarked upon the rapid river Bulija, and made the beſt of our way to the banks of the Wolga, where it waters the fruitful valleys of Ca⯑ſan.

There were two veſſels in company properly equipped and armed in order to oppoſe the Wolga pyrates, who we were informed infeſted this river. Of all mankind theſe pyrates are the moſt terrible. They are compoſed of the criminals and outlawed peaſants of Ruſſia, who fly to the foreſts that lie along the banks of the Wolga for protection. Here they join in parties, lead a ſavage life, and have no other ſubſiſtence but plunder. Being deprived of houſes, friends, or a fixed habitation, they be⯑come more terrible even than the tyger, and as in⯑ſenſible [122] to all the feelings of humanity. They nei⯑ther give quarter to thoſe they conquer, nor re⯑ceive it when overpowered themſelves. The ſeve⯑rity of the laws againſt them ſerve to encreaſe their barbarity, and ſeem to make them a neutral ſpecies of beings between the wildneſs of the lion and the ſubtilty of the man. When taken alive their puniſhment is hideous. A floating gibbet is erected, which is let run down with the ſtream; here upon an iron hook ſtuck under their ribs, and upon which the whole weight of their body de⯑pends, they are left to expire in the moſt terrible agonies; ſome being thus found to linger ſeveral days ſucceſſively.

We were but three days voyage from the con⯑fluence of this river into the Wolga, when we perceived at a diſtance behind us an armed barque coming up with the aſſiſtance of ſails and oars, in order to attack us. The dreadful ſignal of death was hung upon the maſt, and our captain with his glaſs could eaſily diſcern them to be pyrates. It is impoſſible to expreſs our conſternation on this occaſion; the whole crew inſtantly came together to conſult the propereſt means of ſafety. It was therefore ſoon determined to ſend off our women and valuable commodities in one of our veſſels, and that the men ſhould ſtay in the other and boldly oppoſe the enemy. This reſolution was ſoon put into execution, and I now reluctantly parted from the beautiful Zelis for the firſt time ſince our retreat from Perſia. The veſſel in which ſhe was diſappeared to my longing eyes, in pro⯑portion as that of the pyrates approached us. They ſoon came up; but, upon examining our ſtrength, and perhaps ſenſible of the manner in which we [123] had ſent off our moſt valuable effects, they ſeemed more eager to purſue the veſſel we had ſent away than attack us. In this manner they continued to harraſs us for three days; ſtill endeavouring to paſs us without fighting. But, on the fourth day, finding it entirely impoſſible, and deſpairing to ſeize the expected booty, they deſiſted from their endeavours, and left us to purſue our voyage with⯑out interruption.

Our joy on this occaſion was great; but ſoon a diſappointment more terrible, becauſe unexpected, ſucceeded. The barque, in which our women and treaſure were ſent off, was wrecked upon the banks of the Wolga, for want of a proper number of hands to manage her, and the whole crew carried by the peaſants up the country. Of this however we were not ſenſible till our arrival at Moſcow; where expecting to meet our ſeparated barque, we were informed of its misfortune, and our loſs. Need I paint the ſituation of my mind on this occaſion? Need I deſcribe all I feel, when I deſpair of beholding the beautiful Zelis more! Fancy had dreſſed the future proſpect of my life in the gayeſt colouring; but one unex⯑pected ſtroke of fortune has robbed it of every charm. Her dear idea mixes with every ſcene of pleaſure, and without her preſence to enliven it, the whole becomes tedious, inſipid, inſupportable. I will confeſs, now that ſhe is loſt, I will confeſs, I loved her; nor is it in the power of time, or of reaſon, to eraſe her image from my heart.

Adieu.

LETTER XCII. From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo, at Moſcow^*.

YOUR misfortunes are mine. But as every period of life is marked with its own, you muſt learn to endure them. Diſappointed love makes the miſery of youth; diſappointed ambition, that of manhood; and ſucceſsleſs avarice, that of age. Theſe three attack us through life; and it is our duty to ſtand upon our guard. To love, we ought to oppoſe diſſipation, and endeavour to change the object of the affections; to ambition, the happi⯑neſs of indolence and obſcurity; and to avarice, the fear of ſoon dying. Theſe are the ſhields with which we ſhould arm ourſelves; and thus make every ſcene of life, if not pleaſing, at leaſt ſup⯑portable.

Men complain of not finding a place of repoſe. They are in the wrong; they have it for ſeeking. What they ſhould indeed complain of is, that the heart is an enemy to that very repoſe they ſeek. To themſelves alone ſhould they impute their diſ⯑content. They ſeek within the ſhort ſpan of life to ſatisfy a thouſand deſires; each of which alone is unſatiable. One month paſſes and another comes on; the year ends and then begins; but man is ſtill unchanging in folly, ſtill blindly continuing in prejudice. To the wiſe man, every climate and every ſoil is pleaſing; to him a parterre of flowers is the famous valley of gold; to him, a little brook, [125] the fountain of the young peach-trees ^*; to ſuch a man, the melody of birds is more raviſhing than the harmony of a full concert; and the tincture of the cloud preferable to the touch of the fineſt pencil.

The life of man is a journey; a journey that muſt be travelled, however bad the roads or the accommodation. If, in the beginning, it is found dangerous, narrow, and difficult, it muſt either grow better in the end, or we ſhall by cuſtom learn to bear its inequality.

But though I ſee you incapable of penetrating into grand principles, attend at leaſt to a ſimile adapted to every apprehenſion. I am mounted upon a wretched aſs. I ſee another man before me upon a ſprightly horſe, at which I find ſome uneaſineſs I look behind me and ſee numbers on foot ſtooping under heavy burdens; let me learn to pity their eſtate, and thank heaven for my own.

Shingfu, when under misfortunes, would in the beginning weep like a child; but he ſoon recovered his former tranquility. After indulging grief for a few days, he would become, as uſual, the moſt merry old man in all the province of Shanſi. About the time that his wife died, his poſſeſſions were all conſumed by fire, and his only ſon ſold into cap⯑tivity; Shingfu grieved for one day, and the next went to dance at a Mandarine's door for his din⯑ner. The company were ſurpriſed to ſee the old man ſo merry when ſuffering ſuch great loſſes, and the Mandarine himſelf coming out, aſked him how [126] he, who had grieved ſo much, and given way to the calamity the day before, could now be ſo chearful? "You aſk me one queſtion, cries the old man, let me anſwer by aſking another: Which is the moſt durable, a hard thing, or a ſoft thing; that which reſiſts, or that which makes no reſiſt⯑ance?" An hard thing to be ſure, replied the Manda⯑rine. "There you are wrong, returned Shingfu. I am now fourſcore years old; and if you look in my mouth you will find that I have loſt all my teeth, but not a bit of my tongue."

Adieu.

LETTER XCIII. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſi⯑dent of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

THE manner of grieving for our departed friends in China is very different from that of Europe. The mourning colour of Europe is black; that of China white. When a parent or relation dies here, for they ſeldom mourn for friends, it is only clap⯑ping on a ſuit of ſables, grimacing it for a few days, and all, ſoon forgotten, goes on as before; not a ſingle creature miſſing the deceaſed, except perhaps a favourite houſe-keeper or a favourite cat.

On the contrary, with us in China it is a very ſerious affair. The piety with which I have ſeen you behave on one of theſe occaſions ſhould never be forgotten. I remember it was upon the death of thy grandmother's maiden ſiſter. The coffin was [127] expoſed in the principal hall in public view. Be⯑fore it were placed the figures of eunuchs, horſes, tortoiſes, and other animals, in attitudes of grief and reſpect. The more diſtant relations of the old lady, and I among the number, came to pay our compliments of condolance, and to ſalute the de⯑ceaſed after the manner of our country. We had ſcarce preſented our wax candles and perfumes, and given the howl of departure, when, crawling on his belly from under a curtain, out came the reverend Fum Hoam himſelf, in all the diſmal ſo⯑lemnity of diſtreſs. Your looks were ſet for ſor⯑row; your cloathing conſiſted in an hempen bag tied round the neck with a ſtring. For two long months did this mourning continue. By night you lay ſtretched on a ſingle mat, and ſate on the ſtool of diſcontent by day. Pious man, who could thus ſet an example of ſorrow and decorum to our country. Pious country, where, if we do not grieve at the departure of our friends for their ſakes, at leaſt we are taught to regret them for our own.

All is very different here; amazement all. What ſort of a people am I got amongſt! Fum, thou ſon of Fo, what ſort of people am I got amongſt! No crawling round the coffin; no dreſſing up in hempen bags; no lying on mats, or ſitting on ſtools. Gentlemen here ſhall put on firſt mourn⯑ing with as ſprightly an air as if preparing for a birth-night; and widows ſhall actually dreſs for another huſband in their weeds for the former. The beſt jeſt of all is, that our merry mourners clap bits of muſlin on their ſleeves, and theſe are called weepers. Weeping muſlin; alas, alas, very [128] ſorrowful truly! Theſe weepers then it ſeems are to bear the whole burthen of the diſtreſs.

But I have had the ſtrongeſt inſtance of this contraſt; this tragi-comical behaviour in diſtreſs upon a recent occaſion. Their King, whoſe de⯑parture, though ſudden, was not unexpected, died after a reign of many years. His age, and uncer⯑tain ſtate of health, ſerved in ſome meaſure to di⯑miniſh the ſorrow of his ſubjects; and their expec⯑tations from his ſucceſſor ſeemed to balance their minds between uneaſineſs and ſatisfaction. But how ought they to have behaved on ſuch an occa⯑ſion? Surely, they ought rather to have endea⯑voured to teſtify their gratitude to their deceaſed friend, than to proclaim their hopes of the future. Sure even the Succeſſor muſt ſuppoſe their love to wear the face of adulation, which ſo quickly chang⯑ed the object. However, the very ſame day on which the old King died, they made rejoicing for the new.

For my part, I have no conception of this new manner of mourning and rejoicing in a breath; of being merry and ſad; of mixing a funeral proceſ⯑ſion with a jig and a bonfire. At leaſt, it would have been juſt, that they who flattered the King while living for virtues which he had not, ſhould lament him dead for thoſe he really had.

In this univerſal cauſe for national diſtreſs, as I had no intereſt myſelf, ſo it is but natural to ſup⯑poſe, I felt no real affliction. In all the loſſes of our friends, ſays an European philoſopher, we firſt conſider how much our own welfare is affected by their departure, and moderate our real grief juſt in [129] the ſame proportion. Now, as I had neither re⯑ceived nor expected to receive favours from Kings or their flatterers; as I had no acquaintance in particular with their late monarch; as I knew that the place of a King is ſoon ſupplied; and as the Chineſe proverb has it, that though the world may ſometimes want coblers to mend their ſhoes, there is no danger of its wanting Emperors to rule their kingdoms; from ſuch conſiderations, I could bear the loſs of a King with the moſt philoſophic reſig⯑nation. However, I thought it my duty at leaſt to appear ſorrowful; to put on a melancholy aſpect, or to ſet my face by that of the people.

The firſt company I came amongſt after the news became general, was a ſet of jolly companions who were drinking proſperity to the enſuing reign. I entered the room with looks of deſpair, and even expected applauſe for the ſuperlative miſery of my countenance. Inſtead of that I was univerſally condemned by the company for a grimacing ſon of a whore, and deſired to take away my penitential phyz to ſome other quarter. I now corrected my former miſtake, and with the moſt ſprightly air imaginable entered a company, where they were talking over the ceremonies of the approaching fu⯑neral. Here I ſat for ſome time with an air of pert vivacity; when one of the chief mourners im⯑mediately obſerving my good humour, deſired me, if I pleaſed to go and grin ſomewhere elſe; they wanted no diſaffected ſcoundrels there. Leaving this company therefore, I was reſolved to aſſume a look perfectly neutral; and have ever ſince been ſtudying the faſhionable air: ſomething between jeſt and earneſt; a complete virginity of face, un⯑contaminated with the ſmalleſt ſymptom of meaning.

[130]But though grief be a very ſlight affair here, the mourning, my friend, is a very important con⯑cern. When an Emperor dies in China, the whole expence of the ſolemnities is defrayed from the royal coffers. When the great die here, Manda⯑rines are ready enough to order mourning; but I do not ſee that they are ſo ready to pay for it. If they ſend me down from court the grey undreſs frock, or the black coat without pocket holes, I am willing enough to comply with their commands, and wear both; but, by the head of Confucius! to be obliged to wear black, and buy it into the bargain, is more than my tranquility of temper can bear. What, order me to wear mourning before they know whether I can buy it or no! Fum, thou ſon of Fo, what ſort of a people am I got amongſt; where being out of black is a certain ſymptom of poverty; where thoſe who have miſerable faces cannot have mourning, and thoſe who have mourn⯑ing will not wear a miſerable face!

LETTER XCIV. From the ſame.

IT is uſual for the bookſellers here, when a book has given univerſal pleaſure upon one ſubject, to bring out ſeveral more upon the ſame plan; which are ſure to have purchaſers and readers from that deſire which all men have to view a pleaſing object on every ſide. The firſt performance ſerves rather to awake than ſatisfy attention; and when that is once moved, the ſlighteſt effort ſerves to continue its progreſſion; the merit of the firſt dif⯑fuſes [131] a light ſufficient to illuminate the ſucceeding efforts; and no other ſubject can be reliſhed, till that is exhauſted. A ſtupid work coming thus im⯑mediately in the train of an applauded perform⯑ance, weans the mind from the object of its plea⯑ſure; and reſembles the ſponge thruſt into the month of a diſcharged culverin, in order to adapt it for a new exploſion.

This manner, however, of drawing off a ſubject, or a peculiar mode of writing to the dregs, effec⯑tually precludes a revival of that ſubject or manner for ſome time for the future; the ſated reader turns from it with a kind of literary nauſea; and though the titles of books are the part of them moſt read, yet he has ſcarce perſeverance enough to wade through the title page.

Of this number I own myſelf one; I am now grown callous to ſeveral ſubjects, and different kinds of compoſition: whether ſuch originally pleaſed I will not lake upon me to determine; but at preſent I ſpurn a new book merely upon ſeeing its name in an advertiſement; nor have the ſmalleſt curioſity to look beyond the firſt leaf, even though in the ſecond the author promiſes his own face neatly engraved on copper.

I am become a perfect Epicure in reading; plain beef or ſolid mutton will never do. I am for a Chineſe diſh of bear's claws and bird's neſts. I am for ſauce ſtrong with aſſafoetida, or fuming with garlic. For this reaſon there are an hundred very wiſe, learned, virtuous, well-intended pro⯑ductions that have no charms for me. Thus, for the ſoul of me, I could never find courage nor [132] grace enough to wade above two pages deep into Thoughts upon God and Nature, or Thoughts upon Providence, or Thoughts upon Free Grace, or indeed into Thoughts upon any thing at all. I can no longer meditate with Meditations for every day in the year; Eſſays upon divers ſubjects cannot allure me, though never ſo intereſting; and as for Fune⯑ral Sermons, or even Thankſgiving Sermons, I can neither weep with the one, nor rejoice with the other.

But it is chiefly in gentle poetry, where I ſeldom look farther than the title. The truth is, I take up books to be told ſomething new; but here, as it is now managed, the reader is told nothing. He opens the book, and there finds very good words, truly, and much exactneſs of rhyme, but no infor⯑mation. A parcel of gaudy images paſs on before his imagination like the figures in a dream; but curioſity, induction, reaſon, and the whole train of affections are faſt aſleep. The jocunda et idonea vitae; thoſe ſallies which mend the heart while they amuſe the fancy, are quite forgotten: ſo that a reader who would take up ſome modern ap⯑plauded performances of this kind, muſt, in order to be pleaſed, firſt leave his good ſenſe behind him, take for his recompence and guide bloated and compound epithet, and dwell on paintings, juſt indeed, becauſe laboured with minute exact⯑neſs.

If we examine, however, our internal ſenſations, we ſhall find ourſelves but little pleaſed with ſuch laboured vanities; we ſhall find that our applauſe rather proceeds from a kind of contagion caught up from others, and which we contribute to dif⯑fuſe, than from what we privately feel. There are [133] ſome ſubjects of which almoſt all the world per⯑ceive the futility; yet all combine in impoſing upon each other, as worthy of praiſe. But chiefly this impoſition obtains in literature, where men publicly contemn what they reliſh with rapture in private, and approve abroad what has given them diſguſt at home. The truth is, we deliver thoſe criticiſms in public which are ſuppoſed to be beſt calculated not to do juſtice to the author, but to impreſs others with an opinion of our ſuperior diſ⯑cernment.

But let works of this kind, which have already come off with ſuch applauſe, enjoy it all. It is neither my wiſh to diminiſh, as I was never conſider⯑able enough to add to their fame. But for the future I fear there are many poems, of which I ſhall find ſpirits to read but the title. In the firſt place, all odes upon winter, or ſummer, or autumn; in ſhort all odes, epodes, and monodies whatſoever, ſhall hereafter be deemed too polite, claſſical, obſcure, and refined, to be read, and entirely above hu⯑man comprehenſion. Paſtorals are pretty enough —for thoſe that like them—but to me Thyrſis is one of the moſt inſipid fellows I ever converſed with; and as for Corridon, I do not chuſe his company. Elegies and epiſtles are very fine to thoſe to whom they are addreſſed; and as for epic poems, I am generally able to diſcover the whole plan in read⯑ing the two firſt pages.

Tragedies, however, as they are now made, are good inſtructive moral ſermons enough; and it would be a fault not to be pleaſed with good things. There I learn ſeveral great truths; as, that it is impoſſible to ſee into the ways of futurity; that [134] puniſhment always attends the villain, that love is the fond ſoother of the human breaſt, that we ſhould not reſiſt heaven's will, for in reſiſting hea⯑ven's will, heaven's will is reſiſted; with ſeveral other ſentiments equally new, delicate and ſtriking. Every new tragedy therefore I ſhall go to ſee; for reflections of this nature make a tolerable har⯑mony, when mixed up with a proper quantity of drum, trumpet, thunder, lightening, or the ſcene ſhifter's whiſtle. Adieu.

LETTER XCV. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

I HAD ſome intentions lately of going to viſit Bedlam, the place where thoſe who go mad are confined. I went to wait upon the man in black to be my conductor, but I found him preparing to go to Weſtminſter-hall, where the Engliſh hold their courts of Juſtice. It gave me ſome ſurprize to find my friend engaged in a law⯑ſuit but more ſo when he informed me that it had been depending for ſeveral years. How is it poſ⯑ſible, cried I, for a man who knows the world to go to law; I am well acquainted with the courts of juſtice in China, they reſemble rat-traps every one of them, nothing more eaſy to get in, but to get out again is at⯑tended with ſome d [...]fficu [...]ty, and more cunning than rats are generally found to poſſeſs!

Faith, replied my friend, I ſhould not have gone to law, but that I was aſſured of ſucceſs before I began; things were preſented to me in [135] ſo alluring a light, that I thought by barely de⯑claring myſelf a candidate for the prize, I had nothing more to do but to enjoy the fruits of the victory. Thus have I been upon the eve of an ima⯑ginary triumph every term theſe ten years, have travelled forward with victory ever in my view, but ever out of reach; however, at preſent I fancy we have hampered our antagoniſt in ſuch a manner, that without ſome unforeſeen demur, we ſhall this very day lay him fairly on his back.

If things be ſo ſituated, ſaid I, I don't care if I attend you to the courts, and partake in the pleaſure of your ſucceſs. But prithee, continued I, as we ſet forward, what reaſons have you to think an af⯑fair at laſt concluded, which has given you ſo many former diſappointments? My lawyer tells me, re⯑turned he, that I have Salkeld and Ventris ſtrong in my favour, and that there are no leſs then fif⯑teen caſes in point. I underſtand, ſaid I, thoſe are two of your judges who have already declared their opinions. Pardon me, replied my friend, Salkeld and Ventris are lawyers who ſome hundred years ago gave their opinion on caſes ſimilar to mine; theſe opinions which make for me my lawyer is to cite, and thoſe opinions which look another way are cited by the lawyer employed by my antagoniſt; as I obſerved, I have Salkeld and Ventris for me, he has Coke and Hales, for him, and he that has moſt opinions is moſt likely to carry his cauſe. But where is the neceſſity, cried I, of prolonging a ſuit by citing the opinions and reports of others, ſince the ſame good ſenſe which determined lawyers in for⯑mer ages may ſerve to guide your judges at this day. They at that time gave their opinions only from the light of reaſon, your judges have the ſame light at [136] preſent to direct them, let me even add a greater, as in former ages, there were many prejudices from which the preſent is happily free. If arguing from authorities be exploded from every other branch of learning, why ſhould it be particularly adhered to in this? I plainly foreſee how ſuch a method of inveſ⯑tigation muſt embarraſs every ſuit, and even perplex the ſtudent, ceremonies will be multiplied, formali⯑ties muſt encreaſe, and more time will thus be ſpent in learning the arts of litigation than in the diſcovery of right.

I ſee, cries my friend, that you are for a ſpeedy adminiſtration of juſtice, but all the world will grant that the more time that is taken up in conſider⯑ing any ſubject the better it will be underſtood. Beſides, it is the boaſt of an Engliſhman, that his property is ſecure, and all the world will grant that a deliberate adminiſtration of juſtice is the beſt way to ſecure his property. Why have we ſo many lawyers, but to ſecure our property, why ſo many formalities, but to ſecure our property? Not leſs than one hundred thouſand families live in op⯑pulence, elegance and eaſe, merely by ſecuring our property.

To embarras juſtice, returned I, by a multi⯑plicity of laws, or to hazard it by a confidence in our judges, are, I grant, the oppoſite rocks on which legiſlative wiſdom has ever ſplit; in one caſe the client reſembles that Emperor, who is ſaid to have been ſuffocated with the bedcloaths, which were only deſigned to keep him warm; in the other, to that town which let the enemy take poſ⯑ſeſſion of its walls, in order to ſhew the world how little they depended upon aught but courage for [137] ſafety:—But bleſs me, what numbers do I ſee here—all in black.—how is it poſſible that half this multitude find employment? Nothing ſo eaſily conceived, returned my companion, they live by watching each other. For inſtance, the catchpole watches the man in debt, the attorney watches the catchpole, the counſellor watches the attorney, the ſolicitor the counſellor, and all find ſufficient employment. I conceive you, interrupt⯑ed I, they watch each other, but it is the client that pays them all for watching; it puts me in mind of a Chineſe Fable, which is entituled, Five animals at a meal.

A graſhopper filled with dew, was merrily ſinging under a ſhade; a whangam that eats graſ⯑hoppers had marked it for its prey, and was juſt ſtretching forth to devour it; a ſerpent that had for a long time fed only on whangams, was coiled up to faſten on the whangam; a yellow bird was juſt upon the wing to dart upon the ſer⯑pent; a hawk had juſt ſtooped from above, to ſeize the yellow bird; all were intent on their prey, and unmindful of their danger: So the whangam eat the graſhopper, the ſerpent eat the whangam, the yellow bird the ſerpent, and the hawk the yellow bird; when ſouſing from on high, a vulture gobbled up the hawk, graſhop⯑per, whangam, and all in a moment.

I had ſcarce finiſhed my fable, when the law⯑yer came to inform my friend, that his cauſe was put off till another term, that money was wanted to retain, and that all the world was of opinion, that the very next hearing would bring him off victorious. If ſo, then cries my friend, I believe [138] it will be my wiſeſt way to continue the cauſe for another term, and in the mean time, my friend here and I will go and ſee Bedlam.

Adieu.

LETTER XCVI. From the ſame.

I Lately received a viſit from the little beau, who I found had aſſumed a new flow of ſpirits with a new ſuit of cloaths. Our diſcourſe hap⯑pened to turn upon the different treatment of the fair ſex here and in Aſia, with the influence of beauty in refining our manners and improving our converſation.

I ſoon perceived he was ſtrongly prejudiced in favour of the Aſiatic method of treating the ſex, and that it was impoſſible to perſuade him, but that a man was happier who had four wives at his command, than he who had only one. "It is true, cries he, your men of faſhion in the Eaſt are ſlaves, and under ſome terrors of having their throats ſqueezed by a bow-ſtring; but what then, they can find ample conſolation in a ſeraglio; they make indeed an indifferent figure in converſation abroad, but then they have a ſeraglio to conſole them at home. I am told they have no balls, drums, nor operas, but then they have got a ſe⯑raglio; they may be deprived of wine and French cookery, but they have a ſeraglio; a ſeraglio, a ſeraglio; my dear creature, wipes off every in⯑convenience in the world.

[139]"Beſides, I am told, your Aſiatic beauties are the moſt convenient women alive, for they have no ſouls; poſitively there is nothing in nature I ſhould like ſo much as ladies without ſouls; ſoul, here, is the utter ruin of half the ſex. A girl of eighteen ſhall have ſoul enough to ſpend an hundred pounds in the turning of a trump. Her mother ſhall have ſoul enough to ride a ſweep⯑ſtake match at an horſe-race; her maiden aunt ſhall have ſoul enough to purchaſe the furniture of a whole toy ſhop, and others ſhall have ſoul enough to behave as if they had no ſouls at all."

With reſpect to the ſoul, interrupted I, the Aſiatics are much kinder to the fair ſex than you imagine; inſtead of one ſoul, Fohi the idol of China gives every woman three, the Bramines give them fifteen; and even Mahomet himſelf, no where excludes the ſex from Paradiſe. Abul⯑feda reports, that an old woman one day impor⯑tuning him to know what ſhe ought to do in order to gain Paradiſe? My good Lady, anſwered the Prophet, old women never get there; what, never get to Paradiſe, returned the matron, in a fury! Never, ſays he, for they always grow young by the way.

No, Sir, continued I, the men of Aſia behave with more deference to the ſex than you ſeem to imagine. As you of Europe ſay grace, upon ſit⯑ting down to dinner, ſo it is the cuſtom in China to ſay grace, when a man goes to bed to his wife, And may I die, returned my companion, but a very pretty ceremony; for ſeriouſly, Sir, I ſee no reaſon why a man ſhould not he as grateful in one ſituation as in the other. Upon honour, I always find myſelf much [140] more diſpoſed to gratitude, on the couch of a fine wo⯑man, than upon ſitting down to a ſirloin of beef.

Another ceremony, ſaid I, reſuming the con⯑verſation, in favour of the ſex amongſt us, is the bride's being allowed after marriage, her three days of freedom. During this interval a thouſand extravagancies are practiſed by either ſex. The lady is placed upon the nuptial bed, and number⯑leſs monkey tricks are played round to divert her. One gentleman ſmells her perfumed handkerchief. another attempts to untie her garters, a third pulls off her ſhoe to play hunt the ſlipper, ano⯑ther pretends to be an ideot, and endeavours to raiſe a laugh by grimacing; in the mean time, the glaſs goes briſkly about, till ladies, gentlemen, wife, huſband, and all are mixed together in one inundation of arrack punch.

"Strike me dumb, deaf, and blind, cried my companion, but very pretty; there's ſome ſenſe in your Chineſe ladies condeſcentions; but among us, you ſhall ſcarce find one of the whole ſex that ſhall hold her good humour for three days to⯑gether. No later than yeſterday I happened to ſay ſome civil things to a citizen's wife of my ac⯑quaintance, not becauſe I loved, but becauſe I had charity; and what do you think was the tender creature's reply! Only that ſhe deteſted my pig⯑tail wig, high heeled ſhoes, and ſallow com⯑plexion. That is all. Nothing more! Yes, by the heavens, though ſhe was more ugly than an unpaint⯑ed actreſs, I found her more inſolent than a tho⯑rough bred woman of quality."

[141]He was proceeding in this wild manner, when his invective was interrupted, by the man in black, who entered the apartment, introducing his neice, a young lady of exquiſite beauty. Her very appearance was ſufficient to ſilence the ſevereſt ſatyriſt of the ſex; eaſy without pride, and free without impudence, ſhe ſeemed capable of ſup⯑plying every ſenſe with pleaſure; her looks, her converſation were natural and unconſtrained; ſhe had neither been taught to languiſh nor ogle, to laugh without a jeſt, or ſigh without ſorrow. I found that ſhe had juſt returned from abroad, and had been converſant in the manners of the world. Curioſity prompted me to aſk ſeveral queſtions, but ſhe declined them all. I own I never found myſelf ſo ſtrongly prejudiced in favour of apparent merit before; and could willingly have prolonged our converſation, but the company after ſome time withdrew. Juſt, however, be⯑fore the little beau took his leave he called me aſide, and requeſted I would change him a twenty pound bill, which as I was incapable of doing, he was contented with borrowing half a crown.

Adieu.

LETTER XCVII. From Lien Chi Altangi to Hinpgo, by the way of Moſcow.

FEW virtues have been more praiſed by mo⯑raliſts, than generoſity; every practical treatiſe of Ethics tends to encreaſe our ſenſibility of the diſtreſſes of others, and to relax the graſp of fru⯑gality. [142] Philoſophers that are poor, praiſe it be⯑cauſe they are gainers by its effects; and the opu⯑lent Seneca himſelf has written a treatiſe on be⯑nefits, though he was known to give nothing away.

But among the many who have enforced the duty of giving, I'm ſurpriſed there are none to inculcate the ignominy of receiving, to ſhew that by every favour we accept, we in ſome meaſure forfeit our native freedom, and that a ſtate of continual dependance on the generoſity of others is a life of gradual debaſement.

Were men taught to deſpiſe the receiving obliga⯑tions with the ſame force of reaſoning and declama⯑tion that they are inſtructed to confer them, we might then ſee every perſon in ſociety filling up the requiſite duties of his ſtation with chearful induſtry, neither relaxed by hope, nor ſullen from diſap⯑pointment.

Every favour a man receives, in ſome meaſure ſinks him below his dignity, and in proportion to the value of the benefit, or the frequency of its acceptance, he gives up ſo much of his natural independance. He therefore, who thrives upon the unmerited bounty of another, if he h [...] any ſenſibility, ſuffers the worſt of ſervitude; the ſhackled ſlave may murmur without reproach, but the humble dependant is taxed with ingratitude upon every ſymptom of diſcontent; the one may rave round the walls of his cell, but the other lingers in all the ſilence of mental confinement. To encreaſe his diſtreſs, every new obligation but adds to the former load which kept the vi⯑gorous mind from riſing; till at laſt, elaſtic no [143] longer, it ſhapes itſelf to conſtraint, and puts on habitual ſervility.

It is thus with the feeling mind; but there are ſome who, born without any ſhare of ſenſibility, receive favour after favour, and ſtill cringe for more, who accept the offer of generoſity with as little reluctance as the wages of merit, and even make thanks for paſt benefits an indirect petition for new; ſuch I grant can ſuffer no debaſement from dependance, ſince they were originally as vile as was poſſible to be; dependance degrades only the ingenuous, but leaves the ſordid mind in priſtine meanneſs. In this manner therefore long continued generoſity is miſplaced, or it is injuri⯑ous; it either finds a man worthleſs, or it makes him ſo; and true it is, that the perſon who is con⯑tented to be often obliged, ought not to have been obliged at all.

Yet while I deſcribe the meanneſs of a life of continued dependance, I would not be thought to include thoſe natural or political ſubordinations which ſubſiſt in every ſociety, for in ſuch, tho' dependance is exacted from the inferior, yet the obligation on either ſide is mutual. The ſon muſt rely upon his parent for ſupport, but the parent lies under the ſame obligations to give, that the other has to expect; the ſubordinate officer muſt receive the commands of his ſuperior, but for this obedience the former has a right to demand an intercourſe of favour; ſuch is not the dependance I would depreciate, but that where every expected favour muſt be the reſult of mere be⯑nevolence in the giver, where the benefit can be kept without remorſe, or transferred without injuſtice. The character of a legacy-hunter, for inſtance is [144] deteſtable in ſome countries, and deſpicable in all; this univerſal contempt of a man who infringes upon none of the laws of ſociety, ſome moral⯑iſts have arraigned as a popular and unjuſt pre⯑judice; never conſidering the neceſſary degrada⯑tions a wretch muſt undergo, who previouſly ex⯑pects to grow rich by benefits without having either natural or ſocial claims to enforce his peti⯑tions.

But this intercourſe of benefaction and acknow⯑ledgement is often injurious even to the giver as well as the receiver; a man can gain but little knowledge of himſelf, or of the world, amidſt a circle of thoſe whom hope or gratitude has ga⯑thered round him; their unceaſing humiliations muſt neceſſarily encreaſe his comparative magni⯑tude, for all men meaſure their own abilities by thoſe of their company; thus being taught to over⯑rate his merit, he in reality leſſens it; encreaſing in confidence, but not in power, his profeſſions end in empty boaſt, his undertakings in ſhameful diſappointment.

It is perhaps one of the ſevereſt misfortunes of the great, that they are, in general, obliged to live among men whoſe real value is leſſened by dependance, and whoſe minds are enſlaved by obligation. The humble companion may have at firſt accepted patronage with generous views, but ſoon he feels the mortifying influence of con⯑ſcious inferiority, by degrees ſinks into a flatterer, and from flattery at laſt degenerates into ſtupid veneration. To remedy this the great often diſ⯑miſs their old dependants, and take new. Such changes are falſely imputed to levity, falſehood, [145] or caprice, in the patron, ſince they may be more juſtly aſcribed to the client's gradual deteriora⯑tion.

No, my ſon, a life of independance is generally a life of virtue. It is that which fits the ſoul for every generous flight of humanity, freedom, and friendſhip. To give ſhould be our pleaſure, but to receive our ſhame; ſerenity, health, and afflu⯑ence attend the deſire of riſing by labour; miſery, repentance, and diſreſpect that of ſucceeding by extorted benevolence; the man who can thank himſelf alone for the happineſs he enjoys is truly bleſt; and lovely, far more lovely the ſturdy gloom of laborious indigence, than the fawning ſimper of thriving adulation. Adieu.

LETTER XCVIII. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

IN every ſociety ſome men are born to teach, and others to receive inſtruction; ſome to work, and others to enjoy in idleneſs the fruits of their induſtry; ſome to govern, and others to obey. Every people, how free ſoever, muſt be contented to give up part of their liberty and judgment to thoſe who govern, in exchange for their hopes of ſecurity; and the motives which firſt influenced their choice in the election of their governors ſhould ever be weighed againſt the ſucceeding apparent inconſiſtencies of their conduct. All cannot be rulers, and men are generally beſt [146] governed by a few. In making way thro' the intri⯑cacies of buſineſs, the ſmalleſt obſtacles are apt to retard the execution of what is to be planned by a multiplicity of counſels; the judgment of one alone being always fitteſt for winding through the labyrinths of intrigue, and the obſtructions of diſappointment. A ſerpent, which, as the fa⯑ble obſerves, is furniſhed with one head and many tails, is much more capable of ſubſiſtence and ex⯑pedition, than another, which is furniſhed with but one tail and many heads.

Obvious as theſe truths are, the people of this country ſeem inſenſible of their force. Not ſatiſ⯑fied with the advantages of internal peace and opulence, they ſtill murmur at their governors, and interfere in the execution of their deſigns; as if they wanted to be ſomething more than happy. But as the Europeans inſtruct by argument, and the Aſiatics moſtly by narration, were I to addreſs them, I ſhould convey my ſentiments in the fol⯑lowing ſtory.

Takupi had long been Prime Miniſter of Ti⯑partala, a fertile country that ſtretches along the weſtern confines of China. During his adminiſtra⯑tion, whatever advantages could be derived from arts, learning, and commerce, were ſeen to bleſs the people; nor were the neceſſary precautions of pro⯑viding for the ſecurity of the ſtate forgotten. It often happens, however, that when men are poſ⯑ſeſſed of all they want, they then begin to find tor⯑ment from imaginary afflictions, and leſſen their preſent enjoyments, by foreboding that thoſe enjoyments are to have an end. The people now therefore endeavoured to find out grievances; [147] and after ſome ſearch, actually began to think themſelves aggrieved. A petition againſt the enor⯑mities of Takupi was carried to the throne in due form; and the Queen who governed the country, willing to ſatisfy her ſubjects, appointed a day, in which his accuſers ſhould be heard, and the Miniſ⯑ter ſhould ſtand upon his defence.

The day being arrived, and the Miniſter brought before the tribunal, a carrier, who ſupplied the city with fiſh, appeared among the number of his accuſers. He exclaimed, that it was the cuſtom, time immemorial, for carriers to bring their fiſh upon an horſe in a hamper; which being placed on one ſide, and balanced by a ſtone on the other, was thus conveyed with eaſe and ſafety: but that the priſoner, moved either by a ſpirit of innova⯑tion, or perhaps bribed by the hamper-makers, had obliged all carriers to uſe the ſtone no longer, but balance one hamper with another; an order entirely repugnant to the cuſtoms of all antiquity, and thoſe of the kingdom of Tipartala in particular.

The carrier finiſhed; and the whole court ſhook their heads at the innovating Miniſter: when a ſe⯑cond witneſs appeared. He was inſpector of the city buildings, and accuſed the diſgraced favourite of having given orders for the demolition of an an⯑cient ruin, which obſtructed the paſſage thro' one of the principal ſtreets. He obſerved, that ſuch buildings were noble monuments of barbarous antiquity; contributed finely to ſhew how little their anceſtors underſtood of architecture: and for that reaſon ſuch monuments ſhould be held ſacred, and ſuffered gradually to decay.

[148]The laſt witneſs now appeared. This was a widow, who had laudably attempted to burn her⯑ſelf upon her huſband's funeral pile. But the in⯑novating miniſter had prevented the execution of her deſign, and was inſenſible to her tears, proteſ⯑tations, and entreaties.

The Queen could have pardoned the two for⯑mer offences; but this laſt was conſidered as ſo groſs an injury to the ſex, and ſo directly contrary to all the cuſtoms of antiquity, that it called for immediate juſtice. "What, cried the Queen, not ſuffer a woman to burn herſelf when ſhe thinks proper? The ſex are to be very prettily tu⯑tored, no doubt, if they muſt be reſtrained from entertaining their female friends now and then with a fried wife, or roaſted acquaintance. I ſen⯑tence the criminal to be baniſhed my preſence for ever for his injurious treatment [...] the ſex."

Takupi had been hitherto ſilent, and ſpoke only to ſhew the ſincerity of his reſignation. "Great Queen, cried he, I acknowledge my crime; and ſince I am to be baniſhed, I beg it may be to ſome ruined town, or deſolate village in the coun⯑try I have governed. I ſhall find ſome pleaſure in improving the ſoil, and bringing back a ſpirit of induſtry among the inhabitants." His requeſt ap⯑pearing reaſonable, it was immediately complied with; and a courtier had orders to fix upon a place of baniſhment, anſwering the Miniſter's de⯑ſcription. After ſome months ſearch, however, the enquiry proved fruitleſs; neither a deſolate vil⯑lage, nor a ruined town, was found in the whole kingdom. Alas, ſaid Takupi then to the Queen, How can that country be ill governed which has neither a [149] deſolate village, nor a ruined town in it? The Queen perceived the juſtice of his expoſtulation, and the Miniſter was received into more than former fa⯑vour.

LETTER XCIX. From the ſame.

THE ladies here are by no means ſuch ardent gameſters as the women of Aſia. In this re⯑ſpect I muſt do the Engliſh juſtice; for I love to praiſe where applauſe is juſtly merited. Nothing more common in China, than to ſee two women of faſhion continue gaming till one has won all the other's cloaths, and ſtripped her quite naked; the winner thus marching off in a double ſuit of finery, and the loſer ſhrinking behind in the primitive ſim⯑plicity of nature.

No doubt, you remember when Shang, our maiden aunt, played with a ſharper. Firſt her money went; then her trinkets were produced; her cloaths followed piece by piece ſoon after; when ſhe had thus played herſelf quite naked, be⯑ing a woman of ſpirit, and willing to purſue her own, ſhe ſtaked her teeth; fortune was againſt her even here, and her teeth followed her cloaths; at laſt ſhe played for her left eye, and, oh, hard fate, this too ſhe loſt: however, ſhe had the conſolation of biting the ſharper, for he never per⯑ceived [150] that it was made of glaſs till it became his own.

How happy, my friend, are the Engliſh ladies, who never riſe to ſuch an inordinance of paſſion! Though the ſex here are naturally fond of games of chance, and are taught to manage games of ſkill from their infancy, yet they never purſue ill for⯑tune with ſuch amazing intrepidity. Indeed I may entirely acquit them of ever playing—I mean of playing for their eyes or their teeth.

It is true, they often ſtake their fortune, their beauty, health, and reputations at a gaming-table. It even ſometimes happens, that they play their huſbands into a jail; yet ſtill they preſerve a deco⯑rum unknown to our wives and daughters of Chi⯑na. I have been preſent at a route in this country, where a woman of faſhion, after loſing her money, has ſat writhing in all the agonies of bad luck; and yet, after all, never once attempted to ſtrip a ſin⯑gle petticoat, or cover the board, as her laſt ſtake, with her head-cloaths.

However, though I praiſe their moderation at play, I muſt not conceal their aſſiduity. In China our women, except upon ſome great days, are ne⯑ver permitted to finger a dice-box; but here every day ſeems to be a feſtival; and night itſelf, which gives others reſt, only ſerves to encreaſe the female gameſter's induſtry. I have been told of an old lady in the country, who being given over by the phyſicians, played with the curate of her pariſh to paſs the time away: having won all his money, ſhe next propoſed playing for her funeral charges; the [151] propoſal was accepted; but unfortunately the lady expired juſt as ſhe had taken in her game.

There are ſome paſſions, which though dif⯑ferently purſued, are attended with equal conſe⯑quences in every country: here they game with more perſeverance, there with greater fury; here they ſtrip their families, there they ſtrip themſelves naked. A lady in China, who indulges a paſſion for gaming, often becomes a drunkard; and by flouriſhing a dice-box in one hand, ſhe generally comes to brandiſh a dram cup in the other. Far be it from me to ſay there are any who drink drams in England; but it is natural to ſuppoſe, that when a lady has loſt every thing elſe but her honour, ſhe wi [...]l be apt to toſs that into the bargain; and grown inſenſible to nicer feelings, behave like the Spa⯑niard, who, when all his money was gone, endea⯑voured to borrow more, by offering to pawn his whiſker. Adieu.

LETTER C. From Lien Chi Altangi to ***, Merchant in Amſterdam.

I HAVE juſt received a letter from my ſon, in which he informs me of the fruitleſsneſs of his endeavours to recover the lady with whom he fled from Perſia. He ſtrives to cover under the appear⯑ance of fortitude a heart torn with anxiety and diſ⯑appointment. I have offered little conſolation; ſince that but too frequently feeds the ſorrow which it pretends to deplore, and ſtrengthens the [152] impreſſion, which nothing but the external rubs of time and accident can thoroughly efface.

He informs me of his intentions of quitting Moſcow the firſt opportunity, and travelling by land to Amſterdam. I muſt therefore, upon his ar⯑rival, entreat the continuance of your friendſhip; and beg of you to provide him with proper di⯑rections for finding me in London. You can ſcarcely be ſenſible of the joy I expect upon ſeeing him once more: the ties between the father and the ſon among us of China are much more cloſely drawn than with you of Europe.

The remittances ſent me from Argun to Moſcow came in ſafety. I cannot ſufficiently admire that ſpirit of honeſty, which prevails through the whole country of Siberia: perhaps the ſavages of that deſolate region are the only untutored people of the globe, that cultivate the moral virtues, even without knowing that their actions merit praiſe. I have been told ſurpriſing things of their good⯑neſs, benevolence, and generoſity; and the unin⯑terrupted commerce between China and Ruſſia ſerves as a collateral confirmation.

Let us, ſays the Chineſe law-giver, admire the rude virtues of the ignorant, but rather imitate the delicate morals of the polite. In the country where I reſide, though honeſty and benevolence be not ſo conge⯑nial; yet art ſupplies the place of nature. Though here every vice is carried to exceſs; yet every vir⯑tue is practiſed alſo with unexampled ſuperiority. A city like this is the ſoil for great virtues and great vices; the villain can ſoon improve here in the [153] deepeſt myſteries of deceiving; and the practical philoſopher can every day meet new incitements to mend his honeſt intentions. There are no plea⯑ſures, ſenſual or ſentimental, which this city does not produce; yet, I know not how, I could not be content to reſide here for life. There is ſomething ſo ſeducing in that ſpot in which we firſt had ex⯑iſtence, that nothing but it can pleaſe; whatever viciſſitudes we experience in life, however we toil, or whereſoever we wander, our fatigued wiſhes ſtill recur to home for tranquillity, we long to die in that ſpot which gave us birth, and in that pleaſing expectation opiate every calamity.

You now therefore perceive that I have ſome intentions of leaving this country; and yet my de⯑ſigned departure fills me with reluctance and re⯑gret. Though the friendſhips of travellers are generally more tranſient than vernal ſnows, ſtill I feel an uneaſineſs at breaking the connections I have formed ſince my arrival; particularly I ſhall have no ſmall pain in leaving my uſual compa⯑nion, guide, and inſtructor.

I ſhall wait for the arrival of my ſon before I ſet out. He ſhall be my companion in every intended journey for the future; in his company I can ſup⯑port the fatigues of the way with redoubled ar⯑dour, pleaſed at once with conveying inſtruction, and exacting obedience.

Adieu.

LETTER CI. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

OUR ſcholars of China have a moſt profound veneration for forms. A firſt rate beauty never ſtudied the decorums of dreſs with more aſſiduity; they may properly enough be ſaid to be cloathed with wiſdom from head to foot; they have their philoſophical caps and philoſophical whiſkers, their philoſophical ſlippers and philoſophical fans; there is even a philoſophical ſtandard for meaſuring the nails; and yet, with all this ſeeming wiſdom, they are often found to be mere empty pretenders.

A philoſophical beau is not ſo frequent in Eu⯑rope; yet I am told that ſuch characters are found here. I mean ſuch as punctually ſupport all the decorums of learning, without being really very profound, or naturally poſſeſſed of a fine under⯑ſtanding; who labour hard to obtain the titular honours attending literary merit; who flatter others, in order to be flattered in turn; and only ſtudy to be thought ſtudents.

A character of this kind generally receives com⯑pany in his ſtudy, in all the penſive formality of ſlippers, night-gown, and eaſy chair. The table is covered with a large book, which is always kept open, and never read; his ſolitary hours being dedicated to dozing, mending pens, feel⯑ing his pulſe, peeping through the microſcope, and ſometimes reading amuſing books, which he condemns in company. His library is preſerved [155] with the moſt religious neatneſs; and is generally a repoſitory of ſcarce books, which bear an high price, becauſe too dull or uſeleſs to become com⯑mon by the ordinary methods of publication.

Such men are generally candidates for admit⯑tance into literary clubs, academies, and inſti⯑tutions, where they regularly meet to give and receive a little inſtruction and a great deal of praiſe. In converſation they never betray ignorance, be⯑cauſe they never ſeem to receive information. Offer a new obſervation, they have heard it before; pinch them in an argument, and they reply with a ſneer.

Yet how trifling ſoever theſe little arts may appear, they anſwer one valuable purpoſe, of gain⯑ing the practiſers the eſteem they wiſh for. The bounds of a man's knowledge are eaſily concealed, if he has but prudence; but all can readily ſee and admire a gilt library, a ſet of long nails, a ſilver ſtandiſh, or a well-combed whiſker, who are inca⯑pable of diſtinguiſhing a dunce.

When Father Matthew, the firſt European Miſſi⯑oner, entered China, the court was informed, that he poſſeſſed great ſkill in aſtronomy; he was there⯑fore ſent for, and examined. The eſtabliſhed aſtro⯑nomers of ſtate undertook this taſk; and made their report to the Emperor, that his ſkill was but very ſu⯑perficial, and no way comparable to their own. The Miſſioner, however, appealed from their judg⯑ment to experience, and challenged them to cal⯑culate an eclipſe of the moon that was to happen a few nights following. "What, ſaid ſome, ſhall a Barbarian, without nails, pretend to vie with [156] men in aſtronomy, who have made it the ſtudy of their lives, with men who know half the know⯑able characters of words, who wear ſcientifical caps and ſlippers, and who have gone through every literary degree with applauſe?" They accepted the challenge, confident of ſucceſs. The eclipſe began; the Chineſe produced a moſt ſplendid apparatus, and were fifteen minutes wrong; the Miſſioner, with a ſingle inſtrument, was exact to a ſecond. This was convincing; but the court aſtronomers were not to be convinced; inſtead of acknowledging their error, they aſſured the Emperor, that their calcula⯑tions were certainly exact, but that the ſtranger, without nails, had actually bewitched the moon. Well then, cries the good Emperor, ſmiling at their ignorance, you ſhall ſtill continue to be ſervants of the moon; but I conſtitute this man her Controller.

China is thus replete with men, whoſe only pretenſions to knowledge ariſe from external cir⯑cumſtances; and in Europe every country abounds with them in proportion to its ignorance. Spain and Flanders, who are behind the reſt of Europe in learning, at leaſt three centuries, have twenty literary titles and marks of diſtinction unknown in France or England: they have their Clariſſimi and Preclariſſimi, their Accurat [...]ſſimi and Minutiſſi⯑mi; a Round cap entitles one ſtudent to argue, and a Square cap permits another to teach; while a cap with a Toſſel, almoſt ſanctifies the head it happens to cover. But where true knowledge is cultivated, theſe formalities begin to diſappear; the ermin'd cowl, the ſolemn beard, and ſweeping train are laid aſide; philoſophers dreſs, and talk, and think like other men; and lamb-ſkin dreſſers, and cap-makers, and tail-carriers, now deplore a literary

[157]For my own part, my friend, I have ſeen enough of preſuming ignorance, never to venerate wiſdom but where it actually appears. I have received literary titles and diſtinctions myſelf; and, by the quantity of my own wiſdom, know how very little wiſdom they can confer. Adieu.

LETTER CII. From Lien Chi Altangi, to Fum Hoam, firſt preſident of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

THE time for the young King's coronation ap⯑proaches; the great and the little world look forward with impatience. A knight, from the country, who has brought up his family to ſee, and be ſeen on this occaſion, has taken all the lower part of the houſe where I lodge. His wife is laying in a large quantity of ſilks, which the mercer tells her are to be faſhionable next ſeaſon; and Miſs, her daughter, has actually had her ears bored previous to the ceremony. In all this buſtle of preparation I am conſidered as mere lumber, and have been ſhoved up two ſtories higher to make room for others my landlady ſeems perfectly convinced are my betters; but whom, before me, ſhe is contented with only calling very good company.

The little beau, who has now forced himſelf into my intimacy, was yeſterday giving me a moſt minute detail of the intended proceſſion. All men are eloquent upon their favourite topic; and this ſeemed peculiarly adapted to the ſize and turn of his underſtanding. His whole mind was blazoned over with a variety of glittering images; coronets, [158] eſcutcheons, lace, fringe, taſſels, ſtones, bugles, and ſpun glaſs. "Here, cried he, Garter is to walk; and there Rouge Dragon marches with the eſcutcheons on his back. Here Clarencieux moves forward; and there Blue Mantle diſdains to be left behind. Here the Aldermen march two and two; and there the undaunted Champion of England, no way terrified at the very numerous appearance of gentlemen and ladies, rides forward in complete armour, and, with an intrepid air, throws down his glove. Ah, continued he, ſhould any be ſo hardy as to take up that fatal glove, and ſo accept the challenge, we ſhould ſee fine ſport; the Cham⯑pion would ſhew him no mercy; he would ſoon teach him all his paſſes with a witneſs. However, I am afraid we ſhall have none willing to try it with him, upon the approaching occaſion, for two reaſons; firſt, becauſe his antagoniſt would ſtand a chance of being killed in the ſingle combat; and ſecondly, becauſe if he eſcapes the Champi⯑on's arm, he would certainly be hanged for trea⯑ſon. No, no, I fancy none will be ſo hardy as to diſpute it with a Champion like him inured to arms; and we ſhall probably ſee him prancing unmoleſted away, holding his bridle thus in one hand, and brandiſhing his dram cup in the other."

Some men have a manner of deſcribing, which only wraps the ſubject in more than former obſcu⯑rity; thus I was unable, with all my companion's volubility, to form a diſtinct idea of the intended proceſſion. I was certain, that the inauguration of a King ſhould be conducted with ſolemnity and re⯑ligious awe; and I could not be perſuaded that there was much ſolemnity in this deſcription. If this be true, cried I to myſelf, the people of Eu⯑rope [159] ſurely have a ſtrange manner of mixing ſo⯑lemn and fantaſtic images together; pictures at once replete with burleſque and the ſublime. At a time when the King enters into the moſt ſolemn compact with his people, nothing ſurely ſhould be admitted to diminiſh from the real Majeſty of the ceremony. A ludicrous image brought in at ſuch a time throws an air of ridicule upon the whole. It ſome way reſembles a picture I have ſeen, de⯑ſigned by Albert Durer, where, amidſt all the ſo⯑lemnity of that aweful ſcene, a deity judging, and a trembling world awaiting the decree, he has intro⯑duced a merry mortal trundling his ſcolding wife to hell in a wheel-barrow.

My companion, who miſtook my ſilence, during this interval of reflection, for the rapture of aſto⯑niſhment, proceeded to deſcribe thoſe frivolous parts of the ſhew, that moſtly ſtruck his imagination; and to aſſure me, that if I ſtayed in this country ſome months longer I ſhould ſee fine things. "For my own part, continued he, I know already of fifteen ſuits of cloaths, that would ſtand on one end with gold lace, all deſigned to be firſt ſhewn there; and as for diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls, we ſhall ſee them as thick as braſs nails in a ſedan chair. And then we are all to walk ſo majeſtical⯑ly thus; this foot always behind the foot before. The ladies are to fling noſegays; the court poets to ſcatter verſes; the ſpectators are to be all in full dreſs; Mrs. Tibbs, in a new ſacque, ruffles, and frenched hair; look where you will, one thing finer than another; Mrs. Tibbs curteſies to the Ducheſs; her Grace returns the compliment with a bow. Lar⯑geſs, cries the Herald. Make room cries the Gen⯑tleman Uſher. Knock him down, cries the guard. [160] Ah, continued he, amazed at his own deſcription, what an aſtoniſhing ſcene of grandeur can art pro⯑duce from the ſmalleſt circumſtance, when it thus actually turns to wonder one man putting on an⯑other man's hat."

I now found his mind was entirely ſet upon the fopperies of the pageant, and quite regardleſs of the real meaning of ſuch coſtly preparations. Pa⯑geants, ſays Bacon, are pretty things; but we ſhould rather ſtudy to make them elegant than expensive. Pro⯑ceſſions, cavalcades, and all that fund of gay frip⯑pery, furniſhed out by taylors, barbers, and tire-women, mechanically influence the mind into ve⯑neration: an Emperor, in his night-cap, would not meet with half the reſpect of an Emperor with a glittering crown. Politics reſemble religion; at⯑tempting to diveſt either of ceremony, is the moſt certain method of bringing either into contempt. The weak muſt have their inducements to admira⯑tion as well as the wiſe; and it is the buſineſs of a ſenſible government to impreſs all ranks with a ſenſe of ſubordination, whether this be effected by a diamond buckle, or a virtuous edict, a ſumptuary law, or a glaſs necklace.

This interval of reflection only gave my compa⯑nion ſpirits to begin his deſcription afreſh; and as a greater inducement to raiſe my curioſity, he in⯑formed me of the vaſt ſums that were given by the ſpectators for places. "That the ceremony muſt be fine, cries he, is very evident from the fine price that is paid for ſeeing it. Several ladies have aſ⯑ſured me, they could willingly part with one eye, rather than be prevented from looking on with the other. Come, come, continues he, I have a friend, [161] who, for my ſake, will ſupply us with places at the moſt reaſonable rates; I'll take care you ſhall not be impoſed upon; and he will inform you of the uſe, finery, rapture, ſplendour, and enchant⯑ment of the whole ceremony better than I."

Follies often repeated loſe their abſurdity, and aſſume the appearance of reaſon: his arguments were ſo often and ſo ſtrongly enforced, that I had actually ſome thoughts of becoming a ſpectator. We accordingly went together to beſpeak a place; but gueſs my ſurpriſe, when the man demanded a purſe of gold for a ſingle ſeat: I could hardly be⯑lieve him ſerious upon making the demand. "Pri⯑thee, friend, cried I, after I have paid twenty pounds for ſitting here an hour or two, can I bring a part of the Coronation back?" No, Sir. "How long can I live upon it after I have come away?" Not long, Sir. "Can a Coronation cloath, feed, or fatten me?" Sir, replied the man, you ſeem to be under a miſtake; all that you can bring away is the pleaſure of having it to ſay, that you ſaw the Corona⯑tion. "Blaſt me, cries Tibbs, if that be all, there's no need of paying for that, ſince I am re⯑ſolved to have that pleaſure, whether I am there or no!"

I am conſcious, my friend, that this is but a very confuſed deſcription of the intended ceremony. You may object, that I neither ſettle rank, prece⯑dency, nor place; that I ſeem ignorant whether Gules walks before or behind Garter; that I have neither mentioned the dimenſions of a Lord's cap, nor meaſured the length of a Lady's tail. I know your delight is in minute deſcription; and this I am unhappily diſqualified from furniſhing; yet, [162] upon the whole, I fancy it will be no way compa⯑rable to the magnificence of our late Emperor Whangti's proceſſion, when he was married to the moon, at which Fum Hoam himſelf preſided in perſon. Adieu.

LETTER CIII. To the ſame.

IT was formerly the cuſtom here, when men of diſ⯑tinction died, for their ſurviving acquaintance to throw each a ſlight preſent into the grave. Several things of little value were made uſe of for that pur⯑poſe; perfumes, reliques, ſpices, bitter herbs, camo⯑mile, wormwood, and verſes. This cuſtom how⯑ever is almoſt diſcontinued; and nothing but verſes alone are now laviſhed on ſuch occaſions; an ob⯑lation which they ſuppoſe may be interred with the dead, without any injury to the living.

Upon the death of the great therefore, the poets and undertakers are ſure of employment. While one provides the long cloak, black ſtaff, and mourning coach, the other produces the paſtoral or elegy, the monody or apotheoſis. The nobility need be under no apprehenſions, but die as faſt as they think proper, the poet and undertaker are ready to ſupply them; theſe can find metaphorical tears and family eſcutcheons at half an hour's warn⯑ing; and when the one has ſoberly laid the body in the grave, the other is ready to fix it figuratively among the ſtars.

[163]There are ſeveral ways of being poetically ſor⯑rowful on ſuch occaſions. The bard is now ſome penſive youth of ſcience, who ſits deploring among the tombs; again he is Thyrſis, complaining in a circle of harmleſs ſheep. Now Britannia ſits upon her own ſhore, and gives a looſe to maternal ten⯑derneſs; at another time, Parnaſſus, even the mountain Parnaſſus, gives way to ſorrow, and is bathed in tears of diſtreſs.

But the moſt uſual manner is this: Damon meets Menalcas, who has got a moſt gloomy counte⯑nance. The ſhepherd aſks his friend, whence that look of diſtreſs? to which the other replies, that Pollio is no more. If that be the caſe then, cries Damon, let us retire to yonder bower at ſome diſ⯑tance off, where the cypreſs and the jeſſamine add fragrance to the breeze; and let us weep alternate⯑ly for Pollio, the friend of ſhepherds, and the pa⯑tron of every muſe. Ah, returns his fellow ſhep⯑herd, what think you rather of that grotto by the fountain ſide; the murmuring ſtream will help to aſſiſt our complaints, and a nightingale on a neighbouring tree will join her voice to the con⯑cert. When the place is thus ſettled, they begin: the brook ſtands ſtill to hear their lamentations; the cows forget to graze; and the very tygers ſtart from the foreſt with ſympathetic concern. By the tombs of our anceſtors, my dear Fum, I am quite unaffected in all this diſtreſs: the whole is liquid laudanum to my ſpirits; and a tyger of common ſenſibility has twenty times more tenderneſs than I.

But though I could never weep with the com⯑plaining ſhepherd, yet I am ſometimes induced to [164] pity the poet, whoſe trade is thus to make Demi⯑gods and Heroes for a dinner. There is not in na⯑ture a more diſmal figure than a man who ſits down to premeditated flattery; every ſtanza he writes ta⯑citly reproaches the meanneſs of his occupation, till at laſt his ſtupidity becomes more ſtupid, and his dullneſs more diminutive.

I am amazed therefore that none have yet found out the ſecret of flattering the worthleſs, and yet of preſerving a ſafe conſcience. I have often wiſhed for ſome method by which a man might do himſelf and his deceaſed patron juſtice, without being un⯑der the hateful reproach of ſelf-conviction. After long lucubration, I have hit upon ſuch an expedi⯑ent; and ſend you the ſpecimen of a poem upon the deceaſe of a great man, in which the flattery is perfectly fine, and yet the poet perfectly innocent.

LETTER CIV. To the ſame.

IT is the moſt uſual method in every report, firſt to examine its probability, and then act as the conjuncture may require. The Engliſh, however, exert a different ſpirit in ſuch circumſtances; they firſt act, and, when too late, begin to examine. From a knowledge of this diſpoſition, there are ſe⯑veral here who make it their buſineſs to frame new reports at every convenient interval, all tending to denounce ruin both on their cotemporaries and their poſterity. This denunciation is eagerly caught up by the public; away they fling to propagate the diſtreſs; ſell out at one place, buy in at an⯑other, grumble at their governors, ſhout in mobs, and when they have thus, for ſome time, behaved like fools, ſit down coolly to argue and talk wiſ⯑dom, to puzzle each other with ſyllogiſm, and prepare for the next report that prevails, which is always attended with the ſame ſucceſs.

[166]Thus are they ever riſing above one report only to ſink into another. They reſemble a dog in a well, pawing to get free. When he has raiſed his upper parts above water, and every ſpectator ima⯑gines him diſengaged, his lower parts drag him down again and ſink him to the noſe; he makes new efforts to emerge, and every effort increaſing his weakneſs, only tends to ſink him the deeper.

There are ſome here, who, I am told, make a tolerable ſubſiſtence by the credulity of their coun⯑trymen: as they find the public fond of blood, wounds and death, they contrive political ruins ſuited to every month in the year; this month the people are to be eaten up by the French in flat-bot⯑tomed boats; the next by the ſoldiers, deſigned to beat the French back; now the people are going to jump down the gulph of luxury; and now no⯑thing but an herring ſubſcription can fiſh them up again. Time paſſes on; the report proves falſe; new circumſtances produce new changes, but the people never change, they are perſevering in folly.

In other countries thoſe boding politicians would be left to fret over their own ſchemes alone, and grow ſplenetic without hopes of infecting others: But England ſeems to be the very region where ſpleen delights to dwell; a man not only can give an unbounded ſcope to the diſorder in himſelf, but may, if he pleaſes, propagate it over the whole kingdom, with a certainty of ſucceſs. He has only to cry out, that the government, the government is all wrong, that their ſchemes are leading to ruin, that Britons are no more, every good mem⯑ber of the commonwealth thinks it his duty, in ſuch a caſe, to deplore the univerſal decadence [167] with ſympathetic ſorrow, and, by fancying the conſtitution in a decay, abſolutely to impair its vigour.

This people would laugh at my ſimplicity, ſhould I adviſe them to be leſs ſanguine in harbour⯑ing gloomy predictions, and examine cooly before they attempted to complain I have juſt heard a ſtory, which, though tranſacted in a private fa⯑mily, ſerves very well to deſcribe the behaviour of the whole nation, in caſes of threatened calamity. As there are public, ſo there are private incendi⯑aries here. One of the laſt, either for the amuſe⯑ment of his friends, or to divert a fit of the ſpleen, lately ſent a threatening letter to a worthy family in my neighbourhood, to this effect.

"SIR, Knowing you to be very rich, and find⯑ing myſelf to be very poor, I think proper to in⯑form you, that I have learned the ſecret of poiſon⯑ing man, woman, and child, without danger of detection. Don't be uneaſy, Sir, you may take your choice of being poiſoned in a fortnight, or poiſoned in a month, or poiſoned in ſix weeks; you ſhall have full time to ſettle all your affairs. Though I'm poor, I love to do things like a gen⯑tleman. But, Sir, you muſt die; I have determined it within my own breaſt that you muſt die. Blood, Sir, blood is my trade; ſo I could wiſh you would this day ſix weeks take leave of your friends, wife, and family, for I cannot poſſibly allow you longer time. To convince you more certainly of the pow⯑er of my art, by which you may know I ſpeak truth, take this letter; when you have read it, tear off the ſeal, fold it up, and give it to your favourite Dutch maſtiff that ſits by the fire, he will [168] ſwallow it, Sir, like a butter'd toaſt; in three hours four minutes after he has taken it, he will attempt to bite off his own tongue, and half an hour after burſt aſunder in twenty pieces. Blood, blood, blood; ſo no more at preſent from, Sir, your moſt obedient, moſt devoted humble ſervant to command till death.

You may eaſily imagine the conſternation into which this letter threw the whole good natured family. The poor man, to whom it was addreſſ⯑ed, was the more ſurpriſed, as not knowing how he could merit ſuch inveterate malice. All the friends of the family were convened; it was uni⯑verſally agreed, that it was a moſt terrible affair, and that the government ſhould be ſolicited to of⯑fer a reward and a pardon: a fellow of this kind would go on poiſoning family after family; and it was impoſſible to ſay where the deſtruction would end. In purſuance of theſe determinations the government was applied to; ſtrict ſearch was made after the incendiary, but all in vain. At laſt, there⯑fore, they recollected that the experiment was not yet tried upon the dog; the Dutch maſtiff was brought up, and placed in the midſt of the friends and relations, the ſeal was torn off, the pacquet folded up with care, and ſoon they found to the great ſurprize of all— that the dog would not eat the letter.

Adieu.

LETTER CV. To the ſame.

I HAVE frequently been amazed at the igno⯑rance of almoſt all the European travellers, who have penetrated any conſiderable way eaſtward into Aſia. They have been influenced either by motives of commerce or piety, and their accounts are ſuch as might reaſonably be expected from men of very narrow or very prejudiced education, the dictates of ſuperſtition or the reſult of igno⯑rance. Is it not ſurprizing, that in ſuch a variety of adventurers not one ſingle philoſopher ſhould be found; for as to the travels of Gemelli, the learned are long agreed that the whole is but an impoſture.

There is ſcarce any country how rude or in⯑cultivated ſoever, where the inhabitants are not poſſeſſed of ſome peculiar ſecrets, either in nature or art, which might be tranſplanted with ſucceſs; in Siberian Tartary, for inſtance, the natives extract a ſtrong ſpirit from milk, which is a ſecret probably unknown to the chymiſts of Eu⯑rope. In the moſt ſavage parts of India, they are poſſeſſed of the ſecret of dying vegetable ſubſtan⯑ces ſcarlet; and of refining lead into a metal which, for hardneſs and colour, is little inferior to ſilver; not one of which ſecrets but would in Eu⯑rope make a man's fortune. The power of the Aſiatics in producing winds, or bringing down rain, the Europeans are apt to treat as fabulous, [170] becauſe they have no inſtances of the like nature among themſelves; but they would have treated the ſecrets of gunpowder, and the mariner's com⯑paſs, in the ſame manner, had they been told the Chineſe uſed ſuch arts before the invention was common with themſelves at home.

Of all the Engliſh philoſophers I moſt reverence Bacon, that great and hardy genius; he it is who allows of ſecrets yet unknown; who, undaunted by the ſeeming difficulties that oppoſe, prompts human curioſity to examine every part of nature, and even exhorts man to try whether he cannot ſubject the tempeſt, the thunder, and even earthquakes to hu⯑man controll: O did a man of his daring ſpirit, of his genius, penetration, and learning travel to thoſe countries which have been viſited only by the ſuperſtitious and mercenary, what might not man⯑kind expect: how would he enlighten the regions to which he travelled! And what a variety of know⯑ledge and uſeful improvement would he not bring back in exchange!

There is probably no country ſo barbarous, that would not diſcloſe all it knew, if it received from the traveller equivalent information; and I am apt to think, that a perſon, who was ready to give more knowledge than he received, would be wel⯑come wherever he came. All his care in travelling ſhould only be to ſuit his intellectual banquet to the people with whom he converſed; he ſhould not at⯑tempt to teach the unlettered Tartar aſtronomy, nor yet inſtruct the polite Chineſe in the ruder arts of ſubſiſtence; he ſhould endeavour to improve the Barbarian in the ſecrets of living comfortably; and the inhabitant of a more refined country in [171] the ſpeculative pleaſures of ſcience. How much more nobly would a philoſopher thus employed ſpend his time, than by ſitting at home earneſtly intent upon adding one ſtar more to his catalogue; or one monſter more to his collection; or ſtill, if poſſible, more triflingly ſedulous in the incatena⯑tion of fleas, or the ſculpture of a cherry-ſtone.

I never conſider this ſubject, without being ſur⯑prized how none of thoſe ſocieties ſo laudably eſtabliſhed in England for the promotion of arts and learning, have never thought of ſending one of their members into the moſt eaſtern parts of Aſia, to make what diſcoveries he was able. To be convinced of the utility of ſuch an undertaking, let them but read the relations of their own travel⯑lers. It will be there found, that they are as often deceived themſelves, as they attempt to de⯑ceive others. The merchants tells us perhaps the price of different commodities, the methods of baling them up, and the propereſt manner for an European to preſerve his health in the country. The miſſioner, on the other hand, informs us, with what pleaſure the country to which he was ſent embraced chriſtianity, and the numbers he converted; what methods he took to keep Lent in a region where there was no fiſh, or the ſhifts he made to celebrate the rites of his religion, in places where there was neither bread nor wine; ſuch accounts, with the uſual appendage of mar⯑riages and funerals, inſcriptions, rivers, and moun⯑tains, make up the whole of an European travel⯑ler's diary; but as to all the ſecrets of which the inhabitants are poſſeſſed, thoſe are univerſally at⯑tributed to magic; and when the traveller can give no other account of the wonders he ſees per⯑formed, [172] he very contentedly aſcribes them to the power of the devil.

It was an uſual obſervation of Boyle, the Engliſh chymiſt, that if every artiſt would but diſcover what new obſervations occurred to him in the exerciſe of his trade, philoſophy would thence gain innumerable improvements. It may be ob⯑ſerved, with ſtill greater juſtice, that if the uſeful knowledge of every country, howſoever barbarous, was gleaned by a judicious obſerver, the advan⯑tages would be ineſtimable. Are there not even in Europe, many uſeful inventions known or prac⯑tiſed, but in one place? The inſtrument, as an ex⯑ample, for cutting down corn in Germany, is much more handy and expeditious, in my opinion, than the ſickle uſed in England. The cheap and ex⯑peditious manner of making vinegar without pre⯑vious fermentation, is known only in a part of France. If ſuch diſcoveries therefore, remain ſtill to be known at home; what funds of knowledge might not be collected, in countries yet unex⯑plored, or only paſſed through by ignorant travel⯑lers in haſty caravans.

The caution with which foreigners are received in Aſia, may be alledged as an objection to ſuch a deſign. But how readily have ſeveral European merchants found admiſſion into regions the moſt ſuſpecting, under the character of Sanjapins, or nor⯑thern pilgrims; to ſuch not even China itſelf de⯑nies acceſs.

To ſend out a traveller, properly qualified for theſe purpoſes, might be an object of national concern; it would in ſome meaſure repair the [173] breaches made by ambition; and might ſhew that there were ſtill ſome who boaſted a greater name than that of patriots, who profeſſed them⯑ſelves lovers of men. The only difficulty would remain in chuſing a proper perſon, for ſo arduous an enterprize. He ſhould be a man of a philoſo⯑phical turn, one apt to deduce conſequences of general utility from particular occurrences, neither ſwollen with pride, nor hardened by prejudice, nei⯑ther wedded to one particular ſyſtem, nor inſtruct⯑ed only in one particular ſcience; neither wholly a botaniſt, nor quite an antiquarian; his mind ſhould be tinctured with miſcellaneous knowledge, and his manners humanized by an intercourſe with men. He ſhould be, in ſome meaſure, an enthu⯑ſiaſt to the deſign; fond of travelling, from a rapid imagination, and an innate love of change; furniſh⯑ed with a body capable ſuſtaining every fatigue, and an heart not eaſily terrified at danger.

Adieu.

LETTER CVI. From the ſame.

ONE of the principal taſks I had propoſed to myſelf on my arrival here, was to become acquainted with the names and characters of thoſe now living, who as ſcholars or wits, had acquired the greateſt ſhare of reputation. In order to ſuc⯑ceed in this deſign, I fancied the ſureſt method would be to begin my enquiry among the ignorant, [174] judging that his fame would be greateſt, which was loud enough to be heard by the vulgar. Thus prediſpoſed, I began the ſearch, but only went in queſt of diſappointment and perplexity. I found every diſtrict had a peculiar famous man of its own. Here the ſtory-telling ſhoemaker had en⯑groſſed the admiration on one ſide of the ſtreet, while the bellman, who excelleth at a catch, was in quiet poſſeſſion of the other. At one end of a lane the ſexton was regarded as the greateſt man alive, but I had not travelled half its length, till I found an enthuſiaſt teacher had divided his reputation. My landlady perceiving my deſign, was kind enough to offer me her advice in this affair. It was true, ſhe obſerved, that ſhe was no judge, but ſhe knew what pleaſed herſelf, and if I would reſt upon her judgment, I ſhould ſet down Tom Collins as the moſt ingenious man in the world, for Tom was able to take off all man⯑kind, and imitate beſides a ſow and pigs to per⯑fection.

I now perceived, that taking my ſtandard of reputation among the vulgar, would ſwell my ca⯑talogue of great names above the ſize of a Court Calendar, I therefore diſcontinued this method of purſuit, and reſolved to proſecute my enquiry in that uſual reſidence of fame, a bookſeller's ſhop. In conſequence of this I entreated the bookſeller to let me know who were they who now made the greateſt figure either in morals, wit, or learning. Without giving me a direct anſwer, he pulled a pamphlet from the ſhelf, The Young Attorney's Guide; there, Sir, cries he, there's a touch for you, fifteen hundred of theſe moved off in a day: I take the author of this pamphlet either for [175] title, preface, plan, body, or index to be the com⯑pleteſt hand in England. I found it was vain to proſecute my enquiry, where my informer ap⯑peared ſo incompetent a judge of merit, ſo paying for the Young Attorney's Guide, which good man⯑ners obliged me to buy, I walked off.

My purſuit after famous men now brought me into a print ſhop. Here, thought I, the painter only reflects the public voice. As every man who de⯑ſerved it had formerly his ſtatue placed up in the Roman forum, ſo here probably the pictures of none but ſuch as merit a place in our affections are held up for public ſale. But gueſs my ſurprize when I came to examine this depoſitary of noted faces; all diſtinctions were levelled here, as in the grave, and I could not but regard it as the catacomb of real merit. The brick duſt man took up as much room as the truncheoned hero, and the judge was elbowed by the thieftaker; quacks, pimps, and buffoons encreaſed the groupe, and noted ſtallions only made room for more noted whores. I had read the works of ſome of the moderns previous to my coming to England, with delight and approbation, but I found their faces had no place here, the walls were covered with the names of authors I had never known, or had en⯑deavoured to forget; with the little ſelf-advertiſing things of a day who had forced themſelves into faſhion, but not into fame; I could read at the bottom of ſome pictures, the names of * *, and * * *, and * * * *, all equally candidates for the vulgar ſhout, and foremoſt to propagate their un⯑bluſhing faces upon braſs. My uneaſineſs there⯑fore at not finding my few favourite names among the number was now changed into congratulation; [176] I could not avoid reflecting on the fine obſervation of Tacitus on a ſimilar occaſion. In this cavalcade of flattery, cries the hiſtorian, neither the pictures of Brutus, Caſſius, nor Cato, were to be ſeen, eo clariores quia imagines eorum non deferebantur, their abſence being the ſtrongeſt proof of their merit.

It is in vain, cried I, to ſeek for true greatneſs among theſe monuments of the unburied dead; let me go among the tombs of thoſe who are con⯑feſſedly famous, and ſee if any have been lately depoſited there, who deſerve the attention of poſ⯑terity, and whoſe names may be tranſmitted to my diſtant friend, as an honour to the preſent age. Determined in my purſuit, I paid a ſecond viſit to Weſtminſter Abbey. There I found ſeveral new monuments erected to the memory of ſeveral great men; the names of the great men I abſo⯑lutely forget, but I well remember that Roubil⯑lac was the ſtatuary who carved them. I could not help ſmiling at two modern epitaphs in particular; one of which praiſed the deceaſed for being ortus ex antiqua ſtirpe; the other commend⯑ed the dead, becauſe hanc aedem ſuis ſumptibus reaedificavit: the greateſt merit of one, conſiſted in his being deſcended from an illuſtrious houſe; the chief diſtinction of the other, that he had propped up an old houſe that was falling. Alas, alas, cried I, ſuch monuments as theſe confer honour, not upon the great men, but upon little Roubillac.

Hitherto diſappointed in my enquiry after the great of the preſent age, I was reſolved to mix in company, and try what I could learn among critics in coffee-houſes; and here it was that I heard my [177] favourite names talked of even with inverted fame. A gentleman of exalted merit, as a writer, was branded in general terms as a bad man; another of exquiſite delicacy as a poet was reproached for want⯑ing good nature; a third was accuſed of free-think⯑ing; and a fourth of having once been a player. Strange, cried I, how unjuſt are mankind in the diſtribution of fame; the ignorant among whom I ſought at firſt, were willing to grant, but incapable of diſtinguiſhing the virtues of thoſe which de⯑ſerved it; among thoſe I now converſe with, they know the proper objects of admiration, but mix envy with applauſe.

Diſappointed ſo often, I was now reſolved to examine thoſe characters in perſon of whom the world talked ſo freely; by converſing with men of real merit I began to find out thoſe characters which really deſerved, though they ſtrove to avoid, applauſe. I found the vulgar admiration entirely miſplaced, and malevolence without its ſting. The truly great, poſſeſſed of numerous ſmall faults, and ſhining virtues, preſerve a ſublime in morals as in writing. They who have attained an excellence in either, commit numberleſs trangreſſions, obſerv⯑able to the meaneſt underſtanding. The ignorant critic and dull remarker can readily ſpy blemiſhes in eloquence or morals, whoſe ſentiments are not ſufficiently elevated to obſerve a beauty; but ſuch are judges neither of books nor of life; they can diminiſh no ſolid reputation by their cenſure, nor beſtow a laſting character by their applauſe: In ſhort, I found by my ſearch, that ſuch only can confer real fame upon others, who have merit themſelves to deſerve it. Adieu.

LETTER CVII. To the ſame.

THERE are numberleſs employments in the courts of the Eaſtern Monarchs utterly un⯑practiſed and unknown in Europe. They have no ſuch officers, for inſtance, as the Emperor's ear-tickler, or tooth-picker; they have never introduced at the courts the Mandarine appointed to bear the royal tobacco-box, or the grave director of the imperial exercitations in the ſeraglio. Yet I am ſurprized that the Engliſh have imitated us in none of theſe particulars, as they are generally pleaſed with every thing that comes from China, and ex⯑ceſſively fond of creating new and uſeleſs employ⯑ments. They have filled their houſes with our furniture, their public gardens with our fire-works, and their very ponds with our fiſh; our courtiers, my friend, are the fiſh, and the furniture they ſhould have imported; our courtiers would fill up the neceſſary ceremonies of a court better than thoſe of Europe, would be contented with re⯑ceiving large ſalaries for doing little, whereas ſome of this country are at preſent diſcontented though they receive large ſalaries for doing nothing.

I lately, therefore, had thoughts of publiſhing a propoſal here, for the admiſſion of ſome new Eaſtern offices and titles into their court regiſter. As I conſider myſelf in the light of a Coſmopolite, [179] I find as much ſatisfaction in ſcheming for the countries in which I happen to reſide, as for that in which I was born.

The fineſt apartments in the palace of Pegu are frequently infeſted with rats. Theſe the religion of the country ſtrictly forbids the people to kill. In ſuch circumſtances therefore they are obliged to have recourſe to ſome great man of the court, who is willing to free the royal apartments even at the hazard of his ſalvation. After a weak Monarch's reign the quantity of court vermin in every corner of the palace is ſurprizing, but a prudent king and a vigilant officer ſoon drives them from their ſanctu⯑aries behind the matts and the tapeſtry, and effec⯑tually frees the court. Such an officer in England would in my opinion be ſerviceable at this juncture; for if, as I am told, the palace be old, much vermin muſt undoubtedly have taken refuge behind the wainſcot and hangings. A miniſter ſhould therefore be inveſted with the title and dignities of Court-vermin killer; he ſhould have full power either to baniſh, take, poiſon or deſtroy them, with enchantments, traps, ferrets, or ratſbane. He might be permitted to brandiſh his beſom without remorſe, and bruſh down every part of the furni⯑ture, without ſparing a ſingle cobweb however ſacred by long preſcription. I communicated this propoſal ſome days ago in a company of the firſt diſtinction, and enjoying the moſt honourable of⯑fices of the ſtate. Among the number were the in⯑ſpector of Great Britain, Mr. Henriques the Direc⯑tor of the Miniſtry, Ben. Victor the Treaſurer, John Lockman the ſecretary, and the Conductor of the Imperial Magazine. They all acquieſced [180] in the utility of my propoſal, but were appre⯑henſive it might meet with ſome obſtructions from court upholſterers and chamber-maids, who would object to it from the demolition of the furniture, and the dangerous uſe of ferrets and ratſbane.

My next propoſal is rather more general than the former, and might probably meet with leſs oppoſition. Though no people in the world flatter each other more than the Engliſh, I know none who underſtand the art leſs, and flatter with ſuch little refinement. Their panegyric, like a Tartar feaſt, is indeed ſerved up with profuſion, but their cookery is inſupportable. A client here ſhall dreſs up a fricaſſee for his patron, that ſhall offend an ordinary noſe before it enters the room. A town ſhall ſend up their addreſs to a great mi⯑niſter, which ſhall prove at once a ſatire on the miniſter and themſelves. If the favourite of the day ſits, or ſtands, or ſleeps, there are poets to put it into verſe, and prieſts to preach it in the pulpit. In order therefore to free both thoſe who praiſe, and thoſe who are praiſed from a duty probably diſagreeable to both, I would conſtitute profeſſed flatterers here as in ſeveral courts of In⯑dia. Theſe are appointed in the courts of their princes, to inſtruct the people where to exclaim with admiration, and where to lay an emphaſis of praiſe. But an officer of this kind is always in waiting when the Emperor converſes in a familiar manner among his Rajas and other nobility. At every ſentence, when the Monarch pauſes, and ſmiles at what he has been ſaying; the Karamat⯑man, as this officer is called, is to take it for [181] granted, that his Majeſty has ſaid a good thing. Upon which he cries out Karamat! Karamat! a miracle, a miracle, and throws up his hands and his eyes in extacy. This is ecchoed by the cour⯑tiers around, while the Emperor ſits all this time, in ſullen ſatisfaction, enjoying the triumph of his joke, or ſtudying a new repartee.

I would have ſuch an officer placed at every great man's table in England. By frequent practice he might ſoon become a perfect maſter of the art, and in time would turn out pleaſing to his patron, no way troubleſome to himſelf, and might prevent the nauſeous attempts of many more ignorant pre⯑tenders. The clergy here, I am convinced, would reliſh this propoſal. It would provide places for ſeveral of them. And indeed by ſome of their late productions many appear to have qualified themſelves as candidates for this office already.

But my laſt propoſal I take to be of the ut⯑moſt importance. Our neighbour the Empreſs of Ruſſia has, you may remember, inſtituted an order of female knighthood. The Empreſs of Germany has alſo inſtituted another; the Chineſe have had ſuch an order time immemorial. I am amazed the Engliſh have never come into ſuch an inſtitution. When I conſider what kind of men are made knights here, it appears ſtrange, that they have never conferred this honour upon women. They make cheeſemongers and paſtrycooks Knights; then why not their wives? They have called up tallow chandlers to maintain the hardy profeſſion of chivalry and arms; then why not their wives? Haberdaſhers are ſworn; as I ſuppoſe all knights muſt be ſworn, never to fly in time of mellay or bat⯑tle, [182] to maintain and uphold the noble eſtate of Chivalry, with horſe harniſhe and other Knightlye habiliments. Haberdaſhers, I ſay, are ſworn to all this, then why not their wives? Certain I am their wives under⯑ſtand fighting and feats of mellay and battle better than they, and as for Knightlye horſe and har⯑niſhe, it is probable both know nothing more than the harneſs of a one horſe chaiſe. No, no, my friend, inſtead of conferring any order upon the huſbands, I would knight their wives. However the State ſhould not be troubled with a new inſti⯑tution upon this occaſion. Some ancient exploded order might be revived, which would furniſh both a motto and a name, the ladies might be permitted to chuſe for themſelves. There are for inſtance the obſolete orders of the Dragon in Germany, of the Rue in Scotland, and the Porcupine in France, all well ſounding names, and very applicable to my intended female inſtitution.

Adieu.

LETTER CVIII. To the ſame.

RELIGIOUS Sects in England are far more numerous than in China. Every man who has intereſt enough to hire a conventicle here, may ſet up for himſelf and ſell off a new religion. The ſellers of the neweſt pattern at preſent give ex⯑treme good bargains; and let their diſciples have a great deal of confidence for very little money.

[183]Their ſhops are much frequented, and their cuſ⯑tomers every day encreaſing, for people are na⯑turally fond of going to Paradiſe at as ſmall ex⯑pence as poſſible.

Yet you muſt not conceive this modern ſect as differing in opinion from thoſe of the eſtabliſhed religion: Difference of opinion indeed formerly divided their ſectaries, and ſometimes drew their armies to the field. White gowns and black mantles, ſlapped hats and croſs pocket holes were once the obvious cauſes of quarrel; men then had ſome reaſon for fighting, they knew what they fought about; but at preſent they are arrived at ſuch refinement in religion-making, that they have actually formed a new ſect without a new opinion; they quarrel for opinions they both equally de⯑fend; they hate each other, and that is all the difference between them.

But though their principles are the ſame, their practice is ſomewhat different. Thoſe of the eſ⯑tabliſhed religion laugh when they are pleaſed, and their groans are ſeldom extorted but by pain or danger. The new ſect, on the contrary, weep for their amuſement, and uſe little muſic except a chorus of ſighs and groans, or tunes that are made to imitate groaning. Laughter is their averſion; lovers court each other from the lamentations; the bridegroom approaches the nuptial couch in ſor⯑rowful ſolemnity, and the bride looks more diſmal than an undertaker's ſhop. Dancing round the room is with them running in a direct line to the devil; and as for gaming, though but in jeſt, they would ſooner play with a rattle-ſnake's tail, than finger a dice-box.

[184]By this time you perceive that I am deſcribing a ſect of Enthuſiaſts, and you have already compa⯑red them with the Faquirs, Bramins, and Talapoins of the Eaſt. Among theſe, you know, are gene⯑rations that have been never known to ſmile, and voluntary affliction makes up all the merit they can boaſt of. Enthuſiaſms in every country produce the ſame effects; ſtick the Faquir with pins, or confine the Bramine to a vermine hoſpital, ſpread the Talapoin on the ground, or load the Sectary's brow with contrition; thoſe worſhipers who diſ⯑card the light of reaſon, are ever gloomy; their fears encreaſe in proportion to their ignorance, as men are continually under apprehenſions who walk in darkneſs.

Yet there is ſtill a ſtronger reaſon for the en⯑thuſiaſt's being an enemy to laughter, namely, his being himſelf ſo proper an object of ridicule. It is remarkable that the propagators of falſe doctrines have ever been averſe to mirth, and always begin by recommending gravity, when they intended to diſſeminate impoſture. Fohi, the idol of China, is repreſented as having never laughed; Zoroaſter the leader of the Bramins is ſaid to have laughed but twice, upon his coming into the world, and upon his leaving it; and Mahomet himſelf, though a lover of pleaſure, was a profeſſed oppoſer of gaiety. Upon a certain occaſion telling his fol⯑lowers, that they would all appear naked at the reſurrection, his favourite wife repreſented ſuch an aſſembly as immodeſt and unbecoming. Fool⯑iſh woman, cried the grave prophet, though the whole aſſembly be naked, on that day they ſhall have forgotten to laugh. Men like him oppoſed ridicule, becauſe they knew it to be a moſt for⯑midable [185] antagoniſt, and preached up gravity, to conceal their own want of importance.

Ridicule has ever been the moſt powerful ene⯑my of enthuſiaſm, and properly the only anta⯑goniſt that can be oppoſed to it with ſucceſs. Per⯑ſecution only ſerves to propagate new religions; they acquire freſh vigour beneath the executioner and the ax, and like ſome vivacious inſects, multiply by diſſection. It is alſo impoſſible to combat en⯑thuſiaſm with reaſon, for though it makes a ſhew of reſiſtance, it ſoon eludes the preſſure, refers you to diſtinctions not to be underſtood, and feel⯑ings which it cannot explain. A man who would endeavour to fix an enthuſiaſt by argument, might as well attempt to ſpread quickſilver with his fingers. The only way to conquer a viſionary is to deſpiſe him; the ſtake, the faggot, and the diſputing Doctor, in ſome meaſure ennoble the opinions they are brought to oppoſe; they are harmleſs againſt innovating pride; contempt alone is truly dreadful. Hunters generally know the moſt vulnerable part of the beaſts they purſue, by the care which every animal takes to defend the ſide which is weakeſt; on what ſide the en⯑thuſiaſt is moſt vulnerable, may be known by the care which he takes in the beginning to work his diſciples into gravity, and guard them againſt the power of ridicule.

When Philip the ſecond was King of Spain, there was a conteſt in Salamanca between two or⯑ders of friars for ſuperiority. The legend of one ſide contained more extraordinary miracles, but the legend of the other was reckoned moſt au⯑thentic. They reviled each other, as is uſual in [186] diſputes of divinity, the people were divided into factions, and a civil war appeared unavoidable. In order to prevent ſuch an imminent calamity, the combatants were prevailed upon to ſubmit their legions to the fiery trial, and that which came forth untouched by the fire was to have the victory, and to be honoured with a double ſhare of reverence. Whenever the people flock to ſee a miracle, it is an hundred to one, but that they ſee a miracle; incredible therefore were the num⯑bers that were gathered round upon this occaſion; the friars on each ſide approached, and confidently threw their reſpective legends into the flames, when lo, to the utter diſappointment of all the aſſembly, inſtead of a miracle, both legends were conſumed. Nothing but thus turning both parties into con⯑tempt, could have prevented the effuſion of blood. The people now laughed at their former folly, and wondered why they fell out. Adieu.

LETTER CIX. To the ſame.

THE Engliſh are at preſent employed in cele⯑brating a feaſt which becomes general every ſeventh year; the Parliament of the nation being then diſſolved and another appointed to be choſen. This ſolemnity falls infinitely ſhort of our feaſt of the lanthorns in magnificence and ſplendour; it is alſo ſurpaſſed by others of the Eaſt in unanimity and pure devotion, but no feſtival in the world can compare with it for eating. Their eating indeed amazes me: Had I five hundred heads, and were each head furniſhed with brains, yet would they [187] all be inſufficient to compute the number of cows, pigs, geeſe and turkies, which upon this occaſion die for the good of their country!

To ſay the truth, eating ſeems to make a grand ingredient in all Engliſh parties of zeal, buſineſs or amuſement. When a Church is to be built, or an Hoſpital endowed, the Directors aſſemble, and inſtead of conſulting upon it, they eat upon it, by which means the buſineſs goes forward with ſucceſs. When the Poor are to be relieved, the officers appointed to dole out public charity, aſ⯑ſemble and eat upon it: Nor has it ever been known, that they filled the bellies of the poor till they had previouſly ſatisfied their own. But in the election of Magiſtrates the people ſeem to ex⯑ceed all bounds; the merits of a candidate are often meaſured by the number of his treats; his conſtituents aſſemble, eat upon him, and lend their applauſe, not to his integrity or ſenſe, but the quantities of his beef and brandy.

And yet I could forgive this people their plenti⯑ful meals on this occaſion, as it is extremely na⯑tural for every man to eat a great deal when he gets it for nothing; but what amazes me is, that all this good living no way contributes to improve their good humour. On the contrary, they ſeem to loſe their temper as they loſe their appetites; every morſel they ſwallow, and every glaſs they pour down ſerves to encreaſe their animoſity. Many an honeſt man, before as harmleſs as a tame rabbit, when loaded with a ſingle election dinner, has become more dangerous than a charged cul⯑verin. Upon one of theſe occaſions, I have ac⯑tually ſeen a bloody minded Man Milliner ſally [188] forth at the head of a mob, determined to face a deſperate Paſtry Cook, who was General of the oppoſite party.

But you muſt not ſuppoſe they are without a pretext for thus beating each other. On the con⯑trary, no man here is ſo uncivilized as to beat his neighbour without producing very ſufficient rea⯑ſons. One candidate, for inſtance, treats with gin, a ſpirit of their own manufacture; another, al⯑ways drinks brandy imported from abroad. Bran⯑dy is a wholeſome liquor; gin a liquor whol⯑ly their own. This then furniſhes an obvious cauſe of quarrel, Whether it be moſt reaſonable to get drunk with gin, or get drunk with brandy? The mob meet upon the debate; fight themſelves ſober; and then draw off to get drunk again, and charge for another encounter. So that the Engliſh may now properly be ſaid to be engaged in war; ſince while they are ſubduing their enemies abroad, they are breaking each other's heads at home.

I lately made an excurſion to a neighbouring village, in order to be a ſpectator of the cere⯑monies practiſed upon this occaſion. I left town in company with three fidlers, nine dozen of hams, and a corporation poet, which were deſigned as reinforcements to the gin drinking party. We entered the town with a very good face; the fid⯑lers, no way intimidated by the enemy, kept hand⯑ling their arms up the principal ſtreet. By this prudent manoeuvre they took peaceable poſſeſſion of their head-quarters, amidſt the ſhouts of multi⯑tudes, who ſeemed perfectly rejoiced at hearing their muſic, but above all at ſeeing their bacon.

[189]I muſt own I could not avoid being pleaſed to ſee all ranks of people on this occaſion, levelled into an equality, and the poor, in ſome meaſure, en⯑joying the primitive privileges of nature. If there was any diſtinction ſhewn, the loweſt of the peo⯑ple ſeemed to receive it from the rich. I could perceive a cobler with a levee at his door, and an haberdaſher giving audience from behind his coun⯑ter. But my reflections were ſoon interrupted by a mob, who demanded whether I was for the Diſtillery, or the Brewery? as theſe were terms with which I was totally unacquainted, I choſe at firſt to be ſilent; however, I know not what might have been the conſequence of my reſerve, had not the attention of the mob been called off to a ſkirmiſh between a brandy-drinker's cow, and a gin-drinker's maſtiff, which turned out, greatly to the ſatisfaction of the mob, in favour of the maſtiff.

This ſpectacle, which afforded high entertain⯑ment, was at laſt ended by the appearance of one of the candidates; who came to harangue the mob; he made a very pathetic ſpeech upon the late ex⯑ceſſive importation of foreign drams; and the downfall of the diſtillery: I could ſee ſome of the audience ſhed tears. He was accompanied in his proceſſion by Mrs. Deputy and Mrs. Mayoreſs. Mrs. Deputy was not in the leaſt in liquor; and for Mrs. Mayoreſs, one of the ſpectators aſſured me in my ear that, — She was a very fine woman be⯑fore ſhe had the ſmall-pox.

Mixing with the croud, I was now conducted to the hall where the magiſtrates are choſen; but what tongue can deſcribe this ſcene of confuſion; the whole crowd ſeemed equally inſpired with an⯑ger, [190] jealouſy, politics, patriotiſm and punch: I remarked one figure that was carried up by two men upon this occaſion. I at firſt began to pity his infirmities as natural, but ſoon found the fel⯑low ſo drunk that he could not ſtand; another made his appearance to give his vote, but though he could ſtand, he actually loſt the uſe of his tongue, and remained ſilent; a third, who though exceſſively drunk could both ſtand and ſpeak, be⯑ing aſked the Candidate's name for whom he voted, could be prevailed upon to make no other anſwer, but Tobacco and Brandy. In ſhort, an election-hall ſeems to be a theatre where every paſſion is ſeen without diſguiſe; a ſchool where fools may readily become worſe, and where philoſo⯑phers may gather wiſdom. Adieu.

LETTER CX. From the ſame.

THE diſputes among the learned here are now carried on in a much more compendious man⯑ner than formerly. There was a time when fo⯑lio was brought to oppoſe folio, and a champion was often liſted for life under the banners of a ſingle ſorites. At preſent, the controverſy is de⯑cided in a ſummary way; an epigram or an acroſ⯑tic finiſhes the debate, and the combatant, like the incurſive Tartar, advances, and retires with a ſingle blow.

An important literary debate at preſent engroſſes the attention of the town. It is carried on with [191] ſharpneſs, and a proper ſhare of this epigram⯑matical fury. An author, it ſeems has taken an averſion to the faces of ſeveral players, and has written verſes to prove his diſlike; the players fall upon the author, and aſſure the town he muſt be dull, and their faces muſt be good, becauſe he wants a dinner; a critic comes to the poet's aſ⯑ſiſtance, aſſerting, that the verſes were perfectly original, and ſo ſmart that he could never have written them without the aſſiſtance of friends; the friends upon this arraign the critic, and plainly prove the verſes to be all the author's own. So at it they are all four together by the ears, the friends at the critic, the critic at the players, the players at the author, and the author at the players again. It is impoſſible to determine how this many-ſided conteſt will end, or which party to adhere to. The town, without ſiding with any, views the com⯑bat in ſuſpenſe, like the fabled hero of antiquity, who beheld the earth-born brothers give and re⯑ceive mutual wounds, and fall by indiſcriminate deſtruction.

This is in ſome meaſure a ſtate of the preſent diſpute; but the combatants here differ in one reſpect from the champions of the fable. Every new wound only gives vigour for another blow; though they appear to ſtrike, they are in fact mu⯑tually ſwelling themſelves into conſideration, and thus advertiſing each other away into fame. To⯑day ſays one, my name ſhall be in the Gazette, the next day my rival's; people will naturally enquire about us; thus we ſhall at leaſt make a noiſe in the ſtreets, though we have got nothing to ſell. I have read of a diſpute of a ſimilar nature, which was managed here about twenty years ago. Hilde⯑brand [192] Jacob, as I think he was called, and Charles Johnſon were poets, both at that time poſſeſſed of great reputation, for Johnſon had written eleven plays acted with great ſucceſs, and Jacob, though he had written but five, had five times thanked the town for their unmerited applauſe. They ſoon be⯑came mutually enamoured of each other's talents; they wrote, they felt, they challenged the town for each other. Johnſon aſſured the public that no poet alive had the eaſy ſimplicity of Jacob, and Jacob exhibited Johnſon as a maſter-piece in the pathetic. Their mutual praiſe was not without effect, the town ſaw their plays, were in raptures, read, and without cenſuring them, forgot them. So formidable an union, however, was ſoon op⯑poſed by Tibbald. Tibbald aſſerted that the tra⯑gedies of one had faults, and the comedies of the other ſubſtituted wit for vivacity; the combined champions flew at him like tygers, arraigned the cenſurer's judgment, and impeached his ſincerity. It was a long time a diſpute among the learned, which was in fact the greateſt man, Jacob, John⯑ſon or Tibbald; they had all written for the ſtage with great ſucceſs, their names were ſeen in almoſt every paper, and their works in every cof⯑fee-houſe. However, in the hotteſt of the diſpute, a fourth combatant made his appearance, and ſwept away the three combatants, tragedy, comedy and all into undiſtinguiſhed ruin.

From this time they ſeemed conſigned into the hands of criticiſm, ſcarce a day paſſed in which they were not arraigned as deteſted writers. The critics, theſe enemies of Dryden and Pope, were their enemies. So Jacob and Johnſon, inſtead of mending by criticiſm, called it envy, and becauſe Dryden and Pope were cenſured, they compared themſelves to Dryden and Pope.

[193]But to return; the weapon chiefly uſed in the preſent controverſy is Epigram, and certainly never was a keener made uſe of. They have diſcovered ſurpriſing ſharpneſs on both ſides. The firſt that came out upon this occaſion was a kind of new compoſition in this way, and might more properly be called an epigrammatic theſis, than an Epigram. It conſiſts, firſt, of an argument in proſe; next follows a motto from Roſcommon; then comes the the epigram; and laſtly, notes ſerving to explain the Epigram. But you ſhall have it with all its decorations.

The laſt lines are certainly executed in a very maſterly manner. It is of that ſpecies of argumentation, called the perplexing. It effectually flings the antagoniſt into a miſt; there's no anſwering it: the laugh is raiſed againſt [194] him, while he is endeavouring to find out the jeſt. At once he ſhews, that the author has a kennel, and that this kennel is putrid, and that this putrid kennel overflows. But why does it overflow? It overflows, becauſe the author happens to have low pockets!

There was alſo another new attempt in this way; a proſaic Epigram which came out upon this occaſion. This is ſo full of matter, that a critic might ſplit it into fifteen Epigrams, each properly fitted with its ſting. You ſhall ſee it.

There, there's a perplex! I could have wiſhed, to make it quite perfect, the author, as in the caſe before, had added notes. Almoſt every word admits a ſcholium, and a long one too. I, YOU, HE! Suppoſe a ſtranger ſhould aſk, and who are you? Here are three obſcure perſons ſpoken of, that may in a ſhort time be utterly forgotten. Their names ſhould have conſequently been men⯑tioned in notes at the bottom. But when the reader comes to the words great and ſmall, the maze is inextricable. Here the ſtranger may dive for a myſtery, without ever reaching the bottom. Let him know then that ſmall is a word purely [195] introduced to make good rhyme, and great was a very proper word to keep ſmall company.

Yet by being thus a ſpectator of others dangers, I muſt own I begin to tremble in this literary conteſt for my own. I begin to fear that my chal⯑lenge to Doctor Rock was unadviſed, and has pro⯑cured me more antagoniſts than I had at firſt ex⯑pected. I have received private letters from ſeve⯑ral of the literati here, that fill my ſoul with ap⯑prehenſion. I may ſafely aver, that I never gave any creature in this good city offence, except only my rival Doctor Rock, yet by the letters I every day receive, and by ſome I have ſeen printed, I am arraigned at one time as being a dull fellow, at another as being pert; I am here petulant, there I am heavy; by the head of my anceſtors, they treat me with more inhumanity than a flying fiſh. If I dive and run my noſe to the bottom, there a de⯑vouring ſhark is ready to ſwallow me up; If I ſkim the ſurface, a pack of dolphins are at my tail to ſnap me; but when I take wing and attempt to eſcape them by flight, I become a prey to every ravenous bird, that winnows the boſom of the deep.

Adieu.

LETTER CXI. To the ſame.

THE Formalities, delays and diſappointments, that precede a treaty of marriage here, are uſually as numerous as thoſe previous to a treaty of peace. The laws of this country are finely cal⯑culated [196] to promote all commerce, but the com⯑merce between the ſexes. Their encouragements for propagating hemp, madder and tobacco, are indeed admirable! Marriages are the only com⯑modity that meet with none.

Yet from the vernal ſoftneſs of the air, the ver⯑dure of the fields, the tranſparency of the ſtreams, and the beauty of the women, I know few coun⯑tries more proper to invite to courtſhip. Here love might ſport among painted lawns and warbling groves, and revel upon gales, wafting at once both fragrance and harmony. Yet it ſeems he has forſaken the iſland; and when a couple are now to be married, mutual love or an union of minds is the laſt and moſt trifling conſideration. If their goods and chattles can be brought to unite, their ſympathetic ſouls are ever ready to guarantee the treaty. The gentleman's mortgaged lawn becomes enamoured of the ladies marriagable grove; the match is ſtruck up, and both parties are piouſly in love—according to act of Parliament.

Thus they, who have fortune, are poſſeſſed at leaſt of ſomething that is lovely; but I actually pity thoſe that have none. I am told there was a time, when Ladies with no other merit but youth, virtue and beauty, had a chance for huſbands, at leaſt, among the miniſters of the church, or the officers of the army. The bluſh and innocence of ſixteen was ſaid to have a powerful influence over theſe two profeſſions. But of late, all the little traffic of bluſhing, ogling, dimpling, and ſmiling, has been forbidden by an act in that caſe wiſely made and provided. A Lady's whole cargo of ſmiles, ſighs and whiſpers, is declared utterly [197] contraband, till ſhe arrives in the warm latitudes of twenty-two, where commodities of this nature are too often found to decay. She is then per⯑mitted to dimple and ſmile, when the dimples and ſmiles begin to forſake her; and when per⯑haps grown ugly, is charitably entruſted with an unlimited uſe of her charms. Her lovers, how⯑ever, by this time have forſaken her; the captain has changed for another miſtreſs; the prieſt him⯑ſelf leaves her in ſolitude, to bewail her virginity, and ſhe dies even without benefit of clergy.

Thus you find the Europeans diſcouraging love with as much earneſtneſs as the rudeſt ſavage of Sofala. The Genius is ſurely now no more. In every region I find enemies in arms to oppreſs him. Avarice in Europe, jealouſy in Perſia, ceremony in China, poverty among the Tartars, and luſt in Circaſſia, are all prepared to oppoſe his power. The Genius is certainly baniſhed from earth, though once adored under ſuch a variety of forms. He is no where to be found; and all that the Ladies of each country can produce, are but a few trifling reliques as inſtances of his former reſidence and favour.

The genius of Love, ſays the eaſtern Apologue, had long reſided in the happy plains of Abra, where every breeze was health, and every ſound produced tranquility. His temple at firſt was crowded, but every age leſſened the number of his votaries, or cooled their devotion. Perceiv⯑ing, therefore, his altars at length quite deſerted, he was reſolved to remove to ſome more propitious region, and he apprized the fair ſex of every coun⯑try, where he could hope for a proper reception, [198] to aſſert their right to his preſence among them. In return to this proclamation, embaſſies were ſent from the Ladies of every part of the world to invite him, and to diſplay the ſuperiority of their claims.

And firſt the beauties of China appeared. No country could compare with them for modeſty, either of look, dreſs, or behaviour; their eyes were never lifted from the ground; their robes of the moſt beautiful ſilk hid their hands, boſom and neck, while their faces only were left un⯑covered. They indulged no airs that might ex⯑preſs looſe deſire, and they ſeemed to ſtudy only the graces of inanimate beauty. Their black teeth and plucked eyebrows were, however, alledged by the Genius againſt them, but he ſet them entirely aſide when he came to examine their little feet.

The beauties of Circaſſia next made their ap⯑pearance. They advanced hand in hand, ſinging the moſt immodeſt airs, and leading up a dance in the moſt luxurious attitudes. Their dreſs was but half a covering; the neck, the left breaſt, and all the limbs, were expoſed to view, which after ſome time ſeemed rather to ſatiate than inflame deſire. The lily and the roſe contended in forming their complexions; and a ſoft ſleepineſs of eye added irreſiſtible poignance to their charms: but their beauties were obtruded, not offered to their ad⯑mirers; they ſeemed to give rather than receive courtſhip; and the genius of Love diſmiſſed them as unworthy his regard, ſince they exchanged the duties of love, and made themſelves not the purſued, but the purſuing ſex.

[199]The kingdom of Kaſhmire next produced its charming deputies. This happy region ſeemed peculiarly ſequeſtered by nature for his abode. Shady mountains fenced it on one ſide from the ſcorching ſun; and ſeaborn breezes, on the other, gave peculiar luxuriance to the air. Their com⯑plexions were of a bright yellow, that appeared almoſt tranſparent, while the crimſon tulip ſeem⯑ed to bloſſom on their cheeks. Their features and limbs were delicate beyond the ſtatuary's power to expreſs; and their teeth whiter than their own ivory. He was almoſt perſuaded to reſide among them, when unfortunately one of the ladies talked of appointing his ſeraglio.

In this proceſſion the naked inhabitants of Southern America would not be left behind: their charms were found to ſurpaſs whatever the warm⯑eſt imagination could conceive; and ſerved to ſhew, that beauty could be perfect, even with the ſeem⯑ing diſadvantage of a brown complexion But their ſavage education rendered them utterly un⯑qualified to make the proper uſe of their power, and they were rejected as being incapable of uniting mental with ſenſual ſatisfaction. In this manner the deputies of other kingdoms had their ſuits rejec⯑ted: the black beauties of Benin, and the tawny daughters of Borneo, the women of Wida with well ſcarred faces, and the hideous virgins of Cafraria; the ſquab ladies of Lapland, three feet high, and the giant fair ones of Patagonia.

The beauties of Europe at laſt appeared: grace was in their ſteps, and ſenſibility ſate ſmiling in every eye. It was the univerſal opinion, while they were approaching, that they would prevail; [200] and the Genius ſeemed to lend them his moſt favourable attention. They opened their preten⯑ſions with the utmoſt modeſty; but unfortunately as their orator proceeded ſhe happened to let fall the words houſe in town, ſettlement and pin-money. Theſe ſeemingly harmleſs terms had inſtantly a ſurpriſing effect: the Genius with ungovernable rage burſt from amidſt the circle; and waving his youthful pinions, left this earth, and flew back to thoſe etherial manſions from whence he deſcended.

The whole aſſembly was ſtruck with amaze⯑ment: they now juſtly apprehended, that female power would be no more, ſince love had forſaken them. They continued ſome time thus in a ſtate of torpid deſpair, when it was propoſed by one of the number▪ that, ſince the real Genius had left them, in order to continue their power, they ſhould ſet up an idol in his ſtead; and that the ladies of every country ſhould furniſh him with what each liked beſt. This propoſal was inſtantly reliſhed and agreed to. An idol was formed by uniting the capricious gifts of all the aſſembly, tho' no way reſembling the departed Genius. The ladies of China furniſhed the monſter with wings; thoſe of Kaſhmire ſupplied him with horns; the dames of Europe clapped a purſe in his hand; and the virgins of Congo furniſhed him with a tail Since that time, all the vows addreſſed to love are in reality paid to the idol; but, as in other falſe religions, the adoration ſeems moſt fervent, where the heart is leaſt ſincere. Adieu.

LETTER CXII. To the ſame.

MANKIND have ever been prone to expati⯑ate in the praiſe of human nature. The dignity of man is a ſubject that has always been the favourite theme of humanity; they have de⯑claimed with that oſtentation, which uſually ac⯑companies ſuch as are ſure of having a partial audience; they have obtained victories, becauſe there were none to oppoſe. Yet from all I have ever read or ſeen, men appear more apt to err by having too high, than by having too deſ⯑picable an opinion of their nature; and by attempt⯑ing to exalt their original place in the creation, depreſs their real value in ſociety.

The moſt ignorant nations have always been found to think moſt highly of themſelves. The Deity has ever been thought peculiarly concerned in their glory and preſervation; to have fought their battles, and inſpired their teachers: their wizzards are ſaid to be familiar with heaven; and every hero has a guard of angels, as well as men to attend him. When the Portugueſe firſt came among the wretched inhabitants of the coaſt of Africa, theſe ſavage nations readily allowed the ſtrangers more ſkill in navigation and war; yet ſtill conſidered them, at beſt, but as uſeful ſervants brought to their coaſts, by their guardian ſerpent, to ſupply them with luxuries they could have lived without. Though they could grant the Portugueſe [202] more riches; they could never allow them to have ſuch a king as their Tottimondelem, who wore a bracelet of ſhells round his neck, and whoſe legs were covered with ivory.

In this manner, examine a ſavage in the hiſtory of his country and predeceſſors; you ever find his warriors able to conquer armies, and his ſages ac⯑quainted with more than poſſible knowledge: hu⯑man nature is to him an unknown country; he thinks it capable of great things, becauſe he is igno⯑rant of its boundaries; whatever can be conceived to be done he allows to be poſſible, and whatever is poſſible he conjectures muſt have been done. He never meaſures the actions and powers of others by what himſelf is able to perform, nor makes a proper eſtimate of the greatneſs of his fellows by bringing it to the ſtandard of his own incapacity. He is ſatisfied to be one of a country where mighty things have been; and imagines the fancied power of others reflects a luſtre on himſelf. Thus, by de⯑grees, he loſes the idea of his own inſignificance in a confuſed notion of the extraordinary powers of humanity, and is willing to grant extraordinary gifts to every pretender, becauſe unacquainted with their claims.

This is the reaſon, why Demi-gods and Heroes have ever been erected in times or countries of ignorance and barbarity; they addreſſed a people who had high opinions of human nature, becauſe they were ignorant how far it could extend; they addreſſed a people who were willing to allow that men ſhould be gods, becauſe they were yet im⯑perfectly acquainted with God, and with man. Theſe impoſtors knew, that all men are naturally [203] fond of ſeeing ſomething very great made from the little materials of humanity; that ignorant nations are not more proud of building a tower to reach heaven, or a pyramid to laſt for ages, than of raiſing up a Demi-god of their own country and creation. The ſame pride, that erects a coloſ⯑ſus or a pyramid, inſtalls a God or an Hero: but though the adoring ſavage can raiſe his coloſſus to the clouds, he can exalt the Hero not one inch above the ſtandard of humanity; incapable there⯑fore of exalting the idol, he debaſes himſelf and falls proſtrate before him.

When man has thus acquired an erroneous idea of the dignity of his ſpecies, he and the Gods become perfectly intimate; men are but angels, angels are but men, nay but ſervants that ſtand in waiting to execute human commands. The Per⯑ſians, for inſtance, thus addreſs their prophet Haly^*. 'I ſalute thee, glorious Creator, of whom the ſun is but the ſhadow. Maſterpiece of the Lord of human creatures, great ſtar of juſtice and religion. The ſea is not rich and liberal but by the gifts of thy munificent hands. The angel treaſurer of heaven reaps his harveſt in the fertile gardens of the purity of thy nature. The primum mobile would never dart the ball of the ſun through the trunk of heaven, were it not to ſerve the morn⯑ing out of the extreme love ſhe has for thee. The angel Gabriel, meſſenger of truth, every day kiſſes the groundſil of thy gate. Were there a place more exalted than the moſt high throne of God, I would affirm it to be thy place, O maſter of the faithful; Gabriel with all his art and know⯑ledge is but a meer ſcholar to thee.' Thus, my [204] friend, men think proper to treat angels; but if indeed there be ſuch an order of beings, with what a degree of ſatirical contempt muſt they liſten to the ſongs of little mortals thus flattering each other. Thus to ſee creatures, wiſer indeed than the monkey, and more active than the oyſter, claiming to themſelves the maſtery of heaven; minims, the tenants of an atom, thus arrogating a a partnerſhip in the creation of univerſal nature! Sure heaven is kind that launches no thunder at thoſe guilty heads; but it is kind, and regards their follies with pity, nor will deſtroy creatures that it loved into being.

But whatever ſucceſs this practice of making Demi-gods might have been attended with in barbarous nations, I don't know that any man became a God in a country, where the inhabitants were refined. Such countries generally have too cloſe an inſpection into human weakneſs, to think it inveſted with celeſtial power. They ſometimes indeed admit the Gods of ſtrangers, or of their anceſtors, which had their exiſtence in times of ob⯑ſcurity; their weakneſs being forgotten, while no⯑thing but their power and their miracles were re⯑membred. The Chineſe, for inſtance, never had a God of their own country; the idols which the vulgar worſhip at this day were brought from the barbarous nations around them. The Roman Em⯑perors, who pretended to divinity, were generally ta [...]ght by a poignard that they were mortal; and Alexander, though he paſſed among barbarous countries for a real God, could never perſuade his polite countrymen into a ſimilitude of think⯑ing. The Lacedemonians ſhrewdly complied with his commands by the following ſarcaſtic edict.

Adieu.

LETTER CXIII. To the ſame.

THERE is ſomething irreſiſtibly pleaſing in the converſation of a fine woman; even though her tongue be ſilent, the eloquence of her eyes teaches wiſdom. The mind ſympathizes with the regularity of the object in view, and ſtruck with external grace, vibrates into reſpondent harmony. In this agreeable diſpoſition, I lately found myſelf in company with my friend and his niece. Our converſation turned upon love, which ſhe ſeemed equally capable of defending and inſpiring. We were each of different opinions upon this ſubject; the lady inſiſted that it was a natural and uni⯑verſal paſſion, and produced the happineſs of thoſe who cultivated it with proper precaution. My friend denied it to be the work of nature, but allowed it to have a real exiſtence, and affirmed that it was of infinite ſervice in refining ſociety; while I, to keep up the diſpute, affirmed it to be merely a name, firſt uſed by the cunning part of the fair ſex, and admitted by the ſilly part of ours, there⯑fore no way more natural than taking ſnuff or chewing opium.

"How is it poſſible, cried I, that ſuch a paſſion can be natural, when our opinions even of beauty, which inſpires it, are entirely the reſult of faſhion and caprice? The ancients, who pretended to be connoiſſeurs in the art, have praiſed narrow fore⯑heads, red hair, and eyebrows that joined each other over the noſe. Such were the charms that [206] once captivated Catullus, Ovid, and Anacreon. Ladies would at preſent be out of humour, if their lovers praiſed them for ſuch graces; and ſhould an antique beauty now revive, her face would certainly be put under the diſcipline of the twee⯑zer, forehead-cloth and lead comb, before it could be ſeen in public company."

"But the difference between the antients and moderns is not ſo great, as between the different countries of the preſent world. A lover of Gon⯑gora, for inſtance, ſighs for thick lips; a Chineſe lover is poetical in praiſe of thin. In Circaſſia a ſtreight noſe is thought moſt conſiſtent with beau⯑ty; croſs but a mountain which ſeparates it from the Tartars, and there flat noſes, tawny ſkins, and eyes three inches aſunder, are all the faſhion. In Perſia and ſome other countries, a man when he marries, chuſes to have his bride a maid; in the Phillipine Iſlands, if a bridegroom happens to per⯑ceive on the firſt night that he is put off with a virgin, the marriage is declared void to all in⯑tents and purpoſes, and the bride ſent back with diſgrace. In ſome parts of the Eaſt, a woman of beauty, properly fed up for ſale, often amounts to one hundred crowns; in the kingdom of Loango, Ladies of the very beſt faſhion are ſold for a pig, Queens however ſell better, and ſometimes amount to a cow. In ſhort, turn even to England, don't I there ſee the beautiful part of the ſex neglected; and none now marrying or making love but old men and old women that have ſaved money? Don't I ſee beauty from fifteen to twenty one rendered null and void to all intents and purpoſes, and thoſe ſix precious years of womanhood put under a [207] ſtatute of virginity? What! ſhall I call that rancid paſſion love, which paſſes between an old batchelor of fifty-ſix and a widow lady of forty-nine? Never! never! What advantage is ſociety to reap from an intercourſe, where the big belly is oftneſt on the man's ſide? Would any perſuade me that ſuch a paſſion was natural, unleſs the human race were more fit for love as they approach'd the decline, and, like ſilk-worms, became breeders, juſt before they expired?"

Whether love be natural or no, replied my friend, gravely, it contributes to the happineſs of every ſociety into which it is introduced. All our plea⯑ſures are ſhort, and can only charm at intervals: love is a method of protracting our greateſt plea⯑ſure; and ſurely that gameſter, who plays the great⯑eſt ſtake to the beſt advantage, will at the end of life, riſe victorious. This was the opinion of Va⯑nini, who affirmed that every hour was loſt which was not ſpent in love. His accuſers were unable to comprehend his meaning, and the poor advocate for love was burned in flames, alas, no way meta⯑phorical. But whatever advantages the individual may reap from this paſſion, ſociety will certainly be refined and improved by its introduction: All laws, calculated to diſcourage it, tend to embrute the ſpecies, and weaken the ſtate. Though it can⯑not plant morals in the human breaſt, it cultivates them when there: pity, generoſity, and honour, receive a brighter poliſh from its aſſiſtance; and a ſingle amour is ſufficient entirely to bruſh off the clown.

But it is an exotic of the moſt delicate conſti⯑tution; it requires the greateſt art to introduce it [208] into a ſtate, and the ſmalleſt diſcouragement is ſufficient to repreſs it again. Let us only conſider with what eaſe it was formerly extinguiſhed in Rome, and with what difficulty it was lately re⯑vived in Europe: it ſeemed to ſleep for ages, and at laſt fought its way among us through tilts, tour⯑naments, dragons, and all the dreams of chivalry. The reſt of the world, China only excepted, are and have ever been utter ſtrangers to its delights and advantages. In other countries, as men find themſelves ſtronger than women, they lay a claim to a rigorous ſuperiority; this is natural, and love which gives up this natural advantage muſt cer⯑tainly be the effect of art. An art calculated to lengthen out our happier moments, and add new graces to ſociety.

I entirely acquieſce in your ſentiments, ſays the lady, with regard to the advantages of this paſ⯑ſion, but cannot avoid giving it a nobler origin than you have been pleaſed to aſſign. I muſt think, that thoſe countries, where it is rejected, are obliged to have recourſe to art to ſtifle ſo natural a production, and thoſe nations, where it is cul⯑tivated, only make nearer advances to nature. The ſame efforts, that are uſed in ſome places to ſuppreſs pity and other natural paſſions, may have been employed to extinguiſh love. No nation, however unpoliſhed, is remarkable for innocence, that is not famous for paſſion; it has flouriſhed in the coldeſt, as well as the warmeſt regions. Even in the ſultry wilds of ſouthern America, the lover is not ſatisfied with poſſeſſing his miſtreſs's perſon without having her mind.

But the effects of love are too violent to be the re⯑ſult of an artificial paſſion. Nor is it in the power of faſhion to force the conſtitution into thoſe chan⯑ges which we every day obſerve. Several have died of it. Few lovers are unacquainted with the fate of the two Italian lovers, Da Corſin and Julia Bella⯑mano, who after a long ſeparation expired with pleaſure in each others arms. Such inſtances are too ſtrong confirmations of the reality of the paſſion, and ſerve to ſhew that ſuppreſſing it, is but oppoſing the natural dictates of the heart.

Adieu.

LETTER CXIV. To the ſame.

THE clock juſt ſtruck two, the expiring taper riſes and ſinks in the ſocket, the watchman forgets the hour in ſlumber, the laborious and the happy are at reſt, and nothing wakes but medita⯑tion, guilt, revelry and deſpair. The drunkard once more fills the deſtroying bowl, the robber walks his [210] midnight round, and the ſuicide lifts his guilty arm againſt his own ſacred perſon.

Let me no longer waſte the night over the page of antiquity, or the ſallies of cotemporary genius, but purſue the ſolitary walk, where vanity, ever changing, but a few hours paſt, walked before me, where ſhe kept up the pageant, and now, like a froward child, ſeems huſhed with her own importunities.

What a gloom hangs all around! the dying lamp feebly emits a yellow gleam, no ſound is heard but of the chiming clock, or the diſtant watch-dog. All the buſtle of human pride is forgotten, an hour like this may well diſplay the emptineſs of human vanity.

There will come a time when this temporary ſolitude may be made continual, and the city it⯑ſelf, like its inhabitants, fade away, and leave a deſart in its room.

What cities, as great as this, have once tri⯑umphed in exiſtence, had their victories as great, joy as juſt, and as unbounded, and with ſhort-ſighted preſumption, promiſed themſelves immor⯑tality. Poſterity can hardly trace the ſituation of ſome. The ſorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others; and as he beholds, he learns wiſdom, and feels the tranſience of every ſublunary poſſeſſion.

Here, he cries, ſtood their citadel, now grown over with weeds; there their ſenate-houſe, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile; temples [211] and theatres ſtood here, now only an undiſtinguiſh⯑ed heap of ruin. They are fallen, for luxury and avarice firſt made them feeble. The rewards of ſtate were conferred on amuſing, and not on uſeful, members of ſociety. Their riches and opulence invited the invaders, who, though at firſt repulſed, returned again, conquered by perſeverance, and at laſt ſwept the defendants into undiſtinguiſhed deſtruction.

How few appear in thoſe ſtreets, which but ſome few hours ago were crowded; and thoſe who appear, now no longer wear their daily maſk, nor attempt to hide their lewdneſs or their miſery.

But who are thoſe who make the ſtreets their couch, and find a ſhort repoſe from wretchedneſs at the doors of the oppulent? Theſe are ſtrangers, wanderers, and orphans, whoſe circumſtances are too humble to expect redreſs, and whoſe diſtreſſes are too great even for pity. Their wretchedneſs ex⯑cites rather horror than pity. Some are without the covering even of rags, and others emaciated with diſeaſe; the world has diſclaimed them; ſociety turns its back upon their diſtreſs, and has given them up to nakedneſs and hunger. Theſe poor ſhivering females have once ſeen happier days, and been flattered into beauty. They have been proſtituted to the gay luxurious villain, and are now turned out to meet the ſeverity of winter. Perhaps, now lying at the doors of their betrayers, they ſue to wretches whoſe hearts are inſenſible, or debauchees who may curſe, but will not relieve them.

[212]Why, why was I born a man, and yet ſee the ſufferings of wretches I cannot relieve! Poor houſeleſs creatures! the world will give you re⯑proaches, but will not give you relief. The ſlight⯑eſt misfortunes of the great, the moſt imaginary uneaſineſſes of the rich, are aggravated with all the power of eloquence, and held up to engage our attention and ſympathetic ſorrow. The poor weep unheeded, perſecuted by every ſubordinate ſpecies of tyranny; and every law, which gives others ſecurity, becomes an enemy to them.

Why was this heart of mine formed with ſo much ſenſibility! or why was not my fortune adapted to its impulſe! Tenderneſs, without a capacity of relieving, only makes the man who feels it more wretched than the object which ſues for aſſiſtance. Adieu.

LETTER CXV. Fum Hoam to Lien Chi Altangi, the diſcontented wanderer, by the way of Moſcow.

I HAVE been juſt ſent upon an embaſſy to Ja⯑pan; my commiſſion is to be diſpatched in f [...]ur days, and you can hardly conceive the pleaſure I ſhall find upon reviſiting my native country. I ſhall leave with joy this proud, barbarous, inhoſ⯑pitable region, where every object conſpires to diminiſh my ſatisfaction, and encreaſe my pa⯑triotiſm.

[213]But tho' I find the inhabitants ſavage, yet the Dutch merchants who are permitted to trade hi⯑ther, ſeem ſtill more deteſtable. They have raiſed my diſlike to Europe in general; by them I learn how low avarice can degrade human nature; how many indignities an European will ſuffer for gain.

I was preſent at an audience given by the Em⯑peror to the Dutch envoy, who had ſent ſeveral preſents to all the courtiers ſome days previous to his admiſſion; but he was obliged to attend thoſe deſigned for the Emperor himſelf. From the ac⯑counts I had heard of this ceremony, my curioſity prompted me to be a ſpectator of the whole.

Firſt went the preſsents, ſet out on beautiful en⯑amelled tables, adorned with flowers, borne on mens ſhoulders, and followed by Japoneſe muſic and dancers. From ſo great reſpect paid to the gifts themſelves, I had fancied the donors muſt have received almoſt divine honours. But about a quar⯑ter of an hour after the preſents had been carried in triumph, the envoy and his train were brought forward. They were covered from head to foot with long black vails, which prevented their ſee⯑ing, each led by a conductor, choſen from the meaneſt of the people. In this diſhonourable manner having traverſed the city of Jedo, they at length arrived at the palace gate, and after waiting half an hour, were admitted into the guard room. Here their eyes were uncovered, and in about an hour the gentleman uſher intro⯑duced them into the hall of audience. The Em⯑peror was at length ſhewn ſitting in a kind of Al⯑cove at the upper end of the room, and the Dutch envoy was conducted towards the throne.

[214]As ſoon as he had approach'd within a certain diſtance, the gentleman uſher cried out with a loud voice, Holanda Capitan; upon theſe words the envoy fell flat upon the ground, and crept upon his hands and feet towards the throne. Still ap⯑proaching, he rear'd himſelf upon his knees, and then bowed his forehead to the ground. Theſe ceremonies being over, he was directed to with⯑draw, ſtill groveling on his belly, and going back⯑ward like a lobſter.

Men muſt be exceſſively fond of riches, when they are earned with ſuch circumſtances of abject ſubmiſſion. Do the Europeans worſhip Heaven it ſelf with marks of more profound reſpect? Do they confer thoſe honours on the Supreme of be⯑ings, which they pay to a barbarous king, who gives them a permiſſion to purchaſe trinkets and porcelaine! What a glorious exchange, to forfeit their national honour, and even their title to hu⯑manity, for a ſcreen or a ſnuff-box!

If theſe ceremonies eſſayed in the firſt audience appeared mortifying, thoſe which are practiſed in the ſecond are infinitely more ſo. In the ſe⯑cond audience, the Emperor and the ladies of court were placed behind lattices in ſuch a man⯑ner as to ſee without being ſeen. Here all the Europeans were directed to paſs in review, and grovel and act the ſerpent as before: with this ſpectacle the whole court ſeemed highly delighted. The ſtrangers were aſked a thouſand ridiculous queſtions; as their names, and their ages: They were ordered to write, to ſtand upright, to ſit, to ſtop, to compliment each other, to be drunk, to ſpeak the Japaneſe language, to talk [215] Dutch, to ſing, to eat; in ſhort, they were or⯑dered to do all that could ſatisfy the curioſity of women.

Imagine, my dear Altangi, a ſet of grave men thus transformed into buffoons, and acting a part every whit as honourable as that of thoſe inſtruc⯑ted animals which are ſhewn in the ſtreets of Pe⯑kin to the mob on a holiday. Yet the ceremony did not end here, for every great Lord of the court was to be viſited in the ſame manner; and their ladies, who took the whim from their huſbands, were all equally fond of ſeeing the ſtrangers per⯑form, even the children ſeeming highly diverted with the dancing Dutchmen.

Alas, cried I, to myſelf, upon returning from ſuch a ſpectacle, is this the nation which aſſumes ſuch dignity at the court of Pekin? Is this that people that appear ſo proud at home, and in every country where they have the leaſt authority? How does a love of gain transform the graveſt of man⯑kind into the moſt contemptible and ridiculous? I had rather continue poor all my life, than be⯑come rich at ſuch a rate Periſh thoſe riches which are acquired at the expence of my honour or my humanity. Let me quit, ſaid I, a country where there are none but ſuch as treat all others like ſlaves, and more deteſtible ſtill, in ſuffering ſuch treatment. I have ſeen enough of this nation to deſire to ſee more of others. Let me leave a people ſuſpicious to exceſs, whoſe morals are cor⯑rupted, and equally debaſed by ſuperſtition and vice; where the ſciences are left uncultivated, where the Great are ſlaves to the Prince, and tyrants to the people, where the women are chaſte [216] only when debarred of the power of tranſgreſſion; where the true diſciples of Confucius are not leſs perſecuted than thoſe of Chriſtianity: in a word, a country where men are forbidden to think, and conſequently labour under the moſt miſerable ſlavery, that of mental ſervitude.

Adieu.

LETTER CXVI. To the ſame.

THE misfortunes of the great, my friend, are held up to engage our attention, are enlarged upon in tones of declamation, and the world is called upon to gaze at the noble ſufferers; they have at once the comfort of admiration and pity.

Yet where is the magnanimity of bearing mis⯑fortunes when the whole world is looking on? Men in ſuch circumſtances can act bravely even from motives of vanity. He only who, in the vale of obſcurity, can brave adverſity, who with⯑out friends to encourage, acquaintances to pity, or even without hope to alleviate his diſtreſſes, can behave with tranquility and indifference, is truly great: whether peaſant or courtier, he deſerves admiration, and ſhould be held up for our imita⯑tion and reſpect.

The miſeries of the poor are however entirely diſregarded; tho' ſome undergo more real hard⯑ſhips in one day, than the great in their whole lives. It is indeed inconceiveable what difficulties [217] the meaneſt Engliſh ſailor or ſoldier endures with⯑out murmuring or regret. Every day is to him a day of miſery, and yet he bears his hard fate without repining.

With what indignation do I hear the heroes of tragedy complain of misfortunes and hardſhips, whoſe greateſt calamity is founded in arrogance and pride. Their ſevereſt diſtreſſes are pleaſures, compared to what many of the adventuring poor every day ſuſtain, without murmuring. Theſe may eat, drink, and ſleep, have ſlaves to attend them, and are ſure of ſubſiſtence for life, while many of their fellow-creatures are obliged to wander, without a friend to comfort or to aſſiſt them, find enmity in every law, and are too poor to obtain even juſtice.

I have been led into theſe reflections from ac⯑cidentally meeting ſome days ago a poor fellow begging at one of the outlets of this town, with a wooden leg. I was curious to learn what had reduced him to his preſent ſituation; and after giving him what I thought proper, deſired to know the hiſtory of his life and misfortunes, and the manner in which he was reduced to his preſent diſtreſs. The diſabled ſoldier, for ſuch he was, with an intrepidity truly Britiſh, leaning on his crutch, put himſelf into an attitude to comply with my requeſt, and gave me his hiſtory as follows:

Thus ſaying, he limped off, leaving my friend and me in admiration of his intrepidity and con⯑tent; nor could we avoid acknowledging, that an habitual acquaintance with miſery, is the trueſt ſchool of fortitude and philoſophy. Adieu.

LETTER CXVI. From the ſame.

THE titles of European Princes are rather more numerous than ours of Aſia, but by no means ſo ſublime. The king of Viſapour or Pegu, not ſatisfied with claiming the globe and all its appurtenances to him and his heirs, aſſerts a pro⯑perty even in the firmament, and extends his or⯑ders to the milky way. The monarchs of Europe, with more modeſty, confine their titles to earth, but make up by number, what is wanting in their ſublimity. Such is their paſſion for a long liſt of theſe ſplendid trifles, that I have known a Ger⯑man Prince with more titles than ſubjects, and a Spaniſh nobleman with more names than ſhirts.

Contrary to this, "The Engliſh monarchs, ſays a writer of the laſt century, diſdain to accept of ſuch titles, which tend only to encreaſe their pride, without improving their glory; they are above depending on the feeble helps of heraldry for reſpect, perfectly ſatisfied with the conſciouſ⯑neſs of acknowledged power." At preſent, how⯑ever, theſe maxims are laid aſide; the Engliſh monarchs have of late aſſumed new titles, and have impreſſed their coins with the names and arms of obſcure dukedoms, petty ſtates, and ſub⯑ordinate employments. Their deſign in this, I make no doubt, was laudably to add new luſtre to the Britiſh throne, but in reality paltry claims only ſerve to diminiſh that reſpect they are deſigned to ſecure.

[224]There is in the honours aſſumed by Kings, as in the decorations of architecture, a majeſtic ſimplicity, which beſt conduces to inſpire our reverence and reſpect; numerous and trifling or⯑naments in either, are ſtrong indications of mean⯑neſs in the deſigner, or of concealed deformity: ſhould, for inſtance, the Emperor of China, a⯑mong other titles, aſſume that of Deputy Manda⯑rin of Maccau, or the Monarch of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, deſire to be acknowledged as Duke of Brentford, Lunenburg, or Lincoln, the obſerver revolts at this mixture of important and paltry claims, and forgets the Emperor in his familiarity with the Duke or the Deputy.

I remember a ſimilar inſtance of this inverted ambition, in the illuſtrious King of Manacabo, upon his firſt treaty with the Portugueſe. Among the preſents that were made him by the ambaſ⯑ſador of that nation, was a ſword, with a braſs hilt, which he ſeemed to ſet a peculiar value upon. This he thought too great an acquiſition to his glory, to be forgotten among the number of his titles. He therefore gave orders, that his ſub⯑jects ſhould ſtyle him for the future, Talipot, the immortal Potentate of Manacabo, Meſſenger of Morning, Enlightener of the Sun, Poſſeſſor of the the whole Earth, and mighty Monarch of the Braſs-handled Sword.

This method of mixing majeſtic and paltry ti⯑tles, of quartering the arms of a great Empire, and an obſcure province, upon the ſame medal here, had its riſe in the virtuous partiality of their late Monarchs. Willing to teſtify an affection to their native country, they gave its name and enſigns a [225] place upon their coins, and thus in ſome meaſure enobled its obſcurity. It was indeed but juſt, that a people which had given England up their King, ſhould receive ſome honorary equivalent in return; but at preſent theſe motives are no more; England has now a Monarch wholly Britiſh, and it has ſome reaſon to hope for Britiſh titles upon Britiſh coins.

However, were the money of England deſigned to circulate in Germany, there would be no fla⯑grant impropriety in impreſſing it with German names and arms; but though this might have been ſo upon former occaſions, I am told there is no danger of it for the future; as England therefore deſigns to keep back its gold, I candidly think Lunenburg, Oldenburgh, and the reſt of them, may very well keep back their titles.

It is a miſtaken prejudice in Princes, to think that a number of loud ſounding names can give new claims to reſpect. The truly great have ever diſdained them: When Timur the Lame had conquered Aſia, an orator by profeſſion came to compliment him upon the occaſion. He began his harrangue, by ſtyling him the moſt omnipo⯑tent, and the moſt glorious object of the creation; the Emperor ſeemed diſpleaſed with his paltry adulation, yet ſtill he went on, complimenting him, as the moſt mighty, the moſt valiant, and the moſt perfect of beings: Hold there, my friend, cries the lame Emperor; hold there, till I have got another leg. In fact, the feeble or the deſpotic alone find pleaſure in multiplying theſe pageants of va⯑nity, but ſtrength and freedom have nobler aims, [226] and often find the fineſt adulation in majeſtic ſim⯑plicity.

The young Monarch of this country has al⯑ready teſtified a proper contempt for ſeveral un⯑meaning appendages on royalty; cooks and ſcul⯑lions have been obliged to quit their fires; gentle⯑mens gentlemen, and the whole tribe of neceſſary people, who did nothing, have been diſmiſſed from further ſervices. A youth, who can thus bring back ſimplicity and frugality to a court, will ſoon probably have a true reſpect for his own glory, and while he has diſmiſſed all uſeleſs employments, may diſdain to accept of empty or degrading titles. Adieu.

LETTER CXVII. From the ſame.

WHENEVER I attempt to characterize the Engliſh in general; ſome unforeſeen difficul⯑ties conſtantly occur to diſconcert my deſign; I heſitate between cenſure and praiſe: when I con⯑ſider them as a reaſoning philoſophical people, they have my applauſe; but when I reverſe the medal, and obſerve their inconſtancy and irreſo⯑lution, I can ſcarcely perſuade my ſelf that I am obſerving the ſame people.

Yet upon examination this very inconſtancy, ſo remarkable here, flows from no other ſource than [227] their love of reaſoning. The man who examines a complicated ſubject on every ſide, and calls in reaſon to his aſſiſtance, will frequently change; will find himſelf diſtracted by oppoſing proba⯑bilities and contending proofs: every alteration of place will diverſify the proſpect, will give ſome latent argument new force, aad contribute to maintain an anarchy in the mind.

On the contrary, they who never examine with their own reaſon, act with more ſimplicity. Igno⯑nance is poſitive, inſtinct perſeveres, and the human being moves in ſafety within the narrow circle of brutal uniformity. What is true with regard to individuals, is not leſs ſo when applied to ſtates A reaſoning government like this, is in continual fluctuation, while thoſe kingdoms where men are taught not to controvert but obey, continue always the ſame. In Aſia, for inſtance, where the monarch's authority is ſupported by force, and acknowledged through fear, a change of government is entirely unknown. All the in⯑habitants ſeem to wear the ſame mental complec⯑tion, and remain contented with hereditary op⯑preſſion. The ſovereign's pleaſure is the ultimate rule of duty, every branch of the adminiſtration is a perfect epitome of the whole; and if one tyrant is depoſed, another ſtarts up in his room to govern as his predeceſſor. The Engliſh, on the contrary, inſtead of being led by power, en⯑deavour to guide themſelves by reaſon; inſtead of appealing to the pleaſure of the prince, appeal to the original rights of mankind. What one rank of men aſſert is denied by others, as the reaſons on oppoſite ſides happen to come home with great⯑er [228] or leſs conviction. The people of Aſia are directed by precedent, which never alters; the Engliſh by reaſon, which is ever changing its ap⯑pearance.

The diſadvantages of an Aſiatic government ac⯑ting in this manner by precedent are evident; ori⯑ginal errors are thus continued, without hopes of redreſs, and all marks of genius are levelled down to one ſtandard, ſince no ſuperiority of thinking can be allowed its exertion in mending obvious defects. But to recompence thoſe defects, their governments undergo no new alterations, they have no new evils to fear, nor no fermentations in the conſtitution that continue: the ſtruggle for power is ſoon over, and all becomes tranquil as before; they are habituated to ſubordination, and men are taught to form no other deſires, than thoſe which they are allowed to ſatisfy.

The diſadvantages of a government acting from the immediate influence of reaſon, like that of England, are not leſs than thoſe of the former. It is extremely difficult to induce a number of free beings to co-operate for their mutual benefit; every poſſible advantage will neceſſarily be ſought, and every attempt to procure it muſt be attended with a new fermentation; various reaſons will lead different ways, and equity and advantage will often be out-ballanced by a combination of cla⯑mour and prejudice. But though ſuch a people may be thus in the wrong, they have been influ⯑enced by an happy deluſion, their errors are ſel⯑dom ſeen till they are felt; each man is him⯑ſelf the tyrant he has obeyed, and ſuch a maſter he can eaſily forgive. The diſadvantages he feels [229] may in reality be equal to what is felt in the moſt deſpotic government; but man will bear every calamity with patience, when he knows himſelf to be the author of his own misfortunes. Adieu.

LETTER CXVIII. From the ſame.

MY long reſidence here begins to fatigue me, as every object ceaſes to be new, it no longer continues to be pleaſing; ſome minds are ſo fond of variety that pleaſure it ſelf, if permanent, would be inſupportable, and we are thus obliged to ſolicit new happineſs even by courting diſtreſs: I only therefore wait the arrival of my ſon to vary this trifling ſcene, and borrow new pleaſure from danger and fatigue. A life, I own, thus ſpent in wandring from place to place, is at beſt but empty diſſipation. But to purſue trifles is the lot of humanity; and whether we buſtle in a pantomime, or ſtrut at a coronation; whether we ſhout at a bonefire, or harrangue in a ſenate-houſe; whatever object we follow, it will at laſt ſurely conduct us to futility and diſappoint⯑ment. The wiſe buſtle and laugh as they walk in the pageant, but fools buſtle and are im⯑portant; and this probably is all the difference be⯑tween them.

This may be an apology for the levity of my for⯑mer correſpondence; I talked of trifles, and I knew that they were trifles; to make the things of this life ridiculous, it was only ſufficient to call them by their names.

[230]In other reſpects, I have omitted ſeveral ſtri⯑king circumſtances in the deſcription of this country, as ſuppoſing them either already known to you, or as not being thoroughly known to myſelf: But there is one omiſſion for which I expect no forgiveneſs, namely, my being totally ſilent upon their buildings, roads, rivers, and mountains. This is a branch of ſcience on which all other travellers are ſo very prolix, that my de⯑ficiency will appear the more glaring. With what pleaſure, for inſtance, do ſome read of a travel⯑ler in Egypt, meaſuring a fallen column with his cane, and finding it exactly five feet nine inches long; of his creeping through the mouth of a catacomb, and coming out by a different hole from that he entered; of his ſtealing the finger of an antique ſtatue, in ſpite of the janizary that watch'd him; or his adding a new conjec⯑ture to the hundred and fourteen conjectures already publiſhed, upon the names of Oſu is and Iſis.

Methinks I hear ſome of my friends in China de⯑manding a ſimilar account of London and the adja⯑cent villages; and if I remain here much longer, it is probable I may gratify their curioſity. I intend, when run dry on other topics, to take a ſerious ſurvey of the City-wall; to deſcribe that beauti⯑ful building the Manſion-Houſe; I will enume⯑rate the magnificent ſquares, in which the nobility chiefly reſide, and the Royal Palaces appointed for the reception of the Engliſh Monarch; nor will I forget the beauties of Shoe-Lane, in which I my ſelf have reſided ſince my arrival. You ſhall find me no way inferior to many of my bro⯑ther travellers in the arts of deſcription. At pre⯑ſent, [231] however as a ſpecimen of this way of wri⯑ting, I ſend you a few haſty remarks, collected in a late journey I made to Kentiſh Town, and this in the manner of modern voyagers.

Adieu.

LETTER CXIX. To the ſame.

AFTER a variety of diſapointments, my wiſhes are at length fully ſatisfied. My ſon ſo long expected is arrived, at once, by his preſence baniſhing my anxiety, and opening a new ſcene of unexpected pleaſure. His improvements in mind and perſon have far ſurpaſs'd even the ſan⯑guine expectations of a father. I left him a boy, but he is returned a man; pleaſing in his perſon, hardened by travel, and poliſhed by ad⯑verſity. His diſappointment in love, however, had infuſed an air of melancholy into his converſation, which ſeemed at intervals to interrupt our mu⯑tual ſatisfaction. I expected that this could find a cure only from time; but fortune, as if wil⯑ling to load us with her favours, has in a mo⯑ment repaid every uneaſineſs with rapture.

Two days after his arrival, the man in black with his beautiful niece, came to congratulate us upon this pleaſing occaſion: but, gueſs our ſur⯑prize, when my friend's lovely kinſwoman was found to be the very captive my ſon had reſcued from Perſia, and who had been wreck'd on the Wolga, and was carried by the Ruſſian pea⯑ſants [235] to the port of Archangel. Were I to hold the pen of a noveliſt, I might be prolix in de⯑ſcribing their feelings, at ſo unexpected an in⯑terview; but you may conceive their joy, with⯑out my aſſiſtance, words were unable to expreſs their tranſports, then how can words deſcribe it?

When two young perſons are ſincerely ena⯑moured of each other, nothing can give me ſuch pleaſure as ſeeing them married: whether I know the parties or not, I am happy at thus binding one link more in the univerſal chain. Nature has, in ſome meaſure, formed me for a match-maker, and given me a ſoul to ſympathize with every mode of human felicity. I inſtantly therefore con⯑ſulted the man in black, whether we might not crown their mutual wiſhes by marriage; his ſoul ſeems formed of ſimilar materials with mine, he inſtantly gave his conſent, and the next day was appointed for the ſolemnization of their nuptials.

All the acquaintances which I had made ſince my arrival, were preſent at this gay ſolemnity. The little beau was conſtituted maſter of the ceremonies, and his wife Mrs. Tibbs conducted the entertainment with proper decorum. The man in black and the pawn-broker's widow, were very ſprightly and tender upon this occaſion. The widow was dreſſed up under the direction of Mrs. Tibbs; and as for her lover, his face was ſet off by the aſſiſtance of a pig-tail wig, which was lent by the little beau, to fit him for making love with proper formality. The whole company eaſily perceived, that it would be a double wedding before all was over, and indeed [236] my friend and the widow ſeemed to make no ſe⯑cret of their paſſion; he even called me aſide, in order to know my candid opinion, whether I did not think him a little too old to be married. As for my own part, continued he, I know I am go⯑ing to play the fool, but all my friends will praiſe my wiſdom, and produce me as the very pattern of diſcretion to others.

At dinner, every thing ſeemed to run on with good humour, harmony, and ſatisfaction. Every creature in company thought themſelves pretty, and every jeſt was laught at: the man in black ſat next his miſtreſs, helped her plate, chimed her glaſs, and jogging her knees and her elbow, he whiſpered ſomething arch in her ear, on which ſhe patted his cheek; never was antiquated paſſion ſo playful, ſo harmleſs, and amuſing, as between this reverend couple.

The ſecond courſe was now called for, and among a variety of other Diſhes, a fine turkey was placed before the widow. The Europeans, you know, carve as they eat; my friend therefore begged his miſtreſs to help him to a part of the turkey. The widow, pleaſed with an opportu⯑nity of ſhewing her ſkill in carving; an art, upon which it ſeems, ſhe picqued herſelf; began to cut it up by firſt taking off the leg. Madam, cries my friend, if I might be permitted to adv [...]ſe, I would begin by cutting off the wing, and then the Leg will come off more eaſily. Sir, replies the widow, give me leave to underſtand cutting up a fowl, I always begin with the leg. Yes Madam, re⯑plies the lover, but if the wing be the moſt convenient [237] manner, I would begin with the wing. Sir, inter⯑rupts the lady, when you have fowls of your own, begin with the wing if you pleaſe; but give me leave to take off the leg, I hope I am not to be taught at this time of day. Madam, interrupts he, we are never too old to be inſtructed. Old, Sir! interrupts the other, who is old, Sir? when I die of age, I know of ſome that will quake for fear; if the leg does not come off, take the turkey to your⯑ſelf. Madam, replied the man in black, I don't care a farthing whether the leg or the wing comes off; if you are for the leg firſt, why you ſhall have the argument, even though it be as I ſay. As for the matter of that, cries the widow, I don't care a fig, whether you are for the leg off, or on; and friend, for the future keep your diſ⯑tance. O, replied the other, that is eaſily done, it is only removing to the other end of the table, and ſo, madam, your moſt obedient humble ſervant.

Thus, was this courtſhip of an age deſtroyed in one moment; for this dialogue effectually broke off the match between this reſpectable couple, that had been but juſt concluded. The ſmalleſt accidents diſappoint the moſt important treaties: However, though it in ſome meaſure interrupted the general ſatisfaction, it no ways leſſened the happineſs of the youthful couple; and by the young lady's looks I could perceive, ſhe was not entirely diſ⯑pleaſed with this interruption.

In a few hours the whole tranſaction ſeemed entirely forgotten, and we have all ſince, enjoyed thoſe ſatisfactions which reſult from a conſciouſ⯑neſs of making each other happy. My ſon and [238] his fair partner are fixed here for life; the man in black, has given them up a ſmall eſtate in the country, which added to what I was able to beſtow, will be capable of ſupplying all the real, but not the fictitious demands of happineſs. As for myſelf, the world being but one city to me, I don't much care in which of the ſtreets I happen to reſide; I ſhall therefore ſpend the re⯑mainder of life, in examining the manners of dif⯑ferent countries, and have prevailed upon the man in black to be my companion. They muſt often change, ſays Confucius, who would be conſtant in happineſs or wiſdom. Adieu.